THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON

92 Jli-52

60-02371

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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON

THE CENTURY CO., NEW YORK

Copyright, 1889, 1890, 1897,
by JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

(All rights reserved.)

PREFACE.

" Irishman once exclaimed that tte man should
write his autobiography but himself. If Pat were
not quite precise in his expression, still we can arrive at
what he meant.

One's own history will naturally be clearer when told by
one's self than it could be if passed through the esteem of
a friend or the prejudice of a foe ; besides a man can with
impunity chastise his own acts in a manner that would
look cruel in an enemy, and will naturally avoid that
kind of praise a friend might lavish, knowing that he
would only be ridiculed for vaunting his own merits. The
curious memories that rush upon one when alone are fresher
and more vital than those that are coldly drawn out by a
succession of premeditated interviews. Thoughts, too,
should be jotted down as quickly as they come, and are more
vigorous if shaped by the simple language that usually ac
companies them; labored alteration will sometimes rob
them of their value, as a master stroke of the brush is
often ruined by elaboratiom

How often the painter, after having spoiled his first
work by some intellectual modification, has said to himself,
"Oh, how I wish I had let it alone"

& 102:571

The autobiographer, if he be not a literary man, first
hesitates through sheer cowardice — / know I did. He no
sooner dips his pen than the thought at once rushes upon
him that book-making is a trade like every other, and he is
aghast at his own vanity which made him think for a
moment that he could at once accomplish a task which men
of learning, taste, and experience would hesitate to under
take. The dread of censure, the fear of ridicule start up like
specters, and he drops his pen in dismay. But let him reflect

upon the real nature of his task and he will take courage,

f **

for he will realize that what he has undertaken can be
best done by himself.

It is the loose and rugged style in which Tate Wilkin
son's Memoirs are written that renders them so pleasing;
fearlessly ungrammatical but extremely interesting; the
man, the whole man, and nothing but the man from begin
ning to end. The cdol effrontery and unruffled temper with
which Jie bean the buffets of fortune and the abuse of his
contemporaries prove him to have been inclosed in the hide
of a rhinoceros, and the unblushing vanity with which he
quotes Shakspere, line after line, apparently under the
impression that it is entirely his own, is delightful, because
it reveals the man. Of course no other kind of book could
be tolerated if it were so crudely written.

I do not mean by these remarks to bid for favor, or beg
for mercy towards my own clumsiness ; I neither ask it nor
expect it.

So, as I now place my life in the hands of the public and
the critic, I can exclaim with Touchstone, "An ill-favored
thing, sir, but mine own''

CONTENTS

I RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD.

My First Playhouse. Earliest Appearances. My Friend Mrs.
Neal. First Appearance in New York. A Strange Playground. . i

II BOYHOOD.

Westward Ho ! Chicago in 1839. An Adventure in Springfield,
Illinois. Hard Times. James Wallack, Sr. The Elder Booth.
Macready. Our Voyage on a Flatboat 17

III BARN-STORMING AND MEXICAN EPISODE.

Barn-storming in Mississippi. Pudding Stanley. In Mexico.
Mr. and Mrs. James W. Wallack, Jr. John E. Owens 51

IV EARLY DAYS IN PHILADELPHIA AND NEW YORK.
Crossing the Alleghanies. My Friend the Scene Painter. William

E. Burton. An Effort in Greek Tragedy. Charles Burke 83

V STOCK, STAR, AND STAGE MANAGEMENT.

From Stock to Star. From Star to Stock. The Elder Booth as Sir
Giles Overreach* The Southern Theatrical Circuit. A Wandering
Star. The Balcony Scene. Julia Dean. Legitimate Comedy.
James E. Murdoch. Henry Placide. A Play an Animated
Picture. Edwin Forrest Ill

VI FIRST VISIT TO EUROPE.

From London to Paris. An Early Comedy. In the Second-hand
Shops. Return to America .* 171

VII WITH LAURA KEENE.

"The Heir-at-Law." Dramatic Action. "Our American Cousin."
A Theatrical Quarrel. Changes in Old Plays. "The Duchess,". 183

VIII AT THE WINTER GARDEN; AND "Rip VAN WINKLE.*'
The Winter Garden. Caleb Plummer. I Receive Good Advice.
« The Octoroon." Some Remarks on Guying. The Comedian's
Disadvantage. The First Successful Star Comedian. How I Came

to Play "Rip Van Winkle." Failure in San Francisco. Harry Perry. 207

ix

x CONTENTS

PAGE

IX IN AUSTRALIA, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND, AND NEW ZEALAND.

From California to Australia. Sydney. Melbourne. The Skele
ton Dance. The Shepherd. An Australian Tragedy. A Terrible
Audience. The Keans. A Chinese Theater 231

sX IN SOUTH AMERICA.

Callao. Lima. A Midnight Funeral. A Beggar on Horseback.
The Theater in Callao. A Religious Tableau. A Tropical City.
Leaving South America. An Incident in Panama 275

XI IN LONDON.

The New «* Rip Van Winkle." English Relatives. John Brougham.
Tom Robertson. Artemus Ward 302

XII EAST AND WEST.

Edwin Adams. The Combination System. George D. Prentice.
Tom Glessing again. George Holland. "The Little Church
Around the Corner." Charles Fechter y&

XIII SCENES AND THOUGHTS ABROAD.

Once More in Paris. French Acting. French and English Paint
ers, English Acquaintances. The Reverend Joseph Jefferson.
Gainsborough. In Scotland. In Ireland 346

XIV AT HOME AGAIN.

Booth's Theater. Talks with Charles Mathews on Acting. John
B. Rice. "The Rivals." William Warren 381

XV SOME OLD FRIENDS.

Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams. John Drew. Charlotte Cush-
man. Mrs. Drake. F. S. Chanfrau. John T. Raymond. John
McCullough. The Lester Wallack Benefit. Actors of To-day and
Yesterday 4™

XVI REFLECTIONS ON THE ART OF ACTING.

The Dramatic Instinct. Spontaneity and Preparation. Rehearsals.
A Warm, Heart and a Cool Head. Taking Time. Advice to
Beginners. Remarks suggested by " Rip Van Winkle." Realism
and Idealism. Dramatic Writing 425

XVIJ IN LOUISIANA.

The " Pirate of the Gulf. " Pierre Landry and his Wife. Under
the Live-Oaks. Conclusion 464

APPENDIX, SHAKSPERE vs. BACON 477

INDEX • 485

ILLUSTRATIONS

OPPOSITE PAGE.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON. FRONTISPIECE ,

Engraved by G. Kruell, from a photograph by Pach Brothers.
TYRONE POWER 4

After the steel plate engraved by C. Turner, from the painting by
John Simpson. Published by W. Kenneth.

CHARLES BURKE 8

From a painting in possession of the author.
OLD JEWISH BURYING-GROUND, PEARL STREET, NEAR CHATHAM,

NEW YORK CITY 16

JOSEPH JEFFERSON (GRANDFATHER OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON) IN THE

CHARACTER OF " SOLUS," IN THE COMEDY " EVERY ONE HAS

His FAULTS." 22

From the painting by Neagle.
JOSEPH JEFFERSON (FATHER OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON) 36

From a painting, artist unknown.
PORTRAIT OF JAMES WALLACK 40

From the collection of Thomas J. McKee.
MACREADY AS « WILLIAM TELL." 44

After the painting by Henry Inman, owned by Joseph Jefterson.

JAMES W. WALLACK, JR 72

From a photograph by Gurney.
MRS, JAMES W. WALLACK, JR 76

From a photograph by Fredericks.
JOHN E. OWENS 80

From a photograph by Bachrach.

JOHN E. OWENS AS " SOLON SHINGLE." 82

WILLIAM E. BURTON AS " DOCTOR OLLAPOD." 96

From the painting by Inm'an, after an engraving by Sartain.
xi

xii ILLUSTRATIONS •

OPPOSITE PACK,

WILLIAM E. BURTON AS " CAPTAIN CUTTLE." 100

From a daguerreotype by Meade Brothers, after a lithograph by
Sarony & Major.

MR. C. BURKE, AMERICAN COMEDIAN. IN COMEDY, DRAMA, FARCE,

AND BURLESQUE 108

From a lithograph by J. L. Magee.

CORNELIA JEFFERSON (MOTHER OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON) AS

" JESSICA." nS

After the painting by Neagle.

JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH AS " RICHARD THE THIRD." 128

From a copperplate engraving, after a drawing by C. Shoosmith.
From the collection of Edwin Booth.

THE SAVANNAH THEATER PREVIOUS TO 1884 133

From a photograph lent by J. D. Johnson.
SIR WILLIAM DON 136

MRS. J. H. ALLEN 140

Engraved by Charles State, from a photograph by Fredericks.
From the collection of Thomas J. McKee.

JULIA DEAN 146

After a photograph by Bradley & Rulofson.

HENRY PLACIDE 148

From a photograph by Fredericks.
CHESTNUT STREET THEATER, PHILADELPHIA 150

From a print published by William Birch in 18123.
JAMES E. MURDOCH 152

EDWIN FORREST ABOUT 1835 156

Drawn by S. Lawrence. Lithographed by E. Morton.

EDWIN FORREST 160

Photographed by Gutekunst. Engraved by T. Johnson.

EDWIN FORREST AS "METAMORA." 164

Photographed by Brady. Engraved by T. Johnson.

EDWIN FORREST AS "KING LEAR." i6S

Photographed by Brady. Engraved by T. Johnson.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS « DR. PANGLOSS." " PUT ALL THE HONORABLE
MR. DOWLAS'S CLOTHES AND LINEN INTO His FATHER'S

CHARIOT. " 184

Engraved by Charles State. Photographed by Falk.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " DR. PANGLOSS, LL. D,, A. S. S.," IN "THE
HEIR-AT-LAW." "DOCTOR PANGLOSS, THE PHILOSOPHER,

TEACH DANCING I " i$8

Engraved by R. G. Tietze. Photographed by Falk.

LAURA KEENE Jg3

Drawn from a lithograph lent by Thomas ]. McKee.

. ILLUSTRATIONS

OPPOSITE PAGE.

"WAIT, I AIN'T THROUGH YET." JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "As A

TRENCHARD," IN *' OUR AMERICAN COUSIN." 196

From a photograph taken in 1858 by Meade Brothers.
E. A. SOTHERN AS " LORD DUNDREARY," IN " OUR AMERICAN

COUSIN." 200

From a photograph by Sarony.

W. R. BLAKE 204

From an etching by H. B. Hall, lent by Thomas J. McKee.
JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " CALEB PLUMMER," IN "THE CRICKET ON

THE HEARTH." 208

Drawn from a photograph by Morrison, Chicago.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "NEWMAN NOGGS," IN "NICHOLAS NICKLEBY." 212
Engraved by R. G. Tietze. From a photograph formerly owned by
John Brougham, lent by Peter Gilsey.

"TAKE CARE, JACOB, DON'T RILE ME!" JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS

" SALEM SCUDDER," IN " THE OCTOROON." 216

Engraved by H. Davidson. Photographed by Falk.

TYRONE POWER AS " CORPORAL O'CONOR." 220

From the lithograph by Gooding & Gulliford, after the portrait by
Wageman.

BARNEY WILLIAMS 224

From a photograph by Bogardus.
HARRY A. PERRY 230

From a print in the collection of Thomas J. McKee. 4

MR. CHARLES KEAN AS " KING JOHN." 264

Engraved by E. Clement,

MRS. CHARLES KEAN AS " HERMIONE," 268

Engraved by J. H. E. Whitney.

PAUL BEDFORD 304

From a photograph by Walker & Sons.

BENJAMIN WEBSTER • 308

From a photograph by Elliott & Fry.

JOHN BROUGHAM AS THE «O*GRADY," IN "ARRAH NA POGUE" .. 312
From a photograph by Chancellor, Dublin. From the collection of *
Thomas J. McKee.

T. W. ROBERTSON 316

From a photograph by Walker & Sons.

ARTEMUS WARD 320

From a photograph by Walker & Sons.

EDWIN ADAMS 324

From a photograph by Gurney in the collection of Thomas J. Mo
Kee.

GEORGE HOLLAND 336

From the collection of Thomas J. McKee.

ILLUSTRATIONS

OPPOSITE PAGE

CHARLES FECHTER — 34*

From a photograph by Heath & Bean, of the lithograph by D'AI-
maine & Co.

THE REVEREND JOSEPH JEFFERSON 3&

From a photograph by Baker.

AGNES ROBERTSON 36$

Engraved by R. G. Tietze, from a photograph by Fredericks. From
the collection of Thomas J. McKee.

BOOTH'S THEATER, TWENTY-THIRD STREET AND SIXTH AVENUE,

NEW YORK 3&

JOHN GILBERT AS " SIR PETER TEAZLE." 384

C. J. MATHEWS 38$

Engraved by R. G. Tietze, from a photograph by Mayall.

CHARLES J. MATHEWS AS "TiM," IN "OLD AND YOUNG STAGER." 392
From a sketch by R. J. Lane, published by J. Dickinson.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " BOB ACRES " 396

Drawn by Otto H. Bacher, from a photograph by Sarony.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " BOB ACRES " 400

Engraved by F. S. King, from a photograph by Sarony.

WILLIAM WARREN AS " HERR WEIGEL," IN « MY SON " 404

Engraved by E. H. Delorme, from a photograph by C. F. Conly.

WILLIAM WARREN AS "JEFFERSON SCATTERING BATKINS n 408

Engraved by H. Velten, from a photograph by Notman.

JOHN DREW AS «HANDY ANDY." 412

From a photograph.
MRS. A. DRAKE 416

From miniature in the possession of her granddaughter, Mrs.

Blanche Ford.
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE 4Xg

From a daguerreotype.
F. S. CHANFRAU ^

Engraved by W. J. Hirschman, after a colored lithograph in the

collection of Thomas J. McKee.
LESTER WALLACE ^2

Engraved by D. Nichols, from a photograph by Fredericks taken in

1856. From the collection of Thomas J. McKee.
MRS. BARNEY WILLIAMS 424

From a photograph by Mora.
JOHN DREW AS « THE IRISH EMIGRANT." 428

Drawn by Otto H. Bacher, from a photograph.
JOHN T. RAYMOND AS " COL. SELLERS " 4.12

Engraved by A. H. Hutchins, from a photograph by Sarony.
JOHN McCuLLouGH AS " VIRGINIUS " 43$

Engraved by T. Johnson, from a photograph by Conly.

ILLUSTRATIONS xv

OPPOSITE PAGE.
J. B. BUCKSTONE 440

From a photograph by Walker & Sons.
SARAH STEVENS 444

Engraved by A. H. Hutchins, from a photograph by Fredericks.

From the collection of Thomas J. McKee.
CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 448

From a photograph by Sarony.
" I BELIEVE I VAS ! " JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " RIP VAN WINKLE." 452

Engraved by H. Davidson. Photographed by Sarony.
" VERB is DAT VAT You READ ? " JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " RIP VAN

WINKLE." 456

Engraved by J. H. E. Whitney. Photographed by Sarony.
" Is DAT THE VILLAGE OF FALLING VATER." JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS

" RIP VAN WINKLE. " 460

Engraved by T. Johnson. Photographed by Walker & Sons.
PIERRE LANDRY AND His WIFE 468

Engraved by Henry Marsh, from a photograph.
A MEMORY OF LOUISIANA 472

Monotype by Joseph Jefferson. Photo-engraved reproduction of the

wood-engraving by J. H. E. Whitney,

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
JOSEPH JEFFERSON

CHAPTER I

RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD

My First Playhouse — Earliest Appearances — My
Friend Mrs. Neal — First Appearance in New
York — A Strange Playground

I MAY almost say that I was born in a theater.
.At all events, my earliest recollections are en
tirely connected with one; it was a rickety
old frame building with a broad gable, facing on a
wide avenue, and situated in the city of Washing
ton, The door from our back entry opened upon the
stage, and as a toddling little chap in a short frock
I was allowed full run of the place. So " behind
the scenes " was my first playhouse. And what a
playhouse it was, filled with all sorts of material
for the exercise of my youthful imagination. At
the back was the Bay of Naples, with its conven
tional blue sky just faintly clouded with the distant

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

smoke of slumbering Vesuvius. Upon one side
stood long and stately rows of Corinthian columns,
a triumphal arch, and next to that a Roman palace.
These marvels of ancient architecture were all lean
ing up against the wall, not only in an uncomforta
ble position, but at a dangerous angle, looking as
though they had been toppled over during the last
days of Pompeii. Upon the other side, heaped in a
compact mass, were many scenes of various coun
tries — there a five-storied brownstone-front with
modern improvements, and here a tiny thatched
cottage of the eighteenth century, with a lovely lit
tle door in it just large enough for me to go in and
out of, slamming it after me and pretending it was
mine. Then there was that dear little white paling
fence, exactly two feet high : no legitimate theater
of the old school could possibly be complete with
out this curiosity, and nobody ever saw such a thing
anywhere else. Then came the throne-steps, with
two Gothic arm-chairs set thereon for the king and
queen, and in front of these the old familiar green
bank from which stray babies are usually stolen
when left there by affectionate but careless mothers.
Upon the top of this were two flat swans hitched in
double harness to a shell for traveling fairy queens,
A little farther down there stood a low and dismal
vault having a square, dark opening with some
mysterious letters painted over it, setting forth, as
I learned in after years, that it was the private
"Tomb of the Capulets." Close to this was an
other piece of real estate belonging to the same
family and known as " Juliet's balcony." In a dark

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 3

corner stood a robbers' cave with an opening
through which old Ali Baba used to lug the bags
of gold he had stolen from the Forty Thieves.
Through the narrow and secluded pathways of
"behind the scenes" I have often wandered out
upon the open stage and wondered at this grove of
wings and flats, and I could see that many ropes
were hanging from above to which were fastened
boats and baskets, tubs and chandeliers, and those
sure tokens of bad weather, the thunder-drum and
rain-box.

Such were the objects that my childish eyes
were wont to look upon, and in this huge and
dusty toy-shop, made for children of a larger
growth, I got my first experience. I had seen many
rehearsals, and sometimes enjoyed a peep at the
play, having been taken on "in arms" as a property
child in groups of happy peasantry. Naturally,
therefore, I was stage-struck at an early age ; and
as I had a theater stocked with scenery and proper
ties, I could indulge my passion at small expense,
especially as my stock company were volunteers
consisting of two little boys and their sister, who
used to play with me" on Saturdays. This was
before the star system had set in, and at a period
when combinations were unknown.

Of course I was stage-manager by the right of
possession, and had to compile all of the plays.
The plots were very simple and made to conform
with what set pieces we could get at, or what prop
erties we could secure and hide during the ab
sence of the property man. If the set cottage

4 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

was handy I would come out of the door as an old
man (the age represented by a spinal affection)
with a daughter and a market-basket: old man
cross, daughter rebellious ; old man locks daughter
in cottage, goes off to market shaking his fist (spine
still weak). The favored lover enters, claps his
hands three times ; daughter appears at window,
kisses her hand ; old man coughs outside, favored
lover conceals himself; enter old man with market-
basket full of gilded pasteboard goblets, accom
panied by unfavored -lover ; they sit down and drink
wine out of goblets till overcome. Favored lover
steals key from old man's pocket, releases rebel
lious daughter ; the sleepers awaken, general pur
suit; favored lover and rebellious daughter escape
over bridge, old man and unfavored lover fall into
the water. Curtain.

Then there were the private boxes to play hide-
and-seek in, with mysterious nooks and ample cur
tains to creep into, and such chances to kiss the
little girl in the dark. I am quite convinced that
there is no such playground as a deserted theater
in the daytime.

In the greenroom there was a noble mirror. I
loved to stand in front of it and act. But I was
not alone in this. Many of the great players, long
since passed away, have stood before this stately
glass ;. and often in the evening, when clad in my
night-gown, I have escaped from the nurse, and
stealing on tip-toe to the greenroom door have
peeped in and beheld these magnates with dignified
satisfaction surveying themselves in their kingly

TYRONE POWER.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 5

robes : now a small man with piercing steel-gray
eye, possibly the elder Booth; then a tall, gaunt
figure, weird and majestic, Macready most likely ;
at another time a young and beautiful queen in
white satin — this must have been Fanny Kemble;
again a tall and graceful figure in a scarlet mili
tary coat posing with an extravagant swagger and
evidently admiring himself — undoubtedly Tyrone
Power, the great Irish comedian.

As a matter of course, being the son of the
manager, and almost living in the theater, I was
always pressed into the dramatic service whenever
a small child was wanted. Even before I can re
member I was taken on to do duty in long clothes ;
in fact, such was the histrionic ambition of my
mother that I believe if Tilly Slowboy had existed
in those days I should have been confided to her
tender mercies at the risk of a collision between
my head and the tea-kettle.

The first dim recollection I have of a public ap
pearance comes before me as a startled child in a
white tunic beautifully striped with gold bands, and
in the grasp and on the shoulders of an infuriated
tragedian crossing a shaky bridge amid the deafen
ing report of guns and pistols and in a blaze of
fire and smoke. To me the situation seemed peril
ous, and in order to render my position more
secure I seized Rolla by the hair of his head. " Let
go," he cried ; but I was obeying the first law of
nature, not Rolla, so I tightened my grasp upon his
tragic top-knot. The battle was short but decisive,
for in the next moment I had pulled off his feather-

6 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

duster head-dress, wig and all, thereby unintention
ally scalping the enemy ; and, as he was past the
prime of life, the noble Peruvian stood bald-headed
in the middle of the bridge before an admiring
audience. This story has the flavor of an old anec
dote, but I am credibly informed that I was the
original scalper.

About this time — I was three years old — there
dawned upon the public a new entertainment in
the shape of the " Living Statues/' by a Mr.
Fletcher. I was much taken with these novel
tableaux, and became so statue-struck that I could
do nothing but strike attitudes, now posing before
the greenroom glass as " Ajax Defying the Light
ning," or falling down in dark corners as the ** Dying
Gladiator." These postures appear to have been
so successful with the family that they were, as
usual, tried upon the public. I am in the dark as
to whether this entertainment was the " talk of the
town " or not, but I fancy not: an attenuated child
representing Hercules struggling with a lion could
scarcely excite terror ; so I presume I did no harm
if I did no good.

To go from white to black, "Jim Crow," in the
person of T. D. Rice, now burst upon the town.
The legitimate drama has at all times been subject
to startling innovations, and surely here was a
great blow. The success of this the first and cer
tainly the best knight of the burnt cork was quite
marvelous; he drew more money than any star
of the season* It is reported that his first hit in
Washington was repeated in all the great cities

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 1

of the country, and his advent in Europe even sur
passed his career here. In London he acted in two
theaters nightly, the same people in many instances
following him from one theater to the other.

Of course this fantastic figure had a great in
fluence upon me, and I danced Jim Crow from the
garret to the cellar. The comedian saw my imita
tion of him, and insisted that I should appear for
his benefit ; so on that occasion I was duly blacked
up and dressed as a complete miniature likeness of
the original. He put me in a bag, which almost
smothered me, and carried me upon the stage on
his shoulders. No word of this proceeding had
been mentioned in the bills, so that, figuratively
speaking, the public were as much in the dark as
I was. After dancing and singing the first stanza
he began the second, the following being the two
lines which introduced me:

O Ladies and Gentlemen, I 7d have you for to know-
That I 've got a little darky here that jumps Jim Crow;

and turning the bag upside down he emptied me
out fread first before the eyes of the astonished
audience. The picture must have been a curious
one ; it is as vividly before me now as any recol
lection of my past life.

Rice was considerably over six feet high, I was
but four years old, and as we stood there, dressed
exactly alike, the audience roared with laughter.
Rice and I now sang alternate stanzas and the
excitement increased; showers of -pennies, six
pences, and shillings were tossed from the pit and

8 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

thrown from the galleries upon the stage. I took
no notice of this, but suddenly the clear, ringing
sound of a dollar caught iny ear, and as the bright
coin was rolling from the stage into the orchestra
I darted forward and secured the prize. Holding
it triumphantly between my finger and thumb I
grinned at the leader of the orchestra as much as
to say, "No, you don't/' This not only brought
down the house, but many half-dollars and dollars
besides. At the fall of the curtain twenty-four
dollars were picked up and given into my de
lighted hands. For years afterwards I was made
to understand that this money was placed in bank
to my credit, and I fear that I often borrowed small
sums on the strength of my prospective wealth.
Our family about this time consisted of father and
mother, my half-brother, Charles Burke, and my
self; but there was one other member of the house
hold who deserves special mention. She was not
one of the family, certainly, but the group would
be very incomplete without her. Her name was
Mary. She was that strange kind of woman who,
while housekeeper, nurse, friend, and attendant,
will never take any wages (which I think must
have been rather fortunate in this case), and whom
everybody depends upon. We would not have
parted with her for all the world, and could not have
driven her away if we had tried — a faithful, loving,
truthful friend, with no ambition or thought for her
self; living only for us, and totally unconscious of
her own existence. I have no doubt that there is
some such being attached to many a family, but I

CHARLES BURKE,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 9

'know that our family was just that queer sort of
party that could not have done without one. This
lady (for she was a lady) was my foster-mother —
dear Mary! — always taking my faults on herself,
finding excuses for my badness, and spoiling me,
of course.

A year or two rolled by and I find we were in
Baltimore, where my sister was born. She divided
the honors with me then, and I was, in consequence
of this new arrival, not made quite so much of. I
remember as a boy I was always being injured, — •
at least, according to my account, — so that people
were rather suspicious of me ; and I find this theory
holds good as we grow older : that whenever a man
comes to us with a tale of his injuries we look on him
with distrust, and as he recounts the details of his
persecution the question revolves itself in our minds,
" I wonder what rascality this fellow has been up
to." The world has no time to injure any one;
these unfortunate people injure themselves, and so
turn into some other channel the current of happi
ness that might have flowed to them.

But to return to my early persecutions. A neigh
bor, whose weak points I had discovered, bestowed
on me one day a smooth sixpence. I showed it to my
brother Charlie, who, looking at it with some dispar
agement, said that in its present obliterated state it
would pass for only about four cents, but that if I
would bury it for an hour the original figures would
show themselves and it would pass for its full value ;
or, what would be better, let it remain in the ground
for a day and it would grow to a shilling. This

10 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

announcement struck me with wonder and delight,
so off we started for the garden to plant this smooth
sixpence. After making the interment and care
fully marking it with a small headstone we de
parted. I went back to the house and whispered
the whole affair into the ears of Mary ; she de
nounced the operation as a fraud, and bid me hurry
and get my sixpence if I ever expected to see it
again. I started off at a full run for the garden.
The headstone was there, but the sixpence had
gone. The body-snatcher had accomplished his
cruel work. Throwing myself on my back and kick
ing my heels in the air, I soon made the neighbor
hood ring with my frantic yells. The fatally rushed
out, and I detailed to them the dark plot of my guilty
brother. I determined now that nothing short of a
shilling should calm my feelings, and I yelled till
I got it.

I am not quite sure as to dates, and many inci
dents come up before me in a confused form, while
a number are traditional ; but there are certain facts
connected with my early life about which there can
be no mistake, and it is quite clear that I was what
is understood to be a bad boy and hard to manage*
If I heard an oath I cherished it as a newly found
treasure, and would practice it in priyate. All this
was no fault of my bringing up, for both father and
mother were very particular and exacting in the
conduct of home. I was made to say my prayers
every night, a good example was always set before
me, and sound moral principles were continually
instilled into my youthful mind. The prayers I used

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 11

to rattle off — usually thinking of something else
while I was saying them — as quickly as religious
decorum and my mother would permit, and the
sound moral principles and good examples seemed
to have the effect of making me the champion exe
cutioner of all the stray cats in our neighborhood.
The banging of a tin kettle tied to the tail of an
unlucky dog was music to my childish ears ; and
much as I love animals now, in the innocence of
childhood I pursued them with such energy that
had Mr. Bergh held his commission in those days
I should have been seen oftener in the police court
than at Sunday-school.

My mother had a friend in Philadelphia, a Mrs.
Neal, who kept a bookstore in Sixth street, near
Chestnut; she was the mother of Joe Neal, the
young author of the " Charcoal Sketches." I was
a great favorite with her. She always wore a black
dress with a white cap ; the cap had a little fluted
frill around it, very prim, and very much starched.
She was a dear old lady with a sweet smile and
large, wide, blue eyes ; just the credulous and con
fiding sort of person that a boy of seven could wind
around his little finger.

My imagination was wonderfully fertile : I could
at the shortest notice get up a harrowing tale of
woe that would make the stiff frills on her cap
fairly tremble with benevolent agitation. Now it
so happened about this time that I was in a state of
insolvency, being heavily in debt at the candy-store,
and sorely pressed by an exacting peanut-man at
the corner. If I was short of a penny or two,— T

12 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

usually the case with me, — I would dishevel my
hair, rush through the store into the back room,
and, sinking in an exhausted condition into the little
chair by the fireplace, call for a glass of water. The
startled old lady would jump up crying, " What 's
the matter, Joe?" " Don't ask me — water, wa
ter ! " " Yes, in a moment, my dear boy." Then,
in a feeble voice, "Put some raspberry syrup in it,
please, Mrs. Neal?" "Yes, my darling.1' And
now having been refreshed with this stimulant, I
would in a tremulous voice, — a little overacted,
perhaps, — relate some dire calamity I had just
witnessed, giving the full particulars; in fact, the
greater the fabrication the more minute I was as to
the details. I would perhaps tell her that I had
just seen a lovely little girl with blue eyes and
golden hair run over by fire-engine No, 6 ; her
head, severed from her body, had rolled from the
middle of the street into the gutter, and lay smiling
at my feet ; or perhaps I had pulled the little girl
from under the wheels just previous to decapitation
and saved her life — refusing a large reward from
her father. The shock had been so great that
nothing short of an immediate supply of pepper
mint drops would ever obliterate it from my mind —
and where was I to get them? I was in disgrace
at the candy-store and had no money. " My dear
child," the old soul would say, " there is a penny for
you." "Oh, no, I could n't take it"— knowing
very well that she would force it upon me. " Ah,
Mrs. Neal, I do not deserve all your kindness/' —
the only true words I had spoken to her,— "indeed

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 13

I don't." I 'm not at all sure that she swallowed
all my romantic stories, and it is quite possible
that she liked to draw me out just to enjoy. my
exaggerations.

I was one of those restless, peevish children who,
no matter what they have, always want something
else. The last new toy was always dissected to see
what made it go, and the anticipated one kept me
awake all night " When will it be sent home ? "
" About two o'clock." "Well, what time is it
now?" — and so on, musing, fretting, discontented,
and rude. Mother said it was badness, Mary said
affection.

As I look back many strange images appear that
puzzle me. Some of these scenes I know are real,
and others appear to have been dreams. At times
this confusion resolves itself into a chaos, and I
fancy that I shall not be able to disintegrate the
shadows from the realities. For instance, I perfectly
well remember walking through the smoky ruins of
New York with my father, after the great fire of
1 83 5. While we were looking at this charred mass
and watching the busy people hunting for half-con
sumed treasures, and firemen pouring streams of
water on the smoldering rafters, two Indians in
theatrical costumes began dancing, a war dance
which they terminated by tomahawking each other
in the most friendly way, and then bowing to the
people, who applauded them. Now I am quite
sure that the first part of this recollection was a
reality, and it seems pretty clear that the latter part
of it was a dream. It is quite possible, therefore,

14 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

that in relating many of my juvenile adventures
I may be led, or misled, into some unintentional
exaggerations.

In referring to Ireland's <c Records of the New
York Stage," I find the following notice of my first
appearance in that city:

Master Titus, whose songs and dances were much applauded,
took a benefit on the 3oth, when he appeared with Master Joseph
Jefferson in a celebrated combat, it being this lad's first appear
ance out of the juvenile supernumerary ranks. This little fellow
was the grandson of the great comedian of the same name, and is
the third Joseph Jefferson known to our stage. He was born at
Philadelphia, February 20, 1829.

I remember this circumstance quite well — not the
birth, but the combat. Young Titus was attired as
an American sailor, I being dressed to represent a
Greek pirate. I was much smaller than my antag
onist, but as the fight was for his benefit, good
taste suggested that he should overcome and
slay me, — which he did, — and as the curtain
came down I was flat on my back, and the Ameri
can sailor, waving a star-spangled banner over me,
placed his foot magnanimously on the chest of the
vanquished Greek. The fight was encored, so I
had to come to life again — quite a common thing
for stage pirates — and die twice. I rather delighted
in being the vanquished foe : nothing could possibly
be more manly than a slain pirate. Mr. Ireland
mentions that the combat was "celebrated7*; for
what, I am at a loss to conjecture. In the accounts
of our last war with the Greeks there is no mention
made of this circumstance. If, therefore, the com-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 15

bat was "celebrated," it must have been for histori
cal inaccuracy. I remembered this battle with pride
for years. The beneficiary must have remembered
it too, as it was traditional in our family that I came
near cutting off a big toe of little Titus in the conflict.

In New York we lived in the third story of No.
26 James street, next to the Catholic church, and
opposite to the " Bunch of Grapes," a hotel kept by
one George Bickford. The second floor was occu
pied by John Sefton, the comedian and manager,
and the lower part of the house by a Mr. Titus and
his family. Our fence in the rear separated us from
an old graveyard. How this curious old cemetery
ever got wedged in between the buildings that sur
rounded it is a mystery. Perhaps in times gone
by an old church may have stood at the outskirts of
the little village of New York, and beneath these
stones " the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,"
Passing down the Bowery on the elevated railroad,
by looking on the left-hand side, just after the train
branches off towards Pearl street, this queer nook
may be discovered, and if the inmates only had the
power of noting the progress of the times, they would
be considerably astonished to see their descend
ants whirled over their heads on a railroad in the air.

After school the boys with whom I fraternized
would join me in this secluded spot for our evening
games — the high tombstones for "I spy/' and the
flat ones to act on. The place had long since
ceased to be used as a burial-ground, so our sports
were uninterrupted. The boys in the neighbor
hood were like all other boys in all neighborhoods

16 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

mischievous. My arrival had given a fresh im
petus in this respect, and the graveyard offered a fine
field for the indulgence of sacrilegious amusements*
Ornamenting the tombstones was quite a specialty
with one of our playmates. He had, previous to
my advent, already painted a large red face, in a
broad grin, on a headstone erected to the memory
of the Rev. Jacob Boul. After consultation with
the artist, I cocked a battered hat, sidewise, on the
top of the face, and drilling a hole in its mouth,
stuck a pipe in it, thus giving a cheerful tone to the
monument, and almost robbing de'ath of its sting.

Saturday, there being no school, was generally set
apart as our " Decoration Day," and it was rare
sport to get a marking-brush with a pot of black
paint and embellish the virtues of the departed sin
ners. We were astonishingly brave in the day
light, even defying the dead bones to arise and face
us if they dared, but as twilight set in our courage
cooled, and we would talk lower. Sometimes, as
one boy after another would scamper home, leaving
the place "to darkness and to me," I would saunter
slowly along with my hands in my pockets, whistling
a nervous defiance to ghosts in general and these
ghosts in particular, but taking care not to walk
over the flat tombstones, upon which in the day
light I would dance with impunity. Now, as the
shadows of night gathered around me, I would
increase my pace, scampering faster and faster
through the tall grass, and rapidly climbing over
the fence, fancying that the Rev. Mr, Boul would
soon have me by the leg if I did not hurry.

OLD JEWISH BURYING-GROUND, PEARL STREET, NEW YORK CITY.

CHAPTER II
BOYHOOD

Westward Ho! — Chicago in 1839 — ^n Adven
ture in Springfield, Illinois — Hard Times —
James Wallack, Sr.— The Elder Booth — Mac-
ready — Our Voyage on a Flatboat

IN the year 1 838 the new town of Chicago had just
turned from an Indian village into a thriving lit
tle place, and my uncle had written to my father
urging him to join in the management of the new
theater which was then being built there. As each
fresh venture presented itself my father's hopeful
nature predicted immediate and successful results.
He had scarcely finished the letter when he declared
that our fortunes were made, so we turned our faces
towards the setting sun. In those days 'a journey
from Albany to Chicago was no small undertaking
for a large family in straitened circumstances ; cer
tain cherished articles had to be parted with to
procure necessary comforts for the trip. I really
do not know how, but we got from Albany to
Schenectady, where we acted for a few nights with

a 17

18 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

a company that was playing there. Several of the
actors, who had received no salary for some time,
decided to accompany my father and seek their for
tunes in the West

As I remember it, our journey was long, but not
tedious. We traveled part of the way in a fast-
sailing packet-boat on the Erie Canal, the only
smoke issuing from the caboose stove-pipe. I can
remember our party admiring this craft with the
same enthusiasm that we now express in looking
at a fine ocean steamer. She was painted white
and green and enlivened with blue window blinds,
and a broad red stripe running from bow to stern.
Her name was the Pioneer, which was to us most
suggestive, as our little band was among the early
dramatic emigrants to the far West The boat re
sembled a Noah's ark with a flat roof, and my
father, like the patriarch of old, took his entire
family on board, with this difference, however —
he was required to pay his passage, it being under
stood between him and the captain that he should
stop a night in Utica and one in Syracuse, give
a theatrical entertainment in each place, and hand
over the receipts in payment of our fare.

We acted in Utica for one night, and the receipts
were quite good. My father and mother were in
high spirits, and there is no doubt that the captain
had hopes that the next night's entertainment
in Syracuse would liquidate our liabilities, for
there was a visible improvement in the coffee at
breakfast, and an extra piece of pie all around for
dinner. The next night, unfortunately, the ele-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 19

ments were against us : it rained in torrents and
the attendance was light, so that we were short of
our passage money about ten dollars.

The captain being a strict member of the

Church could not attend either of the perform
ances, and as he was in his heart most anxious to
see what acting was like, he proposed that if the
company would " cut up " for him and give him a
private show in the cabin he would call it " square."
Our actors, being highly legitimate, declined; but
my mother, ever anxious to show off the histrionic
qualities of her son, proposed that I should sing
some comic songs for the captain, and so ransom
the rest of the actors. The captain turned it over
in his mind, — being, I am afraid, a little suspicious
of my genius, — but after due consideration con
sented. So he prepared himself for the entertain
ment, the cook and my mother comprising the rest
of the audience. The actors had wisely retired to
the upper deck, as they had been afflicted on former
occasions. I now began a dismal comic song
called "The Devil and Little Mike." It consisted
of some twenty-five stanzas, each one containing two
lines with a large margin of " whack fol de riddle."
It was never quite clear whether the captain en
joyed this entertainment or not : my mother said he
did, for, though the religious turn of his mind would
naturally suppress any impulse to applaud, he said
even before I had half finished that he was quite
satisfied.

On our arrival in Buffalo we found another
pioneer company, under the management of Dean

20 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and McKenney. Here we staid over two or three
days, waiting for the steamer to take us up the
lakes. Marble was starring there ;. he was one of
the first and best of the Yankee comedians. In
those days the stage New Englander was acted
and dressed in a most extravagant manner, I re
member seeing Marble play, and his costume was
much after the present caricature of Uncle Sam,
minus the .stars but glorying in the stripes.

In a few days we steamed up the beautiful lakes
of Erie, Huron, and Michigan. The boat would
stop sometimes for hours at one of the stations to
take in wood, or a stray passenger, and then the
Indians would paddle out to us in their canoes
offering their beadwork and moccasins for sale.
Sometimes we would go ashore and walk on the
beach gathering pebbles, carnelians, and agates* I
thought them of immense value, and kept my treas
ures for years afterwards. What a lovely trip it
was as I remember it ! Lake Huron at sunset is
before me now — a purple sky melting into a
golden horizon ; rich green foliage on the banks ;
yellow sand with many-colored pebbles making
the beach of the lake ; the clear and glassy water ;
groups of Indians lolling on the banks, smoking
their pipes and making baskets; the hills dotted
with their little villages with tents made of skins and
painted canvas ; blue smoke curling slowly up in
the calm summer air; and all the bright colors
reflected in the lake. I stood there as a boy, skim
ming flat stones over the surface of the water, and
now as I write in the autumn of my life these once

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 21

quiet shores are covered with busy cities ; the fur
naces glow with melted iron, the locomotive
screams and whistles along the road where once
the ox-teams used to carry the mail, and corner
lots and real-estate agents "fill the air." When
we think that all these wonderful changes have
taken place within the last fifty years, it is startling
to speculate upon what the next half century may
bring about

So day by day passes, till one night a light is
espied in the distance, then another, and then
many more dance and reflect themselves in the
water. It is too late to go ashore, so we drop
anchor. At sunrise we are all on deck looking at
the haven of our destination, and there in the
morning light, on the shores of Lake Michigan,
stands the little town of Chicago, containing two
thousand inhabitants. Aunt, uncle, and their chil
dren come to meet and welcome us. Then there
is such a shaking of hands and a kiss all round,
and "Why, how well you are looking!" and "Is
this Charlie ? How he has grown ! " " Why, that 's
not Joe! Dear me, who'd have believed it?"
And then we all laugh again and have another
kiss.

The captain said he had enjoyed a splendid trip,
such fun, such music and singing and dancing.
" Well, good-bye all," " Good luck " ; and off we go
ashore and walk through the busy little town, busy
even then, people hurrying to and fro, frame build
ings going up, board sidewalks going down, new
hotels, new churches, new theaters, everything new.

22 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Saw and hammer, — saw, saw, bang, bang, — look
out for the drays ! — bright and muddy streets, —
gaudy-colored calicos, — blue and red flannels and
striped ticking hanging outside the dry-goods
stores, — bar-rooms, — real-estate offices, — attor-
neys-at-law — oceans of them.

And now for the new theater, newly painted
canvas, tack-hammer at work on stuffed seats in
the dress-circle, planing-boards . in the pit, new
drop-curtain let down for inspection, u beautiful!"
— a medallion of Shakspere, suffering from a severe
pain in his stomach, over the center, with " One touch
of nature makes the whole world kin" written
under him, and a large, painted, brick-red drapery
looped up by Justice, with sword and scales, show
ing an arena with a large number of gladiators
hacking away at one another in the distance to a
delighted Roman public ; though what Justice had
to do with keeping these gladiators on exhibition
was never clearly explained by the artist There
were two private boxes with little white-and-gold
balustrades and turkey-red curtains, over one box a
portrait of Beethoven and over the other a portrait of
Handel — upon unfriendly terms, glaring at each
other. The dome was pale blue, with pink-and- white
clouds, on which reposed four ungraceful ballet girls
representing the seasons, and apparently dropping
flowers, snow, and grapes into the pit Over each
season there floated four fat little cherubim " in
various stages of spinal curvature."

My father, being a scenic artist himself, was
naturally disposed to be critical, and when the

JOSEPH JEFFERSON (GRANDFATHER OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON).

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 23

painter asked his opinion of the dome, he re
plied :

"Well, since you ask me, don't you think that
your angels are a little stiff in their attitudes ? "

"No, sir; not for angels. When I deal with
mythological subjects I never put my figures in
natural attitudes; it would be inharmonious. A
natural angel would be out of keeping with the
rest of the work."

To which my father replied that it was quite
likely that such would be the case. " But why
have you made Handel and Beethoven frown at
each other ? They are not mythological subjects."

"No, no," said the painter. "But they are
musicians, you know ; and great musicians always
quarrel, eh? Ha, ha!"

"Yes," said my father; "but as Handel died
before Beethoven was born, I don't see how any
coolness could have existed between them."

The foregoing dialogue, while it may not be
verbatim, is at least in the spirit of the original. I
could not possibly remember the exact words of
the different conversations that will naturally occur
through these chapters ; but I have placed them in
their present form> as I believe it is the clearest
and most effective way to tell the story. Many of
the conversations and incidents are traditional in
my family ; I have good reason to take them for
granted, and I must ask the reader to share my
confidence.

The greenroom was a perfect gem, with a
three-foot wavy mirror and cushioned seats around

24 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the wall — traps under the stage so convenient
that Ophelia could walk from her grave to her
dressing-room with perfect ease.

With what delight the actors looked forward to
the opening of a new theater in a new town, where
dramatic entertainments were still unknown — re
pairing their wardrobes, studying their new parts,
and speculating on the laurels that were to be won !

After a short season in Chicago, with the vary
ing success which in those days always attended
the drama, the company went to Galena for a short
season, traveling in open wagons over the prairie.
Our seats were the trunks that contained the ward
robe — those old-fashioned hair trunks of a mottled
and spotted character made from the skins of de
funct circus horses: "To what base uses we may
return!" These smooth hair trunks, with geo
metrical problems in brass tacks ornamenting their
surface, would have made slippery seats even on a
macadamized road, so one may imagine the diffi
culty we had in holding on while jolting over a
rough prairie. Nothing short of a severe pressure
on the brass tacks and a convulsive grip of the
handles could have kept us in position ; and when
ever a treacherous handle gave way our company
was for the time being just one member short As
we were not an express mail-train, of course we
were allowed more than twenty minutes for refresh
ments ; the only difficulty was the refreshments. We
stopped at farm-houses on the way for this uncer
tain necessity, and they were far apart If the
roads were heavy and the horses jaded, those

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 25

actors who had tender hearts and tough limbs
jumped out and walked to ease the poor brutes.
Often I have seen my father trudging along ahead
of the wagon, smoking his pipe, and I have no
doubt thin king of the large fortune he was going to
make in the next town, now and then looking back
with his light blue eyes, giving my mother a cheer
ful nod which plainly said : " I *m all right. This
is splendid ; nothing could be finer." If it rained
he was glad it was not snowing ; if it snowed he
was thankful it was not raining. This contented
nature was his only inheritance ; but it was better
than a fortune made in Galena or anywhere else,
for nothing could rob him of it.

We traveled from Galena to Dubuque on the
frozen river in sleighs — smoother work than the
roughly rutted roads of the prairie ; but it was a
perilous journey, for a warm spell had set in and
made the ice sloppy and unsafe. We would some
times hear it crack and see it bend under our
horses' feet : now a long-drawn breath of relief as
we passed some dangerous spot, then a convulsive
grasping of our nearest companion as the ice
groaned and shook beneath us. Well, the passen
gers arrived safe, but, horror to relate 1 the sleigh
containing the baggage, private and public, with
the scenery and properties, green curtain and drop,
broke through the ice and tumbled into the Missis
sippi. My poor mother was in tears, but my
father was in high spirits at his good luck, as he
called it — because there was a sand-bar where the
sleigh went in ! So the things were saved at last,

26 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

though in a forlorn condition. The opening had
to be delayed in order to dry the wardrobe and
smooth the scenery.

The halls of the hotel were strung with clothes
lines, and the costumes of all nations festooned the
doors of the bedrooms, so that when an unsuspi
cious boarder came out suddenly into the entry he
was likely to run his head into a damp " Roman "
shirt, or perhaps have the legs of a soaking pair of
red tights dangling round his neck. Mildew filled
the air. The gilded pasteboard helmets fared the
worst. They had succumbed to the softening in
fluences of the Mississippi, and were as battered
and out of shape as if they had gone through the
pass of Thermopylae. Limp leggins of scale armor
hung wet and dejected from the lines ; low-spirited
cocked hats were piled up in a corner ; rough-dried
court coats stretched their arms out as if in the agony
of drowning, as though they would say, " Help me,
Cassius, or I sink." Theatrical scenery at its best
looks pale and shabby in the daytime, but a well-
worn set after a six-hours* bath in a river presents
the most woe-begone appearance that can well be
imagined ; the sky and water of the marine had
so mingled with each other that the horizon line
had quite disappeared. My father had painted the
scenery, and he was not a little crestfallen as he
looked upon the ruins : a wood scene had amalga
mated with a Roman street painted -on the back of
it, and had so run into stains and winding streaks
that he said it looked like a large map of South
America ; and, pointing out the Andes with his cane,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 27

he humorously traced the Amazon to its source.
Of course this mishap on the river delayed the
opening for a week. In the mean time the scenery
had to be repainted and the wardrobe put in order:
many of the things were ruined, and the helmets
defied repair.

After a short and, I think, a good season at Du-
buque, we traveled along the river to the different
towns just springing up in the West — Burlington,
Quincy, Peoria, Pekin, and Springfield. In those
primitive days, I need scarcely say, we were often
put to severe shifts for a theater.

In Quincy the court-house was fitted up, and
it answered admirably. In one town a large
warehouse was utilized, but in Pekin we were
reduced to the dire necessity of acting in a pork-
house. This establishment was a large frame
building, stilted up on piles about two feet from
the ground, and situated in the open prairie just
at the edge of the town. The pigs were banished
from their comfortable quarters, and left to browse
about on the common during the day, taking
shelter under their former abode in the evening.
After undergoing some slight repairs in the roof,
and submitting to a thorough scouring and white
washing, the building presented quite a respect
able appearance. The opening play was " Clari,
the Maid of Milan." This drama was written by
John Howard Payne, and his song of " Home,
Sweet Home "belongs to the play. My mother,
on this occasion, played the part of Clari and sang
the touching ballad.

28 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Now it is a pretty well established fact in theat
rical history that if an infant has been smuggled
into the theater under the shawl of its fond mother,
however dormant it may have been during the
unimportant scenes of the play, no sooner is an
interesting point arrived at, where the most perfect
stillness is required, than the " dear little innocent"
will break forth in lamentation loud and deep. On
this occasion no youthful humanity disturbed the
peace, but the "animal kingdom," in the shape of the
banished pigs, asserted its right to a public hearing.
As soon as the song of " Home, Sweet Home" com
menced they began by bumping their backs up
against the beams, keeping anything but good time
to the music ; and as my mother plaintively chanted
the theme "Sweet, Sweet Home/' realizing their
own cruel exile, the pigs squealed most dismally.
Of course the song was ruined, and my mother
was in tears at the failure. My father, however,
consoled her by saying that though the grunting
was not quite in harmony with the music, it was in
perfect sympathy with the sentiment

Springfield being the capital of Illinois, it was
determined to devote the entire season to the en
tertainment of the members of the legislature*
Having made money for several weeks previous to
our arrival here, the management resolved to hire
a lot and build a theater. This sounds like a large
undertaking, and perhaps with their limited means
it was a rash step. I fancy that my father rather
shrunk from this bold enterprise, but the senior
partner (McKenzie) was made of sterner stuff, and,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 29

his energy being quite equal to his ambition, the
ground was broken and the temple erected.

The building of a theater in those days did not
require the amount of capital that it does now.
Folding opera-chairs were unknown. Gas was an
occult mystery, not yet acknowledged as a fact by
the unscientific world in the West ; a second-class
quality of sperm-oil was the height of any man
ager's ambition. The footlights of the best thea
ters in the Western country were composed of
lamps set in a "float" with the counter- weights.
When a dark stage was required, or the lamps
needed trimming or refilling, this mechanical con
trivance was made to sink under the stage. I be
lieve if the theater, or " Devil's workshop/' as it
was sometimes called, had suddenly been illumi
nated with the same material now in use, its enemies
would have declared that the light was furnished
from the "Old Boy's" private gasometer.
. The new theater, when completed, was about
ninety feet deep and forty feet wide. No attempt
was made at ornamentation; and as it was un-
painted, the simple lines of architecture upon which
it was constructed gave it the appearance of a large
dry-goods box with a roof. I do not think my
father, or McKenzie, ever owned anything with a
roof until now, so they were naturally proud of
their possession.

In the midst of our rising fortunes a heavy
blow fell upon us. A religious revival was in
progress at the time, and the fathers of the church
not only launched forth against us in their sermons,

30 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

but by some political manceuver got the city to
pass a new law enjoining a heavy license against
our "unholy" calling; I forget the amount, but
it- was large enough, to be prohibitory. Here
was a terrible condition of affairs : all our avail
able funds invested, the legislature in session,
the town full of people, and we by a heavy
license denied the privilege of opening the new
theater !

In the midst of their trouble a young lawyer
called on the managers. He had heard of the in
justice, and offered, if they would place the matter
in his hands, to have the license taken off, declaring
that he only desired to see fair play, and he would
accept no fee whether he failed or succeeded. The
case was brought up before the council The
young lawyer began his harangue. He handled
the subject with tact, skill, and humor, tracing the
history of the drama from the time when Thespis
acted in a cart to the stage of to-day. He illus
trated his speech with a number of anecdotes, and
kept the council in a roar of laughter ; his good-
humor prevailed, and the exorbitant tax was taken
off.

This young lawyer was very popular in Spring
field, and was honored and beloved by all who
knew him, and after the time of which I write he
held rather an important position in the Govern
ment of the United States. He now lies buried
near Springfield, under a monument commemorat
ing his greatness and his virtues — and his name
was Abraham Lincoln !

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 31

At the end of our Springfield season my father
dissolved partnership with McKenzie, and my next
remembrance finds us in the town of Memphis.
Bad business had closed the -theater, and my father
had turned from scene-painter to sign-painter.

There had been an ordinance passed by the
fathers of the city requiring that all carts, drays, and
public vehicles should be numbered. By some ac
cident I heard of this, and, as I was on the alert to
get work for my father, I called at the mayor's
office to apply for the contract. The mayor had
seen me on the stage and, to my no small delight,
recognized me. I explained to him that my father,
was an artist as well as a comedian, and that, the
theater being closed, he devoted his time to sign
and ornamental painting; not, however, as an
amusement It was natural that the mayor, — a
jovial, and possibly not a very dignified or dreadful
person, — should be interested in a youngster hav
ing the promptness and the effrontery to be the
first to apply for the contract.

My interview with the mayor was a success, and
ended in my getting the contract for my father to
paint the numbers. How delightful it was to go
home with such good news 1 Then the charm of
unfolding such an agreeable surprise to the family
— what lovely revenge for the scolding my mother
had given me the day before ; and, above all, the •
tremendous round of applause that such an achieve
ment must bring down.

My father was too sensitive -and retiring to have
ever dreamed of doing such a thing, and perhaps

32 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

when I arrived at his age I might, under the same
circumstances, have shrunk from it myself. But I
was young and rash, and perhaps desperate ,* for if
I had not received many hard knocks myself, my
family had, and, feeling the blows through them, I
experienced a ferocious delight in doing battle with
the world, and, as I was generally victorious, my
success made me bold. The new industry fur
nished my father and myself with a month's work,
so that we were indebted to this stride in South
western civilization for at least a small addition to
our income.

One of my father's ornamental signs, on which
was painted an amiable tailor measuring a hand
some young man for a fashionable suit of clothes,
came under the notice of Mr. McAllister. This
gentleman was the owner of a large billiard-
. saloon and bar-room, to which was attached a mys
terious apartment where late hours were kept A
large mahogany table covered with a suspicious-
looking green cloth gave evidence of the kind of
•trade that was plied in this exchange, and strongly
corroborated the popular tradition that Mn Mc
Allister's midnight visitors were " gentlemanly
sports." The proprietor having, it seems, a turn for
art, as well as for cards, arranged for my father to
decorate his billiard-room first, and then his house.
In the hall of the latter my father painted two
landscapes from "The Lady of the Lake"— one
representing Loch Katrine, with her ladyship pad
dling her own canoe in the distance, and a moun
tain torrent in the foreground with the bridge made

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 33

famous by the combat of Fitz-James and Roderick
Dhu. The subjects had been chosen out of com
pliment to Mr. McAllister, as he was of Scotch
descent.

The time was drawing near for our departure from
Memphis, as the season in Mobile was to begin in
November, and the money due for decorating McAl
lister's house was necessary to defray the expenses
of our journey down the river; but, to our great in
convenience, it was not forthcoming. Whether the
"gentlemanly sports" had been more fortunate
than the proprietor or not I am unable to say, but
my father had written twice without receiving an
answer, and I had been dispatched to make a per
sonal appeal to him. We delayed our departure
for two weeks, hoping to get some satisfaction ;
but, no notice being taken of our demands, it was
decided to wait no longer.

In our straitened circumstances we were forced
to take a steerage passage on one of the steamboats
between Memphis and New Orleans. This was
both humiliating and inconvenient. But Mary was
a host, and could, by her devotion and tact, have
made us comfortable even under more trying condi
tions. I know that my mother's pride was wounded,
and that in her mortification she wondered that my
father could face the degradation with such forti
tude ; but from what I remember of him, and all that
I have heard related in connection with his charac
ter, nothing short of sickness or death in his family
could induce him to complain. This kind of philoso
phy can be learned neither from books nor from ex-

34 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

perience ; it is a natural gift, and seems to come into
the world hand in hand with the spirit that is to
bear it company. No seed can sow it, and no soil
can grow it ; the quality is inborn, and is so deeply
rooted that it defies cultivation or extermination.

After arranging ourselves as comfortably as we
could, the mate gave notice that the boat would not
start until late that evening. On hearing this my
mother asked me some questions regarding Mrs.
McAllister, whom, of course, I had seen and spoken
with during the time we had been engaged in the
decoration of her house. My report of the lady be
ing quite favorable, my mother started in company
with myself to make an appeal. Mrs. McAllister,
who had been out driving with her children, met us
at the door. On my presenting my mother, we were
asked into the house and proceeded with her to the
drawing-room. My mother after apologizing for
our visit, explained the nature of it, calling the
lady's attention to the hard and honest work of her
artist husband, and contrasting the elegant sur
roundings of the lady and her children with the
poverty of her own. In an hour afterwards the
lady left the house and returned with the money.
Placing it in my mother's hand, she bade us God
speed, and away we went with a heavier purse and
lighter hearts.

We hurried to the boat with our treasure, —
about two hundred dollars, I think, — and my
mother was both delighted and triumphant. When
she placed the money in my father's hands he
looked at it in amazement, and after declaring that

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 35

his wife was the most wonderful woman in the
world, suggested that we should at once adjourn to
the cabin; but the most wonderful woman in the
world would not hear of it, and urged my father to
bear the discomfiture, so that we might arrive at
our journey's end with some means of support —
dwelling upon the fact that otherwise he would
have to draw an advance from the manager on our
arrival in Mobile, which not only would be humili
ating, but might weaken his position. Of course
he saw the force and wisdom of his wife's counsel,
and, I think rather reluctantly, consented. As I re
flect upon this situation, it seems strange that my
mother, who felt most keenly this humiliation, was
content to bear it rather than lose the means that
would render our future position more secure;
while my father, who could smile serenely at our
condition, would willingly have parted with all the
money to have given us present comfort It can
be accounted for only by the extreme contrast in
their natures: he was hopeful, my mother was
apprehensive. May not generosity spring from one
of these causes, and caution from the other ?

As usual, my father was soon contented. This
novel and uncomfortable mode of traveling, instead
of depressing him, seemed to raise his spirits ; for
I can well remember that while the boat was
steaming down the river he employed the time in
studying some new parts that he was to act during
the approaching season, and when it stopped to
take in wood he would get out his tackle and fish
from the stern of the vessel. One would suppose

36 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

that this indifference to really serious inconvenience
sprang from weakness, but this was not so; for,
though there was nothing of the tyrant in him,
when he felt that it was time to make a stand he
made a bold one, and was as solid as a rock.

We arrived at Mobile in October, 1842. The
yellow fever was raging in the town, but we were
forced to come before the rest of the company, as
my father was the scenic artist as well as the come
dian of the theater, and his presence was required
at an early date as the scenery needed repainting.

We had for years been traveling about the
country, and my father and mother congratulated
themselves upon this present permanent situation,
as it afforded them not only rest, but an oppor
tunity of sending my sister and myself to school.
Sadly enough, the last desire of this hopeful man
was shattered, for two weeks after our arrival he
was stricken with yellow fever, and died on the
24th of November, 1842. I will not describe the
effect of this awful blow on our family, not desir
ing to cloud the narrative of my life with the rela
tion of domestic sorrow. It is sufficient to say that
by this sad event we were deprived of a dear
friend upon whom we depended for counsel and
support.

My sister and myself were now engaged at the
theater to act such children's parts as our size and
talent warranted the manager in casting us in ;
appearing in fancy dances and comic duets, added
to which I was to grind colors in the paint-room, —
assistant artist, I was called in the play-bill, — and

JOSEPH JEFFERSON (FATHER OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON).

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 37

make myself generally useful, for which services
we were each to receive six dollars a week. It was
understood that this employment was given to us
as a charity; but when I consider the numerous
duties imposed upon us, and the small sum we
received, my conscience acquits me of our being
anything like an incubus upon the theater, and if
there was any charity in the matter, I think it was
on our side.

One of the programmes, I find, announces that
after the play Master and Miss Jefferson were to
" execute a fancy dance." Now, as our terpsich-
orean education had been rafher limited, it is quite
likely that the execution was complete.

It was soon apparent that our charity salary
was not enough to support us, so my mother cast
about for some means of increasing our income.
She had no heart for acting now, and decided to
open a boarding-house for the actors. From lead
ing lady to landlady was rather a come-down for
her ; but my mother was a brave woman and en
dowed with the kind of pride that preferred the
" degradation " of earning an honest living to the
more elegant profession of getting in debt. A house
had to be taken, a month's rent paid in advance,
and furniture hired to fit up the establishment —
but where was the money to come from?

It is said that in France, when the Government
made a call on the people for a loan to pay off the
war indemnity, thousands of patriotic Frenchwomen
stood in line, a mile in length, at the Treasury, each
bearing a long worsted stocking filled with gold,

38 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ready to assist their native land in its great finan
cial emergency; and I am told that in Louisiana
this domestic bank is used by many of the French
inhabitants as a receptacle for both small and large
hoardings. My mother was a Frenchwoman, at
least by inheritance, and I have no doubt came
honestly by this national characteristic ; for when
matters were in a desperate condition the dear
lady would mysteriously draw forth a long, dark-
blue worsted stocking in which there was always
"just one little gold piece left."

Unfortunately for my mother's venture, the
theatrical season — following in the wake of all
others I had as yet been familiar with — was a
failure. Naturally the settlement of the board
bills was consequent upon the payment of the
salaries ; and as the latter occurrence was fitful
and uncertain, the bills of my mother's landlord
and butcher were both subjected to the same
intermittent conditions.

At the time of which I write there lived in Mo
bile a talented and beautiful lady by the name of
Madame Le Vert. She was the belle of the city
and courted by the first in the land ; her brilliancy
and wit had placed her in the center of a rich set
ting, of which she was the shining jewel. Added to
her worth and elegance was a kind and beneficent
nature, always seeking new objects to bestow its
bounty upon. She was, moreover, a patroness of
art and literature ; nothing was too high for her
understanding, or too lowly for her kind considera
tion. I think all who remember this fascinating

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 39

woman will indorse my description of her character.
It is natural that I should have a grateful remem
brance of this lady, as what I shall relate will
show.

My father's death and the failure of the boarding-
house had attracted Madame Le Vert's attention.
She called on my mother, and hinted in the most
delicate manner that as the season was about closed
she would like to get up a complimentary benefit
at the theater for her children (though I think the
widow was uppermost in Madame Le Vert's mind).
Now, as the " stocking" was on the eve of sus
pension, my mother readily consented ; so the belle
of Mobile aroused the enthusiasm of her many
friends, the public caught fire, and the benefit was
a success.

In after years I remember to have seen Madame
Le Vert surrounded by a circle of callers, enter
taining them with wonderful grace and tact, always
saying the right things to the right persons, and at
the proper time — a genius of society. But there
came a day when this noble lady and her family
were reduced in fortune ; she whom I as a boy had
known young and beautiful, surrounded by wealth
and friends, was now an old lady in the unhappy
condition of "genteel poverty." I am proud to
say we were friends to the last

During the war, or at its close, Madame Le Vert
had made some enemies. It would have been im
possible for a person of her prominence and ability
to have done otherwise. I am not sure now which
cause she espoused, and, in her case, I do not care.

40 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Her long and useful life has passed peacefully
away, and her memory is honored by all who
knew her.

And now we lost poor, dear old Mary. It is
perhaps vain for me to hope that I can interest the
reader in any one of whom he knows so little ; but
how can I, her foster-son, who owe so much to her
loving care, pass by her death without some tribute
of affection ? After sixteen years of disinterested
domestic loyalty, attending us as friend, servant,
and dear companion, this faithful creature died in
my mother's arms. Who can say how high such a
pure and loving spirit soars when it is released and
takes its flight ?

James Wallack, Sr., played an engagement in
Mobile, and one little circumstance occurred in
connection with it that I have always remembered
most pleasantly. He was an actor at the head of
his profession and in the height of his fame. I
was only a boy holding a subordinate position in
the theater. He heard some one call me by name
at the rehearsal, and, turning around, asked me if
I was related to Joseph Jefferson of the Chestnut
Street Theater. I told him that I was a grandson
of that gentleman. He said, " Let me shake you
by the hand for the sake of my dear old friend."
The remark was made with much feeling, and the
remembrance of it has, I think, often prompted me
to do the like for others. James Wallack, Sr., was
an actor of rare attainments ; as a legitimate tra
gedian and comedian he ranked very high. The
parts that I remember him in are those of Ales-

THE ATM ROYAL 0BMTOY 3LATSTE

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 41

sandro Mazzaroni, in "The Brigand," and Don
C&sar de Bazan.

Mr. Macready and the elder Booth both acted in
Mobile during this season ; and as the contrast be
tween these tragedians was quite remarkable, I
will introduce them here, although my judgment
of them was formed upon a later experience.

The methods by which actors arrive at great
effects vary according to their own natures; this
renders the teaching of the art by any strictly
defined lines a difficult matter. Macready and
the elder Booth offer striking examples of these
distinctions. Macready depended upon the me
chanical arrangement of the scene, while Booth
relied almost entirely on the impulse of the
moment, caring little for set rules. As soon as
Macready entered the theater he began to assume
the character he was going to enact. He would
remain in his dressing-room absorbed with the
play ; no one was permitted to enter ; his dresser
was not allowed to speak to him3 but stood outside
ready to open the door just before it was time for
the actor to go upon the stage. If the mechanism
of the play remained intact, he became lost in his
character and produced grand effects, but if by
some carelessness he was recalled to himself, the
chain was broken and he could not reunite it. He
now realized that his acting would be tame, and
then his rage knew no bounds ; he would seize the
unlucky actor who had " ruined him," shake him,
throw him aside, and rushing to his dressing-room
fall exhausted upon the sofa. This was not affec-

42 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tation, it was real ; he could not conquer his unfor
tunate temper. In my youthful days it was the
fashion of thoughtless actors to ridicule these
"Macready tantrums," and I regret to say I often
joined in the sport ; but as I look back on his
suffering and read the pages wherein he chastises
himself for his ungovernable temper, and when I
know how useful and benevolent he was in the
closing scenes of his life, I feel a great sympathy
for him. " He poured a flagon of Rhenish on my
head once," but — I forgive him.

I acted with Macready and Booth during this
season, and an anecdote of each will serve to
illustrate their different characteristics. Macready
was acting Werner. I was cast for a minor part.
In one scene a number of characters had to rush
off, bearing lighted torches, in search of some
delinquent. At rehearsal the tragedian particularly
requested that we should all be sure and make our
exit at night at just the same time and place, so
that we might not disturb the arrangement of the
scene. All went well up to the time for making
our hurried exit, when to my horror I found Wer
ner standing exactly in line with the place of
my exit at rehearsal. I presume that when he
gave his directions in the morning he did not
observe me. What was I to do? The cue was
given, and there was no time for argument. I
rushed past him, torch in hand. I heard his well-
known groan; but as I flew by an unmistakable
odor of burnt hair filled the atmosphere, and I knew
that I had singed his wig. When the curtain fell

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 43

I turned in horror to see the effect. The enraged
Werner had torn his wig from his head, and stood
gazing at it for a moment in helpless wonder.
Suddenly he made a rush in my direction; I saw
he was on the war-path, and that I was his game.
And now the chase began. I dodged him up and
down the stage ; then around the wings and over
"set" rocks and gauze waters. He never would
have caught me but that in my excitement I ran
head first into the stomach of a fat stage-carpenter.
Here I was seized. The enraged Macready was so
full of anger and so out of breath that he could only
gasp and shake his burnt wig at me. Of course I
was disgraced and not allowed to act again during
his engagement. To make matters worse the whole
affair got into the papers, and the next morning one
of the critics remarked that he had never seen Ma
cready act with so much fire ! Now all of this could
have been avoided if he had but moved six inches
further up the stage when he saw me coming ; bu<
no, he had never shifted from that spot before, wh>
should he do so now? I believe if I had singed his
very eyebrows he would have stood his ground.

Booth's whole nature was the reverse of Ma-
cready's. He would saunter into the theater just
a few minutes before the play began ; robe himself,
sometimes quite carelessly ; converse freely upon
local matters in a plain, practical way, or per
haps give some reminiscence of bygone years, —
his memory was wonderful, — ending with an amus
ing anecdote, and in the next moment walk upon
the stage in the full assumption of his character,

44 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

overawing the audience by the fire of his acting.
The following incident will serve to show the won
derful manner in which Booth could drop his char
acter and instantly resume it.

I was acting Sampson in " The Iron Chest " to
his Sir Edward Mortimer. During the play he
spoke to me of my grandfather's playing the same
part with him when he (Booth) was a young man.
"He used," said he, "to sing the original song;
it ran thus"; and assuming a* comical expression
he began to sing in an undertone :

A traveler stopped at a widow's gate.

At this moment his cue was given, and he rushed
upon the stage, discovering Wilford at the chest
The scene is here very powerful, and I never saw
him act it with more power. The audience was
most enthusiastic, and as he rushed from the stage
amid a storm of applause he met me at the wing,
and, reassuming the comic expression of his face,
began the song just where he had left off, while the
approbation of the audience was still ringing in
his ears.

It must not be understood by this that Booth
never became absorbed in his character; on the
contrary, he sometimes carried his intensity in
this respect to an extreme. It is only meant to
show that he had also the power of dropping his
character in the midst of his concentration, resum
ing it again at will. Macready had no such faculty
whatever. The beam once kicked, the balance was
destroyed beyond recovery.

MACREADY AS "WILLIAM TELL."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 45

In his private character Mr. Booth was simple,
unostentatious, and benevolent. I know of an
instance of a curious and somewhat eccentric kind
ness that occurred many years ago in Baltimore.

An old and retired actor and manager had been
ill for some time, and as he was held in high esteerti
his friends arranged for him a complimentary testi
monial at the Holliday Street Theater. Mr. Booth
was at that time manager of another theater, and,
unsolicited, tendered a benefit at his establishment
to the same gentleman. The house was crowded,
Booth himself acting. After the performance he
went to the box-office, collected the entire receipts,
and, late as it was, took them to the house of the
beneficiary, and spreading the money out on the
table said to him, " There is your share."

"But will you not deduct the expenses?" said
his old friend.

"The only expense incurred," said Booth, "has
been the bringing of the money to you ; but, as I
walked, the cost is merely shoe-leather, and I will
not charge for that." So saying he turned on his
heel and left the room before he could be thanked.

From Mobile we went to Nashville, Tennessee,
and after a short season traveled through the State.
Business was bad, and on one occasion the gentle
men of the company, myself included, walked from
Gallatin to Lebanon — not, however, for the exer
cise.

Upon our return to Nashville it was time to
think of going South, as most of the company had
engagements in New Orleans, Mobile, and Texas,

46 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

but the Cumberland River had fallen so low that
no steamboat could navigate it. In this dilemma
there was but one course left : the company must
come together, buy a barge, fit up a cabin, caboose,
and sleeping-apartments. This was done. Where
the money came from to pay for the boat and the
lumber I cannot tell, but this floating camp was put
together, and we all departed down the river in the
queerest looking craft that ever carried a legitimate
stock company of the old school. To a boy of my
age this was heaven. To stand my watch at night
gave me that manly feeling that a youngster, just
before he grows his beard, enjoys beyond every
thing.

We stopped at Clarksville and gave one enter
tainment, playing " The Lady of Lyons." I acted
Glavis. This was another manly stride for me ; I
was getting on. The whole of this trip was to me
delightful. It was in that rich and mellow season
when the foliage seems to change from day to day.
The river was full of ducks, which I could some
times shoot from the deck of the flatboat ; great
flocks of wild pigeons filled the air for days to
gether, so that I could supply our table well with
game. There was a small set of scenery on board
that had been brought in case of an emergency.
We had used it only in Clarksville so far, but now
the time came when it could be displayed and util
ized in a manner " never before attempted in the
annals of the stage/' When we reached the
Ohio the river widened out, and some stretches
were from five to six miles in length ; so, if we had

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 47

a fair wind blowing downstream, by hoisting one
of the scenes for a sail we could increase our speed
from two to three miles an hour. A hickory pole
was cut from the shore, and a drop-scene, with a
wood painted on one side and a palace on the
other, was unfurled to the breeze. The wonder-
stricken farmers and their wives and children would
run out of their log-cabins and, standing on the
river bank, gaze with amazement at our curious
craft. It was delightful to watch the steamboats
as they went by. The passengers would crowd
the deck and look with wonder at us. For a bit
of sport the captain and I would vary the picture,
and as a boat steamed past we would first show
them the wood scene, and then suddenly swing
the sail around, exhibiting the gorgeous palace.
Adding to this sport, our leading man and the low
comedian would sometimes get a couple of old-
fashioned broadswords and fight a melodramatic
combat on the deck. There is no doubt that at
times our barge was taken for a floating lunatic
asylum.

We would often tie up the boat for a day and
go fishing in some lake in the interior, stopping
perhaps at a farm-house to replenish our stock of
butter and eggs. Our voyage was continued to
Cairo, where the Ohio River joins the Mississippi,
and so on until we reached Memphis; here we
deserted the barge and took a steamboat for New
Orleans.

This season I acted at the St. Charles, under
the management of Ludlow & Smith. Mr. and

48 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Mrs. Charles Kean, Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt, and
James H. Hackett were among the stars. At the
end of the season — which does not seem to have
been a very eventful one — our company, under
the same management, traveled up the Mississippi
River to St. Louis, acting there during the summer.
The only occurrence worth noting so far as I was
concerned happened on the night of the Fourth of
July, when the company was called on by the
management to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
I was in a feverish state of excitement all day,
having been selected to give the first stanza. I
had studied it and restudied it so often that I knew
it backwards ; and that is about the way I sung it.
But I must not anticipate. The curtain rose upon
the company partly attired in evening dress ; that
is to say, "those who had swallow-tail coats wore
them, and those who were not blessed with that
graceful garment did the best they could. We
were arranged in the old conventional half-circle,
with the " Goddess of Liberty " in the center. The
" Mother of her Country " had a Roman helmet —
pasteboard, I am afraid — on her head, and was
tastefully draped with the American flag. My
heart was in my mouth as the music started up,
but I stepped boldly forward to begin. I got as
far as " Oh, say, can you see — " and here the words
left me. My mind was blank. I tried it again :
"Oh, say, can you see — " Whether they could
see or not, I am quite 'sure that I could not. I was
blind with fright ; the house swam before my eyes ;
the thousand faces seemed to melt into one huge,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 49

expressionless physiognomy. The audience be
gan to hiss — oh, that dreadful sound ! I love my
country, and am, under ordinary circumstances,
fairly patriotic ; but at that moment I cursed our
national anthem from the bottom of my heart. I
heard the gentle voice of the Goddess of Liberty
say, "Poor fellow!" The remark was kind, but
not encouraging. The hissing increased. Old
Muller, the German leader, called out to me, " Go
on, Yo!" But "Yo" could n't go on, so "Yo"
thought he had better go off. I bowed, therefore,
to the justice of this public rebuke, and made a
graceful retreat. My poor mother stood at the
wings in tears ; I threw myself into her arms, and
we had it out together,

Of course I intend this anecdote to illustrate one
of my early professional distresses, but it has
another and a more important side to it. The
hissing and jeering that were so liberally bestowed
upon me will never be vented again in this country
for so slight an offense. The well-dressed, deco
rous audience of to-day, when an accident occurs,
sit quietly, bearing it with patience and considera
tion, and when it is righted they break forth in
encouraging applause. Look at the decorum
observed by the vast assemblages that go to wit
ness our national games. Disturbances are very
rare. It would have been doubtful, if not dan
gerous, when I was a boy, for ladies and gentle
men to visit any public grounds containing such
large masses of people, whereas .now they can do
so with perfect safety. What lies at the foundation

50 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

of this improvement? People went to church in
those days as readily as they do now, and the laws
were administered quite as rigidly. There is only
one solution to this problem — the free school has
done this work.

CHAPTER III

BARN-STORMING AND MEXICAN EPISODE

Barn-storming in Mississippi — Pudding Stanley
— In Mexico — Mr. and Mrs. James W. Wallack,
Jr. — John E. Owens

IT is to be hoped for the credit of humanity that
the philosopher was in error when he said
that we feel a sad gratification even in the dis
tress of our dearest friends. But, be that as it may,
it is quite certain that those of our fellow-creatures
whose lives have been burdened with sorrow com
mand our respect and excite our interest more than
the high and mighty. Belisarius, stricken blind,
wandering a beggar in tattered rags, and asking
alms of the people he once led to victory, presents
a figure that calls for our deepest sympathy ; while
we cannot shed tears over a dethroned monarch
with a corner lot By these reflections I am
strengthened in the hope that I may not be tiring
my reader with the continuous recital of our mis
fortunes, and that he will not grow as weary of

52 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

them as we did. If he will but patiently wade a
little farther through this "slough of despond," I
promise in the latter part of my narrative to give
some account of my less interesting success,

Our disastrous seasons were not exceptions.
The country had "been in a chronic state of the
atrical bankruptcy since the panic of 1837, and
continued in it for many years. Actors often had
to turn their hands to something else for a liveli
hood besides the profession. My father painted
signs for a whole summer in Vicksburg, and our
leading man manufactured genuine Havana cigars
in the same studio. I often acted as " drummer,"
and when business was slow, would sally forth
among the wharf boats to solicit orders.

It is likely that some of the events I have re
corded may not have followed in the order in
which I have placed them, but I do not feel that
this is of much importance. Accurate statistics,
with dates, long rows of figures, and unimportant
casts of plays, are somewhat tedious. Tony Liimp-
kin says, with undoubted truth, that "the inside of
a letter contains the cream of the correspondence."
I must therefore crave your Honor's pardon for act
ing on this hint by endeavoring to trace the inter
esting portion of this history, — if it has any interest,
— casting unimportant details into oblivion.

Mary's death reduced our quartet to a trio, and
I next found myself in the town of Grand Gulf, in
the State of Mississippi, with my mother and sis
ter. We were there awaiting the arrival of my
half-brother, Charles Burke, who was somewhere

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 53

in the interior of the State, with a small company
of actors, struggling along from town to town.
Our letters to him had crossed or miscarried; so
we were obliged to remain there for several weeks
until we could hunt him up. There was no tele
graph in those days, and postal communication
was uncertain.

The money had run out, and we were in a strait
ened condition, when, to our joy, my brother arrived.
He burst like a ray of sunshine into the house, and
we crowded about the dear fellow, smothering him
with tears and kisses. It seems that his company
was at Port Gibson, only eight miles away, where
they had arrived the night before, and he had
started at daylight, walking to Grand Gulf to
meet us. After breakfast he went out for the
purpose of hiring a wagon and team to take us
on. This was soon done, and we started on our
journey. We had got but four miles from the town
when I observed my brother and the driver in close
conversation. I saw that something was wrong.
Presently the driver pulled up, and the wagon
stopped. My brother turned round and said:
"Mother, I have made a bargain with this man
to take us to Port Gibson for ten dollars. I have
no money, and expected to pay him out of to
night's receipts after the play. He says this
arrangement will not do for him ; he seems un
willing to trust me, so he must be paid now or
he will turn back." I looked at my mother and
hinted that perhaps, if she searched hard, some
thing might be found in the stocking. Her eyes

54 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

filled with tears, and I saw by her face that the
bank was broken. There was nothing left us but
to get out of the wagon and remain by the road
side until my brother should go back and make
another trial. The rain came down, and we took
shelter under a large tree, awaiting his return.
My mother had once been one of the most attrac
tive stars in America, the leading prima donna of
the country, and now, from no fault of her own,
was reduced to the humiliation of being put out of
a wagon with her two children, in a lonely road in
the far-off State of Mississippi, because she could
not pay a wagoner the sum of ten dollars.

This was so far the darkest hour we had passed.
About noon the sun shone bright, and shortly after
wards my brother appeared in sight, mounted on
top of an ox-cart driven by an old negro. We
were only four miles from Port Gibson, but it
required as many hours to make the journey, so
about sundown our party alighted at the hotel.

We now entered upon a course of the most
primitive acting, going from town to town and
giving entertainments in the dining-rooms of the
hotels. As there were no papers published in
these small villages, there were no printing-offices,
consequently no bills; so flaming announcements
of our arrival in a bold handwriting were displayed
in the three important points of the town, viz. : the
hotel, the post-office, and the barber-shop. It fell
to my 'duty, being an adept with the brush, to
write, or rather paint, these advertisements. The
plays were acted in costume, but without scenery

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 55

or curtain. The nightly receipts were small — just
about enough to get us from place to place.

Our objective point was the town of Liberty,
Mississippi ; but there was some difficulty in get
ting there, as the distance was greater than we
could accomplish in a day. A farmer who had
been to the theater the night before for the first
time in his life was so struck by the performance
that he proposed to have his teams brought in
and take us to his farm-house, about twenty- five
miles distant. According to his suggestion we
were to rest for a day, give an entertainment in
his barn, and so go on to Liberty.

" But," said my brother, " you tell me there is no
other house there but your own. What shall we do
for an audience?"

"Well," said the farmer, " all my family will
come, to begin with, and there 's a dozen or more
on 'em; then there 's eight or ten farm-houses
close by, and if one of your men will drive there
with my son and blow the horn they will all corne,
for there ain't one on 'em ever seen a play before.
I 11 insure you a full barn."

So the matter was settled, and we actually
played in a barn, the house that we staid in being
the only one in sight. It seemed in vain to look
for an audience in such a lonely place, but the
farmer was right. Soon after the sun had gone
down the full harvest moon rose, and by its dim
light we could faintly see family groups of people,
two and sometimes three on a horse, coming from
all directions over the hill — now a wagon with a

56 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

great load. Some of them walked, but all were
quiet and serious, and apparently wondering what
they were going to see.

Those who have traveled through the Southern
States will perhaps remember the kind of barn we
acted in: there were two log-houses joined to
gether with an opening between them which was
floored and covered in. The seats were arranged
outside in the open air — benches, chairs, and logs.
The double barn on each side was used for dress
ing-rooms and for making entrances and exits,
while the opening was devoted to the stage. The
open air was well filled, containing an audience
of about sixty persons. Our enthusiastic admirer,
the farmer, collected the admission fee, a dollar
being charged and freely given. The plays were
"The Lady of Lyons" and "The Spectre Bride
groom." The farmer had supplied us liberally
with candles, so that the early part of the enter
tainment was brilliantly illuminated, but the even
ing breeze had fanned the lights so fiercely that
by the time the farce began the footlights were
gone. The little " flaming ministers " had all
sputtered out, so "The Spectre Bridegroom" was
acted in the moonlight.

It was curious to watch the effect of a strong
emotional play like "The Lady of Lyons" upon
an audience that had never seen a drama before :
they not only were much interested, but they
became excited over the trials of the hero and
heroine; they talked freely among themselves,
and, at times, to the actors. One old lady insisted

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 57

that the lovers should be " allowed their own way,"
and a stalwart young farmer warned the villain
not to interfere again "if he knew what was best
for him."

We continued traveling through the State of
Mississippi, sometimes in wagons or on a stray
stern-wheel steamer that was hailed from the
bank of some little village where we had acted.
As the spring opened the rainy season set in, and
the roads became almost impassable. Fortunately
at this time my mother received an offer for us to
join the new theater in Galveston, to which place
we proceeded, my brother and his wife going
North to act under Mr. Burton's management at
the Arch Street Theater, Philadelphia.

At the termination of our Galveston season the
company embarked on board a small stern-wheel
steamer that wound its way through a narrow,
crooked stream and landed us at the city of Hous
ton. I say the company, but it was only a remnant
of it, as most of its members, being weary of the
hot weather and despairing of any more regular
salary, days, had returned to the North. We acted
for several weeks in Houston, but with a feeble
kind of patronage that just enabled us to keep our
heads above water ; still, the ever-hopeful disposi
tion of the itinerant actor buoyed us up, and we
struggled on in the anticipation of a reaction.

We had by this time resolved ourselves into
what was called a " sharing scheme," dividing
the profits, when there were any, pro rata with
our salaries. First the board was paid for, then the

58 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

rent, then the printing, then the orchestra — the
latter always ready to strike at a bar's notice;
the rest we shared. These uncertain dividends
were looked forward to with much interest, for
home was far away and difficult to reach.

As the season approached its close and the dis
banding of our company was under discussion, a
new sensation occurred in the arrival of an old
actor and ex-theatrical manager by the name of
Stanley. This remnant of an earlier era had been
upon the retired list for many years, and now
suddenly burst upon us with enticing schemes to
better our condition. I had never seen him before,
but several of our company knew and recognized
him as a veteran barn-stormer of the olden time.
He had been living in San Antonio for many
years, and having heard that a company of play
ers were at Houston the slumbering old war-horse
within him was awakened, and disdaining the dan
gers of a long journey through the chaparral, —
for the country was at this time full of hostile
Indians, — he had ridden three hundred miles in
the wild enthusiasm of an old manager-actor,
thirsting for the revival of three-sheet posters and
a high stool opposite that fascinating spot, the
pigeon-hole of the box-office. Naturally, in the
first flush of his arrival, laden as he was with flat
tering promises of double salaries and clear third
benefits, we were in a delightful flutter of anticipa
tion. His accounts of San Antonio and the sur
rounding country were dazzling. There had been
no dramatic entertainment ever given there, the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 59

gold mines of Mexico were close at hand, and, in
short, it seemed quite clear that our fortunes would
be made if we concluded to embrace his offer. He
further informed us that he was well known all
through Texas, and that his popularity was second
only to that of the late Davy Crockett ; that, under
the very " shadow of the Alamo," as he poetically
expressed it, he kept a bar-room in conjunction
with a fandango, a keno-table, and a faro-bank —
by which means it seems he had endeavored to
refine the depraved tastes of the citizens. Mr.
Stanley's figure was portly, so that his friends, in
order to distinguish him from the other and less
important Stanleys in town, bestowed upon him
the title of " Pudding Stanley," or " Pud," as he
was more briefly and affectionately called.

As I have said, we were at first overwhelmed
with his amazing description of our future Eldo
rado, but upon holding council to consider the
situation dispassionately our ardor cooled. First
came the dreaded journey of three hundred miles
through a wilderness of chaparral inhabited only
by jack-rabbits and hostile Indians. Our leading
actor remarked that he did not mind jack-rabbits,
but considered the Indians an impediment. He was
a courageous man, too — upon the stage. I had seen
him play the Chief Osceola, and scalp one "super"
after another with great nerve ; but now he seemed
to think with King Lear that " Nature 's above art
in that respect "; and while he reveled in being the
hero of an artistic assassination, realistic effects of
this kind were not to be thought of.

60 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Another reason for our not relishing the proposal
was contained in the recollection of a really serious
matter in connection with actors and Indians that
had occurred in Florida during the Seminole war.
It seems that a manager by the name of William
C. Forbes had taken a theatrical company into the
very jaws of the disturbance. The troupe acted at
the different forts and garrisons along the line of
battle, and on a certain occasion, while going from
one military station to another without an escort, it
was attacked and roughly handled by the savages.
Forbes and most of his people escaped, but two
unfortunate actors were captured and butchered.
The theatrical wardrobe belonging to the company
fell into the hands of the Indians, who, dressing
themselves up as Romans, Highlanders, and Shak-
sperean heroes, galloped about in front of the very
fort, though well out of gunshot, where Forbes and
the more fortunate members of his company had
fled for safety. Several of the Indians were after
wards taken, and as they were robed and decked
in the habiliments of Othello, Hamlet, and a host
of other Shaksperean characters, — for Forbes was
eminently legitimate, — their identity as the mur
derers was established, and they were hanged in
front of the garrison.

The recollection of this incident acted as any
thing but a stimulus to our wavering courage, and
we took the liberty of mentioning to the ex-ranger
that it was within the bounds of possibility that the
warlike Comanches of Texas might have no more
respect for the legitimate drama than the Seminoles

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 61

of Florida, in which case history would inconve
niently repeat itself.

The tempter ridiculed our fears, looking upon
us, I think, with a rangers contempt. He said
there were a few Indians here and there certainly,
but they were cowardly, and generally kept them
selves concealed in the chaparral. On being cross-
questioned as to why they concealed themselves in
the chaparral, he replied, " Well, possibly ambush ;
but they are great cowards." He said the safest
plan would be for the entire party to keep together ;
going all in one wagon, we would then exhibit " the
full strength of the company," and well armed with
such theatrical weapons as we might possess, there
would be no danger. Theatrical weapons — just
think of it ! The armory of a theater in those days
consisted of two pairs of short broadswords, a half-
dozen stuffed sticks, and a rusty flint-lock horse-
pistol that always snapped once and generally
twice before virtue felt itself secure. A cold shiver
ran down my back as I imagined myself facing a
Comanche with a weapon whose uncertainty had
on more than one occasion compelled the heavy
villain to commit suicide with a table-spoon.

It is needless to say that I had inwardly resolved
not to go, and I think the entire company were of
my mind. Of course we laid it all on the leading
man, who had at least been bold enough openly to
express his fear ; but we decided not to go !

Stanley was of course disappointed, as he had
looked forward, he said, not only to the renewal
of managerial responsibility and importance, but to

62 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

donning again the sock and buskin and acting with
us. Upon this hint we suggested that if he really
desired to act again, and would appear one night
in Houston for our benefit, we should be proud to
support him. If Richard III. could tempt him —
we knew this to be his weak point — it was at his
service. Of course at first he pretended to demur,
saying that he had no wardrobe, and that it was so
long since he had acted that he " really feared."
But he could not conceal an undercurrent of secret
delight at the thought of again striding the stage.
He consented. He was so well known in Texas
we felt quite sure that, in securing his services for
a joint benefit to the company, our treasury would
swell from its present slender dimensions and give
us the means of returning to Galveston with flying
colors.

Stanley's professional and private histories were
both interesting, as they covered a period when
artistic, commercial, and military matters were
curiously mingled. He had acted in the then
far West under the management of Alexander
Drake both in Louisville and in Cincinnati; he
had then drifted off into Texas, joining the rangers
against Santa Anna ; then back again to the Mis
sissippi, where he encountered the celebrated Chap
man company, who had ingeniously fitted up a
steamboat and converted it into a floating theater.
This huge dramatic barge used to ply from one
town to another on the Ohio, Mississippi, and Mis
souri rivers, giving theatrical entertainments at the
various points where there were no theaters. The

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 63

roving spirit again taking possession of him, he
left the Chapmans and returned to Texas.

The night was arranged for the benefit, and
such was the popularity of the volunteer that
tickets amounting to the capacity of the theater,
and even beyond it, were sold without delay. As
I before said, Richard III. was his pet part ; and
while he considered himself unequaled in the char
acter, he confided to me that he did not mind pri
vately confessing that in the later scenes he drew
his inspiration from the example of Edwin Forrest.
Stanley now employed his mornings in walking as
majestically as his ungainly figure would permit up
and down the stage, gesticulating violently and
roaring out the soliloquies of Richard ; and his
afternoons in accumulating raw cotton, in order
that the hump and the bandy-legs of the crook-
backed tyrant might be properly deformed and
traditionally disfigured.

Our volunteer reminded me of an actor I once
knew who used to wear upon the stage a red wig
so like his own hair that whether he had it on
or off there was no perceptible difference in his
appearance. So with Stanley : his bandy-legs and
round shoulders, even when unadorned, quite har
monized with the accepted idea of Gloucester's
deformity ; but, looking upon himself as an Apollo,
our hero had piled such a mountain of cotton
on his natural hump that it made " Ossa like a

wart."

On the auspicious night the house was packed
to the doors. A few ladies came; but their

64 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

escorts, seeing that the audience were disposed to
be turbulent, took them away, so that the friends
and admirers of the star were unchecked in their
cat-calls and noisy demonstrations. Law, order, and
decorum were set at defiance. The friends of the
old ranger had come for a frolic and evidently
intended to have it. The placard of " No smok
ing" was totally disregarded. Pipes and cigars
were vigorously puffed, and the house was so
filled with smoke that one would have supposed
that the battle of Bosworth Field had taken place
before the opposing forces met. The weather was
sultry, and the general heat, combined with the
stifling atmosphere of a crowded house, ran the
little box of a theater up to the temperature of an
oven in full force.

At the rise of the curtain the expectant audience
were on tiptoe to greet their comrade. At the
wing stood the sweltering Richard, absorbed in
his character and embedded in cotton, and as he
strode upon the stage the theater rang with
applause and shouts of welcome. After bowing
low his acknowledgments he began the famous
soliloquy. The performance proceeded quietly for
a time, the silence being broken now and then by
expressions of approval in complimentary but
rather familiar terms. During the love scene with
Lady Anne, her ladyship was warned by some
one in the audience, who claimed to have an
intimate knowledge of Richard's private domestic
affairs, that the tyrant had already two Mexican
wives in San Antonio. Nothing daunted at this

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 65

public accusation of polygamy, " Pud " pressed his
suit with ardor.

The retired actor had not forgotten some of the
old-fashioned tricks of the art, and would take
the stage with tremendous strides from the center
to the extreme right or left after making a point,
thereby signifying to the audience that if they
desired to applaud t/tat was their time. " Off
with his head ! so much for Buckingham ! " and
away he would go. In one of these flights, being
over-stimulated by excitement and applause, he
nearly stumbled into the private box. Straight
ening himself up, his ostrich plumes became
entangled with a spermaceti chandelier and set
him in a blaze of glory. He glared with indig
nation at the convulsed audience, being himself
entirely innocent of the illumination until the un
mistakable odor 6f burnt feathers warned him that
his diadem was in danger. In the death scene,
just as Richard expired, a voice, signifying that
the game was over, shouted "Keno!" This allu
sion to " Pud's" commercial pursuits brought him
'to life, and as the curtain was descending he sat
up and warned the interlocutor that he would
"keno" him in the morning.

The declaration of war with Mexico caused a
great stir in Galveston; speculations were rife in
all quarters as to the probable result from a com
mercial point of view. Of course no doubt existed
as to the ultimate success of our side; but the
question as to how much was to be made out of it
seemed to absorb the public mind. Our manager

66 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

was a thrifty soul, and foresaw the prospect of
good financial results by following up the army
with his dramatic forces. My mother was con
siderably alarmed lest I should be conscripted, and
I was not a little uneasy on those grounds myself.
In May, 1846, we embarked on board a con
demned Mississippi steamer for Point Isabel. This
leaky old boat, crowded with soldiers, gamblers,
and a few actors, feebly wended its uncertain way
along the coast and arrived at its destination in
about four days. Luckily, the sea was as calm as
a mill-pond ; for if one of those dreadful cyclones
so frequent in the Gulf had overtaken us, many
good soldiers, indifferent gamblers, and bad actors
would have found their way to the bottom of the
sea, and these important reinforcements to Gen
eral Taylor never would have put in an appear
ance. Point Isabel, on our arrival, was all bustle
and activity. It was a flat, sandy, and uninterest
ing place, covered with tents and boiling over
with military preparations. The battle of Palo
Alto was fought on the 8th of May: these were
the first guns fired, and we could distinctly hear
the booming sounds of opposing cannon ; it ended
at sunset with victory for the American army.
The next morning I saw the ambulance bringing"
in the wounded form of Major Samuel Ringgold,
who died soon after. This celebrated hero intro
duced into this country the flying artillery, to the
efficiency of which the success of the day was
attributed. The Mexicans had retreated only a
few miles, and, being reenforced, gave battle the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 67

next day, and the memorable engagement of
Resaca de la Palma was won by the gallant
charge of Captain May at the head of his dra
goons. Then came the bombardment of Fort
Brown, and on the i8th of May the city of Mata-
moras was occupied by the United States army,
with our gallant band of comedians bringing up
the rear, elated at our military success.

The manager took advantage of the distressed
position of the town, and by permission of the
American commandant occupied the old Spanish
theater. Victory had crowned our arms; so the
soldiers, settlers, gamblers, rag -tag and bob-tail
crowd that always follow on in the train of an
army, like " greedy crows " that hover over the
heads of the defeated party, " impatient for their
lean inheritance," were ready for amusement.
Here we acted to the most motley group that
ever filled a theater. But in the middle of Sep
tember the trumpet blast sounded in our ears
again ; the soldiers were ordered to march on to
Monterey. The town was deserted and the theater
closed. Our manager, seeing that all further
hopes of their return had vanished, disbanded his
company, and with all the cash he could collect,
including our back salaries, " wandered away, no
man knew whither." Here I was left with my
mother and sister, thrown on our own resources,
which were very small, in a strange country, and
among a people not at all on good terms with us.
The only member of the company left besides our
selves was Edward Badger. He was my brother

68 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

comedian and friend; his father was the well-
known Alderman Badger of Philadelphia. Our
situation was somewhat desperate; so we held a
council of war to determine on our future move
ments. The soldiers had gone, but the gamblers
remained ; and the brilliant idea occurred to us that,
as we could no longer minister to their intellectual
entertainment, we might make something by fur
nishing them with internal comforts. So we boldly
resolved to open a coffee and cake stand in their
interest We arranged to place the stand in a
bar-room in the central part of Matamoras, the
locality offering the best position for our commer
cial enterprise. The establishment was dignified
by the high-sounding title of "The Grand Span
ish Saloon," and consisted of a long room, with a
low ceiling, having a counter, or bar, running the
full length on one side, and a row of gaming-tables
on the other, where roulette, keno, chuck-a-luck,
and faro were industriously pursued with the usual
integrity which generally attaches itself to these
pastimes. The walls were beautifully whitewashed
and the floor was well sprinkled with sand. In
front of the bar and at regular intervals were kegs
cut into halves and filled with sawdust, these being
the cuspidores of the pioneers. From the ceiling
were suspended chandeliers made of barrel-hoops,
tastily covered with pink, blue, and white paper,
cut in different patterns, in which candles were
placed to illuminate the cheerful and tragic scenes
that alternately occurred in this fascinating but
dangerous place.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 69

Badger, after convincing the proprietor that the
introduction of a stand for cake and hot coffee at
one end of the room would not only add to the
refinement of his establishment, but increase its
custom by providing the patrons with refreshment
during their hours of relaxation from business,
came to terms with him. We were to furnish
everything and give him ten per cent, of our
gross receipts for rent, it being verbally under
stood that if either Badger or myself came to an
untimely death at the hands of any of his attaches
the person so offending should be discharged from
his service at once.

Nothing could be more satisfactory than this
arrangement, so I at once set about the decora
tion of our cafe, while Badger went off in search
of an old Mexican woman, said to be an expert in
the manufacture of coffee and pies. The construc
tion of our stand was simple and effective : a large
dry-goods box on which two boards were placed so
as to reach the bar-counter made a permanent and
secure foundation for the reception of our viands.
The boards were tastefully draped and masked
with Turkey-red reaching to the floor. Broad
sheets of white paper were spread over the top,
and on the right, next the counter, stood a large
and elaborate tin coffee-urn, and beneath it an
alcohol lamp emitting a beautiful blue flame. This
monument was surrounded by a dozen old cups
and saucers, in which, placed at right angles,
gleamed a corresponding number of shining
spoons, giving a pure German - silver flavor to

5*

70 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

everything they touched. A fat sugar-bowl and
an attenuated milk-pitcher completed the coffee
service. Four flat pies, two pyramids of sand
wiches, a box of cheap cigars tilted up on a brick,
and a large plate of home-made Mexican cakes
completed the assortment. Among the dainty
articles which adorned our counter were some
large, round, burnt-sienna-looking cakes called
mandillos. I think they must have been indig
enous to the soil of Mexico, for I rejoice to know
that I never saw one anywhere else. They were
sparingly sprinkled with dry currants, and glazed
on top with some sticky stuff that never dried
during the whole summer : if an unlucky fly lit on
one of these delicacies his doom was sealed. I
have no idea what they tasted like, for I never
had the courage to try one; nor did I ever know
a customer who ventured on one for the second
time. One gentleman, — an epicure from Texas, —
said that he would not mind giving one a trial if
he could be sure which were the currants and
which were the flies. This kind of pleasantry
we could afford to smile at, but when a ranger
remarked on one occasion that any man who
would sell such things ought to be shot, we
decided — for the sake of our customers — that
we would remove this objectionable feature from
our bill of fare; so the cakes were forthwith
banished to the top shelf, well out of sight, and
utilized as fly-traps for the rest of the season.

When our arrangements were first completed
Badger and I stood with folded arms at the far

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 71

end of the long room, contemplating the effect
with pride and satisfaction. It was now about
time for the doors to open. We were quite nerv
ous and excited ; for, in the innocence of our
natures, we expected a great rush from the public.
Our spirits were somewhat dampened, therefore,
to find that no one seemed to know or care any
thing about us or the new venture in which nearly
all of our available cash was invested.

As the day wore on, stragglers dropped in one
by one ; blear-eyed gamblers, freshly shaved, with
shaky hands and gloomy looks, called for their
morning cocktail at the bar. Now and then we
caught a stray customer: our coffee, clear and
strong, was a great success; and the pies did
pretty well, too, but the " Colorado Claros" were
a dead failure. Our point now was to watch the
public; if an article was not in demand we dis
carded it at once, and offered another in its place.
By these tactics, before the week was over, the
cash returns were more than satisfactory. My
partner and myself conformed to the regular busi
ness hours of the establishment: at about three
o'clock A. M. the order to close was given, and
"Vamoose!" was shouted by the stentorian lungs
of the proprietor. The roulette ceased to revolve,
the dice were discarded, the faro cloth was rolled
up, and our alcohol lamp was extinguished. Those
members of the sporting fraternity who could stand
on their feet reeled home (?), and those who could
not were dragged along the sanded floor and
deposited on the sidewalk; the candles were

72 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

blown out and the doors of "The Grand Span
ish Saloon" were closed to the world. Badger
and I would trudge to our room arm in arm,
carrying our money in a shot-bag between us,
and each armed with a Colt's patent " pepper-

caster."

The dwelling-houses in Matamoras were gen
erally one story high, built of brick, plastered, and
painted yellow ; one door and an iron-barred win
dow in front on the street, and the same at the
back, leading to a courtyard which was used in
common by the occupants of the house for wash
ing, ironing, cooking, and eating. We occupied
one of these establishments.

In. the morning little tables, with white cloths,
were brought out and set for breakfast in the
open air. The different families would sit at them
and drink their hot coffee, eat their fruit and bread,
smoke their cigarettes, and talk away as gaily as if
no war were going on. The courtyards were en
tered by a large gate, and hired out to passing
caravans of muleteers or rancheros, who occupied
the middle of the space. Here they also took their
meals and sold their fruit, vegetables, chickens,
and dry-goods of cheap and gaudy-colored stuffs,
Mexican blankets, sombreros, and baskets. The
courtyard at night was a lovely sight. The little
houses surrounding it were all lighted up within,
the doors wide open so that we could see the
families, men, women, and children, knitting,
smoking, dancing, singing, and playing cards —
always for money (everybody gambled in Mex-

JAMES W. WALLACK, JR.

OP JOSEPH JEFFERSON 73

ico) ; and groups of muleteers in the center were
seated around their camp-fire, which would blaze
and shed its light over the scene. I had a great
fondness for this locality, for here I met my first
love. Her mother was a full-blooded Mexican, but
her father must have been pure Castilian, for the
girl was not only beautiful, but her features were
aristocratic. She had the prettiest little feet and
hands that could be imagined. Her merry black
eyes fairly danced and sparkled with brilliancy,
and when laughing she would throw her head
back in ecstasy, showing two rows of pearly teeth.
Metta — that was her name — was as wild and
graceful as a deer. I was quite in love with her at
first sight, and when she began to teach me to
play the guitar and smoke cigarettes I was entirely
captured. She had that rich, olive complexion that
one sees in a pale Key West cigar, and, like that
article, was about half Spanish. Her great delight
was to make a full half-dozen of her Mexican
sweethearts jealous by flirting with me; but as
she spoke not a word of English, and I was en
tirely ignorant of Spanish, we could only make
eyes and smile at each other. Perhaps this was
all for the best, because had it been otherwise I
am afraid that, though I was only eighteen, my
.mother would have been astonished with a Mexican
daughter-in-law before we left the country.

Our business aftairs were flourishing at the
saloon, and but for a strong propensity that my
speculative partner had for trying his luck at
the side tables now and then, we should have

74 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

made a small fortune. Of course there was a
heavy risk of life and property in such a place, as
the frequenters of the " Grand Spanish " were
more numerous than select, and, to paraphrase
an old saying, "when the rum was in, the knife
was out." Several times the firm had dodged
under the counter to escape contact with a stray
bullet, and on one occasion the offending coffee-
urn had been fatally shot

I now divided my time between attention to
commerce and learning the Spanish language
from Metta, but I am afraid it was a case of
pleasure before business. She was the most inno
cent, simple child of nature that I ever saw, and
yet, with all her modesty, a perfect miniature
coquette. She would jump for joy and clap her
little hands together if she only could contrive to
make any of her lovers jealous. The scowling
brows of one of her native admirers, together with
the liberal display of a small arsenal of uncon
cealed weapons encircling his waist, always gave
me a disagreeable turn, and at these times I would
insist on Metta's not lavishing so much public
attention on me. I never saw the fellow's dark
eyes glaring at me but there came up a vision of
that old engraving of the Spanish lady on a moon
light night smiling from her window on her favor
ite lover, and a melodramatic-looking rival in the
background peering around the corner and grasp
ing a stiletto as big as a hand-saw, ready to stab
the accepted lover in the back.

A noted character on the border line in those

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 75

days, one Buck Wallace, was a frequenter of this
place — a lump of good nature and kindness when
unmolested, but the demon in him once aroused,
a desperate and dangerous man. He was a
Philadelphian by birth; and as that was my
native city, Wallace and I struck up a great
friendship, though he was full thirty years my
senior. He was an interesting fellow, with a
strange mixture of tenderness and ferocity. His
life had been an adventurous and romantic one;
as a boy, he had served under Captain James
Bowie, after whom the famous bowie-knife is
named, and was with Davy Crockett at the fall
of the Alamo. After the assassination of Crockett
and Bowie by the Mexicans, Wallace returned to
Philadelphia, and, as extremes meet, strangely
enough married a beautiful young Quakeress.
He now resolved to settle down and lead a
steady life, but the City of Brotherly Love was
a trifle too peaceful for his belligerent nature ; so,
taking his young wife on his arm, he again sought
the border, squatting on a ranch in the heart of
a wild and lonely spot on the banks of the Nueces.
This river marked the fighting line between Mex
ico and Texas, so it was congenial soil for "Bully
Buck," as he was familiarly called, though I am
afraid the friendly spirit of his gentle wife was
often shocked by his deeds of daring. He used to
talk to me of this sweet lady and their only child
with tears in his eyes, for he was a loving savage.
They had been cruelly murdered by the Comanche
Indians during the absence of Wallace from his

76 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

home. This crazed him for several months, and
when he came to himself a morbid craving for
revenge took possession of him. It is said that if
Buck met a Comanche alone, it was all up with
the redskin. His knowledge of the country made
him of much importance at this time to the United
States Government, by whom he was employed as
spy, scout, ranger, and detective; his bold nature
won for him the admiration of his friends and the
fear of his enemies. He had in his way educated
himself, and was very fond of quoting poetry of
the morbid and romantic order. Byron's " Cor
sair," Poe's " Raven," and Scott's Highland tales
were special favorites with him; but he had a
thorough contempt for Cooper's novels, and put
no faith in the existence of " Boston Indians."

One evening, — the last on earth for him, poor
fellow ! — just as the candles were lighted and the
games in the "Grand Saloon" were in full play,
Wallace, without hat or coat and with his hair
disheveled, rushed wildly into the room. He
shouted to the crowd: "Give me a knife or a
pistol, for God's sake, quick, or I 'm gone!"
Everybody started to his feet; the man was so
well known that the sound of his voice and his
desperate appearance seemed to terrify the crowd.
In the midst of the confusion three dark-looking
Mexicans rushed into the room and began a furi
ous attack upon Wallace. He was unarmed, and,
seizing a chair, he fought desperately for his life.
He felled the first man to the ground, but before
he could turn he was stabbed to the heart by one

MRS. JAMES W. WALLACK, JR.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 77

of his other assailants and fell heavily to the floor ;
the assassins, brandishing their knives, cleared a
way through the crowd and escaped. This was
the darkest tragedy I had yet seen, and that
night, as I turned the matter over in my mind,
I felt that, however congenial this atmosphere
might be for a Texan ranger, it was no place for
a legitimate comedian. So I proposed to Badger
that we should at once hunt up some Mexican
having a commercial turn of mind and sell out.
This was easily done ; the business was a thriv
ing one, and the death of poor Wallace seemed
to have made the place more popular. So we sold
the good-will, divided our capital, and dissolved.

I had to break the dreadful tidings to Metta
that I must go away. I do not think she cared
half so much for me as I did for her; but when
she realized the fact that I was about to " va
moose " she got up quite a little scene. Through
our interpreter I told her I should soon make
my fortune and return to her to claim her as my
bride, and bear her off with the whole family —
there were sixteen of them — to my own country.
It was pretty hard to make her understand that
there was any other country but the one she was
living in: she had often wondered where I and
all the other cruel people had come from to make
war on her family, and always fancied that the
little town where she was born was the all and
end of everything. In fact, Metta in Matamoras
was like the minnow in the brook — she " knew not
of the sea to which the brook was flowing."

78 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The parting between Metta and myself was very
affecting ; her mother and all her little barefooted
brothers were weeping away in the Mexican
tongue as I departed. In a month after that I
had quite forgotten Metta, and the chances are
that within a year she had allied herself to that
animated arsenal, the dark-eyed rival.

We had a permit to leave Matamoras in one of
the Government boats that was taking back
wounded soldiers to Brazos Santiago. Many of
the poor fellows were on board, and, having left
various members of their bodies on the battle-fields
of Mexico, they were anxious to get what was
left of them home as soon as possible. I was an
eye-witness to much of the suffering ; the water,
the climate, the blazing sun, and the drenching
rain thinned their ranks with more effect than
Mexican valor could have done. One by one they
dropped off; and by the time we reached Brazos
Santiago there were but few left alive. Here we
left the Government steamer and took passage on
a brig bound for New Orleans.

I am not aware as to how attractive their places
of business may be to the members of other pro
fessions, but when I was a youth the first place
an actor sought out when he arrived in town was
the theater. Actors seemed to be in love with
their vocation and fluttered about the footlights, .
whether they had anything to do or not. I scarcely
think that the attachment is so strong to-day, and
there are many reasons, too, why it should not be
so. At the time of which I write actors mixed

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 79

but little with the public and seldom went into
society. Salaries were small, so they could not
afford expensive amusements, and I cannot call to
mind that there was a dramatic club in America.
Now they have their yachts, their horses, their
clubs, and their country homes. Then their only
place of rendezvous was the theater.

It is not to be wondered at, then, that on our
arrival in New Orleans the brig we came in had
scarcely touched the wharf when I leaped ashore
and bought a morning paper to see what theater
was open. At the St. Charles — still under the
management of Ludlow & Smith — there was
announced the " Tragedy of King Richard III."
from the original text, the stars being Mr. and
Mrs. James W. Wallack, Jr., who appeared as
the Duke of Gloster and Queen Elizabeth, the
evening's entertainment concluding with the farce
of "A Kiss in the Dark," with the then rising
young comedian John E. Owens as Mr. Pitiibone.
Of course I went at once to the theater. As I had
acted there the season before, I knew all of the
attaches and most of the company, and I naturally
expected to be something of a lion, having just
returned from the seat of war. In this, however,
I was somewhat disappointed ; for as I had arrived
in a sailing vessel, they knew more of the conflict
than I did. That night I saw the performance.
James W. Wallack, Jr.,1 was in those days at his
best. Young, vigorous, and handsome, he was

1 So called to distinguish him from his uncle, who was the
father of Lester Wallack.

80 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY,

the most romantic-looking actor I ever saw ; there
was a dash and spirit in his carriage, too, that was
charming. I say he was at his best in those days,
because in after years the acting of Macready,
whom as an artist he idolized, had an unfortunate
influence upon him, as he ultimately became im
bued with the mannerisms of the English tragedian,
which were so marked that they marred the nat
ural grace of the imitator. All who remember
Mrs. James W. Wallack, Jr., will attest the force
of her tragic acting. In the quality of queenly
dignity I think she even surpassed Charlotte
Cushman, though she lacked perhaps the spirit
and fire of the latter. War usually increases the
nightly receipts of the theater, but the struggle
with Mexico seemed to have a contrary effect. So
I remember that, though the bill would have been
considered an attractive one under the usual con
dition of public affairs, the audience was small.
The American Theater, then under the manage
ment of James Place, was not open, but the com
pany was still in town, and there were as many
actors as citizens in front

The play was finely acted but indifferently
mounted, the armies of York and Lancaster
being wretchedly equipped and quite limited as
to quality and quantity. The faint and unmilitary
efforts that they made to march with time and
precision gave them anything but a warlike aspect.
In keeping step there was a glaring difference of
opinion, the pursuing army treading more upon
their own heels than upon those of the enemy,

JOHN E. OWENS.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 81

and in the final collision there was a friendly
tapping of tin spears on pasteboard helmets that
told too plainly of a bloodless battle.

But the really furious fight between Richard and
Richmond made amends for the docility of the rank
and file. Wallack was a superb swordsman, and I
do not remember to have seen a stage combat fought
with finer effect.

I had for the last year at least been buffeting
about in barns and tents, so that anything like a
legitimate production was a great treat. But my
chief interest on this occasion was centered in
the farce, and my thoughts were dwelling on the
approaching efforts of the rising young comedian
— and why not? Was I not a rising young com
edian myself? I certainly had reached that height
in my own estimation, at least, and I felt a burning
desire that a time should come when some news
paper would proclaim it for me as the New Orleans
" Picayune " had that day announced it for Owens.

At last he came, and certainly he conquered.
As he entered briskly upon the stage, humming
a sprightly song, I thought him the handsomest
low comedian I had ever seen. He had a neat,
dapper little figure, and a face full of lively expres
sion. His audience was with him from first to last,
his effective style and great flow of animal spirits
capturing them and myself too — though I must
confess that I had a hard struggle even inwardly
to acknowledge it.

As I look back and call to mind the slight touch
of envy that I felt that night, I am afraid that I had

82 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

hoped to see something not quite so good, and was
a little annoyed to find him such a capital actor;
in short, I experienced those unpleasant twinges
of jealousy that will creep over us during the
moments when we are not at our best — though
these feelings may occasionally produce a good
result. In me, I know, it stirred up the first great
ambition that I remember ever to have felt, and
from that night of pleasure and excitement I re
solved to equal Owens some day, if I could.

JOHN E. OWENS AS " SOLON SHINGLE."

CHAPTER IV

EARLY DAYS IN PHILADELPHIA AND NEW YORK

Crossing the Alleghanies — My Friend the Scene
Painter — William JS. Burton — An Effort in
Greek Tragedy — Charles Burke

IT was now decided that my mother and sister
should remain in New Orleans with some old
friends while I went to join my half-brother
in Philadelphia. He had been urging us for some
time to come to the North, writing that arrange
ments were made for me to act the second comedy
to himself and W. E. Burton, then manager of the
Arch Street Theater. My mother was banker, and
so had charge of the money. I took enough to
see me to Philadelphia, supposing that no accident
would happen; but before our steamer arrived at
Wheeling the river was blocked with ice, and we
were delayed over a week before we could reach
the line of stages that crossed the Alleghany
Mountains.

83

84 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Some of the old folks of to-day, who live only in
the past and stolidly witness the improvements of
the present, passing no remarks upon them except
when there is an opportunity to condemn, are
always preaching about the delights of the olden
time and extolling the comforts of the stage-coach.
I will describe, by way of contrast with travel of
the present day, how the Alleghany Mountains
were crossed in 1846.

It was midwinter when we arrived at Wheeling.
Our steamboat was tied to the wharf about three
o'clock in the morning, and as the stage-coach was
to start at five no one thought of going to bed, so
we wended our way along the frozen streets to
secure through tickets to Philadelphia. The morn
ing was pitch-dark and bitter cold — that damp,
penetrating weather piercing wraps and overcoats
until it reaches the very marrow in one's bones.

We got to the little den, by courtesy called the
"office," where we found a half-dozen more passen
gers equally damp, cold, and ill-natured with our
selves. There was a handful of coal burning in a
very small grate, about which 'were grouped the
round-shouldered, unsympathetic people who were
to be our fellow-travelers. They glanced at us as
we entered, and, closing up all the open space near
the fire, said as plainly as they could without speak
ing : " You don't get in here, we can tell you. You
have no right to travel in our coach, anyhow/'

At one side there was a small table on which
stood a large coffee-pot, some white cups and
saucers, a plate of sausages, — frozen stiff, — and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 85

an unattractive loaf of bread; behind this ban
quet was a tall darky, leaning against the wall
and fast asleep. Here he remained undisturbed,
not only because his refreshments were not tempt
ing, but because we were given to understand
that we could get a good breakfast twenty miles
from Wheeling. At the appointed time the heavy
old coach came up and we all climbed in. As
our places were not designated on the ticket, we
stowed ourselves in pell-mell, and I presume no
one got the seat he wanted.

A short way from town there was a long hill up
which the horses toiled, so this gave the inmates
of the coach time to settle themselves down for
a quiet nap. One snore after another announced
the accomplishment of this feat, and in a few
minutes at least six out of the nine passengers
were oblivious of their miserable condition. I
never before had so fine an opportunity to study
the philosophy of snoring. A large, fat man
opposite me had a short, angry snore; at one
time he snored so loudly that he woke himself
up, and he had the impudence to glare about at
the company as though he hoped they would not
make that noise again. The old lady who was
crushing me up in the corner snored deeply and
contentedly. Some one off in a dark corner, whom
I could not see, had a genial way of joining in, as
though he snored merely to oblige the passen
gers; but the grand, original musician of the
party sat opposite me. I never heard anything
approaching him, either for quality or for compass.

6*

86 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

It was a back-action snore that began in a bold
agitato movement, suddenly brought up with a
jerk, and terminated in a low whistle. As the
coach steadily moved up the hill the band was in
full play. The summit gained, there was a sharp
crack of the whip, the horses started, and as every
body was jerked violently backward, snoring gave
place to oaths and pshaws and jolting about. ^ As
soon, however, as we got used to this sensation,
the chorus began again ; and as I was quite over
come and tired, I joined in until the coach came to
a full stop at the stable where the horses were to
be changed. The sun now rose, and came in at
all sorts of places, waking and blinding everybody.
What a discontented and unhappy lot we were!
and how we all hated one another !

Breakfast at last ! Ah, hot coffee, ham and eggs,
and buckwheat cakes! The meal was not half
over before we were a band of brothers. We could
not do enough for one another, and all was har
mony and peace. Of course, under these conditions,
we became more familiar, and one vied with another
in making the time pass agreeably.

Two gentlemen pitted themselves against each
other in telling funny stories. Their talents and
qualities in this respect differed very widely : one
invariably began his anecdotes by telling the joke
first and then relating the story, whereas the other
told his tale in a capital way until he came to the
point, and that he never could remember. The
fat man sang a sentimental song about " My
Mother, Oh, my Mother." His voice was not bad

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 87

if he had only kept in one key, but his natural inde
pendence set all such trifles at defiance, and in his
most extravagant wanderings he would look about
with an expression of countenance which clearly ad
monished us not to give him any advice in thematter.

Of course I was expected to contribute my share
of amusement, particularly as it leaked out that I
was a young actor; in fact, I should have been
offended if they had not pressed me. I sang a
comic song about "The Good Old Days of Adam
and Eve," the passengers liberally joining in the
chorus. I followed this up with some bad imita
tions of Forrest and Booth. These seemed to give
great satisfaction, the old lady exclaiming that the
imitations were wonderful; but as it afterwards
turned out that she had never seen the originals,
her criticism must be received with some caution.
The day rolled slowly away, and as the darkness
came on a mountain storm of snow and driving
wind enveloped us. As we ascended the mountain
the cold became intense.

It was rather late in the night when we arrived
at the supper station, as in consequence of the
slippery state of the roads we were fully three
hours behind time ; but the cheerful look of the
dining-room, with its huge blazing fire of logs,
repaid us for all the suffering we had endured.
We found that a large pile of bricks was being
heated for us in front of the fireplace : these com
forting articles were intended for our feet in the
coach, and nothing, not even the supper, could
have been more welcome.

88 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The horses changed and the passengers aboard,
we were again ready for our journey — more peril
ous now than ever, for as we reached the summit
of the mountain the storm increased in its fury.
At times we thought the stage would blow over ;
the icy roads caused the horses to slip, and several
times the leaders went down. It was a night to be
remembered. A little after daylight we rolled into
the town of Cumberland, the terminus of the stage
line and the beginning of the railroad. Shivering
and benumbed with cold, we alighted and sought
the hotel for warmth and shelter. The driver of the
coach was frozen stiff and had to be assisted down
from the box. Another hour on the road would
have been fatal to him.

Twenty-four hours of suffering and peril took us
from Wheeling to Cumberland — -a journey now
made in six, with a comfortable bed to lie on and
a warm sleeping-car for shelter.

A reunion with my brother was always delight
ful. We took the greatest pleasure in each other's
society, and he seemed never tired of making any
sacrifices for my advancement, and, while we were
both acting at the Arch, would often persuade Mr.
Burton to cast me for parts far beyond my reach.

At the end of the season Burke joined the Bow
ery Theater in New York, and I was installed in
his place at the Arch. I was destined to meet
in this theater one of my oldest and dearest
friends, Tom Glessing. Dear Tom ! as I write
your name how my thoughts run back to the
olden time — not that we were happier then in

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 89

each other s friendship, for it is a great comfort to
reflect that throughout the many years we knew
each other our affection never weakened.

Tom was the scenic artist of the Arch Street
Theater, and noted for great rapidity in the exe
cution of his work. The same generous nature that
prompted him to lavish all he had upon his friends
rendered him equally prodigal in the use of paint;
he wasted more than he used, and bespattered
everything and everybody, himself included. Such
was the generosity of his double-pound brush, that
it scattered benevolence in all directions, and woe
betide his dearest friend if ever he came within the
circumference of its bounty ! His was the loudest
and the heartiest laugh I ever heard. Nor had he
any control over it, and often during the quiet
scene of some play that was in preparation his
boisterous roar of merriment would burst forth
from the paint-room and, echoing through the
theater, upset the serious business of the play.
At such times the stage-manager would have to
assert his authority, and demand of Glessing that
he should stop that "dreadful roar" in order
that the rehearsal might go on. If he had a fault
it was that he was a trifle mischievous, and his
enjoyment of a practical joke, played on any one of
his companions, was delightful to behold: when
he tried to tell of it he would laugh so immoder
ately that one could never understand half he said.
Fortunately, none of his pranks resulted seriously,
except sometimes to himself; and when recounting
some of the mishaps that had befallen him, in con-

90 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

sequence of indulging too freely in his sport, he
seemed to enjoy his own discomfiture quite as
much as that of the other party. Practical jokers,
like physicians, seldom take their own prescrip
tions with pleasure; but Tom was an exception,
and would even delight in being the victim of the
game.

I recall the first time we met in the paint-room :
he was hard at work, splashing in a turbulent
ocean with angry billows breaking upon the rocks.
The storm was very severe, and the artist must
have had a narrow escape, for he was so bespat
tered with spray that he seemed to have been
battling with the breakers.

We were friends from the first moment. Sincere
attachments usually begin at the beginning. He
had but one sorrow — it was a domestic one — and
he bore it nobly, never uttering a word against
those who had caused his unhappiness. Years
afterward he married again, and so happily that
it repaid him for the trouble he had passed through
in his youth. Gaiety became contagious in his
presence, and cheerfulness followed in his wake.
He dreaded to look upon the serious side of life,
for his nature was so sympathetic that he suffered
the pangs of others, and at the mere recital of
human grief his eyes would fill with tears. He
was fond of acting, and could n't act a bit, poor
fellow ! — but it was delicious to hear him recount
his failures.

Mr. Burton had married Tom's sister, and he
and Glessing traveled together through the South

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 91

on one of the comedian's starring trips. In Nat
chez, Mississippi, the manager offered to give
Tom a benefit if he could prevail upon Mr. Burton
to play for him. This was arranged, and for two
days he practiced the speech he intended to de
liver in front of the curtain, as a tribute of grati
tude to a generous public. He had written it out,
and had sat up all the previous night to commit it
to memory. It began, " Being totally unprepared
for the honor you have done me." After rehearsal
he walked out to the edge of the town, so that he
could practice it in the open air, where he could
elevate his voice without disturbing the citizens.
On his way towards the woods he met a drunken
Indian, who was staggering from side to side in
the road, and flourishing an empty whisky-bottle
at the white man in general and Glessing in par
ticular. When any one is anxious to avoid a
drunken man, by some strange fascination the
intoxicated person invariably makes directly for
him ; you may look the other way, or pretend to
be unconscious of his existence, but it 's of no
use : he will introduce himself. The Indian was no
exception ; for though poor Tom, who was fright
ened to death, whistled a lively tune and looked up
at the tops of the trees, the gentle savage would
not be avoided.

" Hey ! you white man, look me too. Me good
Indian, good Indian. Yes, ah?" said the red
man.

To which Tom assented at once, most emphati
cally : " Certainly, you are a splendid Injun;

92 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

you 're as good — I may say you are the best
Injun I ever saw."

" You think me drunk, eh ? "

" Drunk ! " said Tom. " No. Let me hear any
one dare to say you 're drunk, and I '11 kill him.
Give me that bottle and I II kill him with that."

"No; me am drunk," said the savage, glaring
fiercely at Tom,

"You may be a little drunk, but not much —
just enough, eh ? " said Tom, desirous of agreeing
to anything under the circumstances. The Indian
became sullen and moody, as if brooding on the
wrongs that the white man had inflicted on
his ancestors, when it suddenly occurred to Tom
that the United States Government, when the In
dians got troublesome, always softened their anger
by the bestowal of costly presents ; so, offering a
dollar to the chief, Tom bade him return to his
wigwam and take some whisky home to his squaw
and papoose. The offering was accepted, and had
the desired effect. After two or three affectionate
embraces they parted, and Tom got away in the
opposite direction.

Finding himself once more alone, and in a
secluded spot, he began to go through his speech.
He tried various methods, first the cheerful ;
stepping forward with bright, jaunty manner, he
raised his voice in a high key : " Ladies and gentle
men, being totally unprepared for this honor." On
second thought, it appeared to him that his manner
was a little too free and undignified, so he now
assumed the grave and thoughtful. Placing one

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 93

hand in his breast, and pulling his hair over his
eyes, to give him a poetic and dreamy air, he paced
slowly forward, and in a solemn, deep voice began
again : " Ladies and gentlemen, being totally un
prepared" — Just at this point he raised his eyes
and observed the astonished heads of two farmers
peering over the rails of a worm fence. He imme
diately gathered up his hat and manuscripts and
started for the town at a brisk pace ; but remem
bering that the "good Injun" might be in ambush
awaiting his return, he was forced to skirt the town
for miles before he reached his hotel.

He would go on by the hour and tell such stories,
and was always the most pleased when he was the
hero of them and placed in some absurd position.

About this time I was haunted by a professional
borrower. Just eighteen, and in the reteipt of
what was considered in those days a fair salary, I
was a shining mark for his skill, though I was such
easy game that I think he held me in slight con
tempt. But, for all this, he was crafty enough to
impress me with the simplicity of his nature, and
what a toy and plaything he had been for fortune's
sport ! He was a dreadfully bad actor on the stage,
but a star of the first magnitude in private life ; so
much so that for many weeks he tortured and de
frauded me with the ease and confidence of a
master.

Conventional beggars are as conventional as any
other professionals. That time-honored custom of
assuming a nervous and uncertain manner, as if this
was the first time they were placed in such a posi-

94 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tion, is a favorite attitude with them ; while in
'reality they are cool and collected. My tormentor
was an expert, and his costume quite a study for an
amateur in the business. Although his ample shoes
were full of gaping wounds, they shone with a high
polish that any man might feel proud of; and if his
tall hat was a trifle weak, it had a gloomy, ruined-
tower look that won him respect from strangers ;
and his clothes were of a shabby black, just " sick
lied o'er with the pale cast " of time. Sometimes
he would meet me with a sad, sweet smile, clasping
my hand warmly, and regarding me as if I was the
one ray of light that illumined his gloomy path. I
believe he once said these very words ; at all events
he looked them, and at times I really thought I
was. The first thing a sly old rascal like this does
is to study the weak points of his victims ; and he
knew mine better than I did. He had a large
supply of tears that he could turn on at will, and
after getting under a full headway of grief he
would revolve slowly and dry his eyes with his
back to me. I used to imagine that he did this so
that I might not observe him weep; but since
then I have thought differently of it.

He knew perfectly well when salary day came,
and would waylay me at the stage door. On these
occasions he would assume a surprised and startled
look, as if we had met quite by accident ; and then
he would exclaim, in a half- retrospective tone,
" Dear me ! dear me ! it must be nearly a week
since we last met." It was just a week, to the
minute, and he knew it, the villain ! At such times

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 95

Tom Glessing would fairly revel in my discomfit
ure. If he saw that my tormentor had button
holed me on the corner, he would delight in passing
close to us with an " Ah, how are you ? At it again,
eh ? " And on he would go, fairly holding- his sides
with laughter, while my " corkscrew," as Glessing
used to call him, was drawing the dollar notes out
of my pocket, one by one. The most provoking
thing about the fellow was the air of patronage he
assumed when negotiating a loan in our early
transactions he used to make me feel that he was
doing me an immense favor by levying these little
drafts on my slender income. He would begin by
saying that if it were not for the regard he had
formerly felt for my father he would not demean
himself by sinking so low. I put up with this for
some time, not out of any charity, for I had gradu
ally lost all respect or pity for him, but from a kind
of fear. He had an overawing and at the same
time despairing look that quite terrified me, and as
lately he had hinted that the time was drawing near
when he thought of trying his luck in the Delaware,
I really feared he might commit suicide.

I can hardly describe what I suffered from the
persecutions of this man, and it was nothing but a
sense of shame at being the dupe of such a low
fellow that determined me to break my bondage
and turn from him. When he saw that I made a
bold stand against him he became abusive ; finding
that this did not have the desired effect he lapsed
into the dismal, whining and mourning over his
crushed feelings and lamenting his personal degra-

96 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

dation. But I had discovered his cloven foot, and
it was too late for him to attempt further im
posture.

Such men are to be found in all grades of life,
and they are usually adroit and cunning fellows,
attacking their victims right and left, and using just
the sort of weapons that are the most difficult to
parry. They lie in ambush for the innocent trav
eler, and suddenly pounce upon him with a well-
told tale, so got by rote, and so often rehearsed,
that they act the part of injured innocence to the
life. If the victim be timid he is lost, for they
recognize his nervousness at once, and browbeat
him out of his benevolence.

This vile weed — the borrower — grows and lux
uriates in all the capitals of States and countries.
The ever-changing soil of fresh visitation seems
well adapted to nourish it. Sometimes women
indulge in this practice, but not often ; you are at
least safer with them than with the men, particu
larly if they are old. A feeble old mendicant gen
erally uses her collection for some purpose that
gives her comfort at least. Coal, tea, and warm
worsted stockings are necessary, and they must
and should have them; but the man has many
avenues through which he can filter your bounty —
the gaming-table, the bar-room, and worse.

If Mr. Burton was not at this time a fixed star,
he was certainly a managerial planet of the first
magnitude, and in this position was naturally sur
rounded by a number of small satellites that basked
in the moonshine of his affection. These lesser

WILLIAM E. BURTON AS "DOCTOR OLLAPOD."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 97

lights seemed to gyrate in eccentric orbits, generally
going out of their way to carry tales to their superior.

Nothing is more distressing to the members of a
stock company than to have spies set upon them
who eavesdrop and report every little trifle to the
'manager. It is natural that the occupants of the
dressing-room, and even of the greenroom, when
the manager is not present, should now and then
indulge in the harmless amusement of criticizing
and even censuring the policy of the theater ; it
serves to pass away the time between long waits,
and, like Doctor Ollapod's small dose of magnesia,
does " neither harm nor good."

The tale-bearing element in Mr. Burton's the
ater was fully organized under the generalship of
one of the most ingenious informers that I have
ever met with. If I do not speak affectionately of
this gentleman, it is because I was at that time
smarting under the effects of one of his secret-
service reports to the Star-chamber, to which
apartment I had been summoned on a charge of
"contemplated desertion." It seems that I had
been incautiously bragging among my comrades
in the dressing-room of a large offer I had re
ceived to leave the Arch and join Mr. Killmist
at his theater in Washington, stating that I was
shortly going to send in my resignation to Mr.
Burton. I had also been abusing the manage
ment, both criticizing and condemning its short
sighted policy; and though there was no stated
reward offered for the exposure of such offenses,
the informer was anxious to get me out of the

98 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

theater, looking for his compensation in being
cast for some of the good parts that were already
in my possession.

I was ushered into the manager's office by the
call-boy, and stood there like a prisoner ready to
be sentenced to the rack for daring to express my
opinion of the "powers that be." Mr. Burton sat
in state at the farther end of a long table, sup
ported on each side by his stage-manager and
the prompter ; this august tribunal frowned on me
with a most discharging countenance as I stood
before it. The scene as I look back at it seems
comical enough, but just at that time it was a seri
ous matter for me, as my prospective engagement
was not positively settled, and under the most fa
vorable circumstances could not be entered upon
short of two months, and a dismissal just at that
time would have been financially inconvenient.
The accusation of a " contemplated desertion "
being made, I demanded the name of the informer.
This being withheld, I declined to make any an
swer to the charge. Those who remember Mr.
Burton's face will recall its wonderfully comical
expression, even when he was serious; but when
he assumed a look of injured innocence the effect
was irresistible. I did not dare laugh then, but
I do enjoy it now when I think of it. The exami
nation proceeded, and on the first question being
again put I acknowledged the fact point-blank,
stating also that being engaged for no stated
length of time I intended to give the customary
notice and to resign.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 99

The manager demanded to know on what
grounds I presumed to take such a step without
first consulting him. I told him that I had been
offered double the salary I was then receiving.
Upon his asking who made me worth " double
the salary," I replied that I was quite willing to
admit that he did, and proposed that he should
give it to me. At this rather impertinent remark
lie waxed wroth, and said I was not worth it, and
never would be worth it, but that I had been
insubordinate and disloyal to him, and that he
should take legal steps to prevent my appearing
at any other theater if I left him.

There is no doubt that Mr. Burton thought that
his denunciation and threats of an action would
crush me, but he knew little of human nature, for
I now went up at least one hundred per cent, in my
own estimation. The very thought of being threat
ened with a lawsuit made me feel at least an inch
taller. I, who up to the present time had thought
myself of small consequence, threatened with an
action for breach of contract ! It was delightful ;
and I have no doubt that I drew myself up with
much dignity as I informed him that he could pur
sue whatever course he pleased in the matter —
swaggering out of the room with the defiant air of
a " heavy villain."

Of course quite a little knot of actors were wait
ing at the back door to hear the result of the trial
and learn the verdict of the judge. When I in
formed them with a lofty pride that I presumed
the affair would end in a lawsuit, they were

100 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

amazed. If they had never envied me before,
they certainly did now. It was not a hanging
matter, and the most serious result could not go
beyond " damages for the plaintiff"; and what
actor of my position in those days could ever have
afforded to pay damages ? We might have dreaded
a long vacation in the summer, or quaked at the
rebuke of a dramatic critic, but the law ! So far
as damages were concerned, we defied it ! The
case, however, never came to trial; for about a
week after this the Washington theater was de
stroyed by fire, and I was only too glad to remain
where I was without double the salary.

As an actor of the old broad farce-comedy Mr.
Burton certainly had no equal in his day, and his
dramatic pictures of the characters of Dickens
would have amazed the author if he had been so
fortunate as to see them. Captain Cuttle and
Micawber were his greatest achievements ; his face
was a huge map on which was written every emo
tion that he felt ; there was no mistaking the
meaning of each expression. His entrance as Van
Dunder, in the drama of "The Dutch Governor;
or, T would puzzle a Conjuror," was a comic pict
ure so full of genius that it stamped itself indelibly
on the mind, an effect never to be forgotten. The
great stupid face was a blank. The heavy cheeks
hung down stolidly on each side of a half-opened
mouth ; the large, expressionless ej^es seemed to
look hopelessly for some gleam of intelligence.
There he stood, the incarnation of pompous igno
rance, with an open letter in his hand. The audi-

WILLIAM E. BURTON AS "CAPTAIN CUTTLE.

102 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

only another way of having it out, and Burton
must have spent a fortune in fees. His humor on
the witness-stand was quite equal to that of Sam
Weller. On one occasion, while the actor was
going through bankruptcy, an eminent lawyer in
Philadelphia thought he detected a desire on Bur
ton's part to conceal some facts relative to a large
sum of money that he had made during the pro
duction of the " Naiad Queen." Rising with great
dignity, and glaring fiercely at Burton, he de
manded, " What became of that money, sir ? " The
comedian looked him straight in the face; then
rising in imitation of an attorney, he replied, " The
lawyers got it."

During the first season that I acted at the Arch
great preparations were made for the production of
a Greek tragedy, the "Antigone" of Sophocles.
In a theater, as we have seen, there are apt to be
two or three discordant spirits that criticize and con
demn the course of the management, and I pre
sume that most public institutions are honored by
small private bands of conspirators ; so that on
being confronted by this ancient drama in the green
room we naturally shrugged our shoulders and
wondered what Mr. Burton meant. by it. This
same sublime tragedy of " Antigone " had been
freely translated and acted in Dublin at the Theater
Royal some forty years ago. The audience was
quite bewildered by this performance, and at the close
of the play called for the author ; whether to applaud
or to chastise him does not appear. The manager
came forward to apologize for the absence of Soph-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 103

ocles, but promised faithfully to produce him if
ever he allowed one of his plays to be acted under
his management again. Notwithstanding that this
Greek tragedy had always failed to attract public
attention, our manager determined to revive this
previously unfortunate drama. It has been said
that Mr. Burton was classically educated; naturally
he felt justly proud of his scholastic attainments,
and, having a desire to display them, he selected
the Greek tragedy as just the thing for its accom
plishment. Apart from his undoubted claim to
erudition, he had that wonderful stage tact and
executive ability that thoroughly qualified him for
the management of a theater ; so that whether he
had drunk deep at the " Pierian spring " or not, he
certainly had quenched his thirst at the public foun
tains, and refreshed himself at all those little intel
lectual brooks that flow along the roadside of an
actor's life. This kind of knowledge may be super
ficial, but it is most useful to an actor-manager.

But to return to "Antigone." During its re
hearsals a marked change came over our manager.
In arranging the lighter and more colloquial plays
he was accustomed to be cheerful, and rather
inclined to intersperse his directions with anecdote ;
but now he assumed a dignity strangely at vari
ance with his usual manner, and we, the company,
who had been in the habit of associating his comical
figure with Paul Pry and Jem Baggs, could scarcely
be expected at this short notice to receive this
change of demeanor with the same solemnity with
which it was given. Of course we did not dare

104 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

exhibit our irreverent feelings, for there is no doubt
that had Mr. Burton detected the slightest attempt
to guy either him or his new venture an immediate
discharge of the offending party would surely have
followed. Tom Glessing, myself, and several minor
members of the company had got hold of some
Greek quotations, and would slyly salute one
another in the classic tongue when we met at the
theater in the morning, always, however, when the
manager's back was turned ; for if in his presence
we had dared talk Greek we should certainly have
walked Spanish.

I was cast for one of the unhappy Chorus, — I
think there were four of us, — and when the curtain
rose a more wretched looking quartet was never
seen. I think the costume we wore was unfortunate,
and added neither to our comfort nor to our per
sonal appearance. We were crowned with four
evergreen laurel wreaths, which sat unsteadily
upon our heads, and were done up to the chin in
white Grecian togas. Mr. and Mrs. James W.
Wallack, Jr., were in the cast, and for their fine
declamation and classic tableaux were much ap
plauded ; but when we as the Chorus attempted to
explain what it all meant, the effect upon the audi
ence was dreadful.

The failure of this sublime tragedy caused Mr.
Burton to be seriously out of pocket, as well as
out of temper. He blamed first the public, then
the unfortunate Chorus, and, finally, himself.

In domestic matters I had good opportunity of
forming my judgment of Mr. Burton, as we were

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 105

for some time quite intimate, and I often visited
him at his house. The affection he lavished upon
his children was almost feminine in its warmth and
gentleness. He had three lovely little tyrants, who
managed him quite as well as he managed his
theater. They were extremely fond of their father,
and he delighted to walk with his lovely daugh
ters and show them off. I have often met the
group strolling hand in hand in Franklin Square
on a fine Sunday morning in the spring, the pretty
little girls, tastefully dressed, tossing their heads
and shaking their curls in childish vanity, with their
portly parent looking proudly down upon them.

The Arch, during the time I was under Mr. Bur
ton's management, had met with many of those
vicissitudes that were so prevalent in theatrical
ventures when the production of the " Glance at
New York " struck the popular taste of that curi
ous and uncertain element known as the " public."
The " public" means in reality nobody; it is an
elastic term ; we are indeed prone to call every one
the public but ourselves. We wonder that the pub
lic can support this or that trashy entertainment,
forgetting that we have been to see it once, and
perhaps twice. "Life in London," upon which the
"Glance at New York" was founded, ran for two
seasons in London, when both lords and ladies
went in crowds to witness the vulgarities of low
life ; the knocking down of watchmen, the upset
ting of an old woman's apple stall, and the dancing
of Dusty Bob and African Sal occupied the atten
tion and delighted the audience of seventy years ago.

106 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Years before, Monk Lewis's melodrama of " Cas
tle Spectre," a ghostly and ghastly piece of business,
drew crowds of people, to the exclusion of the works
of Shakspere, 'Sheridan, and Goldsmith. Nonde
script actors, of the ranting and fantastic school,
were in demand, while the Kembles and a host of
great comedians were playing to empty benches.
Likewise, we find Colley Gibber complaining that
in his day the legitimate drama had fallen so low in
the estimation of the public that he and his com
pany of fine comedians were put aside and made
subservient to the Italian singers and French ballet
dancers that then flooded England.

We must not always condemn the public of the
present day for these curious characteristics which
seem to have come to them by a legitimate inheri
tance. Besides, there may 'be a necessity for this
seeming inconstancy, and it is quite possible that
the mind requires now and then a change of diet
as the stomach does; the palate being satiated
with rich and delicate viands often craves a little
coarser food, if only to assist digestion.

But to return to Mr. Burton and his new vent
ure. The great success of the " Glance at New
York" caused him to look in that direction him
self. A full treasury had excited his ambition, so
he proceeded to New York and purchased Palmo's
Opera House for the purpose of opening it as a
comedy theater. He was an early riser, very in
dustrious, and extremely temperate. These qual
ities, combined with energy and an inordinate
ambition to lead, made him a formidable adver-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 107

sary for Mr. Mitchell, who was then in the very
height of prosperity at the Olympic. This latter
gentleman, like Mr. Burton, was a comedian and
a manager of rare ability; he had surrounded
himself with an excellent company of actors and
actresses, who were so quaint and so well chosen
that the dramatic treats given at the " Little
Olympic" became the rage and talk of the town.
Mr. Burton saw this, and his desire for a dramatic
battle urged him to oppose Mitchell, and this he
did with much force and judgment, bringing to bear
the heaviest theatrical artillery that New York had
ever seen. When I say that these great guns con
sisted of William Rufus Blake, Henry Placide, W.
E. Burton, John Brougham, Lester Wallack, Oliver
Raymond, Lysander Thompson, and Charles Burke,
I think that those who remember these extraordi
nary actors will fully agree with the statement. I
do not think that Lysander Thompson and Charles
Burke were with the company at this time, but
they joined it afterward. In the midst of this
conflict between the managers Mr. Mitchell was
stricken with paralysis ; this rendered the contest
still more unequal, and the " Little Olympic "
surrendered.

To give some idea of the excellence with which
Mr. Burton's plays were cast, I may mention that
I saw Shakspere's comedy of "Twelfth Night"
produced at his theater with Blake as Malvolio,
Placide as the Fool, Burton as Sir Toby Belch,
Lester Wallack as Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and
Miss Weston as Viola. I do not believe that this

108 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

play has been acted with greater skill since Shak-
spere wrote it, although there is no denying that,
with regard to scenic effects, costumes, ingenious
stage-management, and elaborate ornamentation,
the Shaksperean productions of our own time far
exceed those of the earlier revivals.

Burton's ambition to succeed in the various tasks
he had set himself was strongly fortified by his
quick apprehension and great versatility. He was
at the same time managing the Arch Street Theater
in Philadelphia, the Chambers Street Theater in
New York, acting nightly, and studying new char
acters as fast as they came out. In addition to
these professional duties, he was building a country
residence at Glen Cove, writing stories for the
magazines, and taking prizes at the horticultural
shows for hot-house grapes and flowers. If his
success and happiness were marred, it can only be
attributed to his too great ambition ; this trait led
him to oppose everything that came within range,
and at times he would even go out of his way to
search for a new antagonist. In a fit of excitement,
brought on by some domestic shock, he was sud
denly stricken down, and never rose again. Dur
ing his last hours he was lovingly attended by his
daughters, who had grown up to womanhood, and
I am told by one who was present that the parting
with them touched the hearts of all who saw it.

It was a rare treat to see Burton and Burke in
the same play : they acted into each other's hands
with the most perfect skill; there was no striving to
outdo each other. If the scene required that for

M? C.BUHKE. AMERICAN COMEDIAN.

m Cmutyjrarrut,,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 109

a time one should be prominent, the other would
become the background of the picture, and so
strengthen the general effect ; by this method they
produced a perfectly harmonious work. For in
stance, Burke would remain in repose, attentively
listening while Burton was delivering some humor
ous speech. This would naturally act as a spell
upon the audience, who became by this treatment
absorbed in what Burton was saying, and having
got the full force of the effect, they would burst
forth in laughter or applause ; then, by one accord,
they became silent, intently listening to Burke's
reply, which Burton was now strengthening by the
same repose and attention. I have never seen this
element in acting carried so far, or accomplished
with such admirable results, not even upon the
French stage, and I am convinced that the impor
tance of it in reaching the best dramatic effects
cannot be too highly estimated.

It was this characteristic feature of the acting of
these two great artists that always set the audience
wondering which was the better. The truth is
there was no "better" about the matter. They
were not horses running a race, but artists painting
a picture ; it was not in their minds which should
win, but how they could, by their joint efforts,
produce a perfect work. I profited very much by
these early lessons.

Dying at the age of thirty-two, it is wonderful
that Charles Burke left such an enduring reputation
as an actor. I do not mean that his fame lives with
the general public, but his professional brethren

110 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

accorded to him the rarest histrionic genius. I
have sometimes heard comparisons made between
Burton and Burke, but they were so widely differ
ent in their natures and their artistic methods that
no reasonable parallel could be drawn. Burton
colored highly, and laid on the effects with a liberal
brush, while Burke was subtle, incisive, and refined.
Burton's features were strong and heavy, and his
figure was portly and ungainly. Burke was lithe
and graceful. His face was plain, but wonderfully
expressive. The versatility of this rare actor was
remarkable, his pathos being quite as striking a
feature as his comedy. He had an eye and face
that told their meaning before he spoke, a voice
that, seemed to come from the heart itself, pene
trating, but melodious. He sang with great taste,
and was a perfect musician. His dramatic effects
sprung more from intuition than from study ; and,
as was said of Barton Booth, " the blind might
have seen him in his voice, and the deaf have
heard him in his visage."

Although only a half-brother, he seemed like a
father to me, and there was a deep and strange
affection between us. As I look back I can recall
many social and professional sacrifices that he made
for me, and my love for him was so great that if
we were absent from each other for any length of
time my heart would beat with delight at his ap
proach. It is scarcely fair to intrude upon the
reader one's domestic affections, but I am irresist
ibly impelled to write these words. And so they
must stand.

CHAPTER V

STOCK, STAR, AND STAGE MANAGEMENT

From Stock to Star — From Star to Stock — The
Elder Booth as "Sir Giles Overreach" — The
Southern Theatrical Circuit — A Wandering
Star — The Balcony Scene — Julia Dean —
Legitimate Comedy — James E. Murdoch —
Henry Placide — A Play an Animated Pict
ure — Edwin Forrest

THERE is nothing a young actor enjoys more
than itinerant theatricals. It is so grand to
break loose from a big tyrant manager in
the city and become a small tyrant manager in the
country. I was one of those juvenile theatrical
anarchists who, after having stirred up a rebellion
in the greenroom, would shout to my comrades,
" Let 's all be equal, and I '11 be king I " I had
annual attacks of this revolutionary fever, and
having saved up all my salary during the regular
winter season would lose it patriotically in the
summer. It was on the eve of one of these ex
cursions that I received my first telegram. It came
in "the form of a despatch from my partner, who

112 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

was in Baltimore, I being in Cumberland. I could
not believe it, but there it was; a reply to my
letter of the day previous, which he could have
received only an hour before the message was
delivered to me. I called at the office to inquire if
it were really so: yes, there could be no doubt
about it. A small group of people had col
lected about the operator, some having received
messages of congratulation at the establishment of
the line, others sending messages away to the same
effect, and all wearing a look of surprise and
incredulity. We began showing one another our
despatches, and, looking with respectful awe at the
mysterious little machine that was ticking away as
if worked by some invisible spirit of the other
world, wondered what they would do next. The
whole town was greatly excited about it. People
were running to and fro with little messages in their
hands, and stopping one another in the street to
talk and wonder over the new event. If I were
now to receive a message from the planet Mars
offering me a star engagement, I could not be
more astonished than I was on that day.

It is said that the man who invented spectacles
was imprisoned for daring to improve on the eye
sight that God had given us; and that these com
forts of old age were called the " Devil's eyes."
So, in the height of this telegraphic novelty, did
many wise old Solons shake their solemn heads,
declaring that the wrath of God would fall on
those who dared to take a liberty with lightning.
The people with universal consent made the occa-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 113

sion a holiday, and as this was our opening, in the
evening the hall was full.

We should have considered it a good house if
the receipts had reached forty dollars; but when
I made up the account I found myself in posses
sion of more than a hundred dollars, all in silver.
Loaded down with this weighty fortune I started
.after the play for the hotel, being supported on
each side by the walking gentleman and the
property man, utilizing them as a body-guard
lest I should be waylaid and robbed. In this
flush of fortune, and as a requital for their valua
ble services, I stood treat to my escort and dis
missed them for the night. My room was in the
third story, so there was no fear of burglars from
without; but as I fancied that every robber in
town must by this time be in full possession of
all the information concerning my acquisition, I
ascended the stairs with a solitary tallow candle
and a nervous step. The long, dark entry seemed
so very favorable for an attack that at each land
ing I imagined that I should be stabbed in the
back. I thought it therefore just as well to hum
a tune in a careless way, as though I was quite
used to this sort of thing, and thoroughly prepared
for any emergency. Sauntering slowly along to
the tune of " My Pretty Jane," I reached the door
of my room, which I entered as quickly as possible,
locking it at once. The next thing was to dispose
of my treasure, which I did by placing it between
the mattresses of the bed. I spread it all out so as
to make it look like a good deal when my partner

114 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

arrived. One always takes delight in showing
his partner how well things have gone during his
absence; it is so delightful to make him feel that
he is not of half so much importance as he thinks he
is. Having placed the chair under the knob of the
door, I could see no chance for a successful bur
glary unless the operator came down the chimney.
I confess this rather worried me, as I felt that
in the, event of his making a descent upon me by
the flue I could not possibly keep him out with
the blower. I went to bed with the idea that I
should be found murdered in the morning, and
dropped off to sleep dreaming of Jack Sheppard.

At daylight I was startled by a loud knock at
the door. " Who 's there ? " I said, still somewhat
alarmed. "Sefton," said the voice of my partner.
" Are you sure?" said I. " Of course I am," he re
plied. I opened the door and admitted him.
" How was the house? " was the first question. I
made no reply, but turned down the mattress and
displayed the full receipts to his astonished gaze.

Now our managerial labors began in earnest.
The town did not contain more than five hundred
playgoers, so that we were obliged to change the
performance nearly every night. After the play
we would go out and, taking our property man
with us as an assistant, put up our own bills.
This we continued to do until at last our financial
condition enabled us to afford the luxury of a bill
poster.

No one who has not passed through the actual
experience of country management, combined with

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 115

acting, can imagine the really hard work and anx
iety of it — daily rehearsals, constant change of
performance, and the continual study of new parts;
but, for all this, there was a fascination about the
life so powerful that I have known but few that
have ever abandoned it for any other. It had a
roving, joyous, gipsy kind of attraction in it that
was irresistible. Who would not rather play a
good part to a bad house than a bad part to
a good house? — ay, even if he were the man
ager ! 'Then just think of the eagerly looked-for
criticism in the morning papers, of no consequence
to the world at large, but of much importance to
the actor : how anxious I used to be in the morn
ing to see what the critic said, quickly scanning
the article and skipping over the praise of
the other actors, so as to get to what they said
about me. Then after breakfast, sauntering down
to the drug-store where the reserved seats were for
sale : not to look at the diagram to see how the seats
were selling — certainly not, that would appear un
dignified; but just to inquire if there were any letters.
These were the delights that always sweetened the
poverty that went hand in hand with country act
ing. In the present instance we were in possession
of a gold mine. We had captured the town, having
been the first to attack it.

It is seldom that partners in theatrical manage
ment agree. Wood and Warren, of Philadelphia,
were never on very friendly terms, and Ludlow
and Smith were in partnership for many years
without exchanging a word except on business.

116 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

How they managed it, or rather mismanaged it,
I can't tell. Sefton and I were but human beings,
and this sudden success had the same demoralizing
effect on my partner and myself. He was obstinate,
and so was I.

Dogberry says, "An two men ride of a horse,
one must ride behind." Now as neither of us would
consent to take this undignified seat, I sold Sefton
my share of the animal and retired ; he vaulted into
the vacant saddle and rode his charger to death.
About three months afterward I received a letter
from him — business had been bad, and he was in
great distress — urging me to play a week with
him. I did so, partly to help my old partner, and
partly to see my name in large letters. This was
the first time I had ever enjoyed that felicity, and
it had a most soothing influence upon me. My
hotel was just opposite the hall, and when I arose
in the morning and looked across the street I gazed
delightedly upon my name in bold " Roman caps.,"
though I was much annoyed at seeing the citizens
pass by this important announcement without
taking any notice of it ; and the conduct of two
strangers who met precisely in front of the theater
and began an earnest conversation, without deign
ing to bestow a glance at the bill-board, was
positively insulting.

I had to contend on my opening night with a
local favorite in the shape of a rival comedian.
This was no easy matter, for not only was he a
clever actor, but a feeling had been engendered
among his many friends that I had entered into

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 117

a dark conspiracy with the manager to dethrone
him. I had acted here the season before, and was
something of a favorite, so my reception was very
cordial; but as soon as it ceased I was greeted
with a storm of hisses. This sudden and unlooked-
for demonstration took the audience and me by
surprise, and of course checked the progress of the
play. In the midst of this confusion my rival was
loudly called for by his friends, at which the cur
tains of a private box were violently shaken, then
jerked apart, and in the opening appeared the
form of my rival. He stepped unsteadily upon
the stage ; one side of his trousers had crawled up
his leg, revealing an untied shoe, the brim of his
hat was slightly bent, and he swayed from side to
side with folded arms and disheveled hair. There
was a mingled air of defiance and melancholy in
his looks, plainly showing that he was not only
persecuted but intoxicated. The wild encourage
ments from his friends clearly proved that they
were in the same condition, indicating that the
entire party had partaken freely of " Dutch cour
age " in order to stimulate them for the fray. After
a maudlin speech, which first amused and then bored
the audience, he was led from the stage and the play
proceeded.

Actors in sickness or distress are proverbially
kind to one another, but little professional mis
understandings will take place now and then?
Some overzealous defenders of our art have
asserted, I think erroneously, that no true artist
is jealous of another. This is going a little too far,

8*

118 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and giving us credit for more virtue than we pos
sess. Jealousy is unfortunately an inborn quality,
entirely independent of art. If a man has this un
fortunate passion he feels it whether he is a true
artist or not. In this instance my rival was a good
actor, but not too good to be jealous of me, and if
our positions had been reversed the chances are that
I would have been jealous of him.

It was during this, my first star engagement,
that I received a telegram announcing the sad
intelligence of my mother's death. I started at
once for Philadelphia, but by some accident was
detained on the road for two days, arriving too
late to look upon her face. My brother, my sister,
and I passed a week^ together after the burial
of my mother, and then separated, they returning
to New York, whence they had been summoned,
and I remaining in the city to look after an
engagement.

On the corner of Ninth and Chestnut streets
stood the Amphitheater. At this establishment in
the winter season the circus used to amalgamate
with a dramatic company and make a joint appear
ance in equestrian spectacles, which were produced
under the stage management of Mr. Joseph Foster.
This gentleman had studied in the best school of
the highly colored melodrama — Astley's, on the
Surrey side of London. He came to America as
property man with Cook's company somewhere
about 1836; in this position he continued for some
years, ultimately joining the Amphitheater in Phil
adelphia. His industry, backed up by long experi-

CORNELIA JEFFERSON (MOTHER OP JOSEPH JEFFERSON).

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 119

ence, made him so valuable that he soon became
stage-manager, and was holding this position when
I called on him to apply for a situation as comedian.
He had been prepared for the visit, having heard
something to my advantage as an actor, but he
was undoubtedly disappointed with me at first
sight As I entered the managerial sanctum, he
lowered his bushy eyebrows and scowled at me
with anything but an engaging expression of
face.

" Humph!" was all I could catch of his first greet
ing. Then, after a slight pause, he said, " Oh, you
are the new young comedian, eh ? "

" Yes, sir," I replied. " There is no doubt about
my being young ; but how much of a comedian I
am remains to be seen."

"Humph! quite modest too. Modesty is a good
thing if it is not carried too far," he said. "Humph!
where have you been acting lately ? "

I told him that I had just finished a starring
engagement in Cumberland.

" Starring, oh ! Then you are not so modest after
all," he replied. " I suppose you have heard that
my present comedian is a failure ? "

I told him that the welcome news had reached
me, and as I had also been informed that in con
sequence of this the gentleman was about to retire
from the Amphitheater, I made bold to apply for
the vacancy.

"Well," said Mr. Foster, "my funny man is cer
tainly the most dismal piece of humanity I have ever
met with. I engaged him on his face. I never saw

120 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

such a comical outside belonging to such a serious
inside. The man's ' mug ' is as funny as Liston's —
whom he resembles, too, very much; large, round
eyes, fat chops, and a turned-up nose. I thought
when I first saw him that, like the milkmaid, his
face was his fortune; but no, as soon as he opens
his mouth all the humor seems to vanish. But
now about yourself. I suppose you know that
our plays, such as ' Mazeppa/ ' Dick Turpin/
'Timour the Tartar/ 'The Terror of the Road/
are not celebrated for good low comedy parts ;
the actor has a great deal of hard work to do. It
is what I call physical comedy ; and you are too
light for that kind of business, I fancy."

I told him that I regretted this, for if he engaged
me by the pound, my salary would perhaps be as
light as myself.

" But you do not look like a comedian," said he
to me. " You have a serious, melancholy expres
sion ; you look more like an undertaker."

This last remark was rather crushing, so I
endeavored to put on a jovial, quizzical expres
sion, and failed. In a short time we arranged
terms — twenty dollars a week, with a third-clear
benefit The engagement being settled, he gave
me a part to study for the next play. I acted all
this season at the Amphitheater, and a curious
experience it was. The low comedian of a melo
dramatic theater is generally used as a stop-gap,
and his artistic efforts are confined to going on
in " front scenes" and amusing the audience, if
he can, by speaking some long, dry speech, sup-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 121

posed to be full of humor, while the carpenters are
hammering away behind and noisily arranging an
elaborate set. Under these conditions it is very
difficult to gain the confidence of an audience, or
to distract their attention away from the painful
fact that there is a hitch in the scenery. They
seem to know that something has gone wrong,
and decline to be consoled by a feeble comic
song.

Upon the initial performance of the nautical
drama of " Captain Kidd," Mr. Foster had given
me a long, dismal ditty to sing, in order that I
might divert the audience in case of an accident.
It was privately understood between us that as
soon as the scene was ready he would wave his
hat at me from the wing as a sign that everything
was right ; then I was to finish my song and make
my exit. The much-dreaded accident occurred,
and I was deputed to go on and distract the audi
ence, which I certainly did. The lines of the song

ran thus :

My name is Captain Kidd,

As I sailed, as I sailed,

And wickedly I did, as I sailed, etc.

There were just twenty-five of these stanzas,
equally humorous and grammatical. The audi
ence bore them patiently for the first time, but
when I looked towards the wing for a comforting
wave of Foster's hat, to my horror he was not
there ; so I began again. It is said that republics
will endure tyranny with more fortitude than
empires, but it is possible that I had gone too far

122 . THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

even for the forbearance of our free institutions,
for many voices in the audience cried out: "No
more ! We can't stand that again." Other re
marks were made too numerous and uncompli
mentary to mention. I still tried to get a
hearing "as I sailed"; but, with the hammering
behind the scenes and the hooting in front, my
efforts failed to make any impression, so I retired
amidst the confusion.

Of all theatrical entertainments, the equestrian
drama is perhaps the most absurd. The actor and
the horse refuse to unite ; there is nothing of the
centaur about them. I have seen the tyrant
Timour the Tartar stride about the stage tem
pestuously, inspiring the audience with the idea
that nothing could daunt the imperious spirit
within him, but as soon as he espied the prancing
steed that was to bear him to victory his passion
cooled, and with a lamb-like submission he would
allow himself to be boosted up into the saddle,
where he would sit unsteadily, looking the picture
of misery.

Foster was a short, stout man, but extremely
active, and as alert as a lynx. Nothing escaped
his quick eye. If the house was crowded and the
drama going well, he was the personification of
good-nature. At such times he would stand with
his legs wide apart, his hands clasped behind
him, his face beaming with smiles, and his eyes
fairly glistening with delight ; but if the slightest
hitch took place in the performance, he knew it
in an instant. He would then jump as if he were

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 123

shot, rush to the wing, shake his fist at the
delinquent, and taking his high, black-silk hat
off his head would trample it under his feet in
frenzy.

The grand spectacular drama of "Mazeppa"
was announced for the Easter holidays, and was
produced with great splendor. Charles Foster, a
son of the manager, was cast for the hero. He
was a handsome, dashing young fellow, possessed
of considerable dramatic talent, and, added to this,
was one of the finest riders I have ever seen : his
graceful figure and youthful appearance fitted him
perfectly for the romantic lover of the Princess. The
announcement that this drama was to be produced
caused a slight commotion in the theater, for there
was attached to the company an old melodramatic
actor by the name of Cartlidge ; he had been a
leading man of Astley's Amphitheater in London
during the days of the famous Ducrow, and was
now seventy years of age. I met him at the
greenroom door just as he came in to look at
the cast. " I hear they are going to play ' Ma
zeppa/" he said, with some, agitation. "Is this
true?" "Yes," I said; "there is the cast." He
went over to the cast-case and looked at it in mute
bewilderment, and then, as if he could not believe
his eyes, took out his spectacles, wiped the glasses,
put them on, and stood for a long time gazing in
blank amazement at the cast As he turned around
I saw tears in his eyes. He walked slowly out
of the greenroom, and, going into a dark corner of
the stage, sat down despondently. I knew pretty

124 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

well what was the matter with him, so I thought
I would go up and comfort the old man, for he
was usually cheerful, and it was sad to see him so
dejected.

I sat down beside him and asked him what was
the matter. He took out a large handkerchief,
and, burying his face in it, began to sob. After
he had recovered himself he said, " Foster has cast
me for the Khan'' Then turning on me with his
eyes full of tears and a retrospective look in
his face, he continued: " Young man, I was the
original Mazeppa fifty years ago, and now I am
cast for Mazeppa s father. Why should I not play
Mazeppa still? I may be a little too old for it,
but — " Here he broke down again, and as he sat
there with his eyes and his spectacles both full of
tears he looked more like Mazeppa! s grandfather
than like Mazeppa. The fact is, if he had been
cast for the part he would have realized that the
time had gone by for him to look or act it, and
he would have declined: the self-inflicted blow
would have fallen lightly on him; but to receive
the stroke from another hand was more than he
could bear. It made him feel that he had outlived
his usefulness, and brought before his mind the
glowing days of his youth when he had been
the idol of Astley's. The painful truth that he
was getting old and -was no longer wanted came
suddenly upon him.

It is natural that the world should smile at the
old and senile as they are pushed aside, but no
deposed emperor feels the force of compulsory

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 125

abdication more than the stage king who has out
lived the liking of the people.

" St. George and the Dragon " was the grand
final production of the season. I was not in the
play, so I saw the first performance from the front
of the theater. The opening act ends where the
seven champions of Christendom assemble to have
a conference, pledging themselves to stand by one
another in any emergency. The glittering armor
of the knights, and the prancing of the fiery steeds
as the grooms led them on, stirred the audience to
enthusiasm.

Young Foster was a picture as the gallant St.
George of England. His manly form was encased
in a rather vulnerable armor of pure spangles, and
he shone like a sheet of silver. At a given cue he
vaults into the saddle, and waving his bright sword
and throwing back his fine, classic head, he shouts,
" Up, knights, and away ! " Now St. Denis of
France, St. Patrick of Ireland, St. David of Wales,
St. Andrew of Scotland, and one or two other
knights mount their chargers and gallop away,
following their leader, the gallant St. George, as
the curtain falls upon the animated scene. It so
happened that St. Denis of France and St. Andrew
of Scotland had been cast to two actors who were
not what would be called daring horsemen. All of
the knights with the exception of these two mounted
their horses and galloped off in the interest of Chris
tendom with unmistakable ardor. But the steeds of
St. Denis and St. Andrew had but little faith in
their knights, and the knights seemed to have no

126 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

faith in themselves. This timidity communicated
itself from one to the other, and as the riders
hopped about on one leg trying to mount, the
horses kept going slowly round to avoid any fur
ther intimacy. The audience was roaring with
laughter, and I knew by this time that Foster was
standing on his hat, if not on his head. At last
the knights made a powerful effort to "bestride
their foaming steeds." St. Denis, being very tall,
scrambled up, but overshot the mark. " He o'er-
leaped his saddle," so that his head hung on one
side and his heels on the other, while the horse
kept going round with him in this dreadful posi
tion. At this juncture the curtain came down,
cutting off the other knight, St. Andrew, and shut
ting him outside of it and close to the footlights.
Unfortunately in the excitement of mounting this
gentleman had got the wrong foot in the stirrup,
so that the gallant Scotchman found himself in
pursuit of glory with his face towards the horse's
tail. Finding that he would make but little pro
gress towards Christendom in this position, he slid
gently off behind, still clinging to the bridle, while
the horse dragged the unlucky warrior across the
front of the stage. The audience shouted as
the animal pulled his rider along. The horse
now changed his tactics, and standing upon his
hind legs came slowly but surely towards St.
Andrew, who scrambled for protection into the
nearest private box. The horse, still on his hind
legs, looked down on the orchestra as if meditat
ing a descent upon the musicians, at which the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 127

entire band fled " for safety and for succor," some
of them retreating under the stage, while the
majority scattered among the audience. The cur
tain had to be raised and a groom sent on to take
the poor frenzied animal in. There was now some
anxiety to know what had become of St. Andrew.
That gallant Highlander, seeing that the coast
was clear, jumped out of the private box where
he had been concealed behind the curtains, and,
half denuded of his armor, rushed frantically across
the stage and darted behind the curtain amid the
unqualified approbation of the audience.

I was not twenty-one at this time, but being an
old young man, -and looking upon life perhaps
more seriously than one should at my age, I
bethought me that it was time to marry and settle
down in life. My brother strongly objected to
this ; he believed that I was too young, and I
believed that he was jealous. The first serious
words we ever had were in relation to my pros
pective marriage, he insisting that my wife and
I had not known each other long enough to form
any estimate as to the strength of our attach
ment; but I was obstinate, and the wedding
came off.

I wished this marriage to take place privately,
well knowing that otherwise my friends of the
company, from the leading man down, would be
at the wedding in full force, not so much out of
compliment, perhaps, as for the purpose of indulg
ing in that passion for quizzing which seems to
be so deeply planted in the histrionic breast My

128 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

betrothed desired that the ceremony should be
solemnized in church, fearing that ill-luck would
follow if it came off at any other place. I con
sented to this. Now I hate to be quizzed, and
I think most people do ; particularly those who
indulge in the habit of quizzing others. Revolving
in my mind, therefore, the best method of avoid
ing ridicule, I boldly told the company that I was
to be married at church the following Sunday, .
after the morning service, and, well knowing that
they were coming, invited them to witness the
ceremony.

The important day arrived. My new lavender
suit fitted me to perfection ; none of your ready-
made affairs, but got up by a first-class Chatham
street tailor, and embodying in its value the sav
ings of two months' salary. With a beating heart,
and, if I remember rightly, a pair of tight boots, I
led my young bride to the altar. The wedding
took place at the old church in Oliver street ; Bar
ney Williams and my sister acted as groomsman
and bridesmaid. After the ceremony was over,
Mr. and Mrs. Williams expressed their surprise at
the extreme privacy of the whole affair. Williams
hinted that he had understood that the whole com
pany would be present in full force. "So they
would have been, Barney," said I, "but I have sent
them to the wrong church."

I was at the time of my marriage acting at the
Chatham Theater in New York. By my brother's
influence I was put forward more rapidly than my
merits deserved ; at least, I think so now, though

,"•£ ' V" ^ ^ -"^
'-'-'' :':';l/';

JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH AS "RICHARD THE THIRD."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 129

at that time I was quite confident that my ability
was fully equal to the demands made upon it

When but twenty-two years of age I was cast
for Marrallm "A New Way to Pay Old Debts,"
the elder Booth playing Sir Giles Overreach.
There can be no doubt about the fact that I was
entirely unfit for so important a part ; it is a very
difficult one, and to give it effect requires that an
actor should be in his prime, both as to his age and
his talent A mere boy, with but little physical or
dramatic strength, coming upon the stage to re
hearse so important a character, must have been
rather a shock, and somewhat of a disappointment,
to the great actor whom he was to support. But
Mr. Booth wisely made the best of a bad bargain,
and, instead of annihilating me with a look, took
much pains to teach me the business of the part
Surely this was better than disapproval or petu
lance; for as it was I acquitted myself respect
ably, whereas it is most likely that I should have
done the reverse had I met with discouraging
treatment

The elder Booth's acting of Sir Giles was indeed
something to be remembered. During the last
scene he beats Marrall, who hides for protection
behind Lord Lovell. Booth's face, when he found
he could not reach his victim, had the look of an
uncaged tiger. His eyes flashed and seemed to
snap with fire ; his nostrils dilated ; his cheeks ap
peared to quiver ; his half-opened mouth, with its
thin lips pressed tightly against the white teeth,
made a picture of anger fearful to look upon. At

130 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the point where he is about to draw his sword his
arm shakes, his right hand refuses to do its office,
and, stricken with paralysis, he stands the embodi
ment of despair; then come his terrible words of
anguish and self-reproach :

Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,

my sword,

Glued to my scabbard, with wronged orphans' tears.

His whole frame, shaken with convulsions, seems
to collapse, his head sinks upon his breast, his jaw
drops, and the cruel man is dead. There was no
applause the night I speak of; the acting was so
intense and so natural that the mimic scene seemed
really to have happened.

Mr. Barton Hill related to me an incident that
occurred during Mr. Booth's performance of this
same part of Sir Giles Overreach. Mr. Hill was
acting Lord Lovell, and in the scene where the
crafty Sir Giles is endeavoring to court the favor
of his lordship a large, white ostrich feather, which
formed one of the plumes in LovelVs hat, became
by some accident detached, and fell in the center
of the stage. A conspicuous object like this, had
it been allowed to remain where it fell, would have
marred the effect of the scene. Booth, seeing the
mishap, came quickly forward, and, raising th&
feather from the floor, presented it with becoming
humility to its owner. This admirable point not
only removed the obstacle, but heightened the
effect of the situation. Here was a display not
merely of presence of mind, but of good taste. It

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 131

is quite likely that the audience thought it a part
of the play, and a good part of it too.

After t.wo seasons of metropolitan stock acting,
a restless desire for country management again
seized me. These attacks seemed to have been
periodical, resolving themselves into a sort of dra
matic ague, breaking out at regular intervals.
The fit at this time having laid violent hands upon
me, I entered into partnership with Mr. John
Ellsler, whose veins became infused with the virus
of my managerial enthusiasm. The inoculation
must have taken admirably too, for he has been in
management ever since.

I have seldom had an attack of the old com
plaint. In fact, I may add that the symptoms
have entirely disappeared, and in the present en
joyment of my convalescence I do not see any
likelihood of a relapse. I do not mean by these
remarks to disparage theatrical management ; on
the contrary, I look upon the manager of a stock
theater, containing a stock company, as a hero
and a public benefactor. To be successful, he
must combine force of character and self-control
with artistic taste and executive talent. He stands
between the public and the actor, the actor and
the author; he must judge them all, and unite
them harmoniously. To contemplate the amount
of skill and industry that is lavished on the splen
did dramatic productions of to-day is appalling to
a man who wishes to enjoy 'a good night's rest.
If you have a passion for the dog, the rod, the
gun, the yacht, or the country, don't think of en-

132 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tering into theatrical management. The eye of
the master is absolutely imperative in the conduct
of a theater, and only those succeed who give it
their undivided attention.

But to return to the managerial partnership
between Mr. Ellsler and myself. The relations
between us were very pleasant, for as our lines of
business were quite distinct, there was no profes
sional jealousy. Besides this, our duties in the
management differed widely ; consequently we
never clashed. He had full control of the front of
the house, while I managed behind the curtain,
and I think we enjoyed the fullest confidence in
each other.

Our season in Macon was quite good, but in
Savannah our fortunes had a reverse. From some
unknown cause the business here was very bad.
I say "from some unknown cause," for it is charac
teristic of the members of the theatrical profession
to attribute their failures to anything or everything
else but themselves. It is so disheartening to feel
that we are responsible for the disaster. In mer
cantile affairs, if losses are incurred, the loser can
console himself with the fact that it is the merchan
dise that is worthless ; if an artist's picture be re
fused admittance to the gallery, it is his work that
is disregarded ; but if an actor fails, it is himself
who is neglected. The mortification of a personal
and public slight is so hard to bear that he casts
about for any excuse rather than lay the blame
upon himself. This is unfortunate, for if we only
had the courage to acknowledge that the fault lies

THE SAVANNAH THEATER PREVIOUS TO 18!

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 133

within ourselves, we could more speedily set it
right ; but to go groping on in the dark, with the
blind consolation that others are to blame, only re
tards our advancement.

As I had been married a year, and our first child
had just been born, I was naturally beginning to
feel the weight of a new responsibility.

It has always been my habit, when anything im
portant is to be thought over, to get off alone
somewhere in the woods, or to lock myself up in a
room, where I can turn the matter over quietly.
I had left the theater after rehearsal and was walk
ing along in search of some solitary place where I
could ruminate.

Savannah is a lovely city at all times, but in
April it is like fairy-land. The beautiful Southern
houses of semi-tropical architecture are surrounded
with live-oak and magnolia shade-trees, and the
gardens are laden^with flowers. The city was
peaceful and quiet — too much so for a manager in
distress. The air was redolent of orange-blossoms
and bad business. I was looking down one of the
long, solitary avenues of trees for which this city is
famous, when in the distance I espied the tall fig
ure of a man walking leisurely towards me. His
height was so enormous that I thought some opti
cal illusion caused by the long vista through which
I was looking had elongated the gentleman beyond
his natural proportions. No ; as he came nearer'
he seemed to get taller and taller ; he was at least
six feet six inches in height. He sauntered lei
surely along with an elegant carriage and an aristo-

134 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

cratic bearing, not assumed, but perfectly natural.
I had never seen this man until now, but I imagined
that I knew who he was, for if I was not mistaken
in his height and appearance I had already heard
of him. As we approached nearer, his ease and
confident manner were almost impertinent. He
had one hand in his pocket, and with the other
slowly twirled a long, gold-headed cane. As we
met, there was on his handsome face a self-sufficient
smile, and he turned his large eyes from one side
of the street to the other, with the air of a man
who owned half of Savannah, and was contemplat
ing the possibility of getting a mortgage on it with
the ultimate view of purchasing the rest of the city.
After we had passed I turned to look back, and
found that he had done the same. We were both
caught dead : there was no disguising it, so we ap
proached each other.

" Pardon me, sir," said I, " if I am mistaken, but*
are you not Sir William Don ? "

" Quite right, old chap. How are you ? " he re
plied. We shook hands and there was a pause.
He looked at me with a quizzical twinkle in his
eye, and said : " Well, which is it — Jefferson or
Ellsler? You can't be both, • you know."

I laughed heartily at this ; not so much at what
he said, which was commonplace enough, but at the
way in which he said it. I thought to myself,
"This must be a great comedian." He saw he
had made a hit, and laughed in the enjoyment of it

"My name is Jefferson," said I. " Mr. Ellsler
is my partner."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 135

" Well, Jeff, old fellow " (as if he had known me
all his life), " I '11 be frank with you. Here I am,
a star in search of a manager."

" Well," I said, " I will be equally frank with
you. I am a manager in search of a star."

" Capital ! " said he. " Will I do ? "

" Will you do ? You are the very man," I replied.

"Hurrah! We will play 'Box and Cox' to
gether." Then throwing his arms around me, he
quoted from the farce, " ' You are my long-lost
brother!'"

" Sit down," said I, as we came to a bench, "and
we will talk terms."

"What are you going to offer me? Don't be
modest — put it high. 'Lay on, Macduff, and
damned be him who first cries, Hold enough ! ' "

In our present delightful frame of mind there was
no difficulty in settling terms — we both would have
agreed to anything. I told him I would give him
one-third of the gross receipts, with a half clear
benefit at the end of the week.

" Quite right ; anything you like. But will your
partner ratify this ? "

" Oh, yes," I said. " He attends to the financial
part of the business, .leaving all matters connected
with the stage to me ; though, of course, I must
consult him before we consider the matter settled.

We walked to the theater, and I introduced
Ellsler to Don, telling my partner of the arrange
ment we had made. He acquiesced at once, and
seemed quite as much pleased at the prospect of
the baronet's engagement as I was.

136 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

" Stop," said Don ; " I have just thought of it.
My wardrobe is in Charleston. Can we get it here
by Monday ? "

" Yes ; but we must send for it at once," said I.

"All right," he replied. "Just let me have
fifty dollars, and I will telegraph. It 's in pawn,
you know.3'

" In pawn ? " said I.

" Yes ; I lost a hundred dollars at poker (queer
kind of game, is n't it?) on the steamer coming
from New York ; so I was dead broke when I got
to Charleston, and I left my traps at my ' uncle's '
for money to pay my bill at the hotel, you know —
the Charleston Hotel, is n't it ? Large columns
outside — tough steak inside/'

Matters were all settled, and a bill for the first
night was arranged — " Used Up " and " The
Rough Diamond." Sir William told me that he
had a number of letters to the first people in
Savannah.

"Don't lose a moment," said I. "Deliver them
at once. This will sound your arrival through the
city."

"All right" said he; "I 'm off. I wish you
could go with me ; I should like you to see how
I cultivate a new acquaintance. No ? Very well —
by-by." And away he went, taking such enor
mous strides that he looked like the Colossus of
Rhodes at the beginning of a walking-match.

My partner and I, congratulating ourselves on
this new treasure, began making preparations for
the opening. As I had predicted, the quiet city

SIR WILLIAM DON.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 137

began to stir with an undercurrent of aristocratic
emotion. As the week wore on the tide swelled,
and by Monday had reached the high-water mark
of excitement

The theater on Sir William Don's opening night
presented a picture of beauty and refinement. Fam
ilies that seldom visited the house, except on the
conventional Friday night, crowded the auditorium;
costly silks and laces fluttered in the dress circle, and
old-fashioned rose and table-cut diamonds glittered
in the private boxes. Elderly dames with their white
hair dressed a la pompadour^ and with long and
brilliant pendants in their ears, nodded majestically
to one another, and prim old gentlemen in stiffly
starched cravats looked coldly on. A live baronet
was on view!

The curtain rose, and the play proceeded quietly
until at last some action revealed that the new star
was about to shine. The audience leaned forward
as the center doors opened and the baronet stalked
upon the stage. As he appeared the applause broke
forth; fans and handkerchiefs were waved at him
from all directions, and kid gloves were ruined in
frantic enthusiasm. The audience at last quieted
down and the scene proceeded. The people in
front seemed anxious and nervous : I was in the
same condition, for I saw that Don, with all his
assurance, was suffering from stage fright. His
face was pale as death, and he cast his eyes down
on the stage. I knew the latter was a bad symp
tom; he wanted encouragement. I was at the
first wing, and catching his eye gave him an

138 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

approving nod. He seemed to take courage,
and, as the audience began to enjoy his acting,
warmed up. He finished the great speech of the
scene, ending with, "I have been to, the top of
Vesuvius and looked down the crater; there is
nothing in it." He did this admirably, receiving
a tremendous round of approbation. As he saun
tered up the stage he again caught my eye ; and
giving me a comical wink as the applause was
continued, he said, so that I could hear him, though
the audience could not: "It 's all right, old chap,
I Ve got 'em."

His engagement proved a great financial success.
I was disappointed in his acting : he was amusing-
and effective, but he was an amateur from head to
foot, which in his case meant a good deal. I am
of opinion that " once an amateur, always an ama
teur." There are many good actors that have this
peculiar, raw quality who have been on the stage
for years ; and it is because they begin their careers
by acting leading characters. Mrs. Mowatt and
James H. Hackett were examples of many in our
profession who have committed this fatal error.
No matter how bold and dashing they may appear,
there is a shyness and uncertainty about everything
they do. It exhibits itself in the casting of the
eyes down upon the stage in an embarrassed way
just after they have made a point. This is very
disastrous. When a strong effect is made the eye,
the pose, the very feeling, should be, for an instant
only, a picture, till the public digest it. If it is dis
turbed by some unmeaning movement the strength

GF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 139

Is lost, and the audience will at once discover that
they are not looking at a master. This character
istic of the amateur may wear off in some instances,
but I do not remember any.

Sir William went with us to Wilmington, North
Carolina, where we opened with the stock, he ap
pearing at the beginning of the second week. The
audience here did not like his acting ; they seemed
to prefer our domestic goods to the imported arti
cle. He saw this, but did not seem to mind it, and
so bowed to the situation. He became very much
attached to the company and remained with us
some time, joining in our fishing and boating par
ties. His animal spirits were contagious ; and as
we had no rehearsals, the mornings at least were
devoted to amusement. We would do the most
boyish and ridiculous things. Three or four of us,
himself the central figure, would go through ex
travagant imitations of the circus and acrobatic
feats that were then in vogue. "The Bounding
Brothers of the Pyrenees " was a particular favorite
with him. We would pretend to execute the most
dangerous feats of strength — lifting imaginary
weights, climbing on one another's shoulders and
then falling down in grotesque and awkward atti
tudes, and suddenly straightening up and bowing
with mock dignity to an imaginary audience.
Once he did an act called the "Sprite of the Silver
Shower," pretending to be a little girl, and tripping
into the circus ring with a mincing step. Then,
with a shy look, he would put his finger in his
mouth, and mounting a table would go through a

140 . THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

daring bareback feat. Nothing that I ever saw
was more extravagant.

While in New York during the next summer, I
got the following note from Don:

ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL, June 25, 1851.

MY DEAR JEFF : I have just arrived from Boston, where I
have been playing a bad engagement. The modern Athens was
not overwhelmed by my nobility. The critics went so far as to
say that I was anything but a good actor. What execrable taste !
Well, here I am at the St. Nicholas. Fine rooms, but abomi
nable cooking; everything tastes alike. I am beginning to think
that the Frenchman was right when he said that in America you
had fifty religions but only one gravy. When shall I dine with
you ? Make it early. I will drop in just as one of the family —
pot-luck, you know. Do not put yourself out for me ; a pair of
canvasback ducks and a bottle of Johannisberg, or two ; am not
particular. Yours, DON.

The day for the dinner was arranged — the
Fourth of July; but as it would have needed a
• journey to the coast of Labrador to get a pair of
canvasback ducks at that time of the year, I ordered
roast beef and plum pudding instead. The occa
sion being a patriotic one, as far as the date was
concerned, it struck me that an English dinner
would be in good taste for Sir William. But we
were doomed to disappointment, for at ten o'clock
in the morning a strange man came to the door
and gave me the following note from Don:

LUDLOW STREET JAIL, July 4, 1851.

MY DEAR JEFF : You will see by the heading of this that I
have changed my hotel. Was it you or your father who wrote
the Declaration of Independence ? If it was your ancestor, you
are not responsible, and I have nothing to say; but if "in the
course of human events " it was yourself, never hope to be for-

MRS. J. H. ALLEN.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 141

given. See what that absurd and unimportant document has
brought me to. If America were still one of her Majesty's col
onies, an English nobleman would not be treated with this dis
respect. Here I am languishing in prison because some old Jew
says I borrowed one hundred dollars from him on false pretenses.
(He may think himself lucky that it was not a thousand.) I
said that I would pay him out of the money I made in Boston.
Well, I did not make any money in Boston, so I looked upon
the matter as settled. Come and see me. If you have never
been in this establishment it will be quite a treat for you.

Yours, DON.

Don was a singular character, at once generous
and unjust, genial and slightly cruel. He would
borrow from his friend for the purpose of lending
to his enemy. His wit was charming and original,
and he was quite unconscious of his own brilliancy,
apparently setting no value on it. He had that
thorough contempt for tradesmen which stamps
this type of English aristocracy, and he would walk
ten miles to help an old woman or to escape from
a tailor. >

The love of management still clung to me, and
my partner sharing my enthusiasm, we resolved to
make another trial of our fortunes in the Southern
circuit. Our limited means compelled us to adopt
the most economical mode of transportation for the
company. It was settled, therefore, as it was nec
essary, that we, the managers, should arrive at
least a week in advance of the opening of the sea
son : our passage must be made by rail, while the
company were to proceed by sea.

There was in those days a line of schooners that
plied between Wilmington, N. C., and New York,

142 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

The articles of transportation from the South con
sisted mainly of yellow pine, tar, and resin, which
cargo was denominated " naval stores." Feeling
confident that we could procure cheap passages for
our company by contracting with one of these ves
sels to take them to Wilmington, we determined
to conclude a bargain with the owners.

The arrangement was made at a rate that suited
all parties except, perhaps, the members of the
company, who, I fear, had some slight misgivings
lest they were to be conveyed to their destination
as a kind of ballast. The day was fixed for their
departure, and Mr. Ellsler and I went down to
the wharf at Peck Slip to see them off. If we
had felt any uneasiness before in the thoughts of
sending our comrades off in this way, what was the
depth of our remorse when we saw the dreadful
old tub in which they were to depart. It was an
ill-shapen hulk, with two great, badly repaired sails
flapping against her clumsy and foreboding masts.
The deck and sides were besmeared with the sticky
remnants of her last importation, so that when our
leading actor, who had been seated on the taffrail,
arose to greet his managers, he was unavoidably
detained. The ladies and gentlemen of the com
pany were uncomfortably disposed about the ves
sel, seated on their trunks and boxes that had riot
yet been stowed away. There were handsome
John Crocker, our juvenile actor, leaning with
folded arms and a rueful face against an adhesive
mast ; pretty Mrs, Allen, then only eighteen years
old and just married, nestling upon the bosom of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 143

her husband, with her lovely dreaming eyes se
renely wondering, not when they would start, but
whether they ever would return; Mrs. Ray, the
first old woman, with an umbrella in one hand and
a late dramatic paper in the other, sitting on a coil
of rope and unconsciously ruining her best black
dress. It was a doleful picture. The captain, too,
was anything but a skipper to inspire confidence.
He had a glazed and disheveled look that told of
last night's booze. Our second comedian, who
was the reverse of being . droll on the stage, but
who now and then ventured a grim joke off it with
better success, told me in confidence that they all
had been lamenting their ill-tarred fate. Ellsler
and I bade our company as cheerful an adieu
as we well could, but there must have been a tinge
of remorse in our farewell, for, on talking the mat
ter over as we watched the wretched old craft
being towed away to sea, we concluded that we
should not forgive ourselves if our comrades were
never heard of again.

On our arrival in Wilmington the days were
spent in preparing the dusty old rat-trap of a
theater for the opening, and our nights in wonder
ing if our party were safe. The uneasiness was
not lessened, either, by the news that there had
been bad weather off Cape Hatteras.

Within a week, however, they arrived, looking
jaded and miserable. Another week for rest and
rehearsal, and our labors began. It was custom
ary in those days, particularly with provincial
companies, to vary the dramatic bill of fare so as

144 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

to suit the different tastes of the public. Comedy
and tragedy were therefore dished up, and I may
say hashed up, alternately, as for instance Mon
day : Colman's comedy of "The Poor Gentleman,"
fancy dances by the soubrette, comic songs by the
second comedian, concluding with the farce of
"The Spectre Bridegroom." The next evening
we gave " Romeo and Juliet."

The name of this latter play calls to mind an
anecdote connected with its performance in Wil
mington that will not be amiss at this point. I
have before said that a portion of my early theat
rical education was drawn from hard work in the
paint and property room of a theater, so that when
I became a manager I delighted in the "get-up,"
as it was technically called, of plays, so far as our
slender means would permit. To fashion and
paint a rustic bridge, with a wide board behind it,
set upon two shaky trestles, for Rob Roy to cross
over, was a special privilege. A profile boat for
the "Lady of the Lake" was another delight
This perfectly unsafe-looking skiff was always set
on a trunk mounted upon four little wooden
wheels that no amount of black-lead could induce
to keep from squeaking. The rope must be stead
ily pulled — the slightest jerk and over goes her
ladyship into the gauze waters. But let us return
to the story.

"Romeo and Juliet" being announced, I felt
that the balcony scene should have some atten
tion, and I conceived a simple and economical idea
that would enable me, at a day's notice, to produce

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 145

the effect in a manner " hitherto unparalleled in
the annalS of the stage." Skirmishing about the
wharves and the ship-chandlers', I chanced to light
upon a job lot of empty candle-boxes. By taking
a quantity the cardboards were thrown in, and
nothing makes a finer or more imposing but un
substantial balustrade than cardboard. The boxes,
placed one by one on top of each other and painted
a neat stone color, formed a pleasing architectural
pile. Before the play began I had cautioned Ju
liet that when " she leaned her cheek upon her
hand " she should let her elbow rest gracefully but
lightly on the frail structure that was to support
it. Romeo also had to be cautioned, for as the
house of Capulet was already about his ears, it
was necessary that at least his shins should es
cape any contact with the foundation. The scene
opened with a backing of something, supposed to
represent the distant city of Verona, with my new
balcony in the foreground. Romeo and Juliet
were warm and energetic in their love passages,
but still acted with becoming care and gentle con
sideration for the balcony about which they flut
tered. All seemed to be going well till presently
there came the sound of half-suppressed laughter
from the audience. "Crocker," said I from the
wing, " are you shaking the balcony ? " " No/* he
whispered; "I have n't touched it." "What are
they laughing at, then ? " " Can't imagine," said
he. The laughter increased, and it was quite evi
dent that something not announced in the bills
had gradually attracted the attention of the audi-

146 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ence till at last the whole house had discovered
the mishap. Juliet retreated in amazement and
Romeo rushed off in despair, and down came the
curtain.

I rushed upon the stage to find out what had
occurred, when to my horror I discovered that one
of the boxes had been placed with the unpainted
side out, on which was emblazoned a semicircular
trade-mark, setting forth that the very corner-stone
of Juliet's balcony contained twenty pounds of the
best " short sixes."

From Wilmington we journeyed to Charleston,
South Carolina, where, after three weeks of stock
and star, we were joined by Julia Dean. Julia
Dean and I had been in the utility ranks of the
Mobile Theater during the management of Ludlow
& Smith, and as this firm was noted for the econ
omy of its organization, we were made good use
of. In the various dramas produced during this
season Julia and I had gone hand in hand, alter
nately espousing the cause of tyranny and virtue
for the small sum of six dollars a week. For this
reward we were content to change our politics and
our costumes at the will of the stage-manager. As
brigands, gentle shepherds, or communists we
gained our daily bread together. We changed
our religion without the slightest compunction ; as
Catholics we massacred the Huguenots, while as
Pilgrims we bade a sad adieu to our native land,
from which we had been driven by religious perse
cution. Lay or secular, it mattered not to us. So
we trudged on, with perhaps a lurking thought that
some day we might lead to victory as we were then

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 147

following to the death. Straightway comes a
change; not for me, but for my gentle comrade.
Let me recall the scene. The greenroom is in
a high state of excitement ; a lady has fainted and
is borne to her dressing-room "insensible"; the
prompter, George Stanley, brings intelligence to
the stage-manager that she is too ill to act. The
play to be given is " Wives as They Were and
Maids as They Are." The audience must be dis
missed unless some one can be found to read the
part. The economy before referred to has permit
ted no overflow of genius to glut our dramatic corps,
so that impromptu talent is a scarce commodity
with us. Stanley suggests, " Perhaps Miss Dean
can do it." " Oh, no, impossible ! " replies the man
ager ; and then a gentle but clear and steady voice
says, " I think I can, sir." What, quiet, shy, and
modest Julia ! Whence comes the courage to avow
all this ? It does not spring from vanity — she has
none ; it is begot of that honest confidence which
often underlies ability; "it wins the manager, who
in his dilemma clutches at a straw. While the
sweet volunteer is robing herself in the dress of
Lady Priory, left by the invalid, a friend reads the
lines of the first scene to Julia, who drinks them
in with eagerness ; and the audience are told that
they must be charitable to the young novice.

The play proceeds and Lady Priory enters ; we,
her comrades, are standing at the wing. Take
courage, girl! There beats not here one heart
that envies you. The gentle eyes are raised, so
full of innocence and truth, and now she speaks.
Who ever thought that Julia harbored such a voice

148 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

— so low, so sweet, and yet so audible ! It sinks
deep into the hearts of all who listen. They are
spellbound by her beauty, and as she gives the
lines with warm and honest power a murmur of de
light runs through the house, and from that moment
our lovely friend is famous.

Just seven years after this I found myself mana
ger in Charleston, and Julia Dean, then the lead
ing juvenile actress of America, engaged to play a
star engagement in my theater, I was rather proud
to feel that while my young friend had in the mean
time risen to be a brilliant star I was at least a
manager, if not a successful one. On the morning
of her arrival in Charleston I called at the hotel to
pay my respects. I sent up my card. I knew she
would smile at the very idea of my having a card ;
so I wrote in pencil under my name, "All the util
ity people wanted at ten for the country dance."
As the door opened I entered her drawing-room.
She burst out laughing, and, giving me both hands
in the frankest way, said, " So here we are again."
The tall lanky figure of a girl of sixteen, with deep
blue eyes and golden hair, had rounded into the
graceful figure of a charming woman.

Mr. Ellsler and I had been struggling along
in the old up-and-down way, but were looking for
ward to an improvement in business as soon as our
new star should shine — and shine she did. The
town fairly went wild with enthusiasm. The star
was f£ted and entertained by those to whom she
would vouchsafe her presence. All vied in paying
homage to her beauty and her virtue. She received
these attentions with simple dignity and grace un-

HENRY PLACIDE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 149

spoiled by flattery or success, and in those days of
her artistic splendor she delighted to laugh and
chat over the olden time when we marched together
in the glorious preparatory ranks. The success
of this engagement was an event in the annals
of Charleston theatricals. At the end of the first
week we shared $900 each — think of it, $900.
My partner was more sedate than I, and I fancy
took his good fortune with a quiet, philosophic air.
But for me, I was in the clouds, a plutocratic com
edian ! During the whole week I had been covet
ously eying two watches in the jeweler's window
of Hayden & Greg — one a small, blue enameled
one, having a real diamond in the center, with
which I intended to, and did, surprise my wife ;
the other a patent eighteen-carat lever, with which
I was bent upon astonishing myself. These pur
chases were eventually made, absorbing a large
portion of our profits.

I had my watch for many years. It was a
true and valuable friend. I will not say that
we never parted; there were moments of em
barrassment when a temporary separation was
imperative.

The following season I was engaged to act the
" first comedy " under the stage-management of
Mr. John Gilbert, at the Chestnut Street Theater.
This being a period when stars were rare and
combinations unknown, the regular companies were
fully commissioned, and generally supplied with
excellent actors.

At the Arch, Wheatley & Drew had a most
popular stock company, and the ladies and gentle-

10*

150 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

men attached to it were undoubtedly the dramatic
heroes of the city.

Our company at the Chestnut Street was not
quite so capable, but we produced the standard
plays with considerable effect, and were thought,
by ourselves at least, to be formidable rivals of
the other actors. I had played Dr. Ollapod and
Bob Acres before, so that in these characters I was
comparatively at home ; but when the cast of the
"Heir-at-Law" appeared in the greenroom I felt
rather nervous, though, of course, I was delighted
at the prospect of acting the important part of
Dr. Pangloss. But now there came upon me a
dreadful mortification. The speeches of the erudite
doctor are filled with classical quotations, and as
I knew but little of Latin and nothing of Greek
there was only this course left me, I must go to
Mr. Gilbert and confess my ignorance. That gen
tleman kindly offered to assist me in mastering
the classics, at least so far as the learned doctor
was concerned.

The first thing to be accomplished was to get
at the exact meaning of the quotations, that they
might be delivered with intelligence. And the
next and really most important point was to
familiarize myself with the correct pronunciation
of them. In two or three days we accomplished
this to our mutual satisfaction, and when acting
the part I gave out the quotations with such gusto
and confidence that I am quite sure the audience
was convinced that it was listening to a very
learned fellow. I do not feel any remorse, how
ever, at the imposition, for I have no doubt that

CHESTNUT STREET THEATER, PHILADELPHIA.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 151

two-thirds of the spectators who applauded my
pronunciation of Greek and Latin knew as little
about the matter as I did.

In 1853 I became stage-manager at the Balti
more Museum for Henry C. Jarrett. He was
known as the railroad manager, from a habit he
had contracted of getting up excursions between
Washington and Baltimore. These flying trips
were both startling and inconvenient for nervous
actors, as he would frequently arrange for one of
his stars to play a short piece for the opening
performance in Baltimore, and then hasten him,
on a-mile-a-minute trip, to Washington, in a spe
cial train, terminating the entertainment in the
latter city with the same attraction.

On one occasion he produced the " School for
Scandal " at the capital with a cast so strong,
including as it did the first comedians of the day,
that some account of it here may be interesting.
The characters were distributed as follows:

Sir Peter Teazle MR. HENRY PLACIDE.

Charles Surface MR. J. E. MURDOCH.

Joseph Surface MR. J. W. WALLACK.

Sir Benjamin Backbite MR. I. M. DAWSON.

Crabtree MR. THOMAS PLACIDE.

Sir Oliver Surface MR. GEORGE ANDREWS.

Moses MR. JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

Snake MR. EDWIN ADAMS.

Careless, with song MR. A. H. DAVENPORT.

Rowley . • MR. ELLIS.

Sir Harry Bumper MR. J. M. BARRON.

Trip MR. J. B. HOWE.

Lady Teazle Miss LIZZIE WESTON.

Mrs. Candor Miss KATE HORN.

Maria Miss MARY DEVLIN.

Lady Sneerwell MRS. JANE GERMON.

152 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Being stage-manager, of course I was delighted
to have this vast array of talent under my direction.
Naturally my position on this occasion was a sine
cure, as there was but little to do in the way of
management These great lights had been accus
tomed to manage themselves, and were not likely
to expect advice or to brook it from a young
ster like me; so I was contented to get the
credit of arranging the whole affair, which had
really cost me but little thought or labor. I fancy
though, from what I remember of myself about
that time, that I went about with a wise and pro
found look, as though the destiny of nations rested
on my head. I have since seen older men than I was
assume this importance.

The undoubted hero of this occasion was Mur
doch in the character of Charles Surface. James
E. Murdoch, as an actor, was not only extremely
versatile, but entirely original. Neither the popu
larity of Forrest nor the fame of Booth could tempt
him to an imitation of either of these tragedians,
and his comedy was equally free from resembling
the style of the Wallacks or that of Charles Kem-
ble — for the school of the latter was still lingering
upon the stage. I do not mean to say that the
traditions of these great actors were not worth
preserving. On the contrary, they possessed, from
all accounts, a dignity and finish that would be
welcome at any time. I cite the fact to show that
Mr. Murdoch, — though I feel sure that he admired
the great ones that had gone before and were sur
rounding him, — while he strove to emulate, dis-

JAMES E. MURDOCH.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 153

dained to imitate them. He stood alone, and I do
not remember any actor who excelled him in those
parts that he seemed to make especially his own.
He was one of the few artists that I can call to
mind who were both professed elocutionists and
fine actors.

There was a manliness about his light comedy
that gave it more dignity than the flippant style in
which it was usually played. This method ele
vated the characters exceedingly. Charles Sur
face, Major Oakly, and young Mirabel cannot be
acted with the same free and easy manner that
might be thrown into Richard Dazzle, Littleton
Coke, or Mr. Golightly. I do not say this in con
tempt of these latter characters ; they are natural
pictures of modern men, but they are eccentric
rather than elegant. I saw Charles Mathews in
the part of Charles Surface, and it was a failure.
He had been for years acting the London man-
about- town style of character, and the modern air
and rather trifling manners, which were admirable
when introduced into those parts, were entirely
out of place in old English comedy. The quaint-
ness of the language and the fashion of the cos
tume seemed to demand a courtly carriage, which
a modern swagger, with one's hands thrust into
one's breeches pockets, will fail to give. It was
the finish and picturesque style of Murdoch's act
ing that agreeably surprised the audience of the
Haymarket Theater when this actor played there
some forty years ago. The public was unprepared
to see comely old English manners so conspicuous

154 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

in an American actor, and he gained its sympathy
at once. The modern light comedians, with a few
exceptions, seem to have discarded the quaint
manners of the stage, thinking them antiquated
and pedantic. And so they were, for modern
plays; but it is dangerous to engraft new fashions
upon old forms. I should as soon expect to see
Mercutio smoke a cigarette as to find him ambling
about the stage with the mincing manners of a
dude.

And speaking of this very character, Charles
Mathews told me that, during Macready's Shak-
sperean revivals at Drury Lane Theater, he was
engaged to play Roderigo, in which light and friv
olous part he made such a hit that Macready tried
to persuade him to act Mercutio. He was de
lighted with the idea at first, but upon reading
and pondering over the part he felt convinced
that it was beyond him. Macready urged, but
Mathews would not undertake the part. Some
years afterward Charles Kemble returned to
the stage for a short farewell engagement and
acted Mercutio. " Oh," said Mathews, "when I
saw this elegant and 'manly actor dash across the
stage with the confident carriage of a prince, and
heard him read 'the lines of Shakspere as though
they had been written for him, I felt that I had
made a fortunate escape in dodging this first gen
tleman of Verona."

The next important figure to James E. Mur
doch, in the powerful cast of the " School for
Scandal " just referred to, was the Sir Peter

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 155

Teazle of Henry Placide. It was one of this act
or's most striking characters. His style, during
the latter part of his career, was said to have been
founded on that of William Farren, the great Eng
lish actor. If so, from all the accounts we get of
Mr. Farren, the model was superb. Henry Pla
cide was considered a finished artist, but somewhat
cold and hard in his manner. These features,
however, though they mar the more delicate points
in acting, would be less objectionable in Sir Peter
than in most of the old men in English comedy.
Except in the scene where he speaks feelingly of
his wife to Joseph Surface, the part is stiff, testy,
and formal ; the humor is dry rather than unctu
ous. The career of Henry Placide was long and
brilliant. He was a strong feature of the old Park
Theater for many seasons, and starred in the prin
cipal cities of America with success. He was an
acknowledged favorite, whose talents as an actor
made him a valued member of the theatrical
profession.

I remember that during the rehearsal of the
" School for Scandal " I was impressed with the
idea that the performance would not go well. It
is always a difficult matter to bring a company of
great artists together for a night and have them
act in unison with one another ; not from any ill-
feeling, but from the fact that they are not accus
tomed to play together. In a fine mechanical
contrivance, the ease and perfection with which it
works often depend upon the fact that the cog
wheels have their different proportions. On this

156 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

occasion they were all identical in size, highly pol
ished, and well made, but not adapted to the same
machinery. Seeing a hitch during the rehearsal
in one of the important scenes, I ventured, in my
official capacity, to make a suggestion to one of
the old actors. He regarded me with a cold,
stony gaze, as though I had been at a great dis
tance, — which I was, both in age and in experi
ence, — and gave me to understand that there was
but one way to settle the matter, and that that was
his way. Of course, as the company did not com
prise the one regularly under my management, I
felt that it would be becoming in me to yield ;
which I did, not, however, without protesting that
the position I took was the proper and only one
under the circumstances; and when I saw the
scene fail and virtually go to pieces at night, I
confess that I felt some satisfaction in the know
ledge that my judgment had been correct. In fact
the whole entertainment, while it had been a finan
cial success, was an artistic failure. People won
dered how so many great actors could make a
performance go off so tamely.

Harmony is the most important element in a
work of art. In this instance each piece of mosaic
was perfect in form and beautiful in color, but
when fitted together they matched badly and the
effect was crude. An actor who has been for years
the main attraction in his plays, and on all occa
sions the central and conspicuous figure of the en
tertainment, can scarcely be expected to adapt
himself at once to being grouped with others in

EDWIN FORREST ABOUT 1835.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 157

one picture: having so long performed the solo, it
is difficult to accompany the air. A play is like a
picture : the actors are the colors, and they must
blend with one another if a perfect work is to be
produced Should they fail to agree as to the
value and distribution of their talents, then, though
they be ever so great, they must submit their case
to the care and guidance of a master hand.

In the year 1854 I became manager for John T.
Ford of the theater in Richmond, Virginia. The
romantic drama of " The Sea of Ice " was produced
with splendid success, and was followed by "The
Naiad Queen," which enjoyed equal popularity.
The season was altogether quite a brilliant one,
and included among its attractions some of the
first stars of the country. Miss Agnes Robertson,
known as the " Fairy Star," accompanied by her
husband, Mr. Dion Boucicault, headed the list,
which terminated with Edwin Forrest. This popu
lar tragedian was then in his prime, and what a
handsome fellow he was ! The form of an Apollo,
with the strength of a Hercules : his deep, musical
voice was under perfect control, and in the pathetic
scenes of Cade and Virginius full of tears. As a
melodramatic actor he stood ahead of all his com
petitors. In Shaksperean characters he was con
sidered too robust and extravagant. So far as
matters relating to his own profession were con
cerned, he was undoubtedly a student, his readings
being faultless, and full of feeling. In private he
could be very agreeable ; his conversation was both
humorous and witty, and his anecdotes were told

158 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

with excellent effect. During my long professional
life I met him frequently, and I should say that
much of his unhappiness — for he was a very un
happy man — came from an irritable temper, under
little control. His nature, unfortunately, was not
softened by that sweet and gradual ascent to good
fortune that is so humanizing. Happy are those
who in the race for fame advance steadily and by
degrees, making no hurried strides, but losing no
ground; shaking hands with their competitors as
they go by them, and making honest room for them
to pass should they come up again. Forrest with
one leap bounded to the front. No new triumphs
awaited him, and as old age came on he could only
witness younger and fleeter metal pass him by.
During those fits of anger which came upon him
from the inefficiency of his dramatic support he
was childish and unreasonable — having no power
of recognizing the distinction between a man who
tries his best and fails, and he who fails because he
does not try at all.

During the engagement of which I am about to
speak, and on one occasion while we were rehears
ing " Damon and Pythias," Edwin Adams, who
was cast for Pythias, was going through the excit
ing scene in which that character parts with Ca-
lanthe. Forrest took exception to the business
arrangements of the stage ; but as this was one of
his quiet, dignified mornings, he made his objec
tions with respectful deference, saying that if Mr.
Adams would allow him he would suggest some
new business that might improve the scene.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 159

Adams expressed himself as quite willing to receive
any instruction ; so Forrest went through the part
ing with Calanthe, giving some new and very good
suggestions. Adams tried but failed to catch For
rest's idea. It was tried over and over till finally
Forrest became impatient. Again taking Adams's
place, he rushed towards the fainting form of Ca-
lanthe, and as he dropped upon his knee, throwing
his head tragically forward, his hat fell off. Now
it is always a comical thing to see a man's high
black-silk hat tumble from his head, but especially
when he is going through a tragic scene. Forrest
for a moment hesitated whether he should pause
and pick up the hat or not ; at last he made a sav
age grab for it, but it eluded his grasp, and, slip
ping through his fingers, rolled round the stage,
he pursuing it with tragic passion. The company,
one by one, turned their heads away, quietly en
joying his discomfiture, At last he secured it, and
fixing it firmly on his head, he proceeded with the
action of the scene. He felt we had been laughing
at him, and became furious. Rushing upon Ca-
lanthe, he embraced her again and again. "Fare
well, my love," cried he in dire woe. He then
tore himself from her embrace, and madly career
ing up the stage ran head first into a scene that
the carpenters were moving across the stage,
mashing the unlucky hat over his eyes. He
struggled manfully to get it off, but with no effect
till Adams and I came to the rescue. We
were now all in a roar of laughter. For a moment
he looked bewildered and even angry, but as the

160 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

absurdity of the scene dawned upon him he joined
in the merriment, and declared it was the most
ridiculous thing that had ever occurred.

At the conclusion of the Richmond engagement
the company journeyed to Washington, where we
were to open with Forrest as Metamora — a char
acter that he detested, and one that the public ad
mired. Forrest was always in a state of intense
irritation during the rehearsal and performance of
this drama. Irregularities that he would have
overlooked under ordinary circumstances were
now magnified to an enormous size, so that when
he donned the buckskin shirt, and stuck the hunt
ing-knife of the American savage in his wampum
belt, he was ready to scalp any offending actor
who dared to cross his path. The copper-colored
liquid with which he stained his cheeks might
literally have been called "war paint."

At the rehearsal the poor property man, old
Jake Search, got in a dreadful state of nervous
ness, and everything went wrong. The tragedian
naturally held me, as stage-manager, responsible
for these accidents, particularly as the unlucky
Jake would conceal himself behind set pieces, or
mysteriously disappear through traps as each
mishap occurred. In the midst of this dreadful
confusion, principally brought about by his own
ill humor, Forrest turned on me, saying he would
not act that night, and strode out of the theater.
I hurried through the front of the house, and
heading him off in the alley addressed him, as
nearly as I can remember, in the following words :

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 161

" Mr. Forrest, before you decide upon this step
let me state an important fact, that perhaps has
not crossed your mind." He saw I was in earn
est, and stopped short to listen, as I resumed:
" Mr. Ford, the manager, is absent, so I must
take his responsibility to the public on myself.
The blunders on the stage this morning have been
unfortunate, perhaps culpable, but you must par
don me for saying that your excited manner and
somewhat unreasonable demands have contributed
not a little to confuse the company and bring
about this disorder. But be that as it may, there
is another and still more important matter to
consider. Every seat in the theater is taken for
to-night ; the audience will crowd the house in ex
pectation of a great dramatic treat, to which they
have been looking forward for some time. If
you decline to act, and so break your contract
with the public, what course is left for me?
Why, only this: I must wait for the vast con
course of people to assemble, and then go before
them and explain the reason of your non-appear
ance. I shall have to make a clear statement of
the case, and say that you have refused to act
because there were some slight discrepancies and
irregularities in the rehearsal. The public are,
you know, quite unreasonable when their diver
sion is checked, and it is likely that they will be
indignant at the disappointment, failing to see
the reason as clearly as you may have done.
Now consider for a moment : under these circum
stances will it not be more magnanimous in

162 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

you to overlook the shortcomings and go on
with the rehearsal ? "

He paused for a moment and said : " I will not
go back to the rehearsal. I am too much excited,
and my presence on the stage now will only make
matters worse ; but if you will see that details are
attended to, I will act to-night."

I promised to do so, and we parted. I was
only too glad to get rid of him on those terms, in
his then intemperate state of mind. I went back
to the stage and dismissed the rehearsal, caution
ing the actors to do what they could to render the
night's performance creditable. I now began to
hunt up the delinquent and frightened property
man, Jake Search, — an appropriate name for a
fellow who needed so much looking after, — and
discovered him hiding under a pile of old scenery.
"Is he gone?" said Search. " Yes," I answered,
"but he will return to-night; so see that your
properties are in good condition, or he will be
the death of you."

The night came and matters progressed favor
ably until the council scene. One of the char
acters here, being overcome with nervousness,
reversed his questions to Metamora, giving the
wrong lines, and of course receiving an absurd an
swer. The audience, recognizing the confusion
of the dialogue, began to laugh, and of course this
made matters worse. The act terminates with the
Indian's great speech, " From the east to the west,
from the north to the south, the loud cry of ven
geance shall be heard," and here he hurls his knife

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 163

into the center of the stage, where it quivers a de
fiance as the curtain falls. In his anger and ex
citement the blade failed to stick in the stage and
bounded into the orchestra, the handle hitting the
double-bass player on the top of his head, which
was as innocent of hair as a billiard-ball, so as the
curtain came down the old fellow was stamping
about and rubbing his bald pate to the delight of
the audience.

I realized now that the storm had burst in
earnest, and that a total wreck would soon follow.
Knowing that I could not avert the catastrophe,
and having no desire to face the tragedian's wrath,
like a politic but disloyal captain I deserted the
ship and went in front to see it go down. Byron
says of a battle, "Oh, what a sight to him who
has no friend or brother there ! " to which Prentice
adds, "and is not there himself." The latter was
now my case. I was not there myself, and I did
not intend to be, so from the secure corner of an
upper private box I watched the progress of the
most disastrous performance I had ever seen.

As the curtain rises on the last act the tribe of
Metamora should rush through the woods as their
leader calls them ; but by this time the braves
were so frightened that they had become demoral
ized, and as the foremost rushed through the
opening in the woods his long bow got crosswise
between two trees. This not only precipitated
the redskin over it, but the entire tribe followed,
tumbling head over heels into the middle of the
stage. I trembled now lest the "big Injun'"

164 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

would refuse to put in an appearance. At last,
to my relief, the audience quieted down, and
Forrest strode upon the stage. If I remember
the story, at this point Metamoras wife and chil
dren had been stolen away and murdered. His
pathos was fine, and by his magnificent acting
he reduced his audience to attention and enthusi
asm. All was now going well, and I looked
forward to a happy termination of the play, which
I was thankful to know had nearly reached its
climax.

A funeral pile of burning fagots was then brought
on, at which some pale-face was to be sacrificed.
The two Indians in charge of this mysterious-
looking article set it down so unsteadily that a
large sponge, saturated with flaming alcohol, tum
bled off and rolled down the stage, leaving a track
of fire in its wake. " Put it out ! " said Forrest,
" put it out ! " whereupon the two Indians went
down on their knees and began to blow alter
nately in a seesaw way, singeing each other's
eyebrows at every puff. The audience could not
stand this comical picture, and began to break
forth in laughter. " Let the theater burn ! " roared
Forrest. At last one tall Indian, supposed to be
second in command, majestically waved off the two
who were blowing, and stamped his foot with force
and- dignity upon the flaming sponge, at which a
perfect fountain of burning alcohol spouted up
his leather legs. He caught fire, tried to put
himself out, rubbing and jumping about franti
cally, and at last danced off the stage in the most

FORREST AS "METAMORA,"

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 165

comical agony. Forrest made a furious exit ; the
curtain was dropped, and the public, in perfect
good nature, dispersed. I mingled with the crowd
as it went forth, and I never saw the faces of an
audience, at the end of a five- act comedy, wreathed
in such smiles.

Forrest's first dramatic career in London was
undoubtedly a success, though " The Gladiator "
was an unwise selection for the opening night
It is a bloody piece of business altogether, and it
is a play that could not fail to disgust the sensi
bilities of a select audience. An actor visiting
England, as Forrest did, not only with a great
reputation, but as unquestionably at that time
the representative tragedian of America, naturally
drew the first people of the land to meet him. It
must be borne in mind that a first night's audience
never represents - the general public, particularly
on an occasion of this kind. The event was an
international one. It was the first dramatic chal
lenge that America had ever given to England.
The theater was filled with a critical audience.
Statesmen and authors, with the nobility and gen
try of the land, were assembled at Drury Lane to
witness the debut.

Upon an audience like this the most delicate
coloring would have had its effect An artist
could scarcely be too subtle before an array of
such nice discrimination. When the American
actor came upon the stage the symmetry of his
form, his manly bearing, and the deep music of
his voice produced a strong impression upon the

166 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

house ; but as the play progressed, revealing only
the tumult of brutal passions, disappointment fell
upon the audience. This crude and extravagant
drama ends with the central figure bathed in
blood, biting the dust, and writhing in the agonies
of death. Nothing but the fine acting of Forrest
could have sustained this drama before such an
audience.

As an actor he was a success, and the play, that
caught the public taste, if it failed to please the
judicious, was acted for several nights. There can
be no doubt that if he had played Lear or Othello
before the rare audience that came to- witness his
debut, and which he could not hope again to
assemble in such force, his success as a Shak-
sperean tragedian would have been pronounced.

Forrest's second visit was full of tumult. Wil
liam Macready, then the reigning favorite as a
Shaksperean actor in England, was an intimate
friend of Mr. Forster, the dramatic critic; and
Forrest publicly declared that it was in conse
quence of this intimacy that he had been abused
in the papers, and more than hinted that Mac-
ready was in a conspiracy with Forster to malign
him. History will never join with Forrest in this
belief, Macready's position was so well assured
in London that he could not possibly fear a rival.
And the lifelong record of Macready clearly
shows that he was too honorable a man meanly
to connive at another's downfall.

After his engagement was over Forrest went to
see his rival act, and because the latter introduced

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 167

some business that Forrest disapproved of he
hissed Macready from the front of the house. To
say that this was in bad taste is to put too mild a
disapproval upon such a rude and unprofessional
act. It was the culmination of Forrest's wayward
ness and ill temper. But the unfavorable notices
in London had stung him to the quick. The virus
of adverse criticism rankled in his veins. The
eagle of the American stage was in a frenzy ; his
plumage had been ruffled by the British lion. So
giving that intolerant animal one tremendous
peck, he spread his wings and sailed away.

I have no doubt that he had often acted Othello,
Lear, and perhaps Hamlet with all that care and
study could compass, but the audience refused to
respond ; and knowing that there was a " lurking
devil" in him, they sat dumb and sullen until it
was let loose.

A dramatic critic told me that he was paid a
stated sum of money to go to the theater regu
larly every night during Forrest's engagements at
the Broadway Theater in 1856, for the purpose of
writing him down. This gentleman (?) had lately
come from England, and until this time had
scarcely seen a Shaksperean play. He was a
fluent writer, but had not the remotest idea of the
thought and philosophy contained in the plays of
which he was to write. He said he would get a
book of the tragedy that was to be acted at night,
read it up, then form his own conception of how
the character should be acted, and if Forrest did
not render it to his way of thinking, — which for-

168 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tunately for the public he never did, — he, as the
critic, would cut the actor all to pieces. These
criticisms did more good to the actor than harm.
Unjust abuse generally has this effect Feeling
that these articles were actuated only by malice,
the public came in crowds to indorse the actor.
Unfortunately the tragedian lost his temper and
addressed the audience from the stage, pleading
his own case and hurling anathemas at "the irre
sponsible assassins of the pen." There was no
necessity for this. His friends had already taken
up cudgels for him and rallied to his support. It
was like a successful candidate asking his constitu
ents, after they have elected him, to add to the
obligation by throwing his unsuccessful rival out
of the window.

Edwin Forrest, with all his faults, had warm and
generous impulses. I know of one instance where
a poor, old actress went to him in distress. In
former years he had known her father and respec
ted him. Touched by her appeal for assistance,
he lent her a large sum of money, with the almost
certain knowledge that he would never get it back
again. It was never made public; no one knew
of it but the receiver and myself. The Forrest
Home has done much good, and is likely to do
more; and those actors who either by age or
by infirmities have been debarred the privilege of
following their profession will naturally be grateful
for this rich legacy.

Even in the days of his theatrical fame and pros
perity Forrest was an austere man, and as he grew

FORREST AS "KING LEAR."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 169

older he became morbidly misanthropical, holding
himself aloof from all but his most intimate friends.
The latter part of his life was embittered, too, by
illness and the loss of public favor. Until the clos
ing years of his career he had been blessed with
perfect health; this became suddenly shattered,
and the unexpected attack wrecked his dramatic
power. He might have borne the stroke of illness,
but to one whose imperious nature could not brook
the faintest slight the loss of public admiration was
a heavy blow ; one, too, that would have shocked
a wiser and more even-tempered man than Edwin
Forrest. Still he toiled on, and was unjustly cen
sured for acting past his powers. But what was
he to do ? His physicians told him that he must
act if he would live ; the wheel must be kept in
motion or it would fall. His performances in the
larger cities were given to empty houses, while
bright and youthful aspirants were drawing from
him all his old adherents. His former friends for
sook him, and naturally, too ; they could not bear
the pain of witnessing their favorite of other days
declining night by night. No actor can hope to
hold an interest in his audience merely by what he
has done in years gone by ; in acting it is the pres
ent that the public have to deal with, not the past.
To witness age and decrepitude struggling to con
ceal their weakness in the mimic scene is too pain
ful. The greater our affection for the artist the
less can we bear to see him suffer and go down.

In the vain hope of struggling on, the old trage
dian sought "the provinces*" Here the people

170 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

flocked in crowds to see the great actor that they
had heard of from their childhood ; not with the
faintest hope that they would find the grandeur
of the past, but from the curious desire to see a
ruined tower just before it falls.

CHAPTER VI

, FIRST VISIT TO EUROPE

From London to Paris — An Early Comedy — In
the Second-hand Shops — Return to America

I SAILED for England in the clipper ship Nep
tune, in June, 1856. This was my first visit to
Europe, and London was a rare treat to me.
It was rich in comedians and poor in tragedians.
Robson and Wright were especially fine ; Comp-
ton was quaint and legitimate, and. Buckstone
funny. Mr. Phelps was an actor of such versatil
ity that he could scarcely be called a tragedian.
His range was wider than that of any other actor
in England. Macbeth, Sir Pertinax McSyco-
phant, Malvolio, King Lear, Sir Anthony Abso
lute, and Bottom, take in the vast area of the
legitimate drama. I saw him in two of these
characters only, but it is generally conceded that
he was equally fine in all of them.

172 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

From London I went to France. My mother's
parents were from this lovely country, and I
longed to see it. We arrived quite early in the
afternoon, and then I looked for the first time on
the picturesque city of Dieppe. What a transfor
mation had taken place in a few short hours from
London 1 Why, if a hole could have been bored
at Waterloo Bridge and I had dropped through
the earth, coming out at China, the contrast would
not have been greater! Climate, costume, archi
tecture, and language — the change was complete :
eight-storied picturesque houses, with three-storied
roofs, each story projecting a little beyond the
other till at the top they almost meet, making it
quite convenient for the occupants in the garret
windows to shake hands with one another across
the street ; all the windows filled with the excited
inhabitants chatting to one another and violently
gesticulating. The streets were thronged with
people: women in wooden shoes, blue petticoats,
and high, stiff, white caps, carrying baskets and
generally doing all the work; lazy men in blue
blouses, quietly submitting to it without a mur
mur ; they were lolling on the piers, slyly laugh
ing and winking at one another as they guyed the
cockney and Yankee tourists. A swell table
d'h6te dinner, for swell tourists, was carefully
avoided by myself and companion ; so we slipped
around the corner and got a cheap repast, consol
ing ourselves that by traveling economically you
always have a better chance to study character.
With this object partly in view, and with know-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 173

ledge of our slender purse, we purchased second-
class tickets on the train for Paris. It was
midsummer, and as we started at 6 p. M. there
were still three or four hours of golden twilight
for us. What a panorama of beauty ! We saw
the quaint French farms and picturesque chiteaux
as we skirted along the lovely banks of the Seine ;
Rouen with its majestic cathedral loomed up as the
moon rose over the river.

At eleven o'clock we arrived in Paris. I drove
to H6tel Byron in Rue Richelieu, and after supper
determined to get a view that night of the church
of Notre Dame. Past twelve o'clock and the full
moon high in the heavens ; it was just the time to
see it. A cab had us there in twenty minutes.
How grandly it stood out against the dark blue
sky ! We recrossed the Seine, and I stopped the
cab to get out on the bridge. Straight before me
were the gloomy " towers in. which Marie Antoi
nette was confined during the Reign of Terror. I
almost fancied that I could see the pale face of the
murdered queen gazing with anguish through the
iron- grated windows. The French cabman did
not quite get into his head what was the matter
with me. I think my gloomy looks made him
suspicious that I was contemplating suicide and
had brought him there as an accessory ; for he got
quite close to me, evidently intending to grab me
by the collar and force me into the cab at the first
hint of a plunge. He heaved a sigh of relief as I
got into the cab, and drove away from the bridge
much faster than he came to it.

174 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

H6tel Byron was in the busy part of the city, so
I was awakened at sunrise by a hum of voices and
the rattle of cabs: bakers, milkmen, and venders
of fruit and vegetables were trying to drown one
another with their various cries. Perhaps a week
later than this it would have been annoying, but
now the sounds were so strange to my ears that I
was only too delighted to be awakened by them.
I had just finished dressing when I heard a fearful
quarrel in the courtyard : looking out of the win
dow I saw a most curious group of people. There
was a fat man, in a white apron and cap, — the
cook, — armed with a large wooden spoon, and a
thin baker, with a long loaf of bread, measuring at
least four feet, beating each other over the head
and shoulders with these deadly weapons. The
landlord had embraced the baker and was trying
to tug him away; the landlady was endeavoring
to do the same with the fat cook, but his dimen
sions defied her ; a kindly milkman and two wait
ers got in between the belligerents, and in so
doing received most of the punishment. Nothing
could be more comical than to watch this exciting
but bloodless encounter — the frantic yells of the
landlord, the screams of the landlady, the milk
man and the two waiters rubbing themselves as
the spoon of the infuriated cook and the long loaf
of the- angry baker descended upon their heads.
In the midst of the encounter and the thickest of
the fight a huge milk-can was kicked over, and a
foaming white flood deluged the middle of the
yard. This dreadful accident stopped the fray at

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 175

once — oil poured upon troubled water could not
have been more effectual ; economy is a passion
with the people of Paris. There was a groan of
horror from the milkman, who stood with his
shoulders shrugged up to his eyes, his arms stiff-
. ened, his hands spread out, and his legs wide
apart, surveying the disaster; his stock in trade,
once pure and white as the driven snow, was
slowly flowing down the middle of the yard, and
as it "mixed with the baser matter" became a
pearly gray, and so deepened into an inky hue as
it reached the gutter of the street The poor
fellow was now the center of attraction. The
belligerents crowded around him offering their
sympathy; if they could not restore his mer
chandise, they could at least smother him with
the milk of human kindness. The cook and the
baker looked on in self-reproaching silence, the
waiters assisted the unfortunate man to a chair,
and the landlady soothed him with a glass of
claret. Now a reaction set in. A faint smile
mantled the milkman's face, then they all broke
out into a roar of laughter as the comical side of
the picture presented itself; the waiters fairly
danced with merriment, the cook embraced the
baker, who punched him in the stomach with de
light, and so ended the first and only fight I ever
saw in Paris.

After breakfast I consulted my memorandum
and guide-book. What a list of things to see!
How could I get through it in the time ? Where
should I go first? I have since seen my children

176 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

in this urfcertain condition in a toy-shop, and have
always felt for them as I remembered this eventful
time ; for we are only children of a larger growth,
and must have all felt this delightful torture. My
guide was now engaged ; his name was Francois.
He was a capital hand at business, so far as indus
try was concerned ; his vitality, too, was wonderful.
Quick, agile, witty, and vivacious, nothing was a
trouble to him so long as it was to his taste ; but if
I suggested some place to visit that he in his voca
tion was tired of, the humbug of his nature came
into full play, and he would disparage the proposal
with the true tact of a Frenchman. Not that he
was dishonest ; on the contrary, where money was
concerned he was scrupulously particular, but the
artistic side of his nature delighted to assert itself.
On my second visit to Paris, twenty years after,
I was struck with some curious incidents that illus
trate the devotion of the French to art and their
uncertain loyalty to the reigning government.
Over their doors and on the cornices of their pub
lic buildings the Republican motto " Liberty, Equal
ity, and Fraternity" was painted ; but the prices of
admission to the Grand Opera were carved in the
stone, as though they plainly said : u We only
paint our patriotism on the walls, so if we desire
a change in the government we can wash it out ;
but the price of admission to the grand opera can
never be changed — jamais / " Again : when the
revolution was over, the names of many streets and
buildings were changed, all references to royalty or
the empire were swept away, till they came to the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 177

Palais Royal : this sacred title was not disturbed,
as it was the name of the theater within its walls.

How grand I felt on my first visit, to think that
I was in Paris ; not the Paris of to-day, with its
gilded domes and modern grandeur, but the old,
quaint, dirty, gay, strange city in the early days of
the Second Empire, with its high, toppling build
ings, narrow streets, and lively people. What
pride I should take, when I got back to America,
in talking familiarly of well-known localities, and
getting the French pronunciation pat and glib —
rattling off the names with an easy air as if I had
lived there for years. What boyish delight I felt
in walking through the streets and looking in at
the shop windows. Socrates, I think it was, who
said, as he walked through Athens, " How happy
I am that there are so many things here I do
not want." If his philosophy was correct — and I
have no doubt it was — I must have been very un
happy and very unlike Socrates, for there were so
many things that I did want. Of course I could
not get them, but could price and admire them.
Now I must be careful ; the money had to be re
counted, and there should be enough kept to get
back with. I had been saving up two years' salary
for this trip, so there must be no undue extrava
gance. This matter settled, I filled my purse with
gold, hired a cab, and sallied forth with my guide
to visit the theatrical wardrobe shops in the Tem
ple. I shall never forget this lovely day, wander
ing into the little dens, sometimes in the cellars,
sometimes in the garrets of the queer old places,

178 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

rummaging over quaint hats, square-toed shoes,
character wigs, embroidered court suits, charming
long silk stockings in all the magic colors of the
rainbow, high boots, lovely gaiters, striped waist
coats, and groves of old-fashioned liveries — it was
a dramatic fairy-land.

The second-hand shops of Paris are very dif
ferent from those of Chatham street and Petticoat
Lane. In London and with us they are presided
over by thrifty Jews, who glare at you with glit
tering black eyes and thrust their eager noses in
your face, almost imploring you to buy. Not so
in France: quiet old women sit in the doorways
of their shops, or just outside, sewing or knitting;
no time is wasted by the women of France. They
smile and nod as you pass by, but no rudeness,
no urging you to buy ; in fact, they seem so per
fectly self-satisfied that at times it is quite provok
ing to the would-be purchaser. I was all eyes,
and longing eyes at that. Now and then Francois
would give me a gentle nudge and admonish me
not to appear so anxious. At these times I would
assume a careless manner as if such scenes were
quite usual to me. At last Frangois stopped in front
of one of these shops : taking a survey with the
air of a connoisseur, and nodding a cold approval
of its contents, he invited me to enter. An old
woman, — knitting, of course, — the exact counter
part of at least twenty we had already passed,
followed us in. Here everything was in pictur
esque and artistic confusion — piles of curious
costumes on the shelves, flowing scarfs, broad

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 179

felt hats with ostrich feathers, russet boots, and
big- hiked swords and rapiers arranged in a half-
careless, half-methodical way. There was an inte
rior room from which issued sounds of merriment
and laughter. I hesitated to pass through, but
the old woman smiled and bade us enter, shrug
ging her shoulders and expressing in her way,
" Only. young people; they will have their sport"
And so it was. Here were two sprightly young
Frenchmen, evidently actors, and a pretty coquette
of a girl — the daughter of madame — having a
royal time at flirting and acting. For a moment
our entrance damped their ardor and the " sport,"
whatever it was, came to a standstill. Then came
some pantomime from my guide, who introduced
me to the trio as an actor from America, at which
they assumed an extravagant air of wonder and
amazement, evidently guying me. So feeling
themselves quite at ease, the merriment again
proceeded. It was quite evident to me that there
was a love affair between the pretty girl and the
handsomer of the young actors. He was a grace
ful young fellow, with blond, curly hair and blue
eyes, and I presumed he was the rising young
lover of some small theater in the neighborhood.
The other actor was undoubtedly a low comedian
of the same establishment He was the reverse of
the blond lover, hideously ugly, with a turned-up
nose, and a wide gash in the middle of his face
for a mouth. He looked like a monkey, and
was quite as full of tricks. Assuming a gro
tesquely tragic air, he grasped me by the hand

180 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

as if I were his long-lost brother, then, pointing
despairingly at the lovers, gave me to understand
in pantomime that his life was blasted by unre
quited affection. Then he fell upon his knees to
the girl and implored her love; she laughed, of
course. This started him to his feet, and with
a sudden spring he picked up a Roman helmet,
cocked it sidewise on his head, seized a poker,
and rushed upon his rival- Then he paused, and,
bursting into tears, relented. Now taking the
lovers7 hands he joined them in wedlock, invoked
a blessing on them from Heaven, stabbed himself
with the poker, and rushed out into the front shop
amidst the laughter and merriment of his audi
ence. To me this seemed a very happy party,
and though I understood very little of what they
were saying, it was quite enough to convince me
that some of their fun was at my expense. The
old woman now led the way up a dark, narrow
staircase to a room of wonders above. The walls
were hung with fantastic dresses, spears, shields,
and masks with decidedly French expressions of
countenance. She pointed quietly to all these
things, but rather disparaged them.

Now she came to a high, black leather trunk
with a round top and clamped all over with iron
bands and hinges. This contained glittering suits
of Roman armor. A shining breastplate was dis
played to tempt me. I explained that that style of
thing was not in my line. So with a sweet smile,
somewhat tinged with pity, I think, she shrugged
her shoulders and passed on to a large, flat,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 181

wooden box like a monster sea-chest with an
old-fashioned padlock on it, big enough for the
Bank of England. She pointed to the box with
admiration, as though she would say, "Ah, you
don't know what lovely things are stored there,
and so cheap." She first displayed a black court
suit with polished steel buttons, very fine, but too
large and too somber. Next came a royal purple
silk velvet one, embroidered with gold and foil-
stones. I lost my heart to this at once, and the
sly old woman knew it. I tried to look as if I
did n't care for it, but failed. It would n't do
with her. She saw through me, and began to fold
it up with a loving hand, as though she could n't
part with it for the world. She spoke no English ;
and as I was equally skilled in French, we talked
through my guide. He, of course, professed to be
on my side, but, from certain suspicious intonations,
I fancy he slightly favored the old woman.

"Well, what is the price?"

"Five hundred francs." She said this with an
injured air, as if she hoped I would n't give it, but
of course I did give it.

One article after another was tried on; some
reluctantly cast aside, others eagerly purchased. As
each new treasure came into my possession it was
placed in the cab by my guide. I did not want
them sent home — no, I would take them myself;
then I had misgivings that the cabman might drive
off with my booty. I must have made Frangois
take his number three times at least, and put it
in my different pockets, fearing I should lose it.

IS*

182 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

At last I had gone through all the shops in the
Temple. The longing eyes of the old French
woman followed me from door to door, the cab was
full, the purse was empty, and now I had a feverish
anxiety to get away. I was convinced I had bought
these wonders at half their value, and I feared that
the venders would regret having sold them, and
before I could depart demand them back. So we
jumped into the cab, gave the word, and drove to
the hotel.

Three lovely weeks in Paris ; it seemed like a
dream. Then I awakened and sailed for home.

CHAPTER VII

WITH LAURA KEENE

" The Heir-at-Law " — Dramatic Action — " Our
American Cousin " — A Theatrical Quarrel —
Changes in Old Plays — " The Duchess "

THE opening of Laura Keene's theater, in
September, 1857, was an important event
to me. I had been engaged for the leading
comedy, and it was my first appearance on the
western side of the city. Miss Keene had never
seen me, either on or off the stage. It, was looked
upon as a kind of presumption in those days for an
American actor to intrude himself into a Broadway
theater ; the domestic article seldom aspired to any
thing higher than the Bowery ; consequently I was
regarded as something of an interloper. I am afraid
I rather gloried in this, for in my youth I was confi
dent and self-asserting ; besides, there was a strong
feeling among my artistic countrymen that the Eng
lish managers had dealt unjustly with us, and I nat
urally shared in this feeling. I have since come to

183

184 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the conclusion that the managers do not open the
aters for the purpose of injuring any one.

At all events, I was installed as the comedian at
Laura Keene's theater, and opened in Colman's
comedy of "The Heir-at-Law." One of the lead
ing papers, in alluding to my performance, men
tioned the fact that a " nervous, fidgety young
man, by the name of Jefferson, appeared as Dr.
Pangloss, into which character he infused a num
ber of curious interpolations, occasionally using the
text prepared by the author."

The critic struck the keynote of a popular dra
matic error that has existed through all time, and I
shall make bold just here to call attention to it.
Old plays, and particularly old comedies, are filled
with traditional introductions, good and bad. If
an actor, in exercising his taste and judgment, pre
sumes to leave out any of these respectable antiq
uities, he is, by the conventional critic, considered
sacrilegious in ignoring them. And, on the other
hand, if in amplifying the traditional business he
introduces new1 material, he is thought to be equally
impertinent ; whereas the question as to the intro
duction should be whether it is good or bad, not
whether it is old or new. If there is any preference
it should be given to the new, which must neces
sarily be fresh and original, while the old is only a
copy.

Laura Keene's judgment in selecting plays was
singularly bad ; she invariably allowed herself to
be too much influenced by their literary merit or
the delicacy of their treatment. If these features
were prominent in any of the plays she read, her

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "DR. PANGLOSS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 185

naturally refined taste would cling to them with
such tenacity that no argument but the potent one
of public neglect could convince her that she had
been misled in producing them. I do not say that
polished dialogue or delicately drawn characters
are detrimental to a play — on the contrary, they
assist it ; but if these qualities are not coupled with
a sympathetic story, containing human interest, and
told in action rather than in words, they seldom
reach beyond the footlights.

Perhaps it is well to define here, to the non-pro
fessional reader, what is meant by dramatic action,
as sometimes this term is mistaken for pantomime.
Pantomime is action, certainly ; but not necessarily
dramatic action, which is the most essential element
in the construction of a play. A drama will often
give one no idea of its strength in the reading of
it; even in rehearsal it will sometimes fail to re
veal its power. I have on several occasions seen
even the author of a play surprised at the exhibition
of its dramatic action on its first representation
before an audience, he himself not being aware that
his work contained the hidden treasure, until the
sympathy of the public revealed it. Sometimes the
point of unexpected interest consists in the relation
ship between two characters, or the peculiar em
phasis laid upon a single word that has been spoken
in a previous act But to illustrate more fully what
I desire to explain I will take two dramatic actions,
one from comedy and the other from tragedy, to set
forth the subject clearly.

In one of Victorien Sardou's plays — and this
gentleman is perhaps the most ingenious playwright

186 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

of our time — the following incident occurs. The
audience are first made fully aware that a lady in
the play uses a certain kind of perfume. This is
done casually, so that they do not suspect that the
matter will again be brought to their notice. She
abstracts some valuable papers from a cabinet, and
when they are missed no one can tell who has taken
them. The mystery is inexplicable. Suspicion
falls upon an innocent person. The audience, who
well know how the matter stands, are on tenter
hooks of anxiety, fearing that the real culprit will
not be detected. When this feeling is at white
heat one of the characters finds a piece of paper in
the desk and is attracted to it by the perfume. He
puts it to his nose, sniffs it, and as a smile of triumph
steals over his face the audience, without a word
being spoken, realize that the thief is detected.
Observe here, too, the ingenuity of the dramatist :
the audience are in the secret with him ; they have
seen the papers stolen ; it is no news to them ; but
when the characters" in whom they are interested
become as much enlightened as they are the climax
is complete.

For an illustration of this point, as applied to
tragedy. After the murder of Duncan, Macbeth,
standing with his wife in a dark and gloomy hall,
looks at his bloody hands and apostrophizes them
in these terrible words:

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 187

Now there is a silence, and when he is alone there
echoes through the castle a knocking at the gate.
The friends of the murdered guest have come for
him ; and they thunder at the portals, while the
blood-stained host stands as if stricken down with
terror and remorse. It is not the dialogue, as pow
erful as it is, which strikes the audience with awe ;
it is simply a stage direction of the great dramatic
master — a " knocking at the gate." It will, I think,
be seen by these two illustrations that a fluent and
imaginative writer may construct plots, create Char
acters, and compose exquisite verse, and yet not
succeed as a playwright unless he possesses the
art or gift of creating dramatic action.

As an actress and manager Laura Keene was
both industrious and talented. If she could have
afforded it, no expense would have been spared in
the production of her plays ; but theatrical matters
were at a low ebb during the early part of her ca
reer, and the memorable panic of 1857 was almost
fatal to her. In the midst of financial difficulties
she displayed great taste and judgment in making
cheap articles look like expensive ones, and both in
her stage setting and costumes exhibited the most
skillful and effective economy. She was a high-
mettled lady, and could be alarmingly imperious to
her subjects with but little trouble.

I call the panic of 1857 "memorable," for surely
the actors and managers who struggled through
the vicissitudes of that season must have a vivid
remembrance of the various shifts and economical
devices of that disastrous time — disastrous not

188 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

only to theaters but to all kinds of commercial
pursuits. Banks that had been thought impreg
nable were swept out of existence. Long rows of
despairing depositors stood in lines eagerly be
sieging their delinquent trustees. One institution
alone withstood the shock, — the Chemical Bank, —
and naturally gained for itself a most enviable rep
utation. Wall street was in a collapsed condition,
and placards of "To Let" stood out in bold relief
upon private residences, almost as numerous as
the houses themselves. People who had lived be
yond their means found their extravagance checked
by an unlooked-for depression of their precarious
incomes. Horses and carriages were sold for a
song. That conventional army of gentlemen who
are always selling their teams, because they and
their families are about to go to Europe, increased
so alarmingly that column after column of the
daily papers were filled with announcements of
their intended departures.

Under such conditions naturally the theaters
were great sufferers. Salary day — that ever -wel
come Monday — was deferred first until Tuesday,
then until Wednesday, then until Thursday — and
finally disappeared altogether. The bands struck
with one accord, and as usual got their money;
the actors revolted and as usual did not get
it The public despondently staid at home,
the theaters were * empty, the managers de
pressed, and the actors jolly. This seems in
credible, but the members of my profession, at
least in the old time, were always in the best

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "DR. PANGLOSS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 189

of spirits when business was bad and salaries were
uncertain.

Just at this juncture Miss Keene produced a local
farcical comedy called " Splendid Misery " — a most
appropriate title and well suited to the financial
crisis through which the country was passing, and
in keeping, too, with the straitened circum
stances of many families that were suffering from
their previous extravagance. There were several
local hits in the play which pointed so plainly to
the prevailing panic that they were much enjoyed
by the slim audiences that beheld them.

Business had fallen off and the theater was in a
fair way to follow in the train of bankruptcy that
was dragging everything after it, when I hit upon
the idea of producing what was deemed a shock
ing innovation in a legitimate Broadway theater.
-Casting about for a novel that might be turned
into a strong military drama, I came upon George
Lepard's Revolutionary story entitled " Blanche
of Brandywine." Battles, marches and counter
marches, murders, abductions, hairbreadth es
capes, militia trainings, and extravagant Yankee
comicalities boiled over in every chapter. James
G. Burnett, the stage-manager, and I soon con
cocted a soul-stirring drama from this material and
it was accepted by Miss Keene, the manageress.

She was most indefatigable in her rehearsals
and spared neither time nor pains in planning
her effects, but was greatly deficient in system,
and while acknowledging that Mr. Burnett
and I had prepared at least an effective play,

190 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

she insisted upon arranging the business and
conducting the rehearsals. Of course we gave
way, being only anxious that success should be
achieved, and were quite willing to allow her
the credit of its production. She possessed but
slight experience in melodrama, as her previous
schooling had been mostly gained from the light
comedy productions of the London Lyceum, or
the legitimate plays that were produced at Wai-
lack's Theater while she was a member of the
stock company ; so that when she got into the
realm of red-hot conspiracies, blazing haystacks,
and rifle-balls, she was quite at the mercy of the
enemy.

The second act of our play ended with the bat
tle of Bunker Hill, which I had arranged should
be given as a tableau rather than as an action,
from Trumbull's picture of the "Death of War
ren" or "The Battle of Bunker Hill." It was
so well known, and its leading features presented
such a fine opportunity for effective grouping,
that we decided to have the stage raised to rep
resent a mound covered with grass, and to ar
range the figures in exactly the same manner
as in the famous painting. On the morning
the tableau was to be grouped, Miss Keene ap
peared with the engraving, which she unrolled
with a proud air and Sir Oracle demeanor that
was all the more amusing to me as I knew she
was in deep water, and likely to sink at the first
plunge. We (the company) were assembled and
the stage-manager eyed us with a sidelong look of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 191

anything but approval. After a preliminary cough
or two Miss Keene charged up the hill and pre
pared for action.

Looking over the scroll, which every now and
then would keep rolling itself up, much to her annoy
ance and our smothered delight, she began to place
us in our different and, I may say, difficult positions.
One would be made to rest upon his elbow while
another was arranged to stand over him with an
uplifted gun. The next gentleman, a cruel British
officer, was then told to be on the point of thrusting
a bayonet into the vital regions of some American
patriot. The wounded Warren was ordered to lie
down in an uncomfortable position and be held by a
friend. This was all very well, and for a brief period
these attitudes could be maintained ; but by the time
Miss Keene had got through the militia the regular
army was completely worn out. Then she began
to badger Warren, telling him to lie with his head a
little more that way, or a trifle more the other way,
besides requesting him to look exhausted — which
expression, however, under the circumstances, he
had taken quite of his own accord.

"You are out of position again," Miss Keene
would say to some old soldier. "Now observe, I
want you to stand — well, look here," and away
would go the scroll again as if it were on a spring
roller.

" General Warren, you have got your head all
wrong again."

" I cannot stand it/' said the hero ; " my head has
been in that position for twenty minutes."

192 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I do not think that the original general could
have suffered more than did his counterfeit on this
occasion. By this time every one was exhausted,
Miss Keene included, so there was nothing left
but to dismiss the army and hold a council of
war.

I now saw that the arrangement of a tableau
from a picture with so many figures was a more
difficult matter than I had at first imagined.
Miss Keene declared that it could not be done at
all, and I was myself beginning to think we were
nonplussed, when Burnett came to the rescue with
a simple suggestion which made the way clear at
once. His idea was that the characters in the en
graving should be cast just as they would be in a
play. Thus each figure in the picture was marked
with the name of the actor who was to represent it.
The engraving was then hung up in the greenroom
where each one could look at it and so study the
attitude he was to take. This was caught up at
once ; their names were then marked upon the
mound in chalk, and when the word was given to
strike the tableau each one took the position, as
sumed his attitude, and the picture was complete.

I have alluded to this incident as I think it per
haps worth while to record a simple manner of ar
ranging characters for a tableau from a picture.

Before concluding this incident I desire to pay
my respects to Mr. James G. Burnett, as he was
intimately connected with Laura Keene's theater
both as an actor and stage-manager. Our friend
ship extended over a term of many years, and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 193

I cannot call to mind one act of his that was
not characterized by honesty and truth. In the
earlier part of his life he was sorely tried by an
accumulation of domestic ills, and I know that he
bore his troubles with patience and dignity. As
an actor, during the latter part of his life he im
proved wonderfully; he acted Sir Anthony Ab
solute and Lord D itber ly with me in St. Louis, and
rendered them with fine effect.

During the season of 1858-59 Miss Keene pro
duced Tom Taylor's play of " Our American
Cousin/' and as its success was remarkable and
some noteworthy occurrences took place in con
nection with it, a record of its career will perhaps
be interesting. The play had been submitted by
Mr. Taylor's agent to another theater, but the
management failing to see anything striking in it,
an adverse judgment was passed and the comedy
rejected. It was next offered to Laura Keene,
who also thought but little of the play, which
remained neglected upon her desk for some time ;
but it so chanced that the business manager of the
theater, Mr. John Lutz, in turning over the leaves
fancied that he detected something in the play of
a novel character. Here was a rough man, hav
ing no dramatic experience, but gifted with keen,
practical sense, who discovered at a glance an
effective play, the merits of which had escaped
the vigilance of older and, one would have sup
posed, better judges. He gave me the play to
read. While it possessed but little literary merit,
there was a fresh, breezy atmosphere about the

194 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

characters and the story that attracted me very
much. I saw, too, the chance of making a
strong character of the leading part, and so I
was quite selfish enough to recommend the play
for production.

The reading took place in the greenroom, at
which the ladies and gentlemen of the company
were assembled, and many furtive glances were
cast at Mr. Couldock and me as the strength
of Abel Murcott and Asa Trenchard were re
vealed. Poor Sothern sat in the corner, looking
quite disconsolate, fearing that there was nothing
in the play that would suit him ; and as the dismal
lines of Dundreary were read he glanced over
at me with a forlorn expression, as much as to
say, "I am cast for that dreadful part," little
dreaming that the character of the imbecile lord
would turn out to be the stepping-stone of his
fortune. The success of the play proved the
turning-point in the career of three persons —
Laura Keene, Sothern, and myself.

As the treasury began to fill, Miss Keene began
to twinkle with little brilliants ; gradually her splen
dor increased, until at the end of three months she
was ablaze with diamonds. Whether these were
new additions to her impoverished stock of jew
elry, or the return of old friends that had been
parted with in adversity, — old friends generally
leave us under these circumstances, — I cannot
say, but possibly the latter.

The dramatic situation that struck me as the
most important one in this play was the love scene

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 195

in the opening of the last act. It was altogether
fresh, original, and perfectly natural, and I notice
that in this important phase of dramatic composi
tion authors are conspicuously weak.

The love scenes in most all of our modern plays
are badly constructed. In the English dramas
they are sentimental and insipid, being filled with
either flowery nonsense or an extravagance border
ing upon burlesque ; while the love scenes in the
French plays are coarse and disgusting. Sardou
has written but few female characters for whom one
can feel the slightest respect. For instance, which
one would a man select to be his mother were he
compelled to make a choice ? I think it would puz
zle him. The love scenes between Alfred Evelyn
and Clara Douglas, in Bulwer's play of "Money,"
are stilted, unnatural, and cold. The passages in
tended to display affection in the " Lady of Lyons "
are still further from "imitating humanity," and the
speech of Claude to Pauline, beginning with

In a deep vale shut out by alpine hills

is so glaringly absurd that the audience invariably
smile at the delivery of this soft extravagance.

The greatest love scene that ever was or ever
will be written is known as the balcony scene in
"Romeo and Juliet." This is a perfect model, be
ing full of the most exquisite humor.

Natural love off the stage is almost invariably
humorous, even comic — not to the lovers' minds ;.
oh, no ! 'T is serious business to them, and that
is just what makes it so delightful to look at The

196 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

third party, when there is one, enjoys it highly.
The principals do the most foolish things : the gen
tleman cannot make up his mind what to do with
his hat or with his hands, the lady is awkward and
shy, and the more they love each other the more
comical they are. They say stupid things, and
agree with each other before they have half done
expressing an opinion.

It was the opportunity of developing this attitude
of early love, particularly love at first sight, that
attracted me to the " Cousin." Simple and trifling
as it looks, Mr. Tom Taylor never drew a finer
dramatic picture. The relation between the two
characters was perfectly original. A shrewd, keen
Yankee boy of twenty-five falls in love at first sight
with a simple, loving, English dairymaid of eighteen.
She innocently sits on the bench, close beside him ;
he is fascinated and draws closer to her ; she raises
her eyes in innocent wonder at this, and he glides
gently to the farthest end of the bench. He never
tells her of his love, nor does she in the faintest
manner suggest her affection for him ; and though
they persistently talk of other things, you see
plainly how deeply they are in love. He relates
the story of his uncle's death in America, and dur
ing this recital asks her permission to smoke a
cigar. With apparent carelessness he takes out a
paper, a will made in his favor by the old man,
which document disinherits the girl ; with this he
lights his cigar, thereby destroying his rights and
resigning them to her. The situation is strained,
certainly, but it is very effective, and an audience

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS <£ASA TRENCHARD."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 197

will always pardon a slight extravagance if it
charms while it surprises them. The cast was an
exceedingly strong one — Laura Keene as the re
fined, rural belle, and Sara Stevens as the modest,
loving, English dairymaid. Both looked and acted
the parts perfectly. The Abel Murcott of Mr.
Couldock was a gem, and the extravagant force
and humor of Mr. Sothern's Dundreary, the fame
of which afterwards resounded all over the English-
speaking world, is too well known to need any
comment, except perhaps to mention one or two
matters connected with it of a curious nature.

As I have before said, Sothern was much de
jected at being compelled to play the part. He
said he could do nothing with it, and certainly for
the first two weeks it was a dull effort, and produced
but little effect. So in despair he began to intro
duce extravagant business into his character, skip
ping about the stage, stammering and sneezing,
and, in short, doing all he could to attract and dis
tract the attention of the audience. To the surprise
of every one, himself included, these antics, intended
by him to injure the character, were received by
the audience with delight. He was a shrewd man
as well as an effective actor, and he saw at a glance
that accident had revealed to him a golden oppor
tunity. He took advantage of it, and with cautious
steps increased his speed, feeling the ground well
under him as he proceeded. Before the first month
was over he stood side by side with any other char
acter in the play ; and at the end of the run he was,

in my opinion, considerably in advance of us all.

13*

198 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

And his success in London, in the same character,
fully attests, whatever may be said to the contrary,
that as an extravagant, eccentric comedian in the
modern range of comedy he was quite without a
rival. His performance of Sam which I saw at the
Hay market Theater, in London, was a still finer
piece of acting than his Dundreary. It was equally
strong, and had the advantage of the other in not
being overdrawn or extravagant.

Miss Keene was undoubtedly delighted at Soth-
ern's rising fame. I think she found that I was
becoming too strong to manage, and naturally felt
that his success in rivaling mine would answer as
a curb, and so enable her to drive me with more
ease and a tighter rein. I don't blame her for this :
as an actor has a right to protect himself against
the tyranny of a manager, the manager has an
equal right to guard the discipline of the theater ;
and I have no doubt that I perhaps unconsciously
exhibited a confidence in my, growing strength that
made her a little apprehensive lest I should try to
manage her. In this she did me an injustice, which
I am happy to say in after years the lady acknow
ledged. The first rupture between us came about
somewhat in this way : The Duchess — as she was
familiarly called by the actors, on the sly — had ar
ranged some new business with Mr. Sothern, neg
lecting to inform me of it I got the regular cue
for entering, and as I came upon the stage I natu
rally, but unintentionally, interrupted their precon
ceived arrangements. This threw matters into a
confusion which was quite apparent to the audience.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 199

Miss Keene, not stopping to consider that I had
been kept in ignorance of her plan and that the
fault was hers and not mine, turned suddenly on
me, and speaking out so loudly and plainly that
most of the audience could hear her, said, " Go off
the stage, sir, till you get your cue for entering."

I was thunderstruck. There was a dead silence
for a moment, and in the same tone and with the
same manner she had spoken to me, I replied :
" It has been given, and I will not retire."
We were both wrong. No actor has a right to
show up to the audience an accident or a fault com
mitted on the stage, or intrude upon them one's
personal misunderstandings. As two wrongs can
not make a right, it was clearly my duty to pass
this by, so far as any public display of my temper
was concerned, and then demand an explanation and
an apology from her when the play was over. But

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ?

Besides, I felt that no explanation of hers could set
me right with the audience, and I was smarting
under the injustice of her making me appear re
sponsible for her own fault.

When the curtain fell she was furious, and turn
ing on me with flashing eyes and an imperious air
discharged me then and there. I might leave now
if I liked, and she would dismiss the audience
rather than submit to such a public insult I told
her that if she considered my conduct an insult to
her, that it was a confession that she had insulted

200 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

me first, as my words and manner were but a
reflection of her own. This sort of logic only made
matters worse. So I informed her that I could net
take a discharge given in the heat of temper, and
would remain. The play proceeded, but she was
singularly adroit, and by her manner in turning her
back on me through an entire scene, and assuming
an air of injured innocence, undoubtedly made the
audience believe that I was a cruel wretch to insult
her in so public a way. She had the advantage
of me all through, for when her temper was shown
to me the play was proceeding, and I dare say
that in the bustle and confusion of the scene very
few of the audience could understand what she
had done ; whereas when I retaliated there had
been a pause, and they got the full force of what
I said.

When an actor shows his temper upon the stage
the audience feel insulted that they should be
called upon to sympathize with his private quar
rels. The actor is the loser, depend upon it.

Mr. Rufus Blake was attached to our company
during this season, but in consequence of the great
success of " Our American Cousin/' in which he
was not cast, he had acted but little. He was a
superior actor, with the disadvantage of small eyes,
a fat, inexpressive face, and a heavy and unwieldy
figure. There must be something in the spirit of
an actor that is extremely powerful to delight an
audience when he is hampered like this. Without
seeming to change his face or alter the stolid look
/from his eyes, Mr. Blake conveyed his meaning

E. A. SOTHERN AS "LORD DUNDREARY."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 201

with the most perfect effect. He was delicate and
minute in his manner, which contrasted oddly
enough with his ponderous form. We acted this
one season together and were very good friends.
On one occasion only was this harmony marred.
He rated me for curtailing some of the speeches of
a part in one of the old comedies. I told him that
I had my own ideas on these matters, one of which
was that the plays were written for a past age,
that society had changed, and that it seemed to me
good taste to alter the text, when it could be done
without detriment, to suit the audience of the
present day ; particularly when the lines were
coarse, and unfit for ladies and gentlemen to speak
or listen to. He gave me to understand that he
considered it a liberty in any young man to set him
self up as an authority in such matters, and that my
course was a tacit reproach to older and better
judges, and even hinted that some people did that
sort of thing to make professional capital out of it.
I thought this was going a little too far for friend
ship. I therefore told him, with little reserve, that
as he had taken the liberty to censure my course,
I would make bold equally, and advise him, for,
his own sake, to follow my example.

I do not cite this quarrel as redounding to my
credit Mr. Blake was a much older man" than
I, and more than my peer as an actor be
sides. It was not only my words ; I was angered,
and doubtless my manner was more offensive than
what I had said. I apologized, however, and we
were friends.

202 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

As Laura Keene's season drew to a close she
and I had buried our differences and were com
paratively good friends again ; so the lady was
somewhat surprised to learn that I was not going
to remain with her during the following season,
and seemed to consider it unkind of me to with
draw from the theater after she had done so much
to advance my position. This is the somewhat
unjust ground that managers often take when an
actor desires to go to another house. This is un
reasonable, for there must come a time when it will
be for the interest of one or both parties that they
should part ; and it would be just as wrong at one
time as at another. If an actor, when the season
is concluded and his obligations are at an end, sees
an opportunity of increasing his salary or bettering
his position by going to another establishment, it
would be an injustice to himself and to those who
depend upon him not to do so. And by the same
reasoning, if a manager can secure better talent, at
a more reasonable price, he has a perfect right to
replace one actor by another, having fulfilled his
engagement. I have never known any manager
to hesitate in pursuing this course, unless he re
tained the actor as an act of charity, and then, of
course, the matter is a purely personal one.

Miss Keene, taking the unfair view I have
alluded to, was highly incensed at my proposed
departure. She considered that, having been the
first to bring me to New York, to her my loyalty
was due, and in common gratitude I was bound not
to desert the theater for the purpose, as she sup-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 203

posed, of joining the opposition forces. I replied
that, so far as my ingratitude was concerned, I
failed to see in what way she had placed me under
obligations ; that I presumed when she engaged
me for her theater it was from a motive of profes
sional interest, and I could scarcely think it was
from any affection for me, as we had never met until
the engagement was made. This kind of logic had
anything but a conciliating effect. So I concluded
by saying that I had no idea of casting my lot with
the opposition, but that it was my intention to star.
"Star! Oh, dear! Bless me! Indeed!" She did
not say this, but she certainly looked it ; and as she
turned her eyes heavenward there was a slight
elevation in the tip of her beautiful nose that gave
me no encouragement of an offer from her under
these circumstances. With a slight tinge of con
tempt she asked me with what I intended to star.
I answered that, with her permission, I purposed
to act " Our American Cousin." " Which I decline
to give. The play is my property, and you shall
not act it outside of this theater." And she swept
from the greenroom with anything but the air of a
comedienne.

The houses were still overflowing, and there was
every prospect that "Our American Cousin" would
run through the season ; but Miss Keene was tired
of acting her part in the comedy, and was deter
mined to take the play off and produce " A Mid
summer Night's Dream," which had been in
preparation for some time, and in fact was now
in readiness. The management was anxious that

204 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Mr. Blake, who had been idle for some four
months, should be in the cast, so that the play
might contain the full strength of its expensive
company.

The Duchess, being in high dudgeon with me,
deputed her business manager, Mr. Lutz, to
approach me on the subject of the cast, propos
ing that I should resign the part of Bottom to
Mr. Blake, and at the same time requesting me
to play Puck. This I positively refused to do. I
told him plainly that Miss Keene had taken an
antagonistic stand towards me, and that I felt that
she would not appreciate a favor even if I might
feel disposed to grant it, and would treat any con
cession that I should make as weakness. He said
that Miss Keene had begged him to urge the
matter, as she did not know how else to get Mr.
Blake and myself into the cast. " Very well," said
I ; "if that is all, tell her I will play Bottom, and
let Mr. Blake play Puck'' And so we parted.
Of course I did not suppose that he would carry
this absurd message, as Mr. Blake would have
turned the scale at two hundred and fifty pounds,
and looked about as much like Puck as he resem
bled a fairy queen. But, not being familiar with
Shakspere, and having no idea what the charac
ters were like, he gave her my suggestion word
for word. This put the fair lady in a high temper,
and she did not speak to me for a week. But I
stood on my rights, and was cast for Bottom^
Miss Keene essaying the part of Puck herself.
After three or four rehearsals I discovered I

W. K. BLAKE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 205

should fail in the part of Bottom, and therefore
deemed it wise to make " discretion the better
part of valor," and resign the character, which I
did upon the condition that I might take the play
of "Our American Cousin" upon a starring tour,
and give the management one-half of the profits for
the use of the play.

I have thought that perhaps it is scarcely in
good taste that I should touch upon the little mis
understandings between myself and Miss Keene;
but as these quarrels were not of a domestic or
private nature, and as the public were made fully
aware of them at the time, there is nothing sacred
about them, and they may serve as lessons in the
future to younger and as yet inexperienced actors.
And then, too, Miss Keene and I were friends in
after years ; we had long since shaken hands and
buried the hatchet — had talked and laughed over
our rows and reconciliations, and had continued to
get as much amusement out of the recollections as
we had created trouble out of the realities.

When I returned from Australia we met again.
She had lost her theater, and was traveling and
starring with only partial success. Her early
popularity had waned, but she battled against
adversity with great courage. At last her health
gave way, and she retired, but still with the cling
ing hope of returning to the stage again. She
never did. The last letter she wrote was penned
upon her death-bed, and was addressed to me.
She sent me an ivory miniature of Madame Ves-
tris, and a water-color drawing, by Hardy, of

206 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

Edmund Kean as Richard III. Her letter was
cheerful and full of hope ; she spoke of feeling
better, and seemed confident that in a few months
she would be in harness again. She died the day
after this was written.

She was esteemed a great beauty in her youth ;
and even afterwards her rich and luxuriant auburn
hair, clear complexion, and deep chestnut eyes,
full of expression, were greatly praised ; but to me
it was her style and carriage that commanded ad
miration, and it was this quality that won her audi
ence. She had, too, the rare power of varying her
manner, assuming the rustic walk of a milkmaid or
the dignified grace of a queen. In the drama of
" The Sea of Ice " she displayed this versatile qual
ity to its fullest extent. In the prologue she played
the mother, in which her quiet and refined bearing
told of a sad life ; in the next act, the daughter,
a girl who had been brought up by savages, and
who came bounding upon the stage with the wild
grace of a startled doe. In the last act she is sup
posed to have been sent to Paris and there edu
cated. In this phase of the character she exhibited
the wonderful art of showing the fire of the wild
Indian girl through the culture of the French lady.
I have never seen this transparency more perfectly
acted.

Laura Keene was in private life high tempered
and imperious, but she had a good heart and was
very charitable, I never heard her speak ill of any
one but herself; and this she would sometimes do
with a grim humor that was very entertaining.

CHAPTER VIII

AT THE WINTER GARDEN; AND "RIP VAN WINKLE"

The Winter Garden— " Caleb Plummer"— I Re
ceive Good Advice — " The Octoroon" — Some
Remarks on Guying — The Comedians Disad
vantage — The First Successful Star Come
dian — How I Came to Play "Rip Van Winkle "
— Failure in San Francisco — Harry Perry

MY starring venture was attended with what
is termed qualified success ; not with what
could be called positive failure ; still I felt
that the time had not yet arrived for the continu
ance of such a rash experiment. Just at this
juncture William Stuart made me an offer of an
engagement at his new theater, the Winter
Garden, which place was to be under the direction
of Dion Boucicault. I accepted the offer, at a much
larger salary than I had ever received, and was
enrolled as a member of the company. The title
of " Winter Garden" had been adopted from a
place of amusement in Paris, where plays were
acted in a kind of conservatory filled with tropical
plants. If I remember rightly, the treasury of the

307

208 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

management was not in what could be called an
overflowing condition ; and although the actors
whom they engaged were quite strong, the horti
cultural display was comparatively weak. Some
sharp-pointed tropical plants of an inhospitable and
sticky character exuded their " medicinal gums "
in the vestibule, and the dress circle was festooned
with artificial flowers so rare that they must have
been unknown to the science of botany. To give
these delicate exotics a sweet and natural odor
they were plentifully sprinkled with some perfume
resembling closely the sweet scent of hair-oil, so
that the audience as they were entering could
" nose " them in the lobby. Take it altogether,
the theater was a failure ; for, added to the meager
decorations, the acoustics were inferior, and the
views of the stage from the auditorium unpardon-
ably bad. To make amends, however, for these
shortcomings, Mr. Boucicault had secured a strong
company ; not so far as great names were con
cerned, but they had been carefully selected with
regard to the plays that were to be produced.
The opening piece was an adaptation of Dickens's
" Cricket on the Hearth," and called "Dot." It
was a hit The cast was as follows :

John Peerybingle MR. HARRY PEARSON.

Caleb Plummer MR. JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

The Stranger MR. A. H. DAVENPORT.

Tackleton MR. T. B. JOHNSON.

Dot Miss AGNES ROBERTSON.

May Fielding MRS. J. H. ALLEN.

Bertha . . . Miss SARA STEVENS.

Tittie Slowboy MRS. JOHN WOOD.

Mrs. Fielding MRS. BLAKE.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " CALEB PLUMMEK."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 209

The four ladies first named were the pictures of
female grace and beauty. This season I acted
Newman Noggs, Caleb Plummer, Salem Scudder,
and several other characters ; but the latter were
not very important.

Previous to the commencement of the season,
Mr. Boucicault and I had some conversation in
relation to the opening bill. I told him I was
rather apprehensive of my hitting the part of
Caleb Plummer, as I had never acted a character
requiring pathos, and, with the exception of the
love scene in " Our American Cousin," as yet had
not spoken a serious line upon the stage. He
seemed to have more confidence in my powers than
I had, and insisted that I could act the part with
success. I agreed therefore to open in Caleb, with
the understanding that I should finish the perform
ance with a farce, so in the event of my failing in
the first piece, I might save my reputation in the
last. He assented to the arrangement, but warned
me, however, that I would regret it; and he was
right, for when the curtain fell upon " Dot," I
should have much preferred not to have acted in
the farce. So the little piece was taken off after
the first night, as I was quite satisfied with Caleb
alone.

An incident occurred during the first rehearsal
of "Dot" that may be worth relating, as it bears
upon a theory in acting that I have established for
myself ever since it took place. Mr. Boucicault, I
think, understood me, and felt from what I had
said to him on previous occasions that I was not

210 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

averse to suggestions in the dramatic art, and was
in the habit of listening to advice, though I always
reserved to myself the right of acting on my own
judgment as to whether the proffered counsel was
good or bad. During my rehearsal of the first
scene, which I went through just as I intended
acting it at night, I saw by his manner that he
was disappointed with my rendering of the part,
and I asked him what was the matter. He replied,
" If that is the way you intend to act the part I do
not wonder you were afraid to undertake it." This
was a crushing blow to a young man from one
older in years and experience; but feeling that
there was something to learn, I asked him to
explain what he meant. "Why, you have acted
your last scene first; if you begin in that solemn
strain you have nothing left for the end of the
play." This was his remark, or words to the same
effect ; and I am certainly indebted to him, through
this advice, for whatever success I achieved in the
part.

I am not sure whether Mr. Boucicault was aware
of what a large field for dramatic thought he opened
up, and if I did not clearly understand the impor
tance of it then, I have found it out since, and so
far as I have been able applied it as a general
rule. These reflections taught me never to anti
cipate a strong effect; in fact, to lead your audi
ence by your manner, so that they shall scarcely
suspect the character capable of such emotion;
then, when some sudden blow has fallen, the terri
ble shock prepares the audience for a new and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 211

striking phase in the character: they feel that
under these new conditions you would naturally
exhibit the passion which till then was not sus
pected.

Rising young actors usually guard their posi
tions with a jealous eye, and, as I was no exception
to this rule, it had been clearly understood between
me and the management that my name should
be as prominently set before the public as that of
any other member of the company. This agreement
was not carried out ; for, on the announcement in
the papers of the play of "The Octoroon," my
name did not appear. I was to act one of the
principal parts in the drama. I felt that I was
something of a favorite with the public, and natu
rally became irate at this indignity ; so I sent my
part, Salem Scudder, to the theater, with a note
to Mr. Stuart, saying that I considered my engage
ment canceled by my name being publicly ignored
in the announcement of the play, and I concluded
my resignation by saying that, as I had no wish to
distress the management, if Mr. Stuart or Mr.
Boucicault would call on me I would be pleased
to enter into a new engagement with them when
my claims should be written out to prevent any
further misunderstanding; otherwise I must de
cline to act again in the theater. As the play was
ready and to be acted on the following Monday
night, this being Saturday, I felt pretty sure that
my note of resignation would act as a bombshell
and explode with considerable force in the mana
gerial office. And it did.

212 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

But I must now digress in order to show the
sequel of the story. I had been for some time
suffering with an attack of dyspepsia, — not a
happy condition for an actor who is quarreling
with the manager, — and conceived the idea that
gentle exercise in the way of boxing would relieve
me. So I engaged a professor, in the shape of an
old retired " champion of light-weights," to give me
lessons in the manly art of self-defense for the sum
of two dollars per lesson, in consideration of which
he was to allow me to pommel him over the head
with soft gloves ad libitum. In our contract it was
understood that I was the party of the first part,
and the party of the second part agreed, never,
under any consideration, to counter on the party
of the first part. These lessons had been going
on in my drawing-room — my teacher coming to
the house — for several weeks, and I fancied that
I was improving ; certainly I was, so far as hitting-
out went, for, as I observed before, according to the
contract I had it all my own way.

On the occasion I am now about to describe I
had been perhaps taking unwarranted liberties
with the " champion," who must have got a little
excited, for before I knew where I was I found
myself stretched full length under the piano. I
expostulated with him, informing him solemnly
that this was the second breach of contract I had
suffered from him during the last two days, and
.begged him in the future to subdue the old war-
horse within him. In fact, I said that I would
prefer to pay a little extra if he would conform to

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "NEWMAN NOflGS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 213

the contract more rigidly. We shook hands and
began work again. My feelings were hurt, to say
the least of it, and I was determined to get even
with him. I now began to dance around my ad
versary in the conventional style, and had just
given him "one for his nob," when looking over
his shoulders I discovered the amazed faces of Dion
Boucicault and William Stuart. Against the dark
background of the room the two heads of these
gentlemen loomed up like another pair of boxing-
gloves. They stood aghast at the scene, and I
fancy it must naturally have entered their minds
that I had invited them up to settle our difficulties
by an appeal to science, and had secured the ser
vices of a professional bruiser to assist me. But the
record of these gentlemen, like my own, proves
that we are, pugilistically speaking, men of peace ;
so if they had any doubt, their alarm was soon set at
rest by my dismissing the light-weight and politely
begging them to be seated.

We soon came to a more explicit understanding,
and the matter was settled without any reference to
the " Marquis of Queensberry." The truth of the
matter is that they were very anxious for me to
act the part, and I was equally anxious to play It.
With these feelings underlying the difficulty, there
was no occasion for arbitration. The quarrels
between manager and actor are never very serious.
As with loving couples, the slightest advance on
either side soon brings about a reconciliation.

The history of " The Octoroon " is well known.
It dealt with the one absorbing subject of slavery,.

14*

214 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and was produced at a dangerous time. The
slightest allusion to this now-banished institution
only served to inflame the country, which was
already at a white heat. A drama told so well had
a great effect on the audience, for there was at this
time a divided feeling in New York with regard to
the coming struggle. Some were in favor of war,
others thought it best to delay, and, if possible,
avert it ; and it was deemed unwise, if not culpable,
by many for us to act " The Octoroon " at such
a time. Then there were various opinions as
to which way the play leaned — whether it was
Northern or Southern in its sympathy. The truth
of the matter is, it was non-committal. The dia
logue and characters of the play made one feel
for the South, but the action proclaimed against
slavery, and called loudly for its abolition. When
the old negro, just before the slave sale, calls his
colored "bredrin" around him and tells them they
must look their best so as to bring a good price for
the " missis," and then falling on his knees asks
a blessing on the family who had been so kind to
them, the language drew further sympathy for the
loving hearts of the South ; but when they felt by
the action of the play that the old darky who had
made them weep was a slave, they became aboli
tionists to a man.

When Zoe, the loving octoroon, is offered to the
highest bidder, and a warm-hearted Southern girl
offers all her fortune to buy Zoe and release her
from the threatened bondage awaiting her, the
audience cheered for the South; but when again

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 215

the action revealed that she could be bartered for,
and was bought and sold, they cheered for the
North as plainly as though they had said, " Down
with slavery." This reveals at once how the power
of dramatic action overwhelms the comparative
impotency of the dialogue.

Among the well-remembered characters of my
dramatic life was an actor named Salisbury. The
only influence that he exerted upon the stage dur
ing his career was, I regret to say, anything but a
good' one. " Guying" was formerly a slang term,
but it has of late years become a technical one for
trifling with a part upon the stage. The art of
guying was Mr. Salisbury's forte, and it was the
only thing that he did well. Life was one huge
joke to him : he treated nothing seriously. He was
the delight of actors and the bane of managers.
It is related of him that he once sent a telegram to
Mr. Rice of the Chicago Theater applying for an
engagement. The manager sent back this answer :
" I would not engage you if you would come for
nothing"; to which Salisbury replied: "Terms
accepted. Will be with you to-morrow."

This man's memory was so wonderful that it
was almost impossible to ask him a question with
out getting a Shaksperean quotation in reply.
If he was imperfect in his part, which was gener
ally the case with him, he would interpolate
speeches from other characters, talking the most
absurd nonsense, and turning a serious scene into
ridicule. Sometimes the audience, detecting this
impertinence, would hiss. This rebuke was the

216 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

only thing that would check him, for any slight
put upon himself was keenly felt; but the next
night the chastisement would be forgotten, and he
would repeat his indiscretion. It was said of him
that he was generous to a fault; and I think he
must have been, for he never paid his washerwoman.
One morning the poor old laundress was dunning
him for her hard earnings. He was standing at
the stage door, surrounded by a circle of admirers,
and turning furiously upon the old woman, he para
phrased Macbeth' s speech to the ghost of £anguom
the following words : " A vaunt, and quit my sight !
Thy tubs are marrowless ; there is no starch in
my fine shirts that thou didst glare withal ! Ap
proach thou like the Russian manager, the Hyrcan
critic, or the c Old Rye whisky-us ' ; or, be alive
again, and make it salary day. If, trembling then,
I do inhibit thee, confess me but a babe of a Salis
bury." The laundress fled in despair, only too glad
to escape unpaid from the supposed lunatic.

Innocent mirth is most desirable, but not mirth
expended at the cost of another's feelings ; and
Salisbury's unfortunate career, terminating as it
did in sickness and poverty, is an example of a
handsome man, possessed of fair ability, who, by
utter disregard of loyalty to his manager and of
respect for the public, gradually lost the confidence
of all who knew him, and became a neglected
wreck. The practice of guying is unpardonable,
and the indulgence in it unworthy of an artist or a
gentleman. The leisure hours passed in the dress
ing-room or the greenroom afford ample time for an

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS " SALEM SCUDDER."

218 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

vAn actor, perhaps a good one, too, comes gaily
on the stage. The audience like him and give him
a hearty welcome ; an evening's enjoyment has
been promised, and they are in high expectation
of the compact being fulfilled. Ah ! who are those
young fellows in the private box ? Quite a jolly
party, I declare. They know the comedian, too;
see, he recognizes them. Now the comedian —
just for fun, you know; he does n't mean any
harm by it — introduces some joke: foreign to
the play, to be sure ; but then the private box
recognize it at once as some allusion to their last
merrymaking. How they do enjoy it! Now a
friendly wink, they laugh again; it 's delightful.
But how about the audience all this time ? What
are they doing while all this sport is going on ?
I will tell you. They are not hissing, to be
sure, — well-bred American audiences seldom for
get themselves so far, for they feel this breach
of decorum would interfere with the enjoyment of
others, — but they are determining within their
minds that they are insulted, and that they will
never come again to see that actor. He has taken
a liberty with them that they will neither forget
nor forgive.

I will not say that in my youth I never indulged
in what I am now condemning. I did so, but I
never obtained the position I coveted until I aban
doned the pernicious habit There is no other
profession in which honest and serious attention
to the matter in hand is so promptly rewarded
as ours.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 219

Suppose, for an example of the harm that might
be done, we take a case like this : An actor has
worked for weeks patiently to study or perhaps
create a character, and his success in it may prove
the turning-point of his life. He is poor, and has
a large family to support. If he but hit the part,
his fortune is made, and he will not only serve the
manager, the author, and the public, but be ena
bled to provide comforts for his home and an
education for his children. Now, with all this at
stake, some wanton actor deliberately "guys" his
part and overturns the patient care of his comrade,
undermining the foundation and causing the whole
structure to fall to the ground. See what a wreck
we have here ! Think of a poor artist before a
picture upon which he has spent days of toil and
nights of thought. It is just ready for the Acad
emy, and now some comrade steals up behind the
easel and pours a pot of paint over the canvas,
ruining the work. What shall be said of him ?
And yet he may have done no more harm than
the actor who has ruined the bright prospects of
his brother actor.

I do not say that guying is always the result of
cruel mischief. A man may be really good-hearted
and yet do all this damage ; but whether it be from
design or thoughtlessness, the result is the same,
and the habit should be frowned down and checked
by every honest actor. In making these asser
tions I do not put them forth as an argument.
This subject does not admit of argument, for noth
ing can be said in defense. There is no other side

220 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

to the question. But the actor who guys is as much
to be pitied as condemned, for the crime carries
the punishment along with it.

The repertory that naturally falls to a tragic
actor gives him an immeasurable advantage over a
comedian. Nearly all of the tragedies or serious
plays, both of ancient and modern structure, have
for their heroes one conspicuous and central figure,
who is in a marked degree superior to the sur
rounding characters that support him, whereas the
comedies, with but few exceptions, have been con
structed with the view of displaying a group of
actors.

If the starring system, as it is called, be an evil,
then Shakspere is undoubtedly responsible for its
existence, as his tragedies almost without exception
contain one great character on whom the interest
of the play turns, and upon whom the attention of
the audience is centered. When he introduces two
figures for this purpose, as shown in the attitudes
of Othello and lago, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth,
they are so closely knit together that the double
light shines only with a single ray. In the play of
" Romeo and Juliet" it is supposed that Mercutio
was killed early in the drama lest his brilliancy
should dim the luster of the lovers. There are
undoubtedly other splendid characters in the
tragedies of Shakspere, but when brought in con
trast with the magnitude of his heroes they are
comparatively subordinate. In his comedies the
characters are formed in groups, and are generally
so arranged that they may be in some measure of

TYRONE POWER AS "CORPORAL O'CONOR."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 221

equal value. Falstaff would seem to be an excep
tion, yet even here the historical drama of ts Henry
IV.," in which the fat knight figures so conspicu
ously, is a play, not a comedy. Under these con
ditions the comedians of the olden time, though
great favorites with the public, and in many in
stances superb actors, as individual attractions
never drew large audiences. Possibly Sam Foote,
who acted during Garrick's time, and later the
elder Mathews, were notable exceptions ; but even
these actors, the legitimate comedians, were forced
to abandon the old comedies and arrange special
entertainments of their own, in which they gave
imitations of popular and easily recognized public
characters.

The first to command universal attention as a
single magnet was Tyrone Power, Possibly he
was no greater than the comedians that preceded
him, but Irish comedy up to the time of his advent
had been confined to characters that were less im
portant. Fortunately for Power, a number of
rollicking and effective plays were written for him,
through which his own unique power shone with
special brilliancy. Besides this, he was not a
mushroom. His professional growth had .been
gradual and healthy. As the leading juvenile
actor and light comedian of the Theater Royal,
Dublin, he had been for four years the prime
favorite of the city, and afterwards, as a leader
in legitimate plays at the Haymarket Theater, in
London, he held a no less important position.
This career was a firm foundation upon which to

222 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

build his lighter, but to the public more valued,
work ; so that his long theatrical experience, added
to his new and effective repertory, ranked him as
the greatest and most successful Irish comedian of
his time. I am not aware what effect Power's suc
cess as a star had upon the English stage, — it is
more conservative than our own, — but his achieve
ments here stirred up a new ambition among the
comedians of America, and with national energy
they immediately set to work developing their
especial gifts ; and these in many instances quali
fied them for becoming distinct features. Casting
aside the old comedies, they came forward with
novel and effective, if not legitimate plays. Dra
matic portraits of Dutchmen, Yankees, French
men, together with the Western and local char
acters of our own country, were speedily and
vigorously exhibited, many of them commanding
immediate attention. Among the most success
ful comedians may be mentioned Hackett, Hill,
Marble, Burke, Chanfrau, Williams, and, later on,
Owens, Sothern, Florence, Raymond, and a host
of others.

For myself, like some of those already mentioned,
I had always been, more or less, a legitimate actor,
and the hope of entering the race for dramatic fame
as an individual and single attraction never came
into my head until, in 1858, I acted Asa Tren-
chard in " Our American Cousin " ; but as the
curtain descended the first night on that remark
ably successful play, visions of large type, foreign
countries, and increased remuneration floated be-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 223

fore me, and I resolved to be a star if I could. A
resolution to this effect is easily made ; its accom
plishment is quite another matter.

Art has always been my sweetheart, and I have
loved her for herself alone. I had fancied that our
affection was mutual, so that when I failed as a
star, which I certainly did, I thought she had
jilted me. Not so. I wronged her. She only
reminded me that I had taken too great a liberty,
and that if I expected to win her I must press
my suit with more patience. Checked, but un
daunted in the resolve, my mind dwelt upon my
vision, and I still indulged in day-dreams of the
future.

During these delightful reveries it came up
before me -that in acting Asa Trenchard I had,
for the first time in my life on the stage, spoken
a pathetic speech ; and though I did not look at
the audience during the time I was acting, — for
that is dreadful, — I felt that they both laughed
and cried. I had before this often made my audi
ence smile, but never until now had I moved them
to tears. This to me novel accomplishment was
delightful, and in casting about for a new char
acter my mind was ever dwelling on reproducing
an effect where humor would be so closely allied
to pathos that smiles and tears should mingle with
each other. Where could I get one? There had
been many written, and as I looked back into the
dramatic history of the past a long line of lovely
ghosts loomed up before me, passing as in a pro^
cession: Job Thornberry, Bob Tyke, Frank Oat-

224 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

land, Zekiel Homespun, and a host of departed
heroes "with martial stalk went by my watch."
Charming fellows all, but not for me. I felt I
could not do them justice. Besides, they were
too human. I was looking for a myth — some
thing intangible and impossible. But he would
not come. Time went on, and still with no
result.

During the summer of 1859 I arranged to board
with my family at a queer old Dutch farm-house
in Paradise Valley, at the foot of Pocono Moun
tain, in Pennsylvania. A ridge of hills covered
with tall hemlocks surrounds the vale, and numer
ous trout-streams wind through the meadows and
tumble over the rocks. Stray farms are scattered
through the valley, and the few old Dutchmen and
their families who till the soil were born upon it ;
there and only there they have ever lived. The
valley harmonized with me and our resources.
The scene was wild, the air was fresh, and the
board was cheap. What could the light heart and
purse of a poor actor ask for more than this?
j On one of those long rainy days that always
render the country so dull I had climbed to the
loft of the barn, and lying upon the hay was read
ing that delightful book, "The Life and Letters
of Washington Irving." I had gotten well into
the volume, and was much interested in it when,
to my surprise, I came upon a passage which said
that he had seen me at Laura Keene's theater as
Goldfinch in Holcroft's comedy of " The Road to
Ruin," and that I reminded him of my father " in

BARNEY WILLIAMS.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 225

look, gesture, size, and make." Till then I was not
aware that he had ever seen me. I was compara
tively obscure, and to find myself remembered and
written of by such a man gave me a thrill of pleas
ure I can never forget. I put down the book, and
lay there thinking how proud I was, and ought to
be, at the revelation of this compliment What an
incentive to a youngster like me to go on !

And so I thought to myself, "Washington Irving,
the author of 'The Sketch-Book,' in which is the
quaint story of Rip Van Winkle." Rip Van Winkle !
There was to me magic in the sound of the name
as I repeated it. Why, was not this the very char
acter I wanted ? An American story by an Ameri
can author was surely just the theme suited to an
American actor.

In ten minutes I had gone to the house and
returned to the barn with "The Sketch-Book."
I had not read the story since I was a boy. I was
disappointed with it ; not as a story, of course, but
the tale was purely a narrative. The theme was
interesting, but not dramatic. The silver Hudson
stretches out before you as you read, the quaint
red roofs and queer gables of the old Dutch cot
tages stand out against the mist upon the moun
tains ; but all this is descriptive. The character of
Rip does not speak ten lines. What could be done
dramatically with so simple a sketch ? How could
it be turned into an effective play ?

Three or four bad dramatizations of the story
had already been acted, but without marked suc
cess. Yates of London had given one in which

226 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the hero dies, one had been acted by my father,
one by Hackett, and another by Burke. Some of
these versions I had remembered when I was a
boy, and I should say that Burke's play and
performance were the best, but nothing that I
remembered gave me the slightest encourage
ment that I could get a good play out of any of
the existing materials. Still I was so bent upon
acting the part that I started for the city, and in
less than a week, by industriously ransacking the
theatrical wardrobe establishments for old leather
and mildewed cloth, and by personally superin
tending the making of the wigs, each article of
my costume. was completed; and all this too be
fore I had written a line of the play or studied a
word of the part.

This is working in an opposite direction from
all the conventional methods in the study and
elaboration of a dramatic character, and certainly
not following the course I would advise any one
to pursue. I merely mention the out-of-the-way,
upside-down manner of going to work as an illus
tration of the impatience and enthusiasm with
which I entered upon the task. I can only account
for my getting the dress ready before I studied
the part to the vain desire I had of witnessing
myself in the glass, decked out and equipped as
the hero of the Catskills.

I got together the three old printed versions of
the drama and the story itself. The plays were all
in two acts. I thought it would be an improve
ment in the drama to arrange it in three, making

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 227

the scene with the specter crew an act by itself.
This would separate the poetical from the domestic
side of the story. But by far the most important
alteration was in the interview with the spirits. In
the old versions they spoke and sang. I remem
bered that the effect of this ghostly dialogue was
dreadfully human, so I arranged that no voice but
Rip's should be heard. This is the only act on the
stage in which but one person speaks while all the
others merely gesticulate, and I was quite sure
that the silence of the crew would give a lonely
and desolate character to the scene and add to its
supernatural weirdness. By this means, too, a
strong contrast with the single voice of Rip was
obtained by the deathlike stillness of the " demons "
as they glided about the stage in solemn silence.
It required some thought to hit upon just the best
questions that could be answered by a nod and
shake of the head, and to arrange that at times even
Rip should propound a query to himself and answer
it ; but I had availed myself of so much of the old
material that in .a few days after I had begun my
work it was finished.

In the seclusion of the barn I studied and re
hearsed the part, and by the end of summer I was
prepared to transplant it from the rustic realms of
an old farm-house to a cosmopolitan audience in
the city of Washington, where I opened at Carusi's
Hall under the management of John T. Raymond.
I had gone over the play so thoroughly that each
situation was fairly engraved on my mind. The re
hearsals were therefore not tedious to the actors *

228 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

no one was delayed that I might consider how he
or she should be disposed in the scene. I had by
repeated experiments so saturated myself with the
action of the play that a few days served to per
fect the rehearsals. I acted on these occasions
with all the point and feeling that I could muster.
This answered the double purpose of giving me
freedom and of observing the effect of what I was
doing on the actors. They seemed to be watching
me closely, and I could tell by little nods of ap
proval where and when the points hit.

I became each day more and more interested in
the work ; there was in the subject and the part
much scope for novel and fanciful treatment. If
the sleep of twenty years was merely incongruous,
there would be room for argument pro and con ;
but as it is an impossibility, I felt that the audience
would accept it at once, not because it was an im
possibility, but from a desire to know in what con
dition a man's mind would be if such an event
could happen. Would he be thus changed ? His
identity being denied both by strangers, friends,
and family, would he at last almost accept the ver
dict and exclaim, "Then I am dead, and that is a
fact " ? This was the strange and original attitude
of the character that attracted me.

In acting such a part what to do was simple
enough, but what not to do was the important
and difficult point to determine. As the earlier
scenes of the play were of a natural and domestic
character, I had only to draw upon my experience
for their effect, or employ such conventional
metheds as myself and others had used before in

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 229

characters of that sort. But from the moment Rip
meets the spirits of Hendrik Hudson and his crew
I felt that all colloquial dialogue and common
place pantomime should cease. It is at this point in
the story that the supernatural element begins, and
henceforth the character must be raised from the
domestic plane and lifted into the realms of the
ideal.

To be brief, the play was acted with a result
that was to me both satisfactory and disappointing.
I was quite sure that the character was what I had
been seeking, and I was equally satisfied that the
play was not. The action had neither the body
nor the strength to carry the hero; the spiritual
quality was there, but the human interest was
wanting. The final alterations and additions were
made five years later by Dion Boucicault, and will
be referred to in their place.

At the death of my wife, which occurred in
March, 1861, I broke up my household in New
York, and, leaving three of my children at school,
left home with my eldest son for California.

Through the act of an overzealous agent, my
engagement in San Francisco was an unmistakable
failure. Before my arrival I had been " over-
billed," as it is technically termed. If a circus had
been coming the placards could hardly have been
more numerous. Those fatal documents known as
the " opinions of the press " had been so freely cir
culated that every one was aware not only of what
I could do but what I had done, and must therefore
take for granted what I was going to do. All
power of judging for themselves had been denied

IS*

230 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

both to the public and the local press. I felt
that I should fail, and I did fail.

One of the first actors I met on my arrival was
Harry Perry. I had known him years before, and
we had acted together in our youth. He was
standing in front of the theater reading, rather
quizzically, I fancy, one of the many cards on which
were printed the previously mentioned, and, I think,
always to be avoided, "opinions of the press."
After we had shaken hands, he looked at me with
the same old twinkle of mischief in his eye that I
had remembered years ago, and said, pointing to
the " opinions," " You must have improved greatly
since we last met."

Harry Perry was one of the handsomest men on
the stage, and a capital actor too. His animal
spirits and personal magnetism, however, were the
raw materials out of which his popularity was
manufactured. In those parts that belonged to a
farce light comedian he was quite unequaled.
Youth, vivacity, and a ringing laugh made him
altogether one of the most captivating fellows in
his line. His figure was lithe and graceful, and,
as was said of one of the old light comedians years
'ago, he had a five-act comedy in each eye. On the
occasion I speak of he was quite intoxicated with
happiness, being in the height of a honeymoon.
His bride was Miss Agnes Land, — now Mrs. Agnes
Booth, — a young lady who had lately arrived from
Australia, and whose talent and beauty combined
with his own made them valuable members of the
theatrical profession.

HARSY A. PERRY.

CHAPTER IX

IN AUSTRALIA, VAN DIEMEN's LAND, AND
NEW ZEALAND

From California to Australia — Sydney — Mel
bourne — The Skeleton Dance — The Shepherd —
An A^lstralia1l Tragedy — A Terrible Audience
— The Keans — A Chinese Theater

ON the loth of September, 1861, I sailed
from San Francisco in the fine ship Nim-
rod, bound for Port Phillip and the harbor
of Sydney. I had only my son, my agent, and my
agent's mother with me. There were two or three
other passengers besides ourselves, of one of whom
I must make special mention : he was a Catholic
priest, a cheerful, pleasant man, named Father
O'Grady.

From California to Australia is what the sailors
call a fair-weather passage, most of it being made
through the trade- winds. Our voyage was a pleas
ant, uneventful trip of fifty-seven days. I passed
most of the time in reading, sketching, and trying to
divert Father O'Grady from celibacy ; I told him
he was altogether too good a fellow for a single

232 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

man, and assured him that he would never know
what true happiness was till he got a wife by his
side and had half a dozen children on his knee.
Our theological arguments on the quarter-deck
were a source of great amusement to ourselves and
the passengers. O'Grady, when he became ex
cited, would walk up and down the deck, tossing
his long arms wildly about as if he were making
signals of distress.

We passed to the south, and just in sight of
Norfolk Island, which is said to be the loveliest
spot in the Pacific Ocean. It was formerly a con
vict station, but the prisoners had been removed
for many years, and the place was then, and I
believe is now, occupied by a colony called the
Pitcairn Islanders. The " mutiny of the Bounty" it
will be remembered, occurred during the latter part
of the last century, and the people now living on
Norfolk Island are the descendants of the mu
tineers.

On the 4th of November the coast of Australia
loomed up before us. A great wall of rocks rises
almost perpendicularly from the ocean, and the
narrow opening directly in front of us is called
Sydney Heads. When a ship arrives in sight of
this formidable place it is customary for the sailors
to inform the passengers that this is the most dan
gerous spot in the world. A thrilling story at this
point of the voyage seems to be in order, and one
of the crew is generally called upon to relate an
awful catastrophe that once occurred in the very
sight of the spot where the ship is sailing. We

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 233

stood out well to sea that night, as the weather had
a threatening aspect, and at daylight, the wind
being fair, made again for the land. The pilot
sighted us, and brought the ship safely over the
treacherous shoals into the beautiful harbor of
Sydney. Once inside, if the day be fine, what
perfect fairyland is here : the rocks are of a beautiful
siena tint, surmounted with rich foliage in every
shade of green ; numerous little crescent bays edged
with white sand curve in and out, meeting the deep
blue water ; islands crowned with tall and graceful
trees ; parrots in the gaudiest coats of plumage fly
in flocks chattering and screaming through the air ;
and the whole harbor is dotted with white sails and
gaily colored streamers. In the middle distance
is the beautiful city of Sydney : a long, low line
of shipping stretches in front, and as the high
bluff rises behind the tapering masts, the town, with
its tall, white stone buildings and church spires,
finishes the picture. As our ship sailed into this
dreamland of beauty there was a rich purple haze
veiling the scene ; the sun shone like gold in the
far-off horizon, and as it sank behind the city the
purple deepened into blue. We reached the town '
and dropped our anchor, the night came slowly on,
the new constellations of stars (not seen in our fir
mament) sparkled over our heads, myriads of lights
in the city and the surrounding shipping were
reflected in the water, and all these glittering gems
twinkled and flickered like fireflies about us.

The next morning I rose early, and rejoiced after
fifty-seven days' rolling about to get my feet once

234 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

more upon land. As I stepped ashore I had that
curious sensation which all must feel when for the
first time they find themselves in a new country
where, though they speak the same language, not
a soul knows or has ever heard of them. I walked
through the busy streets holding my son by the
hand, and tightly too, for it was comfort to feel
that there was some one near who knew and felt an
interest in me. I seemed to regret that I had'come
so far from home, and wondered whether I should
ever be able to raise any interest among the vast
crowd of strangers that surrounded me.

I met my agent by appointment at the little hotel
where we stopped, and he handed me the money
he had gone in quest of. The first thing to do now
was to purchase new clothes, something that would
at least faintly resemble the costumes of the people,
which mine certainly did not in any degree. The
hat is always the first thing to change ; everybody
looks at your hat as soon as you arrive in a strange
country. These little matters were soon amended,
and in a short hour I looked quite like the people,
but not a bit like myself. My agent had been a
manager in Australia some years before, so he
knew everybody. We went to the theater, where
he introduced me. to the manager ; and as I shall
have some little business relations with this gentle
man of an interesting sort, perhaps it will be as well
to describe him, he being almost an historical char
acter. He was an under- sized, round-shouldered
little cockney, named Rolamo. Where he got this
remarkably Italian appellation I cannot say, but if

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 235

his ancestors belonged to the "land of song" they
must have strayed into the very heart of White-
chapel just previous to the birth of their son and
heir, as his dialect was strongly impregnated with
the drawling twang of that locality. It is recorded
of him that he never was known to put an h in the
right place, and his talent for reversing the w and
v almost amounted to genius. He had originally
been lamplighter in the theater, but by his industry
and intelligence he rose to be its manager, and he
was in the zenith of his fame when I arrived in
Australia. After my agent had introduced me to
Mr. Rolamo as the coming man who was to make
his (the manager's) fortune, that worthy cast a
patronizing eye over me, but did not seem at all
overwhelmed, taking my arrival with provoking
coolness. This chilling atmosphere pervaded the
office until my agent unrolled some highly inflam
mable printed matter, the novel character of which
seemed to attract the great man's attention, and
condescending to address me, he said, " You see,
Mr. Jeffries — oh, beg pardon; Jimmison, I mean,
— with all due respect to you, there 'as been so
many blawsted Yankee comics over 'ere that we
are kind o' sick on 'em. You may be a hextra good
lot for all I know, but lately the queerest mummers
we Ve 'ad 'ave come from Amerikee. This printed
stuff you Ve got looks spicy, — in fact, I don't know
as I ever see spicier, — but it don't prove nothink,
does it?"

My agent here broke in with the assurance that I
was a legitimate actor and not a mummer.

236 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

" Legitimate ! " said the manager. " Well, that 's
the worst rot of all. The legitimate would wenti-
late my theeater on the first night ; and as for that
dismal old guy 'Amlet, I would n't Jave 'im at no
price."

I told him that Hamlet was not upon my bill
of characters, and that so far as I was con
cerned the reputation of his theater would be in
no way desecrated by any Shaksperean produc
tions. Besides, I admitted his perfect right to
protect himself against fraud, and, as I was a
stranger, I proposed first to show him what my
material consisted of, and wound up by offering to
rent his theater and company, pay him a good
bonus to relinquish the management into our
hands for a month, and, if we could agree
upon terms, give him his money in advance.
At this proposal the hard features of Mr. Rolamo
softened into an oily sweetness that was lovely to
behold; he gently put out both hands to grasp
mine, his eyes fairly beamed on me with affection,
and his heart seemed so touched that it quite
choked his utterance.

" My dear lad," said he, " that 's the way I likes
to hear a cove talk; for I always believes in a cove
wot believes in hisself."

Terms were soon agreed upon, and it was settled
that the contract should be signed that evening and
the first advance paid. In due time our printing
was posted on the walls, and the lithographs —
a novel feature in those days — were placed in
the shop windows. I passed my time in wan-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 237

dering about the streets, observing the startled
inhabitants as they scanned the pictures, stopping
from time to time to listen to their remarks.

Of course my first night in Sydney was spent at
the theater, always an attractive point to the actor.
It is said that few men are in love with their voca
tion, but this remark cannot be applied with justice
to members of the theatrical profession; some actors
will play without salary rather than not act at all.
On this occasion, however, it was more a matter
of business than pleasure that took me to the play.
I was anxious to see the kind of acting that was
most effective here, and also to examine the qual
ities of the company in reference to their fitness
for the characters in my list of plays. I found
the acting much better than I expected ; in fact,
throughout the colonies I was invariably impressed
by this dramatic excellence. The actors had orig
inally come from England to Australia to star.
Afterwards in many instances they had settled
here, making it their home, and as their novelty
wore off had dropped into the different stock com
panies, and so had become admirable supporters
to the stars that followed. I sat in front of the
theater on the night referred to, and, as the actors
came upon the stage one by one, I plainly saw that
I had my work cut out if I expected to stand
prominently forward amidst such surroundings. It
was also quite evident that the delicate sensibilities
of Mr. Rolamo had failed to appreciate the fine
legitimate qualities of his company, and had more
over underrated the taste of his patrons. In a few

238 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

days it was settled that the company should assem
ble in the greenroom, where I was to be formally
introduced previous to reading my opening play
to them. The introduction was given under the
" auspices" of the manager, who performed the cere
mony after the following manner : Ushering me
into the presence of the company, he made an
awkward bow, forgetting to take off his hat, — a
tall, black, semi-conical-shaped article with a large
dent in it, — and announced me as "Mr. Jimminson
from Amerikee."

I found the company obliging, and, as I expected,
thoroughly competent. Matters progressed favor
ably, the pieces for the first week were rehearsed,
and all things were duly prepared for the opening.
The house was quite good on that night, and the
audience generous and sympathetic ; they seemed
to appreciate what a thorough stranger I was, " and
as a stranger gave me welcome. "

When the curtain fell, I was congratulated by
the company and Mr. Rolamo, who I fancied was
a little annoyed to think that he had not made other
terms with me, as his compliments were couched in
the following remark: "I say, mister, I took you
for a green un when I first see you ; you got a
kind o' innocent look about you, but you 're sharp,
do you know that?" I told him that I did not
think I was particularly sagacious, but thanked him
for the delicacy of his compliment, and hoped that
I might live to deserve it.

I was fortunate in bringing with me to Australia
a large amount of new material in the matter of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 239

plays. "Rip Van Winkle/' "Our American
Cousin," and "The Octoroon" were all novel, and
their reception was most satisfactory.

At the expiration of my Sydney engagement we
took the steamer to Melbourne. Fawcett Rowe
was the manager here of the Princess Theater, and
the same arrangements were entered into with him
that had been made at Sydney. Our success in
Melbourne was even more flattering than it had
been in Sydney, and it v#s quite evident from the
impression made that we were likely to continue
our season for some time. The audiences were
numerous and fashionable, and the articles in the
daily papers referring to our plays and acting were
of the highest literary character; those in "The
Argus," written by the accomplished critic James
Smith, were models in style and strength.

My engagement at the Princess extended to one
hundred and sixty-four consecutive nights. At its
conclusion my agent and I dissolved our temporary
partnership, he assuming the management of the
new Haymarket Theater, and I going into the small
mining and provincial towns to reap the benefit of
the reputation I had acquired in the two larger
cities. Ballarat, Bendigo, and Adelaide had all
good stock companies, and were visited in their turn,
generally with pleasant and profitable results.

During this provincial tour I was acting in one
of the mining towns called Castlemaine, and after
tea as I was strolling leisurely towards the theater
my ears were suddenly saluted by the violent ring
ing of a bell, and a sonorous bass voice roaring out

240 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

my name in full. I looked in the direction of this
unaccountable noise and saw a little fat man, in a
high white hat and a seedy suit of black, standing
on a barrel in front of the theater and surrounded
by a crowd of boys. Gesticulating violently with
his left hand, he swung in the right an enormous
belL Now suddenly stopping, he seemed to swell
and got red in the face as he delivered himself of
the following: "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Step
up, ladies and gentlemqj ; now or never is your
only chance to see the greatest living wonder of
the age, Joseph Jefferson, the great hactor from
Amerikee. His power of producing tears and
smiles at vun and the same time is so great that
he caused the Emperor of Roushia to weep on his
weddin' night, and made her gracious Majesty the
Queen bu'st out laughin' at the funeral of Prince
Albert. He is the bosom friend of the President
of Amerikee and the hidol of 'is Royal 'Ighness the
Prince of Wales."

I always had a horror of orators. They are sel
dom sincere, and never hesitate to say the wrong
thing instead of the right one if they can say it
best To most of them epigram is more sacred
than truth, and we are often so fascinated with the
manner that we forget somewhat the matter. It
must have been the comical earnestness and bom
bastic attitude of this extraordinary creature that
had interested the crowd; certainly they did not
believe what he was saying, for they were rearing
with laughter at every word, while his face was as
serious as the fifth act of a tragedy. At this junc-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 241

ture I rushed into the theater and demanded that
the manager should make the bellman stop. " Why,
we always have it done here, and thought you 'd
like it," replied the manager.

" Like it ! " said I. " If he is not stopped at once
I shall not act." So the little fat man was ordered
to cease his harangue and come down from his
barrel : but no, he said he would n't budge ; he
was n't half through, and it would injure his business
and ruin his reputation to be cut off "in the heye
of the public," and he would "be blowed" if he
stirred till he finished. The manager now appealed
to me to let him go on. "Now, mark me," said I.
"If he rings that bell again, or opens his mouth,
I don't act." This settled it. The little fat man
now stood with his arms folded, glaring defiance at
the manager and his myrmidons, but they seized
him and a tremendous struggle ensued. The tall
white hat was completely mashed over his eyes,
and in stamping violently with his rage the head
of the barrel burst in, letting him through till only
a fat head just appeared above the top. They
tipped the barrel over and rolled him off inside, to
the great amusement of the bystanders, who had
been roaring with laughter all the time.

After having been in the colonies about a year,
during which time I had acted quite steadily, I de
termined to take a long rest and see a little of the
interior life of the country. At the invitation of
the Winter brothers I visited their station, the
land they owned, and the Government lease con
trolled by them, extending over an area of seventy

16

242 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

miles in length and fifty in breadth. There are
many such stations in Australia, but the pasturage
was thin, and the interior of the country badly
watered, so that these vast tracts of land would not
support with much profit the large flocks of sheep
that grazed upon them. My son and I lived with
the Winter brothers several weeks. They placed
their house, servants, and horses at our command,
to which they added their own pleasant company
and warm hospitality. I staid three weeks with
these gentlemen, shooting, fishing, and riding. At
the end of this time I sent my son back to Mel
bourne to finish his term at the Scotch college, and
having a desire to penetrate farther into the coun
try, started for the Murray River, where I was told
I could see a wild and interesting region.

There are little settlements along the river to
which the aborigines pay periodical visits to beg
for ammunition and hold their "corrobories," as
one of their mystic ceremonies is called. In a few
days I reached the river, and, having a letter of in
troduction to the owner of a large station, took up
my abode there for a fortnight, meeting with the
same kind welcome that I was assured would at
tend my visit.

A party of "blacks," as the natives are called,
was encamped near here, so I had full time to wit
ness their sports, if sports they can be called, for
more dismal games can scarcely be imagined. One
of the features of the "corrobory" is the "skeleton
dance." I saw this weird performance, which is
conducted in a curious way. A long row of fagots

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 243

or broken sticks was stretched upon the ground for
a distance of forty feet ; these were ignited, mak
ing the footlights to illuminate the performance.
The audience was made up of myself and a few
visitors, paying what we chose to give the natives
for their artistic display. We were seated on logs,
stumps, and rudely made benches in front of this
elongated fire, huge logs being arranged between
us and the blaze, so as to shield the light from our
eyes. The actors always select a dark and moon
less night for this exhibition, so that before the per
formance began all we saw was a dismal forest of
tall, gaunt trees, faintly illuminated by the foot
lights. Now far off a strange sound was heard,
moaning and faint cries of distress ; then came the
dismal beating of a drum, and in the distance, out
of the darkness, appeared forty or fifty skeletons.
They came forward slowly, hand in hand, with a
strange halting gait, till they were close to the fire.
There they paused, and for full ten minutes were
as still as death. The effect is produced by paint
ing their black bodies with white earth or chalk.
The bones of the human anatomy are as perfectly
marked out as if done by a surgeon and an artist
— attenuated white stripes down their legs, with
bulging knee-caps and broad, white hips, the breast
bone and ribs, shoulder-blades and arms, all clearly
defined, and the long neck surmounted by a hideous
skull. Their black bodies mingle with the dark
ness that surrounds them, and the fire shining upon
the white pigment makes the illusion quite com
plete. Not a sound is heard for full ten minutes ;

244 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

even the audience speak in whispers. At some
mysterious signal, so arranged that no one can de
tect it, every alternate skeleton begins to move
slowly, the others remaining rigid, then they jerk
violently and spasmodically, and suddenly stop
ping, they become rigid ; then the alternate skele
tons begin to move, and so go through the same
fantastic actions. Now they all screech and dance
together, and suddenly, turning their backs, plunge
into the deep woods and disappear. The spectators
seem to breathe more freely after they are gone,
and, looking around on one another, exclaim
that it is the strangest sight they have ever
witnessed.

The next morning I visited the camp, such as it
was, for they seemed to have little or no shelter.
The tribe numbered about sixty blacks, and a more
miserable lot of human beings I never saw — long,
thin legs and arms, big stomachs, huge, fat heads
covered with large shocks of unkempt hair. I no
ticed there were only two or three children among
them, which seemed rather curious in so large a
tribe. I asked one of the women if that was her
only child which she was holding by the hand, to
which she replied, "Yes, me only keep dat one."
On inquiry of the landlord of the little hotel what
she meant by that, he explained that he supposed
she had drowned all the other small members of
the family. It seems that after a child is born, if it
is of much trouble to the mother, she tosses it into
the river. With these exhibitions of maternal af
fection it is no wonder that the aborigines of the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 245

country are fast disappearing. I don't suppose
that they make away with their children from
cruelty, — for they do not seem to possess either
that quality or affection, — but simply because they
do not want to be troubled with the care of them.
They do not appear to buy anything or to offer
anything of consequence for sale, and as they wan
der listlessly from town to town they are followed
by the most dreadful lot of cur dogs of all sizes,
sorts, and shapes, attenuated and half-starved ani
mals, that look even more miserable than their
wretched masters.

One of their sports is the throwing of the boom
erang. This instrument is made of hard wood and
shaped somewhat like a carpenter's square. If they
wish to strike an object, they hurl the boomerang
in an opposite direction from the mark. It shoots
forward at tremendous speed, and then suddenly
stops for a moment, and, making a sharp turn,
cpmes backward almost to the place it started
from, and so strikes the object aimed at. Some
people think that this eccentric movement is
caused by the shape of the instrument; but be
that as it may, no one can throw it with any preci
sion but the native blacks.

The scenery in the interior of Australia is in
many respects uninteresting, having but little vari
ety. The blue-gum tree, or eucalyptus, grows
everywhere. This tree is said to have the virtue
of absorbing malarious poisons from the air, and has
been introduced in California and the Southern
States with marked success.

246 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

On one of my excursions, riding through the
blue-gum forest, I had galloped about twenty
miles from the home station ; dismounting from
the horse, I sat down to rest and take a lunch.
A large flock of cockatoos, those beautiful white
parrots with yellow crests, came circling around
and lighted in the trees overhead. I was watching
the curious maneuvers of these birds as they were
chattering and hopping about among the limbs,
when they stopped suddenly as if alarmed. Some
thing was evidently approaching of which they
were in dread. They set up an awful scream, and
with a tremendous flutter spread their white wings
and sailed away. Just at this moment a large
black collie dog came bounding out of the bushes
and suddenly stopped in front of me. For a
moment I was startled. The dog paused and
eyed me keenly, then coming slowly up walked
round me, and at last approached and licked my
hand, which I had held out to him. In a moment
more he bounded away, leaving me astonished at
his strange conduct. I had never seen a dog act
in so singular a manner, and was wondering what
it could mean, when a sharp, joyful bark warned
me that he was returning ; and, sure enough, he
had come back wagging his tail and followed by
a tall, gaunt figure of a man thinly clad, bare
footed, and with a wide-brimmed, frayed straw
hat on his head. He was about fifty years of age,
and as he removed his hat and made me a well-
mannered, dignified bow, I could see that, though
he was undoubtedly a shepherd, he had once been

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 247

a gentleman who had seen better days. As he
stood bareheaded before me the wind blew his
long, thin, sandy hair about his brow, and he re
garded me with a strange, far-off look in his eyes,
as if I had been miles away. I met several shep
herds after this, and noticed that same strained
expression. They live so much alone, sometimes
being three and four months without seeing a
human being, that they form this habit by looking
over the plains, hoping that they may catch sight
of some one to relieve the awful monotony of their
lonely lives. " Thank God ! God bless you, sir !
I hope you are quite well," he said. There was
not much expression in the man's face. I almost
fancied that he looked like a sheep, but there was
enough to prove that he was glad to see me ; and
would have been to see any one else, for the mat*
ter of that. " Sit down, my friend, and have some
lunch with me," said I. "Thank you, I will," said
he. "Well, Jack, you are right, quite right; you
always are, old boy." This was said to the dog,
who never once took his eye off his master, but
stood in front of him wagging his affectionate tail,
that expressed as much love for the poor, tattered,
wasted shepherd as it could have done had he been
an emperor in purple robes. " Yes, always right
and true, eh, old boy?" The dog answered by
lickiag the shepherd's hand and rubbing his head
against his master's legs.

" I knew you were here," said he. " You knew
I was here? How could you tell that? What do
you mean?" "Oh, when I say that I mean that

248 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I knew it was a friend, or at least not an enemy ;
and Jack knew, if I did n't. About an hour ago,
the dog began to get uneasy. He ran about sniff
ing the air and giving little short barks ; then all
of a sudden he broke away and left me. I thought
he was on the lookout for something strange, so
I just sat down among the sheep and waited for
him. Presently he came back quite pleased at
what he had discovered ; then he gave some more
of those little short barks and ran off towards you
and back again ; then wagged his tail impatiently.
He could not have spoken plainer if he had been
a Christian. The loving beast knows the lonely
life I lead, and how I yearn sometimes for a human
face to look at. That 's why he went on so — Gcd
bless him ! It '11 be a shame for us to live in the
other world if Jack don't go there. Look at him
now ; can't you see in his face that he knows that
I have been talking about him? — and every word
I Ve said, for the matter of that, I believe." And
sure enough, the look in the dog's face was almost
human.

The man now sat down quietly beside me, and
ate sparingly and rather mechanically of the lunch,
always sharing his morsel with Jack. I took out
a flask of whisky, and, pouring out some of it into
a cup, offered my guest a drink. His eyes beamed
with a longing look as he saw the liquor, and, turn
ing on me a strange, frightened look, said : " No,
none of that for me. Put it away, please ; I don't
like the sight of it" It now dawned upon me that
my friend was a reformed drunkard, who had come

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 249

out to this lonely part of the world to avoid tempta
tion. I had heard that there were many such in
Australia, and that the shepherd's life was chosen
as being the most isolated one that could be found.
I rose to take my departure, when he put his hand
gently on my arm, and with an appealing look
said: "You won't go back to-night, will you?
It 's too late. I wish you 'd stay in my hut to
night, it 's so long since I Ve seen a human face —
over three months now. A man only conies once
in a great while to bring provisions, and that 's all
we see of humanity from one year's end to another.
Do stay to-night, won't you ? " " I 'd like to oblige
you," I replied, "but they '11 be uneasy about me
at the home station. I must be twenty miles from
there now, and it will be long after dark before I
get back, even at a smart gallop." " But are you
sure you know the way? — you might get lost,"
said he. " Oh, no ; I Ve only to keep on the
banks of the Murray and I 'm all right."

The poor fellow hung his head, looking the pic
ture of despair. " Well," said I, « I 11 stay." He
brightened up at this. " How far is your hut from
here?" I asked. " Not a mile, I assure you." So
he started off at a good pace, fearing I might change
my mind, I suppose. The dog bounded ahead,
barking away, and I followed on horseback. We
soon came upon his charge — a large flock of sheep.
As they heard the dog's bark the stupid creatures
pricked up their ears and looked surprised, just as
if they had never heard it before ; then they took
to their heels and galloped off, with the dog in full

250 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

pursuit, running first in front, and then at the side,
as some stray wether showed a disposition to re
bel, then circling round and round till he got the
fold just where he wanted them. He now went in
and out among the sheep as though giving orders
that they were to put up for the night. They
seemed quite to understand him, so they quietly
lay down in little family groups. By this time we
had reached the hut, and the dog came up wagging
his tail, as much as to say, " It 's all right; there 's
none of them missing/' The hut was built of mud,
sticks, and straw, with the hard earth for a floor.
I hobbled my horse so that he might browse about
in safety, the shepherd prepared a cup of tea, — the
usual beverage of the bush, — and the dog, not a
whit tired, stood bolt upright overlooking his dis
tant charge with the air of a general reviewing his
army.

The sun had gone down behind the low horizon
with the same effect that it does at sea, and as we
sat outside upon a couple of rude blocks of wood,
drinking our refreshing tea, the moon rose up, shed
ding its soft light over this mysterious scene; there
was no sound but the distant tinkle of a sheep-bell
and the crackling of the little fire that was boiling
the tea. The smoke went straight and silently up
into the still air ; the loneliness was bad enough
with two men — what must it have been with one !

I felt there was something more in my profound
acquaintance than I had yet learned, so I lighted
my pipe and began to draw him out. It is curious
that a man being alone among dumb creatures loses

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 251

after a time something of his human expression
and acquires that of his dumb companions, and that
a dog under the same circumstances retains his in
dividuality. Here was a man \vho, to judge from
his manner and speech, must have been tenderly
reared and highly educated, and one too who had
practiced the busy calling of the law ; yet in a few
years of isolation the bright mind had become
faded, and the human look of the face changed al
most to the blank expression of a sheep, while a
dog under the same circumstances had retained
his perfect individuality. Jack's eyes sparkled like
diamonds. His character was marked by intelli
gence, faithfulness, and affection. He would lie
with his head between his paws, and his sharp
nose flat on the ground, turning up the whites of
his eyes to watch us as we talked. Now and again
he would heave a deep sigh of satisfaction, as much
as to say, "The old man is all right to-night ; he 's
got some one that can talk to him."

I questioned the shepherd about his past life.
It seems he had been educated at Eton ; then became
a fast youth in London, where he studied for the law,
and in a short time rose to be a successful barrister.
He had married early, and had one child, a daugh
ter, born to him. After two years of wedded life
he lost his wife and child. Despairingly he took
to drink, and, being weak and desperate, went
downhill and lost his position; that once lost in
London is seldom regained. Not so in America.
Here, when a man falls, if 'he has the strength to
brace up again he goes to the West, and rubbing

252 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

up against a new society absorbs fresh magnetism
and recuperates at once : but London is compact ;
the Englishman hates to leave his home ; his fail
ings are known, and if he remains they are flung
in his face. There is no escape for him ; and, as
his friends shun him, he falls deeper into disgrace.
This was the trouble that had beset the shepherd,
who, having a- sensitive and perhaps weak mind,
succumbed to the pressure that surrounded him.
And so after a time, with a broken spirit, he left
England and came to the colonies. He practiced
law in Melbourne for some time successfully, but
the old habit came back upon him, and, as he could
not resist temptation, he buried himself on this sta
tion. This was the tale he told me, and there
could be no doubt of its truth. After he had fin
ished he turned his strange, far-off look on me
again, and said, " Are you superstitious ? "

"Well, I think I am a little. Most people are, if
they would own it," said I. " I did n't use to be/'
he said with a sigh ; " but since I Ve lived here I
seem to have become so, and it 's all Jack's fault."
The dog, not looking up, beat his tail on tjie ground
gently, as if to say, " Yes, blame it all on me ; it 's
all my fault."

" I have never seen anything ghostly or myste
rious myself, but I think Jack does sometimes.
When we Ve alone — and God knows that 's often
enough — he '11 start up and look around slowly as
if his eyes were following something in the hut ; at
these times he will give a low, strange kind of
moan, and, putting his tail between his legs, seem

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 253

to be frightened, peering up into my face with an
inquiring stare, as if he said, ' Don't you see it,
too?'" The dog during this recital kept slowly
beating time with his tail, as if he were endorsing
every word his master said. " After noticing this
with the dog," said the shepherd, " I called to mind
the strange look I used to see in the beautiful face
of my baby when she was only six months old.
The little thing would sometimes stare at vacancy,
and then smile sweetly and turn its head around as
if it were following something — just as that dog
does. What 's your opinion of this sort of thing ?
Do you think the spirits of those we loved in life
can return and stand beside us ? "

I told him that his question was a difficult one
to answer ; that different people held different opin
ions on these mysterious matters, and the chances
were that nobody had hit it quite right yet. " Well,"
said he, "if they can come, I know who it is that
the dog sees when we Ye alone."

It was now getting late, and the shepherd in
sisted on my taking his couch, an old canvas cot
with a plain gray blanket spread upon it ; so, as I
was quite tired, I accepted the offer, and lay down
for a night's rest. My companion stretched his tall
figure on the grass outside. The dry climate of
Australia admits of this ; there is no danger in sleep
ing on the ground ; the chances are there would not
be a drop of dew during the night, and that the
grass in the morning would be as dry as hay. Jack
lay down between us, and seemed, by one or two sat
isfactory sighs that escaped him, to be quite happy.

254 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I was awake for some time, and happening to
look towards my new acquaintance, found that he
was lying upon his back with the moon shining full
upon his pale face. I had heard that it was dan
gerous in this climate to sleep in the moonlight.
People have been known to go mad, or to have
been struck with paralysis, for committing this in
discretion. I called to him to move into the
shadow, but he did not heed me ; so, thinking he
had dozed off, I let him alone.

The strangeness of the scene, together with the
strong tea, seemed to banish sleep from me, and I
must have been there an hour with my eyes closed,
but quite awake, when presently I heard something
stirring, and, opening my eyes, saw the shepherd
sitting up in the doorway with his head resting in
his hands. After a time he arose and went out
into the night air. He seemed uneasy, and began
restlessly to pace up and down in front of the hut.
The dog remained still, but I felt that he was awake
and watching his master, as he walked nervously
backward and forward in the moonlight Presently
the shepherd stopped in front of the hut, and came,
with a hesitating and irresolute step, towards the
door. He entered slowly, and, stooping down
upon his hands and knees, crawled stealthily to the
chair on which my coat was hanging; he put his
hand in the breast pocket and drew forth the flask
of liquor. And now he seemed bewildered, as if
some strange emotion had seized upon him, and
then fell upon his knees as if in prayer. Suddenly
he seemed to rouse himself, and, instead of drink-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON ' 255

ing the liquor, placed the flask untouched back in
the pocket of the coat ; then stretching himself on
. the floor, with an apparent air of comfort and sat
isfaction, went off to sleep. The whole proceeding
so haunted me that it was broad daylight before I
closed my eyes. When I awoke, the sun was high
in the heavens. It must have been midday. My
host had prepared breakfast — some bread freshly
baked, tea, and salt beef. He seemed quite calm,
and had lost the nervous, wearied look that was
noticeable the evening before. After our meal,
he spoke freely of the night's proceedings to me.
I told him I had seen all that had taken place. " I
thought perhaps it might be so," said he. "The
old craving came upon me again, so strong too,
but if ever I prayed for strength it was then. Well,
at that moment there was a hand laid on my head ;
a calmness came over me that I had not felt for
years ; and when I returned the flask to your pocket
I knew then, as I know now, that another drop of
liquor will never pass my lips ; and, as God is my
judge, I believe it was the angel hand of my dead
wife that rested on my feverish head. It 's all over
now, thank Heaven, and I can leave this lonely
place and return to the world again with safety."
I started to ride for the home station ; the shep
herd walked some distance by the side of my horse,
and at last we shook hands and parted. I looked
back after a time, and in the distance saw his tall
figure against the sky, waving his old straw hat to
me, while the faithful dog by his side was looking
up into his face and wagging that expressive tail

256 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I traveled still farther into the interior — in fact,
quite far enough for safety ; for not over one hun
dred miles from where I now stopped there had
been living in a stronghold in the mountains a
band of desperate men, and though lately their
career had been checked, I deemed it prudent to
suppress any desire that I had for further explora
tions.

The bushranger of Australia is an offshoot of
the highwayman of England. Convicts had been
sent from the old country for this unlawful prac
tice, and after finishing out their time, or being
pardoned for good conduct, remained in the
colonies, instead of returning to their native land.
Gold had been discovered ; the country was grow
ing rich, and offered a fine field fcr the " terror of
the road.'* In all new and thriving countries there
is a class of lazy, cunning, and desperate men who
prey upon society, looking upon honesty as weak
ness, and society, by way of punishing these
criminals, wastes a good deal of sympathy and
sentimentality upon them. The villains know
this, and enjoy the joke. Ladies, I regret to say,
are especially attached to' this kind of animal.
The Claude Duvals, Jack Sheppards, Lafittes,
and Massaronies of the past were just such cun
ning sneaks. Their praises have been versed, and
we are made to believe that they were a race of
persecuted heroes. Byron well describes one
of these miserable wretches as sitting in a grace
ful attitude on the quarter-deck, with a thoughtful
brow and a noble air, as if he were turning over

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 257

in his mind how he could best benefit mankind.
Our own Cooper describes the " noble red man"
as only delaying his departure to the "happy
hunting-grounds" in order that he may unburden
himself of a large stock of ready-made gratitude
which he constantly keeps on hand ; whereas it is
well known that no Indian could possibly be happy
in any hunting-ground unless it was on the reser
vation of some other tribe. I .think we rather
suspect the sincerity of the poets who dignify
these rascals.

Just such a worthy as one of the pirates re
ferred to had been occupying the attention of
Australia the year before I arrived. The ladies
vowed that Morgan, the man's name, had the most
manly form that ever was seen, surmounted by
a perfectly classic head : the latter certainly ought
to have been very fine, for the Government had
offered a thousand pounds for it, but up to the
present time Mr. Morgan had not offered it for
sale. He evidently looked upon it as a cash article
at any time, and determined that, as it was the
only one he possessed, he would not force it on
the market. "If they want it," said Morgan, play
fully, "they must call for it" It seems that they
had called for it on several occasions, but always
failed to carry it away with them, for the bush
ranger was a wary fellow, and had a head able to
look after itself.

The station where I was now staying had been,
some time back, the scene of this fellow's exploits.
He and his gang had " stuck up " the place. One
17

258 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

brave lad resisted, and was killed by Morgan.
The sister of this unfortunate boy was concealed
in the house, and witnessed from her hiding-place
the cruel murder of her brother. The scene
preyed upon the poor girl's mind, and the spirit
of revenge took possession of her. Morgan, being
quite a star in the bushranging firmament, paid
annual visits to the profitable stations, and, hear
ing that there was a fine race-horse on the place,
thought he would call again and make an exchange
for the worn-out beast he was then riding. After
paralyzing the small community he took the horse,
and just before his intended departure the girl pur
posely threw herself in his way, offering to prepare
a meal for him. Being good-looking, she attracted
his attention, and with a full and aching heart the
half-crazed creature made an assignation with him
for that night, to be held at a secluded spot some
distance from the house. The matter settled, the
bushranger rode away to await the appointed
hour. The desperate girl mounted a fleet horse
and rode twelve miles to police quarters, giving
the alarm, and telling what she had planned. An
ambush was prepared that night, and as the girl
approached the point of meeting she waved her
handkerchief for Morgan to appear. The stealthy
murderer approached, and at the next wave of the
handkerchief fell dead, riddled with bullets.

A large sum of money was subscribed by the
wealthy people of the colony and given to the girl,
besides half of the reward, which was divided be
tween her and the captain of police; but the men-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 259

tal strain told upon her, and she never recovered
from the shock.

Having had a long rest from acting, I returned
to Melbourne to play a short engagement with my
former partner at the Haymarket, and then sailed
for Van Diemen's Land, now called Tasmania.
This lovely island had formerly been a convict sta
tion, where life-sentenced prisoners from England
had been sent. There was at the time I speak of, and
is now, a most refined society in Tasmania, though
among the lower classes there was a strong flavor
of the convict element. I acted "The Ticket-of-
Leave Man " for the first time in Hobart Town,
and there was much excitement in the city when
the play was announced. At least one hundred
ticket- of-leave men were in the pit on the first night
of its production. Before the curtain rose, I looked
through it at this terrible audience ; the faces in the
pit were a study. Men with low foreheads and
small, peering, ferret-looking eyes, some with flat
noses, and square, cruel jaws, and sinister expres
sions, — leering, low, and cunning, — all wearing a
sullen, dogged look, as though they would tear the
benches from the pit and gut the theater of its
scenery if one of their kind was held up to public
scorn upon the stage. This shows the power of
the drama. An author might write an article
abusing them, or an artist paint a picture showing
up the hideous deformity of their features — all this
they could 'bear and even laugh at ; but put one of
their sort upon the stage in a human form, surrounded
by the sympathetic story of a play, and they would

260 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

no more submit to an ill usage of him than they
would to a personal attack upon themselves.

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

As the play progressed, their enthusiasm in
creased. Whenever Bob was hounded by a detec
tive or ill-treated by the old Jew, they would howl
their indignation at the actors ; and when he came
out unscathed at the end of the play, a monument
of persecuted innocence, they cheered to the very
echo. This performance rendered me extremely
popular with some of the old "lags" of Hobart
Town ; and I was often accosted on the street by

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 261

these worthies and told some touching tale of their
early persecutions. In fact they quite looked on
me as an old "pal." These courtesies were very
flattering, but the inconvenience that I was caused
by being poked in the ribs and winked at now and
then, as much as to say, "All right, old boy, we
know, — you Ve been there," rendered my favor
itism among these fellows rather irksome.

An English audience is as loyal to an old fa
vorite as the nation is to its queen. Therefore
the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean to the col
onies was hailed with delight by the public.

Old Londoners who remembered young Charles
Kean and Ellen Tree in the springtime of their
lives were charmed to think that they would not
only renew their acquaintance with these celebrated
artists, but could take their children to see the fa
vorite actors who had delighted their fathers and
mothers in days gone by. The Keans on their
opening night were welcomed with great warmth ;
the audience rose from their seats and cheered
them as they came upon the stage ; old ladies and
gentlemen waved their handkerchiefs and stood up
to applaud their former favorites as though they
would have said, "Welcome, welcome to our new
home. Age has dimmed our eyes and wrinkled
our brows, but, thank Heaven, it has not weakened
our affection/'

The engagement was a financial success, for
every one was anxious to see the Keans ; but time
had told upon them, and there was a feeling of dis
appointment in the audience that with all their

262 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

kindness they could not shake off or conceal — the
veterans had tarried too long. Mr. Kean felt this,
and regretted that he had come so far only to
shatter his reputation.

About a week after their appearance I was walk
ing through St. Kilda Park, when I came sud
denly upon an old gentleman sitting alone upon a
bench ; he seemed to be looking out upon the bay
with a sad and thoughtful expression. I had not
seen Charles Kean upon the stage since I was a
boy : he was then young, vigorous, and in the ze
nith of his fame, full of hope and ambition, and just
married to that gifted actress Ellen Tree ; and here
he sat an old man, in a far-off land, and from the
melancholy look upon his face was perhaps think
ing that the closing scene of his career was near
at hand. I had been regarding him for some
time, when at last he looked up and caught my
eye; he stared at me with no very pleased ex
pression: my apparent rudeness had evidently
offended him, so I at once told him who I was,
and he seemed glad to see me. "Sit down"
said he/ "I was just going to write you to call
on me; you ought to have done so before: I
am the 'last comer ; and, between you and me,
I am sorry that I came." I told him that I had
intended to call, but had heard that he was suf
fering from dyspepsia, so I thought I would delay
paying my respects to Mrs. Kean and himself
until he had quite recovered.

"Well," said he, " as I said, I was going to write
you ; and, curiously enough, I believe I was think-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 263

ing of you while you stood in front of me. By the
way, what was I doing while you were looking
at me? — anything foolish; making faces or any
nonsense of that kind, eh?"

" Oh, no ! " said I, laughing at his anxiety.
" You were quite correct, I assure you."

" Well," said he, " you know an actor when alone
is very apt, if he is thinking of his part, to frown
and stare in a very unmeaning way. I remember
once in London I had ordered lunch at Verey's in
Regent street, and while I was waiting for it, be
gan, in an abstracted kind of way, going over one
of the scenes of ' Louis XL' to myself. Suddenly
I saw two young fellows talking to one of the wait
ers and pointing at me ; then they passed out, ap
parently laughing at something I had done. I was
quite indignant, and called the waiter to ask what
they said. Well, sir, it all came out : I had been
frowning and staring, first one way and then another,
going over my part, and those fellows thought I
was mad " ; and here he burst out in an immoder
ate fit of laughter. "Well, come," said he; "I
have had a good laugh, at all events, and, as it is
the first for a week, I have enjoyed it. Now, then,
I wish to consult you on a matter of some impor
tance ; and as it is in reference to our approaching
visit to America, I am quite sure that you can, and
will, give me all the information I require. I heard
that you were in front several times during the last
week : now tell me candidly, — don't be afraid of
giving offense, — what do you think of our engage
ment here ? "

264 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

"Well, in the first place your reception was one
of the warmest I ever remember to have seen/' I
said.

"Yes, yes," said he; "the reception was cor
dial. But after that there was a coldness, a lack
of enthusiasm; and this feeling has characterized
the audience during the entire week: now don't
you think so?"

This question was rather a poser. I felt that
every word he had spoken was true, but I knew
he was ill and needed encouragement more than
facts ; so I put a bold front on the matter, and told
him that I thought he was oversensitive, and only
fancied that the audience was cold, and that the
crowded houses ought to convince him of this.

" That is what my wife says," said he ; " but she
is so full of hope and cheerfulness that nothing
daunts her. Well, now then, to the point We
go from here to California, and then to New York,
Philadelphia, and so on. What play would you
advise us to open in — 'The Gamester'?"

"By no means," I replied.

" Why not? Don't you think it a good play ? "
said he.

" It was a good play fifty years ago," I replied,
" but not now. It is old-fashioned and beyond en
durance, and details the misery of a married couple
in a most mournful way. Just think of sitting
through five acts of woe unrelieved by one touch
of humor. The theme is a gloomy one; and, be
lieve me, when you lay it upon the shelf it will
gather dust and mildew. I would suggest that

MR. CHARLES KEAN AS "KING JOHN."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 265

you open in ' Louis XL* Without Mrs. Kean your
name will be sufficient to attract on the opening
night ; then bring out your wife as Queen Catherine,
yourself playing Wolsey / follow this with Macbeth
and Lady Macbeth : in fact, I should not, if I were
in your place, extend the repertory beyond these
plays ; if you confine yourself to this prescription,
your success is assured. * The Wife's Secret ' and
' The Gamester ' are all well enough here : your
audience is largely made up of friends who remem
ber you both with pleasure — the plays, too,
memories ; but you have been so long away from
America that the present generation of playgoers
will be new acquaintances, who have no former re
membrance of you, and will only look at the en
tertainment for just what it is, and not for what
it was."

" Humph ! " said Kean ; " that is rather a delicate
way of hinting that Mrs. Kean and I should act
parts better suited to our age." And here he eyed
me with a sly, peering look.

"Well," I replied, "you have asked me to be
candid, and that is just what I mean."

"And I believe that you are quite right," said
he ; " but my wife will have it that we are as young
and beautiful as ever. I believe that she would
act Juliet now if I were fool enough to play Romeo
with her." And here he had another good laugh.

Although Charles Kean was irritable at times,
he was delightful company, and told a good story
with great glee. Some of his anecdotes of the
London stage were most amusing. While we were

266 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

chatting, a party of some three or four blacks came
in sight. I hailed them, thinking that Kean might
like to see the throwing of the boomerang.

A tall, gaunt fellow, with scarcely a pound of
flesh on his ungainly bones, and evidently the
leader of the party, astonished us with his dexterity.
He walked three or four paces forward with a
swinging kind of gait, and, casting his eye behind,
pointed to where he intended to make the weapon
strike; now whirling it straight forward it shot
into the air, and, making a sudden turn, came back
and struck the spot he had indicated.

" Ah," said Kean, "they may well call Australia
the antipodes; when the natives want to hit a
mark in the west, they hurl the weapon towards
the east."

The black came up for his exhibition money,
and stood in front of us with his limp hand ex
tended and an idiotic grin on his face ; and surely
he was a sight to look at — as lean as a skeleton,
and as black and shining as a piece of polished
ebony. His attenuated form was crowned with an
ugly head, covered with a bushy shock of unkempt
hair, and his face was blank and expressionless.
What a contrast he made to the intellectual and
thoughtful face of the tragedian ! Here was a
Shaksperean scholar, who had been educated at
Eton, standing side by side with this uncouth sav
age, so low down in the scale of humanity that he
was barely conscious of his own existence; and
yet the actor was rewarding the black for the per
formance of a dexterous feat that would have puz-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 267

zled the old Eton boy to accomplish if he had tried
it until doomsday.

Nothing would do now but that I should join
him at luncheon, so we walked to the hotel, where
I was presented to Mrs. Kean, who was in a high
state of anxiety at the prolonged absence of her
husband. There was no affectation in her solici
tude ; one could see at a glance that she was a
noble companion for her liege lord, and full of care
and affection for him. He at once turned the con
versation on the disappointment he felt on the
result of their first week's engagement ; his wife
laughed at the idea, and I joined in with her. Af
ter we had settled this matter, he detailed to her
our late conversation in part, out of pure mischief,
I believe, beginning somewhat in the following
strain: "My dear, Mr. Jefferson thinks that it is
high time for two such old fools as you and I to
give up playing young parts and go into characters
whose antiquity will be more suited to our dilapi
dated appearance." I felt like throwing a loaf of
bread at his head for daring to place me in such a
false position, and endeavored to explain to Mrs.
Kean how he had forced the whole affair upon me,
while he was laughing immoderately and enjoying
my discomfort However, she took the matter so
good-naturedly that I felt satisfied that she under
stood me in relation to his fabrication as well as
she did her husband's exaggerations. As soon as
my mortification was over I began to enjoy the
joke. Kean was in high spirits, though now and
then, in the midst of his hilarity, a sad and despair-

268 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ing expression would force itself into his face. He
went out on the balcony to enjoy his cigar, leaving
Mrs. Kean and me alone. During his absence her
cheerful manner altered, and it was plain to me
that she had taken in the situation of their engage
ment more clearly than he had, for she said to me,
with tears in her eyes, " Thank you for keeping up
his spirits ; he needs it."

Ten years after this, I met Mrs. Kean at a gar
den party in London ; she was then a widow. This
estimable lady has since that time passed away.
Peace and happiness be with her ! As an actress,
she was for years the delight of the public ; and as
a wife, a comfort and an honor to her husband.

During my visit to Australia I acted at Dayles-
ford, and after the performance, by the invitation
of a friend, I visited a Chinese theater. We rode
through the woods for three miles to a camp or
gold-diggings worked by the Chinese. There
was a large population of them here — about two
thousand. It was past twelve o'clock when we
reached the theater, where the actors were hard
at it, and had been from sundown. The theater
was under a tent, looking like a small modern
circus cut in two. The seats were arranged in
a half-circle, the stage coming out well among
the audience. The Chinese manager had been
apprised of our visit, so he had reserved seats in
the center of the tent, which was quite full of
Chinamen. The orchestra was at the back, and
the music — if the hideous sounds they made can
be dignified by that name — was played at inter-

MRS. CHARLES KEAN AS "HERMEONE,"

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 269

vals during the whole performance. I recognized
the play by its action to be our old friend, "The
Young Scamp." In French it is called "Le Gamin
de Paris " ; in Chinese, " The Mother's Pet " ; and
I suppose every nation in the world has a free
translation of this universal piece of humanity.
What on earth the music has to do with a Chinese
play, I could never discover. The band will re
main perfectly quiet for five or ten minutes, and
then, apparently without the slightest provocation,
burst forth upon the audience, splitting their ears
with the most dreadful din — the scraping of cat
gut, the tooting of pipes, tinkling of triangles, and
banging of gongs, altogether making a most dis
cordant clatter. Now dead silence; then a long
speech by some actor, punctuated by little taps on
a small sheepskin drum, the catgut man now and
then scraping a parenthesis. The musicians sit
bolt upright, staring in front of them, without any
movement or expression, looking like a lot of
badly made wax-figures in a museum. Then,
when all is quiet and you least expect it, they
will bob their heads up and down, banging and
tooting and scraping everything they can lay their
hands upon. The interpreter tried to explain to
me that this was done sometimes to attract the
attention of the audience, but to me it would seem
to have the contrary effect.

The dialogue began to get monotonous, and I
asked permission of the manager that I might go
behind the scenes and see some of my Chinese
brother actors. This, after some red tape, was

270 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

allowed me. Instead of the actors getting them
selves ready to go home, as I naturally supposed
at this time of night, or rather morning, they would
do, the entire company was preparing for another
play — enrobing themselves in richly embroidered
costumes, and covering their faces with all the
colors of the rainbow, which they got out of little
round pots filled with oil paint. As the manager
was given to understand that I was in my way
a "star" from America, he insisted that I must
only be introduced to his "star"; so I was ushered
into a small tent set apart for that celebrity.

This person seemed to have got through with
his portion of the entertainment before I came.
Of course we could only talk through our inter
preter, who seemed to have the faculty of explain
ing everything the wrong way. I understood,
however, that it would give the great actor much
pleasure if I would have a little gin and smoke
a pipe of opium with him. Upon my declining
these delicacies, he faintly smiled on me in a pity
ing and sympathizing way, as much as to say,
"Ah, these barbaric Americans; they have no
idea of comfort or refinement." He was himself
already well under the influence of the fatal drug,
and, whatever the end might produce, was cer
tainly now on good terms with himself and all
the world. I could not help thinking what a
curious incident this was — to be here at the
antipodes, sitting in the dressing-room of a Chi
nese tragedian. I looked at his fat and inexpres
sive face, and wondered if he had even heard of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 271

Shakspere. He sat there in front of me nodding
his head as if he were answering my question and
saying : " Oh, yes, young man. Shakspere ? Oh,
yes, very often ; but he 's quite a mistake, I assure
you."

My friend now entered the tent, and admonished
me that it was near daylight and time to go home.
As I went out, I turned back for a last look at my
Oriental companion, who had by this time entirely
succumbed to the influence of the narcotic. He
was stretched out in a chair, his smooth yellow
face widened out with an imbecile smile of idiotic
bliss, and his two conventional Chinese eyes ele
vated at an angle of forty-five degrees. The fresh
air revived me ; so we mounted our horses and rode
away just as the day was dawning, while the gongs
and the tooting and the scraping were going on in
the distance.

In April, 1864, I took a steamer from Melbourne
to New Zealand. This was a rough and treacher
ous voyage. The great island has an iron-bound
coast, and the ragged rocks were horrible to look
at as we approached the harbor of Dunedin.

On my arrival I found the theater in which I
was to act doing a great business with some novel
attraction that had just hit the public taste.
Clarence Holt, the manager, requested me, in
consequence of the sudden and unexpected success
that had attended his new enterprise, to delay my
opening for two weeks. As time was no great
object to me, I consented, deciding to spend the
interim at a Maori village on the coast called Wik-

272 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

awite, where there was good fishing and shooting ;
and, as I had been quite ill for the month previous
to leaving Melbourne, I felt that the rest and sea
bathing would strengthen me, and perhaps assist
to fill out my attenuated form ; so I took up my
abode for a week at a little hotel at this place, sur
rounded by the native Maoris. Of course these
people were in a semi-civilized state, though they
had formerly been cannibals, and when out fishing
with them I could not help smiling at Sydney
Smith's description of a New Zealand lunch, " with
cold missionary on the sideboard/' and his solemn
farewell to the minister who was leaving Eng
land for the purpose of christianizing the Maoris.
" Good-by, my reverend friend," said he; "and if
they eat you, I hope you 11 disagree with them."
I felt quite safe among them,' however, for, as I was
very thin, I presented anything but a tempting
morsel to these voracious warriors. The Maoris
are said to be the finest race of savages in the
world. They are giants in size and strength,
and their symmetrical bodies are tattooed in
grotesque figures and patterns, sometimes from
head to foot.

I saw a party of them act in a play that had
been written to show off their sports and ceremo
nies, and in one of the scenes where they were
tracking an enemy the grace and earnestness with
which they moved were surprising.

My engagement in New Zealand was quite suc
cessful, the old comedies, strange to say, being pre
ferred. I now returned to act in Sydney, from

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 273

which place I had been absent nearly three years.
On my arrival Father O'Grady called on me, and,
to my surprise, introduced me to his wife. He was
still faithful to his Church, but had given up his
orders and had married. I did not blame myself
for making him an apostate; for it was evident,
from the beauty of the lady, that not my advice,
but her black eyes, had been too much for the
"good St. Anthony."

From Sydney I returned to Melbourne, to play
my farewell engagement in the colonies and bid
adieu to the many friends I had made. And as I
look back upon the four years I passed in Aus
tralia I can only recall a dear remembrance of the
kindness that was shown to me by the refined and
hospitable people of that country. For a long time
after I left there I contemplated paying it another
visit, but year after year rolled on, and now I fear
it is too late. To wander through the streets that
I so well remember and find them altered would
be nothing; we are too used to these changes
in our own country to be affected by the wonder
ful growth of cities and the sudden shifting of
localities ; but I should feel lonely indeed to miss
the faces that were so familiar, and to think
over the olden time when I was young and full
of hope — surrounded by loving companions who
had gathered around me when I was a stranger
among them. It is a quarter of a century
since I left that distant land and those dear
friends, but I have never forgotten them, and I
am told that there are many who still remember

274 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

me. And now farewell, Australia ! I have no
feeling but loving gratitude for you, and should
these pages meet the eye of some old friend, let us
feel that we have come once more together upon
this earth and shaken hands.

CHAPTER X

IN SOUTH AMERICA

Callao — Lima — A Midnight Funeral — A Beg
gar on Horseback — The Theater in Callao — A
Religious Tableau — A Tropical City — Leav
ing South America — An Incident in Panama

I LEFT Melbourne in a sailing vessel in the
month of April, 1865, bound for South Amer
ica on my way to England. We were fifty-
seven days at sea — a long and dreary voyage.
During the whole passage we saw but one vessel.
This portion of the Pacific is a waste of water,
unbroken by land or any moving object, save the
flight of the lonely albatross. This large bird
sometimes measures ten feet from tip to tip of its
wings, and as it sails around the ship it turns its
head slowly from side to side with a wise and dig
nified look. The flight is graceful and mysterious.
At times it will poise itself in the air, seemingly
without motion. We caught several of these birds
with a hook and a piece of meat. When seen
closely they lose much of their mysterious beauty.

275

276 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

They are not good sailors, and their sea-legs are
treacherous. As soon as they stand on deck they
become seasick and disgorge their food. As few
ships cross the track of vessels in this region, the
dreary waste is called by the sailors "the wilder
ness " ; and the thought will force itself upon one
that, if an accident should occur here, and the
crew and passengers be compelled to take to the
open boats, there would be but a slight chance of
being picked up for many days.

We had several passengers, two of whom enliv
ened the trip with their political arguments. One
was from South Carolina, the other from Massa
chusetts, and their disputes were quite violent. I
was a kind of mediator between these hostile par
ties, and helped to settle some of their quarrels.
At times they were the best of friends, and really
liked each other very much. We would often see
them walking up and down the deck, almost affec
tionate in their manner towards each other; sud
denly a chance shot would be fired, and then their
feelings would burst forth in a blaze of excitement.
They would break away and stride furiously from
one end of the ship to the other, and when they
met would face- each other like a pair of bantam
fighting-cocks, with their arms akimbo and their
heads violently wagging away until one would
think they must soon come to blows.

On the fifty-seventh day we dropped anchor in
the bay of Callao, six miles from the beautiful city
of Lima, on the coast of Peru. A heavy fog set
tled over the town just as we arrived, and all sur-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 277

rounding objects were quite invisible : not even the
lights of the place could be seen, and we only knew
our position in relation to the town by the howl
ing of innumerable dogs on shore ; one of the pas
sengers facetiously remarking at breakfast that he
had- been kept awake all night by the heaviest dose
of Peruvian bark he had ever taken. In the morn
ing the fog was still heavy and impenetrable, and we
were waiting for it to clear off so that we could
land and get some news. The two belligerents
were uneasy and restless, eagerly desiring some
bulletins of the war. Presently we heard the plash
of oars, and a boat darted suddenly out of the mist,
stopping close beside the hull of our vessel. It
was rowed by two swarthy looking Peruvians, and
in the stern there sat, or rather leaned lazily back,
a tall, thin man with his legs wrapped round each
other and a cigar tilted up so high in his mouth
that it must have scorched the wide rim of his Pan
ama hat. He was unmistakably my countryman,
and if there had been any doubt of this he soon set
it at rest by exclaiming as he caught sight of my
face, " Joe Jefferson, by thunder ! " There was a
general surprise at this unexpected remark, and
I was quite startled, though I confess somewhat
pleased, at a recognition in this strange land. Of
course I rose to a high premium now in the eyes
of the passengers, and was deputed to interrogate
my friend as to the latert news from the seat of
war; but, like a true Yankee, he was n't to be
pumped without filling his own bucket at the
same time.

18*

278 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

" My friend," said I, " as you seem to recognize
me, perhaps you will kindly give us some news of
the war." He answered this question by asking
me how long it was since he saw me act in New
York with Laura Keene. I told him about six
years, but that I would be very much obliged if
he would give me the latest news concerning
Richmond.

" Where 's old Ned Sothern now ? " said he to
me. I was between the two belligerents, who were
both writhing in agony at the cool delay of my
new-found acquaintance. I told him that Mr.
Sothern was in England, but that I really could
not answer any more questions until he told me
something about the war.

"Is he actin' old Dundreary now before the
Britishers ? " said he. Finding I could get no sat
isfaction from him, I turned to the captain and
said: "You had better interrogate this man your
self. Perhaps you will be more fortunate than I
have been."

Here the captain broke in, hailing him with,
" My friend, I am the captain of this ship, and
would like to get a paper from you concerning the
war, as you don't seem to be very communicative
yourself."

"Will your ship want calkin', Captain, before
she loads?" said the impenetrable calker — for
that, it seemed, was his profession.

" You don't calk my ship, or have anything to
do with her, until you answer my question," said
the captain.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 279

The man now became thoughtful, and, I pre
sume, turning over in his mind that he might
lose a job if he did not comply, said, " Oh ! the
war — that 's all over; the South caved in, and
Richmond is took."

The crestfallen gentleman from South Carolina
sank upon a stool in the middle of the deck, and
the lively gentleman from Massachusetts danced a
hornpipe over him, whistling " The Star-spangled
Banner" as an accompaniment.

That part of the Pacific coast that borders on
South America is an interesting region, though the
title of Pacific is somewhat of a misnomer, for the
locality is in a continual state of commotion, both
civil and military ; and when the occasional visita
tions of tidal waves and earthquakes are added to
the human, or rather inhuman, turmoil that con
stantly rages through this feverish land, the trav
eler is more anxious to bid it farewell than ever
again to tax its hospitality.

The town of Callao has always been singularly
unfortunate during these external and internal dis
turbances. Situated in a somewhat exposed har
bor, it presents a fine mark for bombardment in
times of war, and a convenient spot for the passage
of a tidal wave in times of peace. It is said that
on a quiet moonlight night some hundred years
ago, while the inhabitants were innocently slumber
ing and not dreaming of disaster, one half the
town, having no desire to disturb the repose of the
other half, slipped quietly away from its foundation
and slid gently into the bay. I was told that some

280 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

distance out in the harbor, when the tides were ex
tremely low, the roofs of the submerged houses
and the spires of the old Spanish cathedral could
be seen beneath the clear waters of the bay. We
got into the boat of the custom-house officer, who
directed the men to row us to the shore, and as we
landed we discovered that the town was in a wild
state of commotion. Soldiers and policemen hurry
ing from the barracks and station-houses, broken-
pated rioters under the escort of guards, and a
general stampede of frightened women and children,
made up an animated but rather unattractive picture
for the entertainment of peaceful strangers. In the
midst of this excitement there appeared upon the
scene an old man in his shirt sleeves, attended and
arrested by at least a good half-dozen policemen,
who were hurrying him along to prison.

I was afterwards told that the disturbance and
arrest had grown out of an attack upon two Chil
ians by some Peruvians, and that the former had
fled to the house of the French consul, M. Valrie,
who had protected them and offered the defense
less parties a sanctuary on his premises. A mob
had collected about the place, and when the consul
came out to ask their patience till a proper inquiry
could be made, the rioters became incensed ; and
at his offering protection to the Chilians the unruly
crowd attacked the old man, who, seeing himself
dangerously surrounded, snatched a sword from
the hand of one of his assailants, and clearing a
circle in the midst of the crowd fought his way out
amid a shower of stones and sticks. The scene as

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 281

it stood when we came upon the ground was ani
mated and dramatic.

As we arrived in front of the jail, the policemen
had unloosened their tight hold on the consul, who
stood calm and unruffled, with his arms folded and
with a look of utter contempt at the mob ; the
blood streaming from an ugly gash in his fore
head had stained his white hair, which seemed to
stand up defiantly. The expressive features of the
old man had a fine aristocratic cut, and contrasted
strongly with the low-browed, swarthy Peruvians
who surrounded him. They hissed their anger at
him and brandished their sticks and knives about
his head ; but the resolute look from his clear blue
eye, and the quiet smile on his pale face, told of
the supreme satisfaction he felt as he gazed in
triumph at the well-battered heads of the enemy,
and, old as he was, but few would have liked to
trifle with him upon even ground.

I have mentioned this little incident as I after
wards became intimate with this interesting old
gentleman, and had some curious experiences with
him.

I consulted the list of departures, and found
that I could not possibly leave for Panama inside
of ten days ; so, with the rest of the passengers,
I determined to spend that time in Lima. This
city was founded by Pizarro in the year 1535, and
a magnificent cathedral built by him still stands in
the center of the plaza. Through each one of the
principal streets of Lima flows a clear stream of
water. Pizarro had viaducts constructed from the

282 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

foot of the Andes for the purpose of running these
useful sewers through the city. It is a bright and
sparkling place. The ladies are considered the
most beautiful in the world, while the men are
the most insignificant; My South Carolina friend
was particularly susceptible to female beauty, and,
being unable to restrain his enthusiasm, would
start back as every new and beautiful face pre
sented itself: pausing suddenly and grasping me
by the arm, he would point at some lovely
beauty, and go off into an ecstasy of delight.
Many of them would veil their faces, while their
cavaliers would look stilettos at my enthusiastic
friend.

The South American cities are extravagant in
the use of gas, and Lima at night is brilliantly
illuminated. There was a French comic-opera
troupe at the theater, so we wended our way in
that direction. The crowd was great, and we
had difficulty in procuring seats, which at last we
accomplished by paying high prices to the spec
ulators. The dress circle is reserved entirely for
ladies, who have their open private boxes which
encircle the whole tier. They never go into the
parquet, so that part of the house was filled with
gentlemen, and, as the curtain fell, they all got
out their opera -glasses, and, turning around, began
surveying the beauties in the circle. This is the
custom; it is not considered rude; on the con
trary, the fair ones expect it, and prepare their
toilets to meet the demands of this masculine
scrutiny. If we ^were struck with the handsome

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 283

ladies on the plaza in the daytime, what was our
amazement at the fascinating- scene before us as
we stood with our backs to the curtain and gazed
in wonder at the audience ! The circle was ablaze
with beauty, the black eyes of the senoras and the
senoritas vying- in brilliancy with the diamonds in
their raven hair. Their toilets were exquisite —
flowing, gauzy silks in pale pink, blue, white, and
amber ; light and delicate fans waved with a grace
only to be accomplished by those who have Cas-
tilian blood in their veins. A Frenchwoman is
graceful and knows it, but a Spanish woman
is graceful and does n't know it. There is such
a difference in the effect of this ! The extraor
dinary part of the sight was, that hunt where
you would, there was no discovering a plain
face — nothing but beauty. These bewitching
sirens have a lovely olive complexion, tinged
with deep carmine, singularly white, pearly teeth,
and eyes so deep and black that I said to myself:
" Oh, Father O'Grady, it was lucky for the little
Sydney maiden that you did n't stop in Lima on
your way to Australia." The good St. Anthony
himself could never have withstood such glances
as were here revealed.

Just before the end of the opera it is customary
for the senors to vacate the parquet and station
themselves in a long line to watch these lovely
creatures pass out; and as they move slowly
through the line of admiring gentlemen they
begin to undulate those fascinating fans that
almost speak, and bow and smile so sweetly

284 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

that everybody seems to be making love to
everybody else.

After the opera we walked through the Grand
Plaza. The majestic old cathedral of San Fran
cisco loomed up grandly in the dark night The
rich stained-glass windows were illuminated, and
a dismal peal from the organ, accompanied by a
low, wailing chant from the monks, told that
a midnight funeral service was being held. The
body was laid out in front of the altar, with kneel
ing friends and relatives about it. The dirge was
in Latin, and was chanted in a minor key, pro
ducing an awful effect, and one that I should think
would be anything but consoling to those who are
left to mourn the dead. I never saw a funeral
service at night before, and the contrast just after
the merriment of the opera was very striking.
In the morning (it being a fast day) \ve went to
the same church to hear mass. The outside of
the cathedral had a cheap and tawdry appear
ance in the daylight, resembling theatrical scenery
under the same circumstances. The plastering,
broken and decayed, was painted a pinkish yel
low; the doors and windows blue and green; the
ironwork and figures were gilded with cheap Dutch
metal — giving the whole building the tone of a
decomposed Christmas cake.

On entering the church our ears were saluted
by a magnificent orchestra playing the overture to
" Masaniello." There are no pews in this cathe
dral ; the great open space in the center is flagged
with stones, and hundreds of people were on their

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 285

knees at prayer ; a motley group composed of all
grades of society — native Peruvians, half-castes,
and pure Spanish, all mixed together. A lame old
mendicant, with his feet swathed in bandages and
his crutches by his side, was groveling on the pave
ment, possibly asking relief from agonizing pain ;
farther on was a little market girl with a basket of
flowers in her hand ; between these knelt a stately
and beautiful sefiora in rich and costly black lace,
her raven hair done up with a jeweled comb, and
sparkling gems in her ears and upon her fingers.
This seemed to me the pure democracy of religion.
Out of the church these people had their different
spheres ; their roads in life were widely separated ;
but here, where they prayed to God, they seemed
to be upon a common level, and the lady and the
beggar offered up devotions side by side.

After breakfast we walked out into the court
yard, and there I saw, for the first time in my life,
a beggar on horseback — not the proverbial fellow
who, having suddenly come into a fortune, bestrides
a prancing steed and goes galloping over the
heads of his old comrades, but a beggar mounted
on his own charger. He got down from his sad
dle, and, taking off his sombrero, walked slowly
and in a cringing sort of way from one point to
another, asking alms. He had a villainous walk,
and shambled along with a halt first in one leg and
then in the other, almost dragging his unshapely
limbs after him, his shoulders dropped and his face
turned up with a hypocritical smirk upon it; but
with all his fawning, his snake-like eyes had a

286 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

searching, eager look that seemed to charm the
unwilling charity out of the guests, and upon
receiving each donation he would roll up his eyes
and invoke a benediction on the giver. Nobody
wanted to give him anything, yet most of them
did ; our group was disgusted, and declined to be
blessed on this fellow's terms, at which he gave us
a look not at all resembling a prayer, and most
threatening in its aspect. After browbeating most
of the bystanders out of their money he coolly sat
down to count it, and then, without the slightest
look of gratitude, lighted his cigarette, mounted
his horse, and rode leisurely away.

I was naturally curious to find out something
about this fellow, and in a conversation with the
landlord learned that there were many of his class
living on the outskirts of Lima. It seems they are
a kind of half-beggar and half-brigand people, and
prowl about at night in the dark streets near the
edge of the town, begging from strangers. They
seldom commit murder, but have a way of terrify
ing their prey into submission; the one we saw
was especially bold, plying his trade in the open
day. Their victims generally think it better to give
something and so quietly get rid of them.

After I had been about a week here my old New
York friend, the calker, who had hailed me on my
arrival, called on me, as he said, to talk over old
times ; not that we had ever met in America, but,
as he put it :

"Don't you know when a fellow in a foreign land
sees another fellow from the same place he 's from,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 287

he kinder wants to pump him out, don't you
know?"

" Pump him out" I naturally presumed was a
technical phrase of his profession, being an opera
tion to which a ship is subjected previous to calk
ing. I asked him if I was right in my surmise.
"Quite," said he; "you are watertight on that
point."

"Have you been long in South America?" I
said.

" What 's become of Laura Keene ? " he replied.

From my past experience I saw that he was go
ing to do all the pumping, so I quietly submitted.
He began asking the whereabouts of the actors
that had played in " Our American Cousin." He
seemed to have treasured their names as if they
had been old friends. I wondered at this, and
thinking I might venture on a question, asked him
why he was so anxious to know all about them.

"Well," said he, "the actors a fellow sees in his
young days, don't you know, he never forgets,
though he has never spoken to 'em. He seems to
kinder know 'em. Why, I could go on and tell you
the names of all the old companies for years back

— at Wallack's, Burton's, and even way off in the
days of Mitchell's Olympic. Blake, Chanfrau,
Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams, Charles Walcott

— yes, and a hundred more. They seem like old
friends to me." Here he paused for a moment, as
if calling up some old theatrical memories. At last
he seemed to wake up, and said, in a mysterious
way, "Did you ever see a ' fandango'?"

288 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

"No," I said; "what is it?"

" Well, it 's a place where Spanish girls sing and
dance, and play the guitars and castanets. The
company is kinder mixed, and it 's a leetle danger
ous sometimes."

I told him the latter part of the programme
would certainly have no attraction for me.

" Well," said he, " there 's one thing in Callao I
want you to see ; it 's the Spanish theater. I shan't
tell you what it 's like ; but you won't regret go
ing, for it 's the darnedest, queerest theatrical per
formance you ever saw or ever will see."

I was now, naturally, interested, and went with
him that evening to Callao, six miles from Lima,
to visit the Spanish theater. We got seats in the
dress circle, where we could have a good look at
the entertainment and the audience. The cheap
part of the house was quite full. In the pit there
were entire families of men, women, and half-grown
children. They appeared to be quite respectable,
but very hilarious. The place was filled with
smoke, the cigarettes being plied with great vigor
in every direction. The performance opened with
a farce. There was little or no dialogue, but plenty
of practical fun. The characters seemed to be in
a continual state of excitement, suffering, and ter
ror. A man with a white face would go up the
chimney and come down black, a baby was thrown
out of a window, and an old lady burned her hus
band with a red-hot poker. The audience were
very much amused at this, and I noticed that their
glee was at its height when any one suffered physi-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 289

cal pain. After this performance came Spanish
dancing of an excellent kind, full of graceful poses
and not at all vulgar. The dancing was followed
by instrumental music and singing.

As I traced the plot of the next play through the
action I discovered it to be "The Prodigal Son,"
illustrated by dialogues and tableaux. The parting
of the father with his boy was exceedingly well
done, and many of the audience were in tears.
The temptation scene at Memphis, where the
prodigal gambles and is lured away by beautiful
women, was well acted and realistic. Then came
the return of the prodigal, which ended the play.

I fancied that now the entertainment was over,
but the alert calker laid his hand on my arm, say
ing with earnest meaning, "Wait a minute."

The theater was darkened, the cigarettes were
put out, and a solemn hush went up from the audi
ence. The place was as still as death. The peo
ple almost stopped breathing. I seemed to be the
only one who did not know what was coming.
Now there came a low moan of anguish, as if from
a great distance ; so expressive of sorrow, and yet
so gentle we could scarcely hear it. An invisible
organ began a solemn dirge, and as the curtain
rose there before me was Mount Calvary with a
complete tableau of the crucifixion, the whole scene
represented by living figures — Christ upon the
cross, the two thieves, and a group of female figures
kneeling upon the ground. I was startled at this
unexpected sight, but I saw at once by the rever
ence of the audience, and the earnest manner in

290 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

which the tableau was given and received, that no
sacrilege was intended. On the contrary, the be
holders were devout : some were on their knees ;
men were praying, women were weeping, and
nearly all made the sign of the cross and bowed
their heads. I was transfixed with wonder as I
looked upon the scene. In the distance there were
dark and ominous clouds, streaked at the horizon
line with a blood-red color as the sun was going
down. The walls of the distant city were dimly
visible, and against this dark mass the three weird
crosses stood out with a bright light shining upon
them. The patient anguish of Christ was wonder
fully represented in the upturned face, while the
heads of the two thieves hung down in abject, grov
eling misery. The contrast was marvelous, and
the terrible grief of the women stretched out in
agony upon the ground was full of reality. The
curtain slowly fell as the organ pealed out a solemn
hymn, and the audience rose and left the theater
with a quiet, noiseless step, as if they were going
from church.

Here is a subject that at once opens up a field
for thought and discussion. The religious tableau
that I saw in Callao is, undoubtedly, the same one
given at the close of the Passion Play in Ober-Am-
mergau, which thousands of devout Christians as
semble to witness. They pay for their admission,
and look upon the exhibition with no other feeling
than that of reverence ; yet if the same picture were
presented here by the same people the audience
would be shocked and distressed. And this is be-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 291

cause, in the first place, we naturally feel the influ
ence of the country we happen to be in, and imbibe
sympathetically the sensations of those who sur
round us. In the foreign lands we know that time
and custom have made it with them a sincere and
holy illusion ; whereas if this entertainment were
sprung suddenly upon us here it would give great
offense, because we should recognize that the sub
ject was merely a catchpenny. It is the motive,
therefore, which renders the same act religious or
sacrilegious ; and what is perfectly right in Bavaria
or South America would not be tolerated in Eng
land nor in the United States. But I saw, from

*
witnessing the impression of this performance on

the ignorant minds of people who could neither
read nor write, how effectively the Church in the
old'en time must have used the drama as a mode
of illustrating religious history.

No rain ever falls in Lima. A heavy mist settles
upon the city just before daylight and hangs like a
pall over the place. About ten o'clock the sun
breaks forth, quickly dispelling the misty veil as
if touched by a fairy wand. The sky in an instant
becomes azure blue, and the atmosphere so bright
and transparent that, as you look at the far-off
Andes, the crevices of the mountains are as clearly
defined as if you were viewing them through an
opera-glass. The gaudily painted shops and
dwelling-houses, and, above all, the bright-colored
walls and steeples of the churches, are crude and
offensive when you are close to them, but viewed
in the distance the effect is very different

292 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

»

There is an antique bridge of quaint Spanish
architecture some three miles from the city,
through which falls, or rather tumbles, a cataract
of foaming water. Standing on this structure and
looking back on the city at sunset, the rich colors
melt into each other with the most ravishing gra
dations. Above the red-tiled roofs of the old
houses rise the innumerable tall, gray towers and
gilded spires of the different churches. They
seem to flash in the sunlight and stand out clearly
against the deep-green background of tropical
foliage that skirts the base of the Andes. These
lovely mountains rise one above another, melting
from deep green to blue and purple* The peaks,
full six thousand feet above the level of the sea, are
capped with snow, glowing pink and golden against
the clear blue sky.

Nothing can exceed the brilliancy of this tropi
cal city. The costumes of the people are very
picturesque. The ladies wear no hats, but wind
about their heads and shoulders a graceful scarf
called the rebozo. This is passed across the face,
leaving only one eye of the lady exposed. Whether
this is done to preserve the complexion, or to give
a coquettish air to the wearer, I do not know, but
the effect is full of mystery and romance. The
children dress precisely like the grown people.
Little senoritas six or eight years old wear the
",rebozo," and peep their one little eye out in quite
a comical way, and the boys go about in black
swallow-tail coats and high silk hats, looking like
so many General Tom Thumbs.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 293

The streets swarm with lottery offices, and the
hawkers stop you in the plaza, or waylay you at
the corners, offering tickets for sale. Gambling
is the besetting sin of the country. Men, women,
and children of all grades indulge in this passion.
In the quiet summer evenings it was delightful to
walk by the dwellings and pause to look in at
the courtyards. Many of these are illuminated
and decorated with fountains and with orange
trees bearing fruit and blossom at the same time ;
senors and sefioritas swinging in hammocks, smok
ing cigarettes, and playing their guitars. It was a
very dreamland of romance.

Since I was there this lovely city has been
desolated by war. The majestic churches and
beautiful homes have been battered down by
the armies of Chili, the p'roud people subjugated,
and the whole country of Peru laid in waste and
ruin.

We sailed from the port for Panama early in
August. On our second day out I recognized the
old French consul at Callao. He and his wife
were promenading the deck arm in arm, their
little son clinging affectionately to his father's
hand. To my surprise the consul stopped me,
and, offering me his hand, exclaimed : " Ah, Mon
sieur Jefferson, permettez-moi. I have &nown you
exceedingly very often. I was been consul in
Sydney when you arrive zer four times a year
ago ! " He introduced me to his wife, who was an
exceedingly bright, witty little lady, and as my
agent spoke French fluently, we made the trip

294 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

through the tropics the more agreeable by an in
terchange of civilities and ideas.

It was fortunate that my agent was a good
interpreter, for if in his fracas with the Peruvians
M. Valrie's head had been as badly broken as his
English, he never would have left South America
alive. He and his wife and his son were bound up
in one another's love.. The lad was not more than
twelve years of age, quite young to be the son of
such an elderly couple, and he seemed to be the
sunlight of their lives. He would often pat his
father's hand and kiss his mothers cheek in
the warmth of his affection, and at such times the
old people would glance first at the child and then
at each other, as though they were saying, " Was
there ever such a boy as ours ? " One could not
look at this Arcadian trio without shuddering at
the thought that their happiness came so near
being destroyed by a ruthless mob of South
American ruffians, whose whole lives were not
worth one drop of the blood they would have shed.
M. Valrie, like all his countrymen, was devoted
to the drama and the opera. As I had been in
France, and was familiar with the acting of the
favorite comedians, we would compare notes as to
our opinion of the reigning favorites of the French
stage. H§ delighted in these conversations, some
times wandering off in imagination to the Opera
Comique, singing the overtures to "Zampa" and
" Fra Diavolo " all out of tune, and giving imita
tions of some of the noted actors, shrugging his
shoulders and grimacing to the delight of us all.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 295

At such times it was curious to contrast this inno
cent, vivacious little man with the calm and digni
fied consul whom I had seen behave so courageously
when in the hands of the rioters, and difficult to
realize that it was the same person.

The moon shines with great brilliancy in the
tropics, and when the Pacific is on its good behav
ior the long, low swells, as smooth as glass, reflect
great streaks of light in fantastic shapes across
their surface with splendid effect. During these
glorious nights our little party would sit out on
the deck of the steamer, humming old tunes and
keeping time with the beat of the machinery, and
generally finishing the evening with a game of
whist, the agent and Madame against the consul
and me. The French are bad whist-players, and
surely M. Valrie was a champion in this respect ;
he never would return my lead, and whenever I
took a trick he would trump it triumphantly if he
could.

"My dear M. Valrie," I would say, "why trump
it? the trick was already ours."

" Ah, mon Dieu ! " he would exclaim ; " how
treacherous I am ! Ah, well ! we bos take him ter-
gezzar, so we make sure of him, eh ? it is always
ze same t'ing."

A singularly interesting old gentleman called to
see me while I was acting in Australia. He had
been in the colonies for a number of years. His
early life had been passed in the society of actors,
and his memory of the celebrities of the theatrical
profession was quite remarkable. He knew the

296 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Kembles, Mrs. Siddons, Jack Bannister, and Ellis-
ton intimately. He had witnessed the O'. P. riots
and Kean's first night in London. As he had a
rich fund of theatrical anecdotes, I was charmed to
cultivate his acquaintance. We passed many hours
together, walking and chatting in the Botanical
Gardens, and in these rambles I gleaned from him
much of the unwritten history of the English stage
during the reign of George the Fourth.

I mentioned to him that I was about to visit
England by way of South America. " Then/'
said he, "you will pass through Panama?" I told
him that I should do so. He became very much
agitated, and said : " My young friend, I have a
dear daughter living in that city. She is the wife
of an English merchant. I have not seen her for
fifteen years. My only child ! God knows how I
have longed to look upon her dear face again.
Will you not see her, and tell her that we have
met ? I know that she will feel anxious to hear of
her old father. We are separated by thousands of
miles, and shall never meet again upon this earth,
but it will be a great comfort to me if you will let
me know that you will bear her this message."

He gave me the name and direction of the mer
chant, and I promised him faithfully that I would
see the old man's daughter when I passed through
Panama.

On my arrival there I felt much pleased to think
that I should possibly see the daughter of my old
Tasmanian friend and bear to her the loving mes
sage of her father. I detest the tropical cities, and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 297

have always been miserable until I could get out
of them, with the single exception of Lima. The
humid atmosphere, filled with the rank odor of
vegetation, the sweltering heat, the lazy and inan
imate inhabitants — all combine to make one
restless and unhappy. So it was a comfort to con
template an approaching sensation of a domestic
character. Besides, there was a touch of the dra
matic in the prospect of telling a long-lost daughter
of her long-lost father, and I quite felt my heart
beat as I approached the house of the English mer
chant. The name on the door was quite correct,
and, in accordance with the old gentleman's direc
tion, I rang the bell and sent in my card by a warm,
red-faced footman, who returned and ushered me
into the presence of his master. The gentleman
remained seated as I entered, and seemed to be
looking directly over my head. The day was broil
ing hot, but the coolness of this reception seemed
to lower the temperature at least twenty degrees.
I had entered the house with some agitation, so I
confess that this unexpected freezing rather discon
certed me. The man sat bolt upright in his chair
at a writing-desk. The conventional English frock-
coat was conventionally buttoned from the waist
to the breast (and that, too, with the thermometer
at a hundred) ; a starched white cravat (nothing
could have melted on this gentleman), a great par
rot nose, drooping eyelids, together with a crisp
and bristling head of gray hair, completed the pic
ture of the stiffest piece of humanity I had ever
seen. There was a pause.

298 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

"Well," said he, "what is it ? I don't know
you ? "

I was so enraged at the whole proceeding that
I was going to reply that if he kept on looking
two feet over my head the probability was that he
never would know me ; but I restrained myself, and
merely replied that I had a message for his wife
from her father in Tasmania. He looked as dead
and unmoved at this as if he had not heard me at
all, and apparently addressing the footman, but
with his eyes still directed over my head, said,
"Show this person up-stairs and inform your
mistress."

He took his eyes from the wall and began to
examine some papers with that kind of earnestness
that seemed to say, " I don't want any remarks
from any one on any subject whatever ; go away
at once, and oblige me by not returning." His
manner admitted of no appeal, so I followed the
man, and was ushered into a large, gloomy apart
ment where he left me to announce my visit to her
ladyship. In the tropics all the dwellings are closed
tightly against the light, so as to render them cool
during the heat of the day ; but surely this was
the darkest room that I had ever seen, and when
I entered, having just come out of the bright
glare of the street, the objects in it were
scarcely visible, and only revealed themselves one
by one. Little sharp streaks of yellow sunlight
forced themselves through the closed window-
blinds, and gradually I discovered that the walls
were dead white; not a picture or ornament of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 299

any kind hung upon them ; there was no carpet on
the floor, and the only articles for use were a half-
dozen of those uncomfortable and inhospitable
mahogany chairs covered with dismal black hair
cloth, and a long sofa made of the same mournful
material. The high backs of this unfriendly furni
ture were stiff and straight, or perhaps inclined a
little forward, as though they were designed to tip
the visitor gently out, the smooth hair-seats
rather assisting in the process. I fancied that the
grizzly ogre of this gloomy place kept his young
and lovely wife a kind of prisoner here, and tor
tured her with these unsympathetic surroundings ;
and if this were so, I thought how her heart would
beat and her eyes fill with tears as she listened to
one who bore a father's blessing to his child, and I
blamed myself for not having written just a line to
prepare her for my visit that she might have time
to recover from the shock, for I felt now that the
meeting might be embarrassing to both parties. I
was working these thoughts in my mind when the
door of the adjoining room opened slowly and her
ladyship appeared.

She was dressed in white, and as she glided
slowly into the dark room one would almost have
fancied she was a ghost. Her figure was tall and
graceful, and her bearing aristocratic and self-
possessed.

I was standing when she entered, and as she
seated herself upon the sofa she motioned me to a
chair without speaking a word. I was disappointed
in her cold and stately manner, for her temperature

300 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

was quite as low as her husband's, and she received
me if possible a trifle more frigidly. Her face was
very beautiful, but so cold and quiet that I felt
nothing short of a domestic communication could
melt such a piece of marble.

In a few words — for I was really anxious to get
out of the place — I told her that I bore an affec
tionate message to her from her father.

" Oh, indeed. Poor father ! I hope he is quite
well ? May I offer you some luncheon ? "

I could no more have swallowed a morsel in that
house than I could have embraced the master of it.
The face of her father rose up before me. I called
to mind the tears in his eyes and the trembling
emotion of his voice when he spoke of his only
daughter, and I thought how years ago that fond
old man had perhaps looked forward to the birth
of his child, and when it came into the world how
he had taken it in his arms with loving care and
attended its early life; and now, in his old age,
thousands of miles away, with his heart still yearn
ing to see her, she sat there, cold and impassive,
receiving his loving message with chilling indiffer
ence. I could stay no longer, and rose to depart.

" Madam," I said, " I came here to deliver a mes
sage with which I was charged, and fancied that
the nature of it might give you some pleasure;
but I feel satisfied that I have unintentionally been
intruding."

" No," she replied ; but it sounded so much like
" yes " that I took up my hat and bowed myself
out.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 301

The hot and narrow streets of the town were an
agreeable change after the freezing I had just gone
through, and I was only too glad to get out of this
charnel-house. I do not know nor can I tell to
this day the cause of my unlooked-for reception.
At first it crossed me that perhaps the father had
committed some crime, and that they were ashamed
of him ; but when I recalled his simple, honest face
I felt how unjust were my suspicions ; so I could
therefore only conclude that it was the natural aus
terity of the merchant and his wife.

It is over twenty years since the little incident I
have just narrated took place, and if this cheerful
couple are still alive I do not envy them the many
hours of stately misery they must have passed in
each other's society.

I was glad to get out of Panama. Our party,
consisting of my son, a friend from Australia who
was now acting as my agent, and mygelf, crossed
the Isthmus, and took an English mail steamer from
Colon to Southampton, passing through the group
of West India Islands, touching at St. Thomas and
Jamaica, and arriving in London about the middle
of June, 1865.

CHAPTER XI

IN LONDON

The New "Rip Van Winkle"— English Rela
tives — John Brougham — Tom Robertson —
Artemus Ward

ON my arrival in London I met Dion Bouci-
cault. He asked me if I intended to act ;
I told him that I certainly did if I saw an
opening offering a fair chance of success.

" What material have you got ? " said he.

I replied that I had a great part in an indiffer
ent play, " Rip Van Winkle."

Boucicault did not seem to fancy the selection,
thinking the subject stale, but we talked the mat
ter over and soon came to terms. He undertook
to rewrite the drama for a consideration agreed
upon between us. - He never seemed to think
much of his own labor in this play ; but I did, and
do still, with good reason.

While the work was in progress I made an en
gagement with Benjamin Webster to act the part
at his theater, the Adelphi. I sent to America for

308

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 303

my three other children to join me in London, and
took up my abode at No. 5 Hanover Street, Han
over Square. It was generally supposed that four
years of success in Australia had enabled me to
return home a millionaire. Quite a mistake, I as
sure you. Not poor, certainly, but not rich ; just
in the condition that is most desirable for all ;
neither too poor nor too rich, with something to
give one security in case of accident, constant em
ployment, and a moderate income. Less than this
may be inconvenient at times ; more than this is
a nuisance. But I must stop writing speculative
philosophy and stick to facts, or I shall turn from a
biographer into a lecturer.

The play was finished in due time, and a day
was set for reading it to the company. The time
arrived, and I hastened to the theater with some
anxiety, for I am always attacked with a nervous
fit when I am to meet a new assemblage of actors
and actresses. I cannot get over the feeling, and
to this day it is the same. I of course had expected
both Boucicault, the author, and Webster, the man
ager, to meet and assist at the reading, but when
I got to the theater I found letters from both, say
ing that they could not attend. There seems to
have been an old feud between Webster and Bouci
cault, and I presume they did not desire to meet ;
so I read the play. Among the actors who were
present at the reading was Paul Bedford. The
name of this cheery old man is scarcely known in
this country except among professionals who have
been abroad, but in England it is cherished with

304 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

much affection. He had been a member of the
Adelphi company for forty years, perhaps longer;
he sat opposite to me during the reading, and was
an attentive and sympathetic listener.

When I came to the entrance of Nick Vedder in
the opening scene, " Ah, that 's me, my lad; that 's
me," said he.

He chuckled over the humor of the play, and at
times he wiped the tears from his eyes as the pathos
of the language moved him. " I say, my lad,"
said he, " I 'm told there is twenty years to elapse
between the third and fourth acts?" "Yes," I re
plied. "Well, I ain't alive then, am I?" "No,
Mr. Bedford," said I ; " you are cut off in the flower
of your youth." "What, die in the first act?
Good ! " And so he went on with a running fire of
fun altogether at variance with good discipline.

Mr. Billington, who was to act in the play, and
who was considered an authority in such matters,
said, "There 's a hundred nights in that play; am
I right, Paul ? " To which Bedford replied, quot
ing from his old character of Jack Gong, " I believe
you, my boy " ; and then, taking me by the hand,
he said with marked solemnity, " My transatlantic
kid, I welcome you to the classic precincts of the
royal Adelphi."

While the play was in rehearsal I was desirous
that Boucicault should see how I had arranged the
business of the scene, as I knew that his judgment
and opinion upon what I had done would be of
value, and would serve to strengthen the effects.
So it was arranged that a full rehearsal of the play

PAUL BEDFORD.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 305

and the scenery should take place on the Monday
preceding its production, and that he was to be
present.

With my portion of the work he seemed well
pleased, but during the setting of the scenery some
thing went wrong ; nothing of very great impor
tance, I fancy, or I think I should remember the
details of it. It was, however, enough to start him
off, and in a rage he roundly abused the theater
and its manager. As I before mentioned, he and
Mr. Webster had been at variance for some months.
The latter gentleman was hot-tempered arid highly
sensitive. Previous to my arrival in London he
and the author had been quarreling and wrangling
over their respective rights and wrongs. Mr. Bouci-
cault, now that an opportunity offered of his speak
ing his mind before Mr. Webster's company,
launched forth against the manager, the theater,
and its misrule with great energy. He denounced
the whole establishment, spoke of his own experi
ence on that stage, and likened the present to the
former imbecility of management to which he had
been subjected, and so revenged himself on the
absent manager by holding him up to scorn before
the actors. After the rehearsal \vas over, and the
enraged author had departed, I found that the com
pany were very indignant at Boucicault's abuse of
their absent chief. Mr. Phillips, the stage-mana
ger, took me aside and told me that he feared
much trouble would arise from the scene that had
just taken place ; and to my surprise informed me
that Webster, knowing that Boucicault would .be

306 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

present, was there himself, concealed behind the
curtains of a private box, where he had heard the
whole affair. Webster was very bitter when trans
formed into an enemy ; and I can imagine the
furious glare that must have been in his fierce eyes
as he listened to the abuse of Boucicault, who,
quite innocent of his presence, had been thus de
nouncing him. If ever there was an occasion
when listeners heard no good of themselves, surely
it was on that memorable morning. I was about
leaving the theater in quest of Mr. Webster when
the call boy handed me a note from him. It was
short, but entirely to the point ; it referred in no
very complimentary terms to the scene that had
just taken place and to the author of it, and con
cluded by saying that he could not allow any play
of Mr. Boucicaulfs to be acted in his theater.
Here was an unexpected check. I at once asked
where I could find Mr. Webster, and was told that
he had gone home. I got the address and jumped
into a cab, making a hot pursuit after the irate man
ager. Mr. Webster lived upon the Surrey side, I
think ; I know that we passed the celebrated old
madhouse of Bedlam on our way. But bridges,
steeples, and madhouses almost merged into one
during this exciting ride, so far as my mind was con
cerned; for I had looked upon the approaching Mon
day night as the most important professional one of
my life, and I was not going to have my golden op
portunity snatched from me without a struggle.

As I turned the corner of the street in which he
lived, I saw that the old manager had arrived and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 307

was striding up the steps of his house ; his hat was
firmly set on his head, and the very back of his
coat seemed to be in a rage. He entered, and I
followed close upon him. The old housekeeper
admitted me and took my card. She said that her
master had just gone up-stairs ; and at that moment
I heard a door bang with an angry thud that
echoed through the old house like the ominous
thunder that precedes a storm. The place had a
bare and lonely look, being scantily furnished and
very dusty. The old housekeeper, who was scant
of breath, came to the head of the stairs and beck
oned me up. When I reached the landing she
pointed rather timidly towards a side door, and
said to me cautiously and in an undertone, " That 's
his den, as he calls it." I thought the name most
appropriate just at the present time ; I felt there
would be a scene, but there was nothing left except
to have it out. I knocked at the den, and the lion
growled, " Come in ! " I opened the door, and —
enter Daniel. The old manager was quite pale,
and if he were then not in a towering rage, the
effects of one were plainly visible upon his angry
face. His gray eyes, wonderfully expressive,
snapped with the reaction of temper ; and his black
wig — one of those unmistakable articles with a
hard parting on one side and a strong tendency to
get away from the back of the head — had got
awry, and this gave him anything but a reconcili-
atory appearance. We had a long and stormy
scene. Of course he was not unreasonable enough
to blame me, but his opinion of the whole affair was

308 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

delivered in language more tinged with billingsgate
than " choice Italian." I told him that any inter
ruption of my opening would be very injurious to
me ; that the play, scenery, and actors were even
now fully prepared for action ; that I felt quite sure
of myself in the part, as I had already played it
with success in the old version ; and that to inter
rupt the present arrangement was to imperil my
future. He suggested that we should discard
Boucicault's play and substitute the old version.
To this I answered nay, explaining to him that not
only was Boucicault's play infinitely superior to the
old one, but that I had made my agreement with
the author, and it must be kept. I insisted that I
would not submit to act the Mercutio in the matter,
and so fall because of a quarrel between the Mon
tagues and the Capulets, and finished by showing
him that it might be disastrous to his season to
throw aside a good play ready for production and
trust to chance to fill up the vacancy. He began
at last to see the matter in the light in which I had
placed it, and withdrew his objections, though with
much reluctance.

My approaching appearance was the important
dramatic event of my life. I had been five years
from America, and was on my way home, and I
felt satisfied that if this new version of " Rip Van
Winkle" succeeded in London, my way was quite
clear when I returned to the United States.

On Sunday evening, being alone in my lodg
ings, I got out for my own admiration my new
wig and beard — the pride of my heart — which
I was to use in the last act I could not resist

BENJAMIN WEBSTER.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 309

trying them on for the twentieth time, I think;
so I got in front of the glass and adjusted them
to my perfect satisfaction. I soon became en
thused, and began acting and posing in front of
the mirror. In about twenty minutes there came
a knock at the door.

"Who's there? "said I.

" It 's me, if you please," said the gentle but agi
tated voice of the chambermaid. " May I come in ? "

" Certainly not," I replied ; for I had no desire to
be seen in my present make-up.

"Is there anything wrong in the room, sir?"
said she.

" Nothing at all. Go away," I replied.

"Well, sir," she continued, "there 's a police
man at the door, and he says as 'ow there 's a
crazy old man in your room, a-flingin' of his 'arnds
and a-goinj on hawful, and there Js a crowd of
people across the street a-blockin' up the way."

I turned towards the window, and to my horror
I found that I had forgotten to put down the
curtain, and, as it seemed to me, the entire popu
lation of London was taking in my first night.
I had been unconsciously acting with the lights
full up, to an astonished audience who had not
paid for their admission. As I tore off my wig
and beard a shout went up. Quickly pulling down
the curtain, I threw myself in a chair, overcome
with mortification at the occurrence. In a few
minutes the comical side of the picture presented
itself, and I must have laughed for half an hour. I
had been suffering from an attack of nervous dys
pepsia, consequent upon the excitement of the past

20*

310 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

week, and I firmly believe that this continuous fit
of laughter cured me.

On Monday, September 5, I made my first
appearance before a London audience, and was
received with a cordial welcome. The play of
" Rip Van Winkle " was entirely new to the
English public, and its success secured for it
a run of one hundred and seventy nights. The
company worked with a good will and never
flagged in their energy.

After I had been acting a short time in London
I received, to my surprise, the following letter :

HACKNEY, September 30, 1865.

DEAR SIR: Somewhere about the year 1801 an uncle of
mine, bearing your name and belonging to your profession,
went to America.

On seeing the announcement of your appearance at the
Adelphi I was naturally curious to know if you were a distant
relative of mine or not. My wife and I sat in the front of the
theater last night, and when you came upon the stage we were
quite certain that you had the honor of being my first cousin.
My father, Lieutenant Frank Jefferson, commanded the queen's
yacht at Virginia Water — you may have heard of him. I am
the father of an English family, in comfortable circumstances, so
you need not be alarmed lest you should have stumbled upon
a batch of poor relations, and if you will dine with us next
Sunday we shall be glad to give our Yankee cousin a hearty
cockney welcome. Under any circumstances let me say that
it gave me great pleasure to see a face from a far-off country so
unmistakably like the Jeffersons.

My wife and children join me in hoping that you will come.

The inclosed diagram and address will show you how to find
us. We dine at three (not fashionable people, you see), and I shall
be at the gate on the lookout for you. Yours truly,

TOM JEFFERSON.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 311

I was much pleased at the tone of this letter,
and replied that I was undoubtedly a cousin of
his, but a second one, as his uncle was not my
father, but my grandfather; writing him also that
I would join his family party on the following
Sunday.

Sure enough, he was at the gate; and as he
gave me a hearty shake of the hand I looked in
his face, and it seemed to me as though my father
stood before me : the likeness was indeed wonder
ful. His wife and a host of children were waiting
inside, and they received me right royally.

We all sat down to dinner — roast beef and
plum pudding. My cousin said that they did not
usually have the latter dish till Christmas, remark
ing that he looked upon it as a national institution,
not to be trifled with, and that I must feel myself
highly complimented at being treated to this formi
dable article; but as he knew that I never got
anything so delicate in America, my enjoyment of
it would console him for leaving the beaten track. ,

In ten minutes the ice was broken, and I was
one of the family. Of course I had a thousand
questions to answer about America, and my glow
ing accounts of the New World filled the boys
with a desire to emigrate at once. Tom was a
wag, and told the youngsters that he had heard
when I first arrived that I was quite black ; but a
few months* sojourn in the clear atmosphere of
London had restored me to the natural color of my
ancestors, at which the little ones wondered and
the big ones laughed.

312 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

We had another family reunion at Christmas,
when all the Jeffersons we could hunt up dined
with me at Verey's. In the afternoon the whole
party went to Astley's to see the pantomime. Of
course there was the usual crowd about the doors
that always assembled during this festive season at
the theater. I was elbowing my way to the box
office for the purpose of purchasing tickets, when I
was accosted by E. T. Smith, the manager.

" I cannot allow you to buy tickets," said he.

" I am obliged to you," said I ; " but I have my
family with me, and could not think of intruding
them on your good nature."

" Your family — take my box," said he. " You
are quite welcome. Where are they ? "

"There," I replied, pointing to the group.
" Twenty-four of them."

" Twenty-four ! " said he, aghast.

"Yes," said I, "and as they are not profes
sionals, I must insist on buying the tickets. All I
ask is your good offices in getting us seats together."

This was done, and in the center of the theater
sat four-and-twenty Jeffersons " all in a row."

If there is one thing more amusing than an Eng
lish pantomime, it is the English audience that go
to see it. Men, women, and children who are
intelligent enough on ordinary occasions seem,
under the influence of this potent spell, to lose all
control of themselves. Before the curtain rose, the
faces in front were expressive and even thoughtful.
But when the entertainment was in full swing,
all sense of propriety was thrown off.

f BROUGHAM AS THE "o'GRADY" IN "ARRAH NA POG0E."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 313

The audience were carried away and delighted
beyond measure, and swallowed the most idiotic
nonsense with one broad grin that seemed to
mantle the face of the whole house. Shout after
shout went up when the clown sat on the baby ;
and as the cockney swell appeared, extravagantly
conscious of his own dignity and charmed by the
effect of his personal appearance, the heartless
public sat in eager expectancy, well knowing that
some disaster was about to befall him ; and when a
half-barrel of flour was poured upon his devoted
head they would burst forth in the most boisterous
manner/ Any catastrophe that occurred to the
police was always hailed with delight. Why is it
that these guardians of our safety are held in such
contempt theatrically ? When a double-dyed vil
lain gets his quietus, and the innocent heroine is
restored to the arms of the first walking gentle
man, we applaud with delight. Surely under
these circumstances one would suppose it to be our
duty to resent any affront offered to the "force " ;
but no, the slightest indignity bestowed upon a
virtuous policeman, such as the emptying of a
bucket of water over his helmet, seems to give us
joy.

It was very pleasant to meet with some of the
artists, actors, and men of letters in London. To
sit and chat with renowned people that I had heard
of from boyhood — to have the erratic and domi
neering advice of hot-headed, kind-hearted Charles
Reade pounded into one ; to be patted on the back
by dear old Planch^ ; and to be glared at through

314 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the fierce but honest spectacles of Anthony Trol-
lope, was a treat indeed. I had come unheralded
and unexpectedly among them, and they made me
very welcome.

At this time (1865-66) Boucicault's play of
" Arrah na Pogue" was in the height of its well-
merited success at the Princess's Theater. It is
one of the best of the Irish sensational dramas, as
they are styled, though to my mind this play de
serves a higher title. I had been three or four
months on the ocean, and it was a treat to see a
play again, particularly so good a one, and one
mounted with such excellent taste' and acted so ad
mirably. The O'Grady played by John Brougham
was certainly the best piece of acting I had ever
seen at the hands of this comedian. The character
is that of a gay, graceful Hibernian gentleman,
full of wit, good spirits, and geniality ; in short, it
was John Brougham. He threw a jaunty air into
the part that gave it the flavor of an Irish soldier
of the last century. The cunning author had taken
the just measure of the actor and fitted him with a
character that the artist could scarcely get out of.
I have never thought that Brougham was a great
actor ; that he was a pleasing one and a great fa
vorite with the public there can be no doubt, but
he never seemed in earnest. He invariably acted
a part as though it were a joke. But his handsome
face and winning manner made him hosts of friends,
and they liked him too well to pass critical judg
ment upon his performances. As a writer he made
some pleasing additions to the light dramatic liter-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 315

ature of his time. " Pocahontas" is certainly the
wittiest American burlesque that has been written.
His table-talk and after-dinner speeches were ever
welcome, and his presence at convivial meetings
was much enjoyed. No one was more desired at
the festive board than " Genial John." He partic
ularly shone in addressing the audience on " bene
fit" occasions, or in making an apology to them
for some unavoidable accident that had occurred
during the performance. He assuredly had much
experience in these matters, for during his manage
ment of Brougham's Lyceum, afterwards Wallace's,
the mishaps were quite frequent. His easy good
nature entirely unfitted him for the duties of a the
atrical conductor. Discipline and order were not
among his virtues ; he lacked the forethought, too,
that might prevent catastrophe, and the firmness
that sets things right when they happen to go
wrong. If, however, he was deficient in discipline,
his ready wit was more than a match for the negli
gence of his company. And it was once surely put
to the test during the performance of " Pocahon
tas." I think, however, that the matter I shall
speak of took place after his theater had fallen into
the hands of the elder Wallack. The actress who
had been playing the leading part suddenly left the
city, having accepted an engagement in Baltimore
without giving notice to the management. No
word of this proceeding reached the theater till a
few minutes before the curtain was to rise on the
performance. Of course for some minutes there
was a deadlock. No one could suggest the faint-

316 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

est remedy, and Brougham was nonplussed. At
last he went in front of the curtain and explained
the situation. He confessed he was at his wit's
end, — a long distance for him to travel, — and
really did not know what to do unless the audience
felt disposed to accept the burlesque of " Pocahon-
tas " with the gentle savage omitted. He said there
was an old theatrical anecdote setting forth that
on one occasion the character of Hamlet had been
so wretchedly acted that on its next representation
that part had been omitted by particular request
"Now if 'Hamlet* can be acted without the hero,
why may not * Pocahontas ' be played without the
heroine? You all know that 'Pocahontas' is a
much finer play than ' Hamlet' ; and if you do not,
I do, for I wrote it myself. Will you permit us to
make the experiment? " The cries of " Certainly," *
" Go on ! " were so encouraging that Brougham
retired amidst applause and the curtain was rung
up. The burlesque proceeded admirably until the
music was played for the entrance of the absent
squaw. The audience wondered what Brougham
could possibly do. He was acting the father, Pow-
hatan, and was on the stage awaiting the approach
of his daughter. He immediately addressed the
audience somewhat in the following words : " Ladies
and gentlemen, that is the sweet strain which is
supposed to bring Pocahontas on the stage ; you
are aware that she is at present in Baltimore, and
the law of the land will not permit a Christian,
much less a savage, to be in two places at once.
You can yourselves vouch for the alibi ; but if she

T. W. ROBERTSON.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 317

were here she would say — " and here assuming
the look and tones of the absentee, Brougham spoke
her part first, then assumed his own character, and
so kept up the dialogue. The audience were con
vulsed with laughter at the admirable imitation,
and by their applause acknowledged that Brougham
had outdone himself through the wit with which
he had mastered the difficulty.

Among the many new friends I made in Lon
don none was more delightful to meet than Tom
Robertson. During my engagement at the Adel-
phi he was writing his domestic comedies for the
Prince of Wales's Theater, then under the manage
ment of that vivacious actress and industrious little
manager Marie Wilton.

Robertson's plays were nearly all successful, and
deservedly so too, for they contained original char
acters, bright and witty dialogue, and were entirely
free from the French coarseness that had character
ized so many of their predecessors. All honor to
the memory of Tom Robertson, who was at least
among the pioneers in working this reformation ;
and to his successors too, who following in his
wake gave to the public musical extravaganzas
more humorous and melodious than the Parisian
burlesques, without one tinge of their impertinent
vulgarity ; proving incontestably that wit and
harmony in comic opera need not depend for
their effects upon sensual music and licentious
libretto.

Tom Robertson was of all the men I have ever
talked with the most entertaining. His descrip-

318 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tions of people, performances, and incidents that
had passed before him during the early portion of
his life were exceedingly brilliant. Events that
would have been commonplace when described in
an ordinary way were so colored and illumined by
his vivid imagination that they became intensely
interesting. At No. 5 Hanover Street, Hanover
Square, Tom usually dined with me once a week.
He was perfectly familiar with dramatic literature
and discoursed delightfully upon the plays of the
past. Goldsmith was his favorite author, whom
he considered the very finest and purest writer of
English comedy that had lived during the last
century; and though I did not quite agree with
him in this idea, he said much that strength
ened his argument, pointing out the ingenious
construction of his plots, the unstrained wit of his
dialogue, and the natural conduct of his characters.
Robertson came to my dressing-room one night
just as I had finished acting, and asked me to
go with him to Drury Lane to see the last two
acts of " Macbeth," then being played at that
house. We arrived at the theater just at the
opening of the fourth act, and ensconced ourselves
snugly in a private box. It seemed that matters
had gone wrong during the whole play, and when
mishaps do occur in the earlier scenes of a drama,
particularly a Shaksperean one, they are apt to
continue to the end. We were se.ated well back
in the private box and could enjoy the tragedy
without being observed which as it happened
was quite fortunate. The solemn cave scene

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 319

opened with the three witches at their ghastly
work about the caldron. Mr. Phelps, as Mac-
beth, came upon the stage with the martial
stride and dignity that characterized this excel
lent actor, and the weird sisters summoned their
phantom confederates to appear. At last one of
the apparitions slowly rose to the surface only
to disappear suddenly without giving Macbeth
warning or receiving any himself; there was a
slight crash, but nobody was hurt. Next came
the passing by of the six ghostly kings, the first
one of whom lost his crown, and in stopping to
recover it was run down by the other five mon-
archs, who came so rapidly upon the heels of
their leader that the several dynasties were all
in a heap, creating a spiritual revolution that fairly
convulsed the audience.

In the last scene, just as Mr. Phelps had given
orders to have his banners hung on the outer wall,
that frail edifice gave way before it was besieged,
and tumbled the king of Scotland into the middle
of the stage, where, with uplifted claymore and in
a sitting posture, he presented a sight of harmless
indignation that would have revenged Macdufffor
the murder of his entire family.

I have no idea what ever became of the tyrant
after this, for Tom and I were compelled to flee
from the theater and seek some dark alley in Drury
Lane, where we pounded each other in the exuber
ance of our mirth. Nothing could exceed the
drollery of what we had witnessed except Tom's
description of it the next day.

320 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Artemus Ward arrived in London just as I was
leaving it He brought me a letter of introduction
from my cousin William Warren. I was much im
pressed by Ward's genial manner. He was not in.
good health, and I advised him to be careful lest
the kindness of London should kill him. I had
never seen his entertainment, but I was quite sure
from what I had heard of it that he would be suc
cessful, and told him so, cautioning him to give only
his Sunday evenings to his friends, and on no
account, in his delicate state of health, to expose
himself after his entertainment to the pernicious
effects of a London fog. But he was weak, and
yielded to the influence of his many admirers, so
his career was brilliant but short. He had that
unfortunate desire for the second round of applause
that is so fatal to the health and position of an actor.

See how unfair you gentlemen are whp fancy
that you are the friends of the actor. You sit quietly
among the audience during the whole evening,
enjoying an actor's performance and resting your
self at the expense of his labon When this is over
you are thoroughly recuperated and he is weary ;
yet you ask him now, when he needs the rest that
he has given you, to sit up till daylight — for
what? To amuse you again.

Artemus Ward died not many months after his
London debut, attended to the last by Tom Robert
son. A strong attachment had sprung up between
them, and the devotion of his new-found English
friend was touching in the extreme and character
istic of Robertson's noble nature. Just before

ARTEMUS WARD.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 321

Ward's death Robertson poured out some medicine
in a glass and offered it to his friend. Ward said,
11 My dear Tom, I can't take that dreadful stuff."

" Come, come," said Robertson, urging him to
swallow the nauseous drug ; " there 's a dear fellow.
Do now, for my sake ; you know I would do any
thing for you."

" Would you ? " said Ward, feebly stretching out
his hand to grasp his friend's, perhaps Tor the
last time.

"I would, indeed," said Robertson.

" Then you take it," said Ward.

The humorist passed away but a few hours
afterwards.

At the conclusion of my London engagement I
acted in Manchester, playing Rip Van Winkle and
a new part in " The Parish Clerk," a beautiful little
drama written by Dion Boucicault The piece did
not succeed ; partly because it weakened after the
second act, and partly in consequence of my failing
to hit the leading character. I then acted in Liver
pool, and at the end of my engagement took a sail
ing vessel (the Sunrise) and embarked for New
York. This was considered rather a romantic idea
by my friends ; but if one has the time, I do not
know anything pleasanter than a clipper-ship voy
age across the Atlantic in July.

CHAPTER XII

EAST AND WEST

Edwin Adams — The Combination System —
George D. Prentice — Tom Glessing again —
George Holland — " The Little Church Around
the Corner " — Charles Fechter

ONE of the first to call on and welcome me
on my return to America was Edwin
Adams. He had acted under my stage
management at Baltimore many years before : he
first came to me almost as an apprentice ; step by
step he rose from the ranks, and before we parted
he was playing the heroes of the stage with much
promise. During the time I had been in Australia
and England he had become, as he expressed it, a
" war star." This was the technical term given by
the old legitimate stars and actors to satirize those
self-lighted luminaries who had flickered during
the national strife and who had gone out after the
cessation of hostilities. The claim of Adams, how
ever, to a prominent artistic position was sufficiently
strong to retain its hold, and I found him enjoying

322

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 323

his well-earned success among other fine actors of
the day. The animation of his face, the grace of
his person, and, above all, the melody of his voice,
well fitted him for the stage. While he could not
be fairly called a great artist, he was something
often more highly prized — a born actor, a child
of nature if not of art, swayed by warm impulse
rather than by premeditation. His Enoch Arden,
so far as the character is related to the stage, was
a creation entirely his own, and one, too, that
touched the sympathy of his audience. As a man
he was loving and beloved, and his honest hand
was ever ready with its charity. I regarded him
with something more than friendship ; and this was
natural, for I had known him when he was a youth,
and his likeness to my brother in character, ex
pression, and voice was quite remarkable. Their
careers, too, were singularly alike — brilliant, but
brief. Those who remember them both will recall
the strange resemblance that existed between
Charles Burke and Edwin Adams. They never
met.

On the 2Oth of December, 1867, and in the city
of Chicago, I was married to my second wife, then
Miss Sarah Warren. I fancy now that my reader
is somewhat alarmed lest I should pour upon his
devoted head a heavy shower of matrimonial intel
ligence ; but he may breathe freely, for I have no
intention of committing such an impertinent intru
sion. But as reticence upon this subject may be
misconstrued, I must crave permission to express
my reasons for sparing him the infliction.

324 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

If I dwell lightly upon domestic matters, I do so,
not from any want of reverence for them, but from
a conviction that the details of one's family affairs
are tiresome and uninteresting. I shall endeavor,
therefore, to subdue any rising desire I may feel to
descant upon the wonderful talents of our children,
as it is quite possible that we may take more inter
est in them than the public do. We fond parents
are in the habit not only of overrating the intelli
gence of our offspring, but also of recounting to
strangers the wonderful remarks that " so astonish
a mother," and in our innocence fancy that those to
whom we relate these marvels are as much inter
ested in them as ourselves, when in truth they care
little about them, and are generally bored by the re
cital of such trifles. Repeating this nonsense not
only renders us ridiculous, but it is unfair to others,
who, out of mere civility, are obliged to look amazed
and to appear to be entertained.

After finishing an engagement in Chicago, I
decided to play in Detroit and other cities through
out Michigan where opera houses had lately been
built; but as there were no stock companies at
tached to these new places, I engaged one for a
short season to travel with me. In Detroit I met
Mr. Windham, who was acting a play called "The
Lancers " there, with a company of his own. These
were the first two combinations that I remember :
there may have been others before, but not to my
knowledge; so if this system is as pernicious as
its enemies say that it is, I fear I am responsible
for assisting in this new departure which seems to

EDWIN* ADAMS.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 325

have worked such a revolution in theatrical mat
ters. Whether the present system will be hurtful
or beneficial, time alone can tell ; I think it will be
beneficial. I am tolerably conservative, but when
I cling to an old custom it is not for the reason
that it is old, but because I think it is good. Any
change that offers an improvement — and there are
few that do not — we gladly welcome. This so-
called combination system has occupied so much
attention lately, and, rightly or wrongly, has given
rise to so many professional discussions, that I may
be pardoned for desiring a hearing on the subject.
I do not lay claim to having been the first to ex
plode this theatrical bombshell ; but certainly if any
harm comes of it I should bear some of the blame,
for I was at least among the pioneers. It is
natural, then, that I should desire to defend it ; but
in so doing I shall lay bare both sides of the ques
tion, and the reader must judge for himself, as I
fancy most readers generally do.

The conservative element within us always ar
rays itself against any fresh movement, seldom
stopping to consider whether the new departure is
beneficial or hurtful. I remember when my father
had his flint-lock gun altered to the new percussion
system that serious-looking, iron-gray old sports
men shook their wise and melancholy heads, and
hinted that they had thought better of him. One
ancient Nimrod scratched his perfectly round con
ventional pate, saying, " What will you do if you
get out of caps ? " This intelligent question rather
nonplussed my father; and the old sports seemed

326 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

relieved to think that the punishment for his rash
step would soon follow the crime, forgetting that
as the demand was made for the gun, the supply
of caps would follow it up. The breech-loader met
with the same prejudice; and ever since Galileo
made the world move, discoverers and inventors
have been persecuted. It was quite reasonable,
therefore, that when the tide of the "combination
system" set in condemnation of it should naturally
follow. That there are two serious objections to
the new departure must be admitted.

First, the necessity for constant travel keeps the
actor away from his home and family the greater
portion of the yean This is a domestic incon
venience that is to be regretted. The second ob
jectionable feature is, that as in many cases an ac
tor plays only one part in a year, he gets no varied
experience in his profession, and is apt to grow
careless in his performance by constant repetition.
But, apart from this consideration, the system has
been an artistic and commercial success beyond all
doubt; and the agreeable result — to the public, at
least — is so evident that it seems quite unnecessary
to argue in favor of it. I will, therefore, only point
out a few of its advantages.

The old stock companies had to be limited to a
certain number of actors, who were compelled to
perform in a multitude of plays — the whole round
of the Shakspereari drama, old English comedies,
Yankee farces, nautical pieces, and pantomime ;
and at times the cracked voices of " respectable
utility " and second old men " in dismal discord

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 327

sang." I myself well remember leading the
choruses for the Seguin company; where I led
them to I have not the slightest idea. It is unrea
sonable to suppose that any stock company could
do full justice to this varied bill of fare, no mat
ter how efficient. The actors were in many in
stances among the best I ever saw, but they were
very often not adapted to the parts for which the
manager was compelled to cast them. Under the
new regime a Shaksperean company are selected
with special reference to the plays for which they
are required. Thus an old English comedy may be
cast to actors whose early training fits them to
the task. For domestic dramas, comic operas, and
sensational plays actors are selected whose talents
not only suit the particular characters for which they
are engaged, but whose temperament and personal
appearance harmonize with them. The performers
themselves are no better than those who acted
under the old form of dramatic government, but on
the principle of " selection " a more perfect unity
has been evolved. And further, the vast continent
of America, with its wonderful and progressive
cities thousands of miles apart, seems to have de
manded the establishment of this important insti
tution. The inhabitants of these distant places,
having fine opera houses, enjoy the advantages of
seeing the same plays acted by the same compa- ,
nies as those of the larger cities. If they can afford
and appreciate it, then they deserve it, and these
entertainments can only be administered by the
combination system. The theatrical profession is,

328 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and always has been, in a transient state, but it is
progressive ; it does not retrograde. Actors may
not be any greater now than they were a hundred
years ago, but the systems by which their talents
become distributed are adapted to the growth of
the country. What new invention has been cast
aside, after once having been fully approved, to
return to an old one? I cannot remember any.
The old-fashioned tinder-box is used now only
as a curiosity. We prefer matches. What mid
night student, however poetic, would return to
the penny dip after he had once tasted the delights
of his first gas jet? We do not ride in a stage
coach in preference to a modern drawing-room
car, and when the first balloon express bears us
across the continent we shall look down upon the
locomotive.

In Louisville I was introduced to the editor of
the "Louisville Journal," George D. Prentice,
poet, satirist, journalist, and wit, whose caustic par
agraphs and frequent serious encounters with po
litical enemies had made him a man of mark in
more than one sense.

When I met Mr. Prentice his fame and health
were both declining, and he was just on the eve of
resigning his control of the " Journal" into, as he
said himself, younger and abler hands. His recep
tion of me was cold and formal ; but I had already
been warned that it was his way, so of course I was
prepared not to take offense. Besides I felt, as I
had no business matters to speak of, that my visit
was somewhat of an intrusion. Curiosity to see

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 329

and talk to a remarkable man is not an exceedingly
high motive, and I deserved no warmer greeting
than I received.

As my friend and I entered the sanctum Mr.
Prentice was seated at his desk. He had an ab
stracted look, and scarcely moved his position
till I was introduced. He then slowly turned his
head, and regarded me without an expression on
his face that denoted the slightest interest. He
looked a picture of careworn loneliness that might
awaken the sympathy of any considerate man — a
tall, gaunt figure wrapped in a faded calico dress
ing-gown ; thin black hair, streaked with gray, and
straggling over a high forehead ; black, bushy eye
brows, shading a pair of dull, dreamy eyes, that
seemed to have lost their fire. I found afterwards,
however, that they could be rekindled at the short
est notice.

After a few frigid civilities, my friend suggested
that perhaps Mr. Prentice might enjcy an evening
at the theater during the week that I was to act.
He replied that he seldom went to the theater, and
that acting, unless it were extremely fine, always
bored him. This was not a cheering remark, cer
tainly, but it left me in no doubt as to the justice
of his reputation as a satirist. With a hopeless
endeavor to thaw him out and return good for evil,
I ventured to remark that some two weeks since I
had dined with General Hancock in Washington,
and that the general had, during the evening,
highly entertained us by reading some of his (Mr.
Prentice's) poetry ; to which he replied, " I am

330 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

glad that you were so easily pleased." This seemed
to make matters a little worse; so our common
friend, with admirable tact, came to the rescue, and
changed the subject by launching into politics.
Here the old war-horse was at home; and he
brightened up wonderfully, being much more inter
ested in such matters than he could possibly be in
me, and taking no pains to conceal it Before tak
ing our departure Mr. Prentice brought up the
subject of the theater, and reluctantly, I think,
requested a seat to witness the performance on the
following evening. I told him that I would have
a private box placed at his service. He said he
would prefer this arrangement, so that if he felt
wearied during the performance he could with
draw without attracting attention. I was naturally
grateful for this consideration, but I could not
quite see the compliment of it.

In my brief acquaintance with Mr. Prentice I
could scarcely judge of the true quality of his
humor, but to me it seemed grim rather than gen
ial. His skill in journalism was exhibited in his
epigrammatic style of paragraphing, rather than in
a knowledge of political economy. The journalist
of a quarter of a century ago was a slow, old-fash
ioned gentleman, who would look like a curious
piece of bric-a-brac in an editorial room of to-day.
But Mr. Prentice was a man possessed of rare lit
erary skill, and must have felt the necessity of his
abdication very keenly. His sad face told that he
plainly recognized that his day of usefulness was
over.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 331

He came to see the play, and I fancied that
the desolation of Rip must have reminded him
of his own loneliness, for when the curtain fell
upon the last act he came to the door of my
dressing-room, and, giving me his hand, thanked
me for a pleasant evening. I was on the point of
retorting that I was glad he was so easily pleased,
but I did not. This kind of resistance is always
best, for one seldom regrets one's silence upon
any subject.

During the season of 1868 and 1869, while I
was acting through the Western country, I met
my old friend and companion Tom Glessing;
we had not seen each other for about eighteen
years. He lived in Indianapolis, where, by hard
work, he had managed to buy a lovely little
cottage, in which his widow afterwards lived.
The house was surrounded by and covered with
roses, all of which had been planted by his own
hand; among them were many choice varieties
for which he had sent to England. He had great
knowledge of plants, and for the warmth and
growth of his pets had built a little greenhouse
close to the kitchen, through which he had cut
a hole to let in the heat, and so economize in
fuel. He told me that, knowing it was neces
sary for ventilation that an opening should be
made to let the hot air out again, he cut another
hole back into the kitchen; and he said he never
could tell which way the hot air came in or which
way it went out

Glessing had a most ingenious way of arguing,

332 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and would turn a misfortune into a blessing with
a few words. It so chanced that the management
of the theater at which he painted was seized
with a sudden desire to economize, and proposed,
among other methods, to reduce Tom's salary.
He acceded to the proposition without the slight
est demur, and told me of it in the most cheerful
way; in fact, one would have supposed, by his
manner, that his income had been increased by
the reduction. I was about to sympathize with
him, but he would only treat the matter in an easy
and delightful way, assuring me that he considered
himself the gainer by the new arrangement.

He explained that he always fidgeted during
his summer vacation, and that while he was en
joying himself at the old farm-house, down by
the seaside, his pleasure was often spoiled by the
knowledge that he was sacrificing so much time
and money there, when he might have been at
work and under salary. " You see then I got $75
a week," said he; "now I only get $50, so it is
a clear gain of $25 a week in my favor, at least
during the vacation."

As I have before said, the attachment between
Tom Glessing and me was warm and sincere ;
he would have been as welcome to a share in
my worldly goods as he was to a large corner
of my heart ; and I am quite confident that he felt
the same affection for me that I did for him. .

When he decided to leave his old home in
Indianapolis he determined to take with him as
many little remembrances of it as he could con-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 333

veniently carry, among which was a moss-rose
bush that he had sent to England for, and had
tended for years in his garden. He asked me
to keep it and have it cared for, as he now had
no place to shelter it ; so it was left with me.
From the time he parted with it the plant
drooped ; this, of course, I considered *due to
changing it from its old home to a new one, or
perhaps from some lack of nutriment to which
it had been accustomed. For seven years it lan
guished in my garden, and during all that time
never bloomed. Its position was shifted each year,
our gardener using all his care and judgment, but
it did not thrive.

About this time it was decided that Tom with
his family should pay us a visit : this was in April,
just seven years since he had left the plant with
me. From this time it began to revive, and in
June, when he arrived, it was in full bloom, as
though to welcome him. Of course this may have
been a mere coincidence, but it is an interesting
one, and bears out the old superstition that a tree
or plant which has been reared by a loving hand
will wither and die when its owner passes away.
Since Tom's death the rose has languished again,
and is now dying away.

There are many causes for such matters without
attributing them to supernatural agencies ; but to
me there is something so pleasant in believing
them to be mysterious that I am afraid I often
cherish the idea that they are the offspring of a
spiritual growth rather than a real one. My friend

334 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

says, "What good can such things do?" I can
only answer, " What harm can they do ? "

The calm and happy life of Glessing seemed
not only to grow out of a naturally contented
nature, but from a love of retirement. I have
scarcely ever seen true happiness except in one
who wls comparatively obscure. An insatiate am
bition that craves for notoriety is always in a
distressed condition. It feeds on adulation, and
starves unless the appetite is continually fed with
praise. There is an excitement and a kind of
false grandeur about this existence that may de
light the idol ; but such a position is only reached
at the expense of never knowing who are your
friends, and a dread of the time that must come
when the dream will be dispelled. No man
need be envied who is the center of a group
by whom he is flattered and petted, for even
while such adulation lasts it is not strength
ening; it only stimulates. There can be no
healthy nourishment in such poor stuff, and
gradually 'the very sight of those who admin
ister it becomes as sickening as the diet itself.
They know this, too, and when the time comes
for their idol to topple over they wink and nudge
each other as he falls,

In strong contrast to Glessing, I will relate a
melancholy instance of a fallen man that once
came under my notice. We were not only ac
quaintances, but friends. He was both genial and
hospitable, and entertained with grace and splen
dor. Upon his walls hung costly pictures, and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 335

his cellar was filled with rare wines. At his board
one always met interesting people — wits, states
men, belles, and beaux. If not the most refined, it
was at least the gayest house, when his various
guests were assembled, that I can remember. He
was a man of culture and taste, and one who, I
would have supposed, could never have borne the
shock of a fallen estate. His extravagance was
boundless, and I think that this passion grew out
of another — the desire of making a display and
posing as an important central figure.

I knew this hollow splendor could not last, and
one day told him so. He laughed, " Oh, yes, it is
all right." His hope was large, and his nature so
buoyant that he felt confident of pulling through.
The storm was coming, but he would not see it.
At last it burst. The entertainment had been
superb ; I was the last guest. Just as I was going
out — he had been merrier that night than usual —
he detained me for a moment, and, taking my hand,
said with a cheerful smile: "Well, old chap, you
were right; it 's come. This is my last Sunday
here; everything will be sold out on Saturday
next." I asked if his wife and daughter knew it.
"No, not yet; they will in the morning" — with a
smile. "Good night." When the door of this
dazzling and ill-fated house closed on me I stood
in the dark street and wondered what would be
the sad fate of this butterfly of a man ; and I felt
that under the genial and hospitable garb he wore
for the world there must be a cold and stony heart
— that could be so gay while knowing that in a

336 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

few hours his wife and child would feel a shock
that would break their hearts.

The blow came, the house was sold, and all the
pictures and the costly furniture were sacrificed un
der the hammer of an auctioneer. The women
bore it bravely, and set to work in good earnest
to retrieve their fallen fortunes. The mother took
boarders, the daughter taught music ; but the ex
travagance of a selfish man was too great a drain
on their slender earnings, and so they dropped
down, down, from bad to worse. What eventually
became of the family I never knew, but the man
dwindled into a mere hanger-on of society, watch
ing the arrivals at the hotels in the hope of catching
some old acquaintance. He is living still, and his
attenuated figure may be seen gliding in and out
of the different hotels, or lounging in the reading-
room, where he pretends to look over the papers,
while the eyes in his gaunt, wan face search eagerly
for some familiar friend of whom to ask a loan. Now
and then he meets an acquaintance who, for the
sake of "auld lang syne/* has not the heart to
refuse him. Then his face lights up with the old
selfish smile, and he will chuckle with delight as
he talks of bygone merrymakings, just as though
he had enjoyed one yesterday and would have an
other to-morrow. Hope, eternal hope, has kept
him up all through, and will do so to the last. He
still thinks that his troubles will soon end ; and so
they will, poor fellow ! — in a pauper's grave.

George Holland was distinctly an actor of the old
school, invariably introducing even into modern

GEORGE HOLLAND

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 337

characters its traditions and conventionalties ; his
effects were broadly given, and his personality was
essentially comic. He was quite an old man when
I first knew him, and I had serious doubts as to
whether our acquaintance in the theater would be
an agreeable one ; for by the terms of my engage
ment I was to hold a leading part as the comedian
of the company, and he, who had always occupied
that station, was placed as second to me. I natu
rally thought that feeling himself comparatively
subordinate, and that I, a younger man, was to
outrank him, he would, by his manner at least, re
sent my intrusion upon his former ground. I was,
however, agreeably mistaken ; for I found him
too generous a man to harbor any jealous feel
ings, and to my gratification we were friends from
our first meeting. It is pleasant also to know that
this relationship extended over many years, and up
to the day of his death.

The useful career and unblemished character of
George Holland will be recalled by all who knew
him. He lived, a bright and cheerful spirit, in this
world for eighty years, for time could not age his
youthful heart. He was the merriest man I ever
knew. Practical joking was a passion with him, and
though his pranks were numerous, by some good
fortune they always ended innocently and writh
harmless mirth. I remember that on one occasion,
when some goldfish had been placed in the orna
mental fountain in Union Square, Holland dressed
himself in a full sporting suit, and with a fish-bas
ket strapped upon his shoulder, a broad-brimmed

338 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

hat upon his head, and a rod in his hand, he un
folded a camp-stool, and quietly seating himself in
front of the fountain began to fish, with such a pa
tient and earnest look in his face that no one could
have supposed that it was intended as a practical
joke. This strange spectacle soon attracted a cu
rious crowd about the sportsman, who, with a
vacant and idiotic smile, sat there quietly awaiting
a nibble. A policeman soon forced his way through
the crowd and arrested Holland, who explained
with a bewildered look that he was fishing in his
own private grounds. The policeman naturally
concluded that the intruder was some harmless
lunatic, and, patting him kindly on the shoulder,
bade him go home to his friends. Holland burst
into a flood of tears, and while affectionately em
bracing the guardian of the law contrived to fasten
the fish-hook into the collar of the policeman's coat,
who walked slowly and sympathetically away, un
consciously dragging the line and rod after him.
' The crowd, seeing the joke, roared with laughter
as Holland quickly made his way to the nearest
omnibus, which he reached before the infuriated
policeman could catch him.

Upon the announcement of the death of George
Holland, I called at the house of his family, and
found them in great grief. The sister of Mrs.
Holland informed me that they desired the fu
neral to take place from the church, as many
of Mr. Holland's friends would like to mark their
love and respect for him by their attendance,
and that the house in which the family lived

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 339

was too small to receive the large gathering of
people that would be likely to assemble. The
}ady desired me to call upon the pastor of her
own church, and request him to officiate at the
service. I at once started in quest of the minister,
taking one of the sons of Mr. Holland with me.
On arriving at the house I explained to the
reverend gentleman the nature of my visit, and
the arrangements were made for the time and place
at which the funeral was to be held. Something,
I can scarcely say what, gave me the impression
that I had best mention that Mr. Holland was
an acton I did so in a few words, and concluded
by presuming that probably this fact would make
no difference. I saw, however, by the restrained
manner of the minister and an unmistakable
change in the expression of his face that it would
make, at least to him, a great deal of difference.
After some hesitation he said that he would be
compelled, if Mr. Holland had been an actor, to
decline holding the service at the church.

While his refusal to perform the funeral rites for
my old friend would have shocked under ordinary
circumstances, the fact that it was made in the
presence of the dead man's son was more painful
than I can describe. I turned to look at the youth,
and saw that his eyes were filled with tears. He
stood as one dazed with a blow just realized ; as
if he felt the terrible injustice of a reproach upon
the kind and loving father who had often kissed
him in his sleep, and had taken him on his knee
when the boy was old enough to know the mean-

340 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ing of the words, and told him to grow up to be
an honest man. I was hurt for my young friend,
and indignant with the man — too much so to
reply; and I rose to leave the room with a mor
tification that I cannot remember to have felt before
or since. I paused at the door and said :

"Well, sir, in this dilemma is there no other
church to which you can direct me, from which
my friend can be buried?"

He replied that " there was a little church around
the corner " where I might get it done ; to which I
answered :

" Then, if this be so, God bless ' the little church
around the corner ' ; " and so I left the house.

The minister had unwittingly performed an
important christening, and his baptismal name of
" The Little Church around the Corner " clings to
it to this day.

While acting my first engagement at the Boston
Theater I met Charles Fechter. By the terms of
my agreement it was arranged that I should give
five nights' performance and a matinee each week,
Fechter playing only on Saturday night I had
not seen him act since my visit to France in 1855,
so that I had an opportunity of witnessing his
performance here some three or four times. His
Claude Melnotte and Don Cesar were unquestion
ably the best I had ever seen. The arrange
ment of his dramatic pictures was graceful and
unconventional.

William Warren, Charles Fechter, and I were
living at the same house during my engagement

CHARLES FECHTER.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 341

in Boston, and usually met at supper after the
play. This is not only the witching time of night
for an actor, but it affords a golden hour for
theatrical chat Charles Fechter was a most
agreeable and entertaining man. He had a rich
fund of theatrical anecdotes relating to the French
stage and told them with excellent dramatic effect.
Frederick Lemattre was an especial favorite with
him, and it struck me from what he said in relation
to him that his own style of acting was founded
upon that of his idol.

I think Fechter was less greedy of public
approbation than he was of the applause of his
brother actors ; he seemed to delight in portray
ing scenes from his different characters before
them. William Warren and I made an excellent
audience on such occasions, as we not only
thought highly of his artistic qualities, but were
naturally interested in the great actors of the
French stage, of whom we had heard so much and
seen comparatively so little. His description of
Lemaftre in the character of Belphegor was won
derfully graphic. I think Warren and I were
the only ones present on the occasion of this
illustration. He acted it to the life. We were
deeply interested; and he, catching, I suppose,
the spirit of our appreciation, became enthusiastic.
The art was so fine and the feeling so intense that
we seemed to be looking at the scene. The gar
dens of the chiteau, the fine company supposed to
be assembled, were not required to give life to the
acting. He addressed the imaginary guests with

342 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

such force that they seemed to stand before us.
As the mountebank, with his starving child cling
ing to him, weakened from the want of food, with
tears choking his utterance, he carried us com
pletely away. And when in a burst of grief he
caught his fainting boy in his arms, I think we
were both in tears.

In this respect Fechter seems to have somewhat
resembled Garrick, who, we are told, was as en
tertaining off the stage as he was on it. This
peculiar faculty has given rise to the rather unjust
suspicion that Garrick was not so great an actor
as his biographers would make us believe.

There is no doubt that many great actors are
unable to become sufficiently enthused to act well
off the stage, and there are some very indifferent
ones who can entertain privately with considerable
effect ; but there is no reason why artists may not
possess both faculties.

Mr. Fechter was thought to be somewhat erratic
both as a manager and in the conduct of his private
business ; he certainly failed in both England and
America in the former character. His directorship
at the Lyceum in London and his managerial
career in New York and Boston were not suc
cessful.

There are two striking instances of Mr. Fechter's
benevolence that I think were not made generally
public, and which I shall take the liberty of men
tioning. He retired from the directorship of the
Globe Theater in Boston in consequence of some
disagreement with the proprietor. The public,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 343

considering him the injured party, tendered him a
benefit, which I believe netted him something like
five thousand dollars. He accepted the compli
ment but declined to receive the money, requesting
the committee who had been most active in the
movement to name five public charities of Boston
to which he might give the proceeds. His request
was complied with, and he gave the five thousand
in accordance with the committee's selection. This
was certainly a generous gift, particularly as Mr.
Fechter was not a rich man, and as there can be no
doubt that at that time the money would have been
most useful to him.

Just previous to this occurrence a company of
French actors had been playing in Boston with
ill success, and had gradually fallen into financial
trouble. In their distress Fechter came to the
rescue. He was at that time a drawing card, and
his name announced for the benefit of his national
brother artists drew a crowded house, the proceeds
of which relieved them from their embarrassment.
Shortly after this a committee of actors from the
relieved company called on their generous comrade
and presented him with a testimonial of their
gratitude and a silver cup upon which was the
following inscription :

A Charles Fechter,

les artistes frangais de New York,

Boston, 1 6 Avril, 1870.

This same cup was discovered in a pawnbroker's
shop in New York several years after Mr. Fechter's
death, and was rescued by William Warren from

344 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the destruction to which the unrelenting crucible
would have condemned it. Warren presented it
to me, and I have it still

Much comment has been made on the usual
reception given to an American actor in England,
and vice versa. London and New York are naturally
selected as the initial points for the appearance of
plays and players, and it is reasonable to suppose
that in such large communities, containing, as they
do, thousands of actors and hundreds of critics,
there should be a small band of histrionic and
literary assassins, whose natures are embittered by
their lifelong failures. But the great public of
both hemispheres have no spleen to exercise ; they
welcome a new entertainment with the heartiest
warmth, if it affords them gratification. They have
neither the time nor the inclination to persecute
strangers. Of course if some element of national
pride is wounded there are always enough turbu
lent spirits to begin a disturbance, as was the case
with the Forrest and Macready riots in 1849 5 but
these occurrences are exceptional, and at no time
are they approved by public opinion. The spirit
of fair play circulates freely in Anglo-Saxon blood
on both sides of the Atlantic.

An excellent English actor may visit us, the
local features of whose performance are not under
stood; or an American will perhaps take an in
different play to London, and the public decline
to receive it — not because it is American, but
because it is bad. As soon as these weak spots
appear the assassination begins the churlish actors

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 345

wag their tongues, and splenetic critics draw their
pens — points envenomed, too. The unfortunate
victim returns home in either case under the natu
ral, but erroneous, impression that the country has
been up in arms against him.

With these convictions and the agreeable re
membrance of my professional success in 1865, I
had no apprehensions of failure when I visited
London ten years later. Shortly after our arrival
in London I entered into an engagement with Mr.
Chatterton to appear at the Princess's Theater in
November, and straightway proceeded with my
family to France, where we passed the summer

CHAPTER XIII

SCENES AND THOUGHTS ABROAD

Once More in Paris — French Acting — French
and English Painters — English Acquaintances
— The Reverend Joseph Jefferson — Gainsbor
ough — In Scotland — In Ireland

IN Paris we were delightfully situated, having
apartments at the H6tel Mirabeau, which
looked out upon a quaint and pretty court
yard, filled with plants, birds, flowers, and
fountains. Our party consisted of nine. This
was altogether too large a family to secure any
privacy for ourselves; and it is quite likely that
our four children did not secure privacy to any
one else. We were therefore delighted to get away
from this charming place, and I have no doubt
that the remaining guests shared our pleasure.
We took a furnished flat in Avenue d'Eylau,
where we could study French in sight of the
Arc de Triomphe; and for this laudable purpose
I engaged a celebrated teacher, Madame Some
body, who would have talked us to death if we
could ever have understood what she said.

346

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 347

She was a great character — fat, fair, and fifty,
I should say; always dressed in the extremes of
tawdry fashion, full of flounces and frills, with a
large head decked out in an enormous bonnet
and smothered with a flower-garden in full bloom.
Under her left arm she hugged three or four big
books, and with her right hand she flourished a
formidable blue cotton umbrella. She usually
came about ten in the morning, entering the
room all radiant with smiles and good humor,
making an extravagant courtesy, and saluting the
assembled family with, " Bon jour, mes chers
amis!' She would then pause for an instant, with
her head on one side, as much as to say, " You
see I address you in French always ; we must lose

no time."

After seating ourselves around a large center-
table Madame would adjust her spectacles, and,
looking over the top of them, begin to hurl her
terrible verbs at our heads. My children, who
were well versed in French, received and caught
them neatly, but they seldom struck me. She
promised to teach us in three months ; but I think,
from what I remember of her pronunciation of
our own language, that we could not have taught
her English in as many centuries. However, we
had all pledged ourselves to stick to it and master
the language at once : none of your reading, and
writing, and translating — oh, no! that would n't
do for us; it was to be practical, the pure solid
mother tongue, with a full Parisian accent. My
progress was of so wonderful a character that at

348 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the end of the first month, by hard study and
close application, I knew less about it than I did
when I began. The verbs became denser and
denser; so I retired from the academy, and, like
an indulgent father, abdicated in favor of my
children.

The villages near Paris are most attractive for
sketching, being full of glimpses of beautiful
scenes : through the trees some old chiteau or
French cottage, with those tall poplars so full of
character stretching out in the distance or reflected
in a stream. In this artistic atmosphere one who is
fond of painting feels a mysterious craving for his
canvas. I painted pictures all day and dreamed of
them all night

Madame Vert, the lady to whom the property
belonged, was a widow. M. Vert, it seems, had
bequeathed her the estate just previous to his death
on the dog-in-the-manger condition that she would
remain single for the rest of her life, it being
understood that in the event of her proving false
to this one-sided bargain the property was to
revert to his family. It is presumable that this
liberal-minded gentleman fancied that he would
slumber more peacefully in P£re La Chaise if he
were sure that his widow, after wearing out a long
life of single misery, would join him there unaccom
panied by another husband.

The man who took the inventory of the furniture
confided to me the strange and selfish conditions of
the will, and told me, moreover, that Madame Vert
was extremely unhappy under its restraint; and,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 349

as she was quite young and very beautiful, I have
no doubt that he told the truth, particularly as the
matter had nothing to do with his business, in
which latter department his veracity was more
than questionable.

The morning we took possession of the apart
ments Madame dropped in — by the merest chance,
of course. She stood for a moment in the door
way, a lovely picture of insincerity, regarding us
(the agent included) with her beautiful shoulders
and eyebrows elevated, and in an attitude of sweet
but melancholy surprise, — just as if she did n't
know all about it, — and then the agent explained
it to her just as if he had n't done so the day
before. The charming widow was tastefully
arrayed in half mourning, that non-committal
gray check trimmed with deep purple, a sort of
compromise between grief and cheerfulness, cut
and fitted in so stylish and graceful a fashion that
I wondered whether these becoming weeds were
worn out of respect for the lost one, or with a
design of capturing the next one — except that
the fatal clause in her husband's testament made
the latter quite impossible.

Madame regarded us with a sad smile, also in
half mourning, and was so charmed that her old
home was to be occupied by my family that we
felt much complimented; and when she departed
I think we were under the impression that our
landlady would have been distressed if any
other party had been before us in securing the
place.

350 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I had just been displaying to my family my last
picture in the shape of a landscape. I know now,
as I did not know then, how vain I was of the
miserable work, and call to mind the adroitness of
our new landlady in discovering my weakness at a
glance. She went into ecstasies over my daub of a
picture. This captured me at once, and when she
said that the style reminded her of Corot's I would
not have rented a house of any other lady in Paris
for the world.

She stood in the center of the drawing-room,
pointing to the different articles of comfort and
beauty that surrounded her, and gave us to under
stand that all belonged to my family and myself:
for her they possessed no further interest ; use or
destroy them, if we liked, she cared not. In fact,
I think she rather preferred the latter treatment, as,
when we gave up the place, we wrere charged
double for every scratch or spot that could be found
by the innocent agent. The whole house appeared
to have been arranged so that it would fall to pieces
on the slightest provocation. Expensive bits of
bric-a-brac had been so ingeniously poised upon
inadequate brackets that the vibration of a passing
cab made us tremble together. Dents, scratches,
and stains that were quite invisible when the in
ventory had been taken broke out in the parlor
furniture, and soon became contagious. Fire-
tongs, that had apparently been on friendly terms
when we first came, refused to unite ; annoying little
bits of inlaid marquetry had fallen out with the old
veneering, and defied our ingenuity to match them

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 351

back again. An arm-chair with a compound frac
ture in the right leg had let me down in a most
inhospitable manner, and when the French cook
appeared, displaying some damaged long-handled
copper utensils, I felt that the epidemic had reached
the kitchen.

The letting of furnished houses in Paris and
London should be classed as one of the black arts.
There is no necromancy equal to it. The so-called
smart American is an imbecile in their crafty hands.
"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said a spider to
a fly"; and when you are once in the web nothing
can extricate you but your check-book. Don't
attempt to struggle ; you will only entangle your
self the more.

London is worse, if possible, than Paris. During
the two years I was in the former city I rented two
furnished houses. I told the agent of the first one
how I had been treated in Paris. " Ah, yes, yes !
those fellows are dreadfully treacherous ; but did
you have no one to represent you ? No ! Now see
how differently we manage these matters. Here
we have a man to take an inventory, with a list of
whatever damages have already been sustained;
you have your own man to do the same ; they
perform this work together, so there can be no
mistake or fraud." This seemed quite fair. The
agent recommends me to a man who will work in
my interest, which of course he does not. The
end is £50 damages for two months. My next
landlord was a private gentleman who was so
confiding that he would not dream of taking an

352 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

inventory ; it would imply a suspicion — £j$ dam
ages for three months. No appeal except to the
law : oh, no ! keep clear of that in London ; it is
worse than house agents.

But while I am telling these tricks of the French
and British spiders — which I do in hopes of warn
ing some tourist fly — let me say a word in favor of
honest Scotland. I lived with my family for six
months at " Morningside," near Edinburgh, in a
finely furnished old mansion, and the damages were
placed at the moderate sum of five pounds.

Art is so sacred in Paris that its conventionalities
once established no change of government could
affect them. Whether the country be imperial,
republican, or monarchical, the subsidies of the
Grand Op6ra and the Theitre Franjais remain
unaltered. In our own country the amount of sub
sidy would possibly fluctuate according to the
artistic views of the " present Administration."
The leading man might be discharged if it were
discovered that he had voted for the unsuccessful
candidate.

The admirable acting at the Theatre Frangais,
though highly finished, is not without conventional
faults. The actors often address themselves to the
audience, particularly in soliloquy. No matter how
great an actor may be, he weakens his effect when
he does this. It is foreign to nature, and away
"from the purpose of playing." It jars upon an
audience ; and, be it ever so well done, it looks as
if a beautiful piece of mosaic had fallen out of the
picture.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 353

I saw "L'Ami Fritz" at the Theatre Frangais,
and in this play there occurs one of the sweetest
scenes in domestic drama. It is between the young
village maiden and the Jewish rabbi. They are
seated by a spring, and the innocent girl is relat
ing to the old man the story of her love. He leans
forward, attentively listening to every word. She,
with her low, sweet voice, murmurs forth her
bashful confession, and with downcast eyes grace
fully moves her hand round and round in the
water, as though she were tracing her story in the
pool. When she has finished her head is bowed
down, and her tears seem to be mingling with the
brook. The rabbi sits regarding her in silent
admiration, and then suddenly bursts forth with
the exclamation, "She is charming!" In speaking
these words the actor, instead of looking intently
at the girl, addressed them directly to the audience.
The chain was broken as soon as he committed
this error. And yet he was one of the finest
artists of this the most important theater in France.
The same fault occurred several times during the
play, but at this particular point it was glaring and
offensive.

An intimate friend was at the theater with me,
and as he was an admirable art critic, and had been
, born in Paris, I questioned him after the play on
this subject. I mentioned that nowhere in France
was the fault more common than at the very theater
where one would have least expected to find it;
and in fact at the Palais Royal, and at several of
the minor theaters, I had not noticed it at all. He

354 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

agreed with me that it was a glaring defect, and
that it was a common occurrence at the Frangais,
but was passed by unnoticed, or rather accepted as
one of the conventionalities of the theater.

The next morning we met at breakfast, and he
told me that he could hardly sleep all night for
thinking of what I had said about stepping outside
of the dramatic picture, and that he fancied he had
hit upon the reason for this error having crept into
the drama of the night before.

It seems that the comedies of Moltere are acted
only at this house, and in these plays the characters
are often required to address the audience directly,
like the chorus in the old Greek plays, and also,
as in some of the plays of Shakspere, inform the
audience of what has taken place between the acts.
Therefore, addressing the audience was, under these
conditions, a feature of the play, and it became as
imperative that an actor should study how to step
out of the picture and return to it again gracefully
as it was to perfect himself in any other detail of
his art And so the custom sometimes intruded
itself into domestic drama from the mere force of
habit. Of course this is some excuse, but it does
not wholly pardon the offense, and certainly cannot"
undo the mischief.

At the Theatre Fran?ais we are accustomed to
see the most finished acting that is given in Paris.
I confess I have been there but seldom, for, though
I admit the importance of a scholastic dramatic in
stitution, it does not afford me the pleasure that I
get from the less polished but fresher acting of some

. OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 355

of the other theaters. Its influence, however, on
actors is unquestionably a good one ; the discipline
of the stage, the refined style of its professors, and
the strict adherence to the rules of grammar and
methods of pronunciation, keep it aloof and above
all other theaters. It acts, too, as a check upon
actors at other establishments who would perhaps
run riot with their successes, and it enables the
managers to point to this legitimate temple as a
model. But I enjoyed the little comedies at the
Palais Royal, and the productions at the Opera
and the Opera Comique, beyond all the theatrical
entertainments that I saw in Paris.

In wandering through the art galleries I looked
one day upon a domestic picture by Millet that
filled me with a sad kind of pleasure. The subject
and treatment were simple and masterly — two
women sewing upon a shroud ; it is a shroud, too,
of some one they both loved ; for, while they ply
their needles with care and earnestness, they
seem stunned by a sudden blow — some recent
affliction : it would seem as if the two figures were
the mother and sister of the lost one. The har
mony of color made the little canvas glow with
beauty, and the composition was perfect. These
qualities are, of course, important, but the inde
scribable mystery of feeling that filled the picture
was its great charm : one could not look at the
work without wondering at the deep emotion of
the painter while he was lost in this subject.
Gentle and tender-hearted Millet, you will never
die ! When we think that the power and creative-

356 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ness of this artist were subjected for years to the
cold judgment of unsympathetic professors, and by
them treated with scorn and refused their rightful
place upon the walls of the Salon, it makes us
wonder where the law of compensation begins.
The pretty painters of the ruling school were
shocked at the bold treatment of the peasant
painter, and one of them wondered why so good
a draftsman did not put more beauty into the faces
of his country girls; to which Millet replied, "The
beauty of a peasant is in the earnestness with
which he does his work." Had such an answer
been given to me it would have rung in my ears
till the crack of doom.

The French school of landscape painting at
tracted me very much, and after carefully studying
its philosophy I am of the opinion that the greatest
landscapes are works of the imagination rather than
transcripts of realities. Nature refuses to be imi
tated, but invariably rewards the artist who has the
modesty to suggest her. The painter who attempts
to give an exact picture of a natural scene will
find himself surrounded by insurmountable difficul
ties. As an example let us suppose that he takes
for his subject a certain view with which we are
familiar ; the sky, water, the foreground, trees, and
distance may be painted in the exact form, color,
and perspective proportions of the original, and
yet fail to give one an idea of the spot. What
is the reason of this non-resemblance when all the
details have been so carefully mitated? What
is it that has no existence in the picture, and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 357

that so pervades nature ? Where are the sweet
sounds of the woods? Where is the singing of
the birds, the hum of busy insects, and the mur
mur of the brooks ? Where is the movement
of the clouds, the graceful bending of the trees,
and the perfume of the pines and woodland
flowers? He cannot paint these, and so his real
istic work is cold and lifeless. But if in modest
truth he suggest his work, omitting hard details
and impertinent finish, the simple picture will lead
us in our imagination to supply the artistic im
possibilities of sound and movement.

When I first saw the works of Constable and
Corot I did not like them. They seemed to be
devoid of subject, and there was an unfinished look
about them that gave me the idea of mere sketches
carelessly painted. But as I became familiar with
these pictures I gradually began to understand
what they meant. I then discovered tljat it was I
who was at fault, not the artists, and I felt ashamed
to think that I had seen so much and knew so
little. Such painters as Corot, Millet, Daubigny,
Diaz, Constable, and Rousseau approached nature
in a spirit of reverence; they dared not imitate
her. That they studied minutely there is no doubt,
because it was necessary to be familiar with and
imitate all the details of nature, that they might
suggest her in their pictures, like the elaborate
rehearsal of a part previous to its free and sponta
neous performance. But this care belongs to the
study, not the picture, just as it does to the re
hearsal and not to the performance. And those
23*

358 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

landscapes are the most pleasing that have form
without hardness, strength without blackness, sug
gestion without vagueness, and delicacy without
weakness.

The early works of Turner seem to be more
highly esteemed than his later ones, but to me
they have nothing like the charm of the pictures
painted near the close of his life. They are finished
and scholarly, but so carefully painted that they
fail to produce an absorbing effect. We should,
however, feel grateful for these, as they un
doubtedly led the way to the masterly works that
followed. I do not mean that all art should be
treated in a merely suggestive way, but that I
enjoy it best when it is so rendered. For as tastes
vary, so should there be different methods to meet
each desire. We are generally too dogmatic, and
praise only those works that chime with our own
fancy, forgetting that all artists are laboring for
the public. Each painter exerts his own peculiar
style to please his own particular audience. To
toil for critics only would leave the workman in a
sorry plight.

Censuring a chromo because we do not enjoy it
is as narrow and illiberal as it would be to con
demn the publication of a poem because we would
prefer to read it in the author's handwriting ; for
it is only another form of publishing the works of
great masters, so that those who cannot afford the
originals may i-elish and be educated by the copies.
If farmers are too poor to buy pictures, give
them cheap and inferior art rather than no art at

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 359

all, and so let them have their chromes as broad
cast as their barley. Besides, to one who is devoid
of imagination a pre-Raphaelite work, where each
detail is clearly defined, is more agreeable than a
suggestive one; therefore he should have it. The
discordant scraping of a Chinese orchestra is
dreadful to us, but if it falls harmoniously on the
ear of a Chinaman it is useless to recommend
Beethoven to him. The Christian and the pagan
are alike infidels to each other, and it is this very
kind of intolerance that begets half of the turmoil
in the world. So long as the art diverts and does
not degrade we should be lenient, and remember,
as Dogberry says, that " All men are not alike,
good neighbor."

After leaving Paris I returned to London, where
I played a long engagement at the Princess's
Theater. Here I renewed an acquaintance with
some of my old friends, and made a few new ones.
Dinner-giving in London is almost a fine art. I do
not mean as to the quality of the viands or the dec
oration of the table, — these matters are, of course,
quite perfect, — but in the nice judgment of the host
in the selection of his guests. I have seen a scien
tist, a statesman, a painter, a composer, an actor,
and a divine at the same table — each one a leading
light in his profession. Not only is this varied talent
selected for its brilliancy, but for the harmony with
which it will unite. In the assembling of such an
intellectual group the next care is to dispose them
at the table. People who have never met before
are cunningly placed side by side that they may

360 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

converse together for the first time; and I have
often seen the host and hostess nervously watching
the effect of their preconceived arrangements.
Sometimes the party at a London dinner will con
sist chiefly of actors and dramatic authors. Such
guests generally know each other, and as there is
no ice to break, the spirit and enjoyment are en
tered into at once.

I had a memorable lunch at the Star and Gar
ter, that lovely spot on the banks of the silver
Thames. Charles Kingsley, Robert Browning,
and George Augustus Sala wrere of the party.
Mr. Browning surprised and delighted me. I was
surprised because he displayed a faculty I was not
prepared for. His mind seemed to be stored with
that useful and practical kind of knowledge one
would scarcely expect to find in a poet. If any
of the company opened a subject, Mr. Browning
knew more about it than anybody else. Not
that he intruded his information; on the con
trary, it was given with so much modesty and
good taste that we were only too glad to be
enlightened from such a well-spring of learning.
One of the guests, whose mind seemed to be
stored with misinformation, and who was not so
retiring as the great poet, seeing that he himself
was falling behind and losing ground, sprang to
the front with his adventures in Italy. He endeav
ored to take us through the picture galleries and
describe their wonders ; but while descanting upon
the great painters of the past, he got the company
tangled up in such a labyrinth of mistakes that

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 361

he had to appeal to the poet to get us out. The
latter came cheerfully to the rescue, and in doing
this had to set our guide straight in so many mat
ters in which he had gone astray that he retired in
confusion and did not appear again upon the con
versational platform during the evening.

I was fortunate in being placed next to Mr.
Browning, and it was delightful to talk to him, or
rather have him talk to me. I asked him how
he could manage to go so frequently into com
pany and yet preserve his health and spirits. He
told me that he made it a rule to drink only one
kind of wine at dinner ; if he began with sherry, he
kept to it. "And then/' said he, "I retire early, and
always get a good night's rest. Sleep is the great
doctor, young man " — patting me gently on the
back. I don't know which I enjoyed most, the pat
from the poet or his calling me a young man, for I
was verging upon fifty ; however, that is a young
man in London.

A few days after this I received a letter from
Mr. Browning, inviting me to lunch with Lord

C , his lordship's sister, and himself. I replied

that I would be glad to accompany him, and the
next day we met by appointment and sallied forth

to call on Lord Q and his sister. On the way

he gave me an account of his meeting with Long
fellow and the pleasant intimacy that had existed
between them. I listened with national pride to
the encomiums he passed on the v/ritings and
character of the American poet These wise
and loving gentlemen had walked arm in arm

362 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

through the quaint and sacred old haunts of
London ; and while Mr. Browning recounted their
various rambles I thought as they elbowed
their way through the streets how many citizens
of crowded London had jostled up against them
unaware of the wisdom and learning that was
possessed by this gentle pair of poets in double
harness. He told me that on one occasion they
were walking together, and, being overtaken by
a summer shower, got into a cab. The rain began
to beat down heavily, and Longfellow insisted on
handing his umbrella out of the window to the
driven Browning told him that he. thought it was
very kind and thoughtful of him, but quite unneces
sary, as it would be harder to find a dry cabman in
London than a wet one.

The quiet simplicity of Lord C seemed to

extend itself to the entire household. The very
butler was devoid of pomposity. The fine old
mansion in which this aristocratic family resided
was homelike and cheerful. The host and hostess
gave Mr. Browning and me an unostentatious
welcome.

The clubs of London I know but little of, having
visited only the Garrick and the Savage. The
pictures at the Garrick attracted me very much ;
a fine example by David Roberts and a vigorous
marine by Stanfield — both scenic artists — hang
on the walls, and character portraits of Garrick,
Munden, Knight, and a host of theatrical celeb
rities make the rooms exceedingly interesting.

Many of the actors, authors, and painters of
London have, I think unwisely, expended their

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 363

earnings in building costly residences, where they
entertain their guests most sumptuously. They
seem blind to the fact that they must, now and
forever, toil on that they may keep up this gen
erous hospitality. Of course they naturally con
sole themselves with that old-fashioned and
conventional comfort, that should matters go a
little wrong they will cut off that expense, and
- curtail this little elegant bit of extravagance,
and so set themselves right again ; but it is more
difficult to retrench than they seem to realize.

In a great city one would suppose that the
absence of details, should one desire to economize,
would pass unnoticed; but this is a mistake.
London society moves in little cliques, whose eyes
are vigilant and notice at once the slightest varia
tion in social entertainments. The flavor of the
cigars, the brand of the wines, the appearance of
the butler, the ornamental decorations of the table,
and above all the cuisine, are rigidly criticized, and
the least retrenchment is fatal to one's social'
reputation.

We seldom stop to consider how hollow and
what a sham it is to entertain those whom we do
not care for, and who do not care for us. Is this
artificial nonsense so much coveted that we are to
sacrifice the comforts of our lives to obtain it?
What ! live in fear and anxiety that we may outdo
our neighbor by patting a more costly pair of boot-
tops on our coachman ? Burden ourselves with a
life of toil simply to increase the pomposity of
our butler ? I am satisfied that domestic melan
choly sets in with the butler. He is the melo-

364 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

dramatic villain of society. Give me a tidy girl,
with a clean calico frock and a neat little white cap
— that 's the height of my ambition ! Look at
her ! there she stands with a cheerful smile and a
willing hand, ready to administer to your comfort
and laugh at your old jokes — aye, though she has
heard them fifty times. What a delightful audi
ence ! I am satisfied that no butler ever laughs at
the same joke twice : I have tried it.

To see one's own name on a card belonging to
another person gives one quite a start. While liv
ing in Belsize Avenue a card was brought to me
by the maid, with the following inscription in
pencil: "Rev. Joseph Jefferson and wife." I remem
bered having heard that there was a first cousin
of my father's who was a clergyman living in
Yorkshire. I at once went out to receive them.
Seated on the hall-chair was the old clergyman,
and by his side stood his loving helpmate. I say
loving, for the attitude of this, to me, very interest
ing couple revealed the wife's solicitude for her
husband. He was seated ; she was standing. In
one hand she had a large umbrella and her hus
band's broad-brimmed hat; the other she rested
gently on his shoulder while she regarded him with
a respectful affection. It seemed to me that just a
moment before she must have said to him, " Now,
Joseph dear, give me your hat and do just sit
down, if only for a moment ; it will rest you, and I
am not a bit tired." She was dressed in a plain
black silk gown, with no superfluous material in
the skirt, and had on a simple straw bonnet

THE REVEREND JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 365

about as unfashionable in shape as it well could
be ; he, with his quaint-cut suit of black, his soft,
unstarched, and amiable-looking white cravat —
the group making as complete a picture of an
old English clergyman and his wife as ever David
Wilkie could have- painted. They had been
married many years, but I fancy that his bent
figure had in her eyes the grace of youth, and
the wrinkles in her loving face were as dimples
to him. They had lived so long together that
they seemed "to resemble each other. His face
was like my father's, and reminded me of my
own. Surely his features were cast in the classical
mold of the Jeffersons — not the noble Roman or
the simple Grecian, but the pure nut-cracker; or
as Sheridan says, when he traces the resemblance
of a certain lady's face to a congress at the close
of a general war, "where the nose and chin were
the only parties likely to join issue."

I do not quite remember whether the old clergy
man and his wife had come up to London especially
to see me or not, but they had certainly made it a
point not to go back to Yorkshire without carrying
with them some remembrance of their " American
cousin."

The old gentleman asked me many questions
regarding our family, and seemed much interested
in what I told him of it. I gave him an abridged
account of our pioneer wanderings in the West
and our early struggles connected with it, and in
return he told me of his life in Yorkshire and
described the simple routine of an English clergy-

366 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

man's life, referring now and again to the labors of
himself and helpmate among their poor parishion
ers ; and when he spoke of his wife he would take
her hand and look kindly in her face. And she too,
I remember, asked me to allow her to close the win
dow, lest the draft might affect dear Joseph's voice,
as he had to preach upon the next Sunday. I
thought at times that they looked at me as though
they were ashamed of showing so much solicitude
for each other. It was a pleasant sight, and made
one think of what a long life of quiet happiness
this cozy couple must have passed together.

After an introduction to my wife and grown-up
children, of course the most wonderful baby in the
world was brought down for the inspection of its
new relatives. They seemed to take special interest
in this particular cousin, — it having been born in
England, — and rather chuckled over the fact that
America did not have it all its own way, as their
little third cousin was a "John Bull"; and curious
ly enough they treated the matter with the utmost
seriousness, insisting upon it that the baby was a
British subject, and that we could not get over that,
do what we would. We laughed at this, but the
old man in his great loyalty waxed quite warm
over the matter. " No, sir, you cannot alter it ;
he 's an Englishman ; for instance, now, he could
not be President of the United States, could he?"
"No," said I, " I am afraid that in coming to
England previous to the child's birth we did
perhaps display great lack of forethought in de
priving him of that privilege." " Still he could

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 367

be Prime Minister of England, could he not?"
Of course I could not deny this, and mentioned
that perhaps we might console ourselves in future
years that though we had lost for him one
distinguished honor we had gained for him
another.

Our reunion was very pleasant, and we quite
regretted it when the time came for them to go.
It was a warm July day, and the sun was shining
with great heat upon them as they passed down
the avenue ; but the careful wife, ever mindful of
her husband's comfort, raised the huge umbrella
over his head. I had no idea of its ample size
until I saw it expanded ; it quite extinguished
them, and was large enough not only to shield the
clergyman and his wife from the sun, but to have
put his entire congregation into the shade.

The celebrated portrait of the Duchess of
Devonshire painted by Gainsborough was at
this time attracting much attention in London.
It had lately been sold under the hammer to the
Messrs. Agnew. These gentlemen were promi
nent dealers in art, and had paid 10,000 guineas
for the picture. Mr. Frith, who always delighted
in giving pleasure to his friends, sent me a line
to say that if I would meet him at Agnews's he
would show me the picture, which, it seems, he
had already seen. I was only too glad to accept
the invitation to look upon the painting of a
master; and to have as a companion a distin
guished artist of the modern school was a privilege
not to be lost

368 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I had before this seen several paintings by
Gainsborough. At the Loan Exhibition held at
the rooms of the Royal Academy, in this same
year, there were two lovely portraits of departed
female royalty that breathed refinement. Close to
these aristocratic beauties, and in strong contrast
with them, was a rustic picture by the same artist
called " Going to the Spring" — a barefooted
peasant girl crossing a brook, with a pitcher in
her hand and a young puppy hugged tightly
to her heart. Gainsborough's portrait of Garrick
which I saw at Stratford was not so pleasing.
The eyes of the great actor sparkle with a dia
mond fire, but the attitude is affected, and the
patronizing air with which he leans against
the pedestal is scarcely in good taste. He really
looks as though he monopolized the bard entirely,
and this was too near the truth to be pleasant for
other members of the theatrical profession ; for in
Garrick's day Shakspere was only permitted upon
the stage of the patent theaters, the minor ones
not being allowed to act his plays. Now it is
otherwise, and Hamlet can be seen upon the Sur
rey side and at the East End; and Richard III.
can ride about Bosworth Field on horseback at
Astley's Circus.

I am here reminded of an anecdote of a gifted
tragedian playing the crook-backed tyrant and
bestriding White Surrey at the battle. In the
excitement of the fight in the last scene he forgot
to dismount at the proper time, and came prancing
upon the stage shouting, " A horse, a horse, my
kingdom for a horse!"

AGNES ROBERTSON.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 369

The Duke of Gloucester has made me ungallant
enough to forget the Duchess of Devonshire ; so,
asking her Ladyship's pardon and my readers' for
the digression, I will return to the picture.

It was a half-length figure of a perfect English
beauty in the full bloom of youth and health, with
violet eyes, and looking like a June rose. The
broad hat with feathers that takes its name from
the picture made an effective background for such
a face. The cherry lips, half open as if about to
speak — to think that those lovely lips once kissed
the butcher! The story runs that her Ladyship
was so anxious for the election of Fox that she
canvassed the county in person, and on the trip
met with a refractory butcher who swore he 'd
ne'er vote for Fox unless her Ladyship would
give him a kiss. Whereupon her Ladyship jumped
from her carriage, and gave him a bouncing buss.
Happy butcher! who would not have envied thy
chops ? The resolute look of the lady told of one
who would kiss the butcher, the baker, and the
candlestick-maker if she once had a mind. The
picture was removed that day to some gallery
where it was to be exhibited to the public, as a
desire to see the famous duchess was universal.

The next morning at breakfast I was startled
by an announcement in "The Telegraph" that
the picture had been stolen. Some thief or mad
man, it is supposed, had concealed himself in the
gallery during the day, and in the night had cut
the picture from the frame, and he and it were
gone forever. I say forever, for, though it is now
fifteen years since it disappeared, no trace of it has

370 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

been found ; and I don't believe that the death of
the real duchess, when she was gathered to her
illustrious ancestors, caused more stir in London
than the loss of her picture.

Lord owned a princely estate in Scotland, —

a domain containing, I think, some ten thousand
acres of land, — situated amidst the most pictur
esque scenery of. the Highlands. Lord and

Lady had invited me to stay a fortnight,

but I found on my arrival that the castle was quite
filled with guests, so I made my excuses and only
stopped a week. The whole of this time was
passed in a round of sporting excursions and pic
nics, grouse-shooting and salmon -fishing.

As Lord came out in the spacious hall to

welcome me he was a picture — six feet in height,
with a florid complexion and light blue eyes full of
expression, his hair and beard of a golden red ;
and being in complete Highland costume he looked
like a Scottish chief of the olden time. The warm
greeting given me by this frank and stately High
lander was so hearty, and so full of unaffected
hospitality, that I felt quite at home with him at
once. In half an hour I joined the company
at dinner.

The routine of high life in the country was
quite new to me, and I felt interested in observing
its comforts and its cares. Of course the donors
of the feast get some pleasure in welcoming their
friends and relatives; but many strangers must
be entertained in whom the host and hostess take
but little interest, and they are often obliged to
show civilities to people whom they have met in

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 371

the city or at foreign courts — diplomats and titled
persons.

His Lordship was fond of farming, and I walked
with him over the land to see his imported Ameri
can machinery shear the fields of their golden
grain. He was a capital shot, and, as his domain
was well preserved, we had good sport with the
grouse. Among the guests there was a remark
ably interesting lady, a daughter of an earl. She
was a queenly beauty of the Diana type — witty,
aristocratic, haughty, and satirical ; of course she
was surrounded by several butterflies, who vied
with one another in paying her court And I do
not wonder at it, for she was radiant with all those
attractive qualities that are bewitching to young
men.

I suppose there must have been a homespun
flavor in my American manner that amused her,
for she made a dead set at quizzing me. I did
not detect it at first, and answered some of her
absurd questions about America quite innocently.
She kept her face so well that I might never have
discovered this but for the idiotic grin upon the
smooth face of one of her boyish admirers ; and
then I felt, for the honor of my country, that if she
ever made another thrust at me I would parry it if
I could. I had not long to wait; for, emboldened
by her late success, she turned upon me and said,
" By the by, have you met the queen lately ?"

"No, madam," I replied with perfect serious
ness; "I was out when her Majesty called on

me."

372 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

She colored slightly and then turned away, and
never spoke to me again ; but I was revenged.

At Glasgow I acted at the Theater Royal. This
place was once under the management of a Mr.
Alexander, who, I believe, built the theater, and
his admiration for Shakspere and Scott was
exhibited by placing their statues on the sides of
the proscenium arch ; but, as self-esteem is a noble
quality in human nature, the modest manager
displayed this virtue by placing a statue of him
self in the middle.

I visited the churchyard of St. Mungo, where
the grave of the lamented Mr. Alexander was
pointed out to me. The original tomb was invented
by himself as a modest and appropriate tribute
to his own memory. It represents the proscenium
of a theater; the curtain has fallen: this, of course,
is a delicate suggestion that the life of Alexander
the Great has ended ; or it might have a more
sweeping meaning, and one of grander signifi
cance, by inferring that in his dissolution the cur
tain had fallen on the dramatic world and closed
its career forever. Hamlet says, " Alexander
died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth
to dust." Of course this allusion is to another
gentleman, inasmuch as the indestructibility of
matter is in this instance traced till we find it
" stopping a bung- hole " — and of course this latter
indignity could never have happened to our Alex
ander of Glasgow.

During the following summer I lived at Morn-
ingside, just a mile from " Edinboro Town/' in the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 373

mansion-house erected by one Dr. John Gregory
about one hundred and fifty years ago. This
quaint old building was, at the time I occupied it,
in the possession of Miss Gregory, a granddaughter
of the original owner. The house contained about
twenty rooms, rambling and irregular in their con
struction, and filled with antique furniture and pic
tures ; some of the latter were very fine portraits
of the family painted by Sir Henry Raeburn. The
library contained many rare works, and upon tak
ing possession of the house I insisted that this
valuable collection should be sealed up. The
grounds contained about six acres, and were sur
rounded by a high stone wall ; all of the old
residences at Morningside, where this mansion was
situated, are environed by these prison-like inclo-
sures. In the days when they were built there is
no doubt that this security was necessary ; and it
is a comforting sign of the times, and an unmis
takable evidence of the improvement in the con
duct of the world, that the homes in the suburbs of
our great cities of to-day have in many instances
scarcely more than a low curbstone to separate
them from the highway.

The Gregory mansion was an interesting old
house; the ivy had covered the walls long ago,
and was now climbing upon the roof. The lawn
was shaded with fine old oaks, planted by the
original owner, and the grounds were tastefully
laid out and kept in trim by an interesting Scotch
gardener. His father and grandfather had been
servants in the same house ; and he himself, then

374 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

past seventy years of age, told me of many in
teresting events that had happened in the auld
Jang syne.

Dr. John Gregory had entertained within these
walls many of the celebrities of his time. Byron,
Jeffrey, John Wilson, and Burns had all dined and
slept under this roof, and in the after-time his son
had feasted Sydney Smith, Thackeray, Dickens,
and Washington Irving. Upon a moonlight night
I have sat in the shadow of a weird old oak and
tried to fancy the forms of these departed heroes
roaming, as they must have done in life, about
this mysterious place.

Our surroundings have much to do with en
larging our thoughts: just as when standing on
an eminence we have a more extended view, so will
some hallowed spot, filled with the associations of
great men and their noble work, inspire us with
a deep reverence ; and when I look back upon the
time I lived at Morningside I feel that I did not
fully appreciate the privilege of it, and wasted
much time in commonplace affairs that I could
have used to a better purpose.

The old Scotch gardener was an exception to
his class ; they are generally reticent, but he was
proud of the Gregory family, and only too glad
to talk of the wonders they had accomplished,
the honors they had gained, and the great men
whom they had known and entertained. The
traditions of the family had come down to him
through several generations of gardeners, and he
would recount the great learning and the almost

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 375

sacrilegious knowledge of one of the Gregorys,
who, it seems, was a great astronomer: " He
kenned a'thegither too muclj," said the old man.
" He was on familiar terms wi' the very stars
themsePs, and could ca' them by their ain names
— Jupiter, and Venus, and Cupid, and the whole
clan o' them ; he kenned jeist how fast they were
ganging, and where they were ganging to: it is
awful to think how a great mon like that could
dare to go pryin' into the private affairs o' the Laird
himsel'."

While the old fellow delighted to chatter about
the public career of the Gregorys, he was truly
loyal to his clan, and as dumb as an oyster upon
all private matters relating to them, following the
advice of Burns to his friend :

But still keep something to yourseF
Ye scarcely tell to ony.

The ivy vine in England, Ireland, and Scotland
adds materially to the beauty of the scenery ; all
of the sharp corners and straight lines of the old
buildings are softened by its luxurious growth;
it piles itself up over the walls of the castles and
churches like rich green velvet, preserving the form
of the architecture, while it conceals the harder
lines beneath ; but its beauty is often enjoyed at
the expense of health. The house at Morningside
was damp; the sun scarcely ever shone upon it;
and often during the warmest days in summer a
cold chill would fall upon us as we came out of
the sunlight into the gloom of the house.

376 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

My wife had been ill for some days, and we
were alarmed at her low condition. One evening
I was sitting by her bedside reading when my son
came to look for some article in one of the closets
at the far end of the room ; he had a candle in his
hand, and was peering at something that had
attracted his attention on the top shelf. Sud
denly he gave a start and a half- suppressed cry
of fear, and as he turned his face towards me I
saw that he had grown quite pale, while his hair
seemed to stand on end with fright. I was about
to ask him what had shocked him, when he made
a nervous motion for me to be quiet, and leaving
the room hurriedly beckoned me to follow him.
It was quite evident that something in the closet
had startled him, and that he did not wish my wife
to know what it was. When we were alone in
the entry he gave me the light, saying, " Go back,
and look on the top shelf of the closet." I took the
candle from him, and, returning to the room, sat
down to read, so as not to attract my wife's atten
tion. She asked me what had startled Tom, to
which I replied, " Oh, nothing ; it was only some
of his nonsense." I waited anxiously until my
wife dropped off to sleep. She was in a critical
state of health, and the least excitement or shock
might have killed her; so I took up a light, and
standing upon a chair saw, to my horror and sur
prise, a child's coffin. It had been put far back
and well out of sight, which accounted for no one
of the family having seen it before,

I took it down, and walked stealthily out of

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 377

the room with the burden under my arm. I went
directly to the library with it, and calling my son
and a friend who was staying in the house with
me I locked the door, and called a council as to
what course it was best to pursue. The coffin
was something over two feet long, just about
the size of one that would contain a new-born
infant. We were somewhat puzzled, and many
plans were discussed. I thought over the reti
cence of the Scotch gardener in all matters
connected with the family, conjuring up a suspi
cion that some dark mystery surrounded the house.
We next thought of sending for the coroner, and
placing the matter in the hands of the authorities.
At last I determined on opening the coffin myself,
rather than make any stir before I was sure that
the case was one needing public attention. We
got a screw-driver, and with some considerable
agitation we began to open the lid, and as we
removed it we discovered the dead body of a
large poll-parrot. We were all dreadfully sold,
and burst out laughing at the mystery and pre
caution in which we had been lately indulging.
It all came out the next day : it was a favored pet
of Miss Gregory, and the gardener was to have
buried it in her absence, but had forgotten it.

From Edinburgh I went to Dublin, where I
acted under the management of John and Michael
Gunn, two brothers who were jointly lessees of the
Gaiety Theater. My reception in Ireland was not
flattering. The attendance was slight, and the
applause delicate. Many American actors have

378 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

been cordially received here, meeting with great
success; but from that " unknown cause" which
I have before mentioned, the Dublin audience
either did not understand or did not care for my
acting. One of the managers ( I think it was Mr.
Michael Gunn) seemed to have a presentiment
of my failure ; for, after witnessing the rehearsal,
he asked my agent if he thought I could be pre
vailed upon to make Rip Van Winkle an Irishman.
I thought at first that this suggestion was meant
as a joke ; but upon asking Mr. Gunn if he were
serious he assured me that he was, adding that he
was quite certain that the audience would under
stand and appreciate the character more fully if I
would give the performance a Hibernian coloring
instead of a Dutch one. I told him that if I did
this, in order to make an harmonious entertain
ment it would be necessary to alter the entire
play — lay the scene in Ireland, and change the
names of all the characters ; that poor Rip
would have to be called Misther O Winkle; and
to me these alterations would be very absurd.
The manager argued that such violent changes
were not necessary, and he only suggested that I
should act the part with just a "shlight taste of
the brogue." I told him that a taste of my brogue
would be so slight that the audience would never
recognize the flavor.

After rehearsal, as I came from the stage-door
into the street, I was hailed in the richest Irish
accents I ever heard by a bustling, energetic man
whose manner, dress, and figure were particularly

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 379

striking. The whole appearance of this person
was the embodiment of what is erroneously known
as the "shabby genteel." That he was shabby
there could be no doubt, but his gentility seemed
to be questionable, for he had that self-satisfied
and confident bearing which rarely shows itself
in a gentleman. My new acquaintance was gotten
up in the most elaborate style. He wore a faded
black dress-coat, buttoned up to the chin, and a
black silk handkerchief wrapped high about his
throat, while his head was covered with a drab
hat, jauntily cocked on one side and dented in
various directions. His nether garments consisted
of a pair of light buff-colored trousers, worn
threadbare, and strapped underneath a loose pair
of slippers. On his hands were a pair of soiled
yellow kid gloves ; and with a bright, fresh rose
in his buttonhole, and a light bamboo cane under
his arm, one would have supposed that he was an
eccentric comedian of a theatrical company, in the
costume of a dilapidated swell. He welcomed
me to Dublin with the patronizing air of an ex-
governor-general, giving me to understand that my
fame had even reached him. He admonished me
to be on my "mettle," and gave me to understand
that a Dublin audience was a rare one and was
considered the most critical tribunal before which
an actor could be tried; assuring me that if I
once passed unscathed through the fiery ordeal of
their judgment I might defy the opinion of the
civilized world, and wound up his speech with
a modest request that I should favor him with

380 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

free admission tickets for himself and family during
my engagement. If I had needed any further
assurance that the Dublin audience was a "rare
one," the scarcity of that article during my entire
engagement would have convinced me of that fact;
Mr. Gunn's prophetic sagacity had discovered at
the rehearsal that I would fail.

Belfast was our next point, and here, strange to
say, the character made a decided hit. Dublin
and Belfast are only a few hours distant from each
other, yet the same entertainment that failed dis
mally in one place succeeded admirably in the
other. What was the cause of this ? I had been
only ten days in Ireland, and in that time I could'
not have unconsciously acquired a brogue. I have
concluded, therefore, that I was paralyzed by the
wet blanket that Mr. Gunn threw over me ; and
my modesty will not allow me to account for the
Dublin failure in any other way.

BOOTH'S THEATER.

CHAPTER XIV

AT HOME AGAIN

Booth 's Theater — Talks with Charles Matkews
on Acting — John B. Rice — " The Rivals" —
William Warren

[RETURNED to America in October, 1876, and
began an engagement under the management
of Augustin Daly at Booth's Theater. This
was my fourth and last engagement in this superb
house, which was demolished a few years after
wards. Unfortunately, Booth's Theater, after it
passed from the hands of its original owner, did
not fall into the possession of artistic people. I say
unfortunately, because as a place for public amuse
ment it was quite perfect ; no expense had been
spared to make it safe for the audience and com
fortable for the actors.

I cannot endure destruction of any kind, and it
was a sorry sight to me when one day I stood by
and saw its downfall and its ruins. Busy men, in
a cloud of lime dust, were gutting the building of

382 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

its costly decorations, and the noble structure,
which should have remained as a monument to the
distinguished actor who sacrificed a fortune in build
ing it, was being pulled down. In a few months it
gave place to the most unsightly dry-goods box of
a store that could well be imagined. It is a great
pity that it could not have been rescued.

My first engagement in St. Louis, since the
memorable season when as a youth I was hissed
from the stage, was played at Deagle's Theater.
The stage- manager was my old friend James Bur
nett. We had acted together as far back as 1854
at the Museum in Baltimore, and afterwards, as I
have said before, we were in the stock company
of Laura Keene during the panic of 1857.

Overtures were made to me from the directors of
the Cincinnati Dramatic Festival to appear with
my company in the comedy of " The Rivals." I
declined, without giving my reasons for so doing ;
for I knew that any explanation I could make
would be unsatisfactory to the committee, as my
objections pointed to the immense size of the hall
in which the entertainment was given, and the
affair had progressed so far that it was too late for
argument, or the adoption of any suggestions that
would conflict with the ideas of the committee. I
was not present at the Festival, but I am told
that there were many mishaps, both of a serious
and a comic nature, during the week's entertain
ment. Unforeseen accidents would naturally occur
in so extensive an enterprise in which numerous
actors and auxiliaries were brought together and

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 383

marshaled with but little discipline and under
inexperienced management. It is reported that
during the performance of " Julius Caesar" matters
went fearfully astray, and were in one instance
literally wrong end foremost, so that when Mark
Antotiyhent forward to uncover the serene features
of the departed general he discovered only the
turned-up toes of " Imperious Caesar" to the as
tonished gaze of his constituents.

Grand operas, or spectacular plays, where cho
ruses, marches, and ballets are prominent fea
tures of the entertainment, require a large theater
to give them full effect; but a comedy, wherein
wit and subtle action are combined, must lose
force in a wilderness of space. A theater of great
magnitude may permit a prima-donna to chant
her woes, or a fat basso to bellow forth remorse,
or a long line of cotton-velvet lords and ladies to
attend a forced marriage ceremony, with consid
erable effect Richmond could overcome Richard,
Mark Antony harangue the citizens of Rome, or
even Hamlet exhibit terror at the appearance of
his father's ghost, and suffer but little by the
dimensions, but Benedick and Beatrice must be
cheek by jowl with the audience as well as with
each other. If one is obliged by circumstances
to act in a larger theater than one is accustomed
to, the volume of the performance should be
proportionately increased.

Charles Mathews once told me that he was
charmed to act in the Madison Square Theater
(then called the Fifth Avenue), as the stage was

384 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

so constructed that he felt as if he were playing
in a drawing room — all his lines told. He said
that the slightest twinkle in his eye seemed to
make a point. "I acted at the Boston Theater
one engagement," he said, "and I never will
again. Why, I might just as well have played
on the Common for all the effect I created. You
have just finished an engagement in that grave
yard of comedies, and do you mean to tell me
that the delicate points of the characters hit with
the same force as they do in a small theater?"

" Certainly not," said I; "they lose much
strength, but by enlarging the execution the same
effect is almost accomplished."

" What do you mean by enlarging the execu
tion?" he inquired.

"I mean," I replied, "that a portrait may be
painted the exact size of life if it is to hang in a
drawing-room, where it will be nearly on a line
with the people who will look at it; but when
designed for a panel to be set in the walls of a
large hall, or to be placed at an extra height,
the artist should increase the size in accordance
with the distance from which it is to be viewed ;
and though he must preserve the proportions, the
details should be suppressed, and the strong and
simple lines that give character should be brought
out with perfect clearness."

If in a picture gallery we see a work that attracts
us we can move forward or backward so as to
reach the point from which the artist intended his
picture to be viewed : if it is broadly painted, we

JOHN GILBERT AS " SIR PETER TEAZLE."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 385

retreat; if, on the other hand, the treatment is
minute and delicate, we examine it closely.

Millet and Meissonier should be locked at from
two different points ; but in a theater the audience
cannot shift their positions. The actor therefore
must go to them ; and, moreover, he should average
his strength so that while it is sufficiently powerful
to reach those who are distant it must not be for
cible enough to offend those who are near. He
should take sufficient time to allow those who are
slow of apprehension to digest his work, and while
so doing be careful to interest others who catch the
point at once, else the latter will be wearied by the
delay.

Again the painter, the musician, and the writer
have a direct following, — generally from a class
whose taste and understanding are pretty evenly
balanced, — whereas a theater is divided into three
and sometimes four classes, the prices of admission
to a certain extent indicating their intelligence ;
consequently the law of average must be well con
sidered, so that the entertainment shall strike a bal
ance and hit with equal force the different grades
that confront it.

But to return to Mathews. He took great en
joyment in what might be called intellectual trifles,
particularly those of his own creation, and had
much talent in sketching grotesque faces, and
writing chatty letters and comic verses ; and as he
would spend days together in scribbling his amus
ing nonsense, the knack for this kind of light
literature was always in a high state of cultivation.

386 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I once traveled with him from London to Edin
burgh on the lightning express train called the
" Flying Scotchman." He had supplied himself
with pencils and paper, and as soon as the train
started began sketching away with all the delight
of an enthusiastic young artist, though he was at
this time over seventy years of age. He became
absorbed in his work, which he continued for some
time, interrupted only by an occasional delicate bit
of profanity at the jolting of the " Scotchman,"
which, he said, seemed to be dancing a Highland
reel over the rails. After he became weary of
drawing he applied himself to the writing of a
comic song, the theme of which, he said, had
haunted him all the night before. He called it
the "Mad Arithmetician," and it was filled with
an absurd mixture of addition, multiplication, and
the Rule of Three. As each verse was finished
he would insist upon my laying down the book
I was interested in to listen to his rhyme. Then,
of course, I had to give him a round of applause,
and off he would go again, perfectly delighted
with what he .had done and I had praised. In
fact, I think he craved the approbation of his
friends more than he did that of the public.

I once dined with him in London with Mr. Planche
and Harry J. Byron, two favorite burlesque writers,
and certainly I never listened to brighter conversa
tion than I did on that occasion. I wish I could
remember one-half of it, or, what would have been
still better, that I had put it down in writing,
though to have done so I must have been an

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 387

accomplished stenographer. At one time I re
member the conversation turned upon the novel of
" Adam Bede." Mathevvs said it had no attraction
for him, for it was not possible that he could feel
interested in a virtuous carpenter. " Perhaps,"
said Byron, "you have more admiration for the
virtue of the opposite sex." "What do you call
the opposite sex to a carpenter?" said Mathews.
"A joiner," said Planche before Byron had time
to reply.

Charles Mathews was a natural-born philos
opher; he looked upon life in a plain, practical,
and cheerful way, always making the best of the
worst, having no regrets for the past and great
hopes for the future. By many he was thought
to be cold and selfish ; I do not think he was so.
His cool, gay manner, which was perfectly natural
to him, gave one the idea that he was devoid of
feeling ; but a circumstance that occurred in con
nection with myself proves quite the contrary.

It was arranged that he should spend a week
with me in the country for the purpose of trout-
fishing, sketching, and chatting over matters con
nected with art ; our conversations upon this latter
subject usually ended in highly exciting arguments,
for we seldom agreed in our ideas of the stage.
Well, he arrived in due time, and we spent the
first morning on the banks of a trout-stream —
pleasantly enough except that there was a cloud
hanging over my head that made me rather dull ;
he noticed this, and asked me what was the matter
and why I was more serious than usual. I told

388 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

him that the. next day was to be an eventful one
to rne, and that he would have to excuse my
absence for a week, as I should be imprisoned
in a dark room and denied communication with
any one. Of course he was surprised at this, so
I explained that I was threatened with blindness,
and that an oculist would arrive on the following
day for the purpose of performing an operation on
one of my eyes. For a moment he seemed horror-
stricken, and was as pale as death. "What," said
he, "and have you invited me here to enjoy my
self, knowing that you were to undergo a surgical
operation ? "

Of course I told him that when the invitation
was made I had no idea of the impending trouble,
but had refrained from making any alteration in
the date of his visit, thinking that he would
amuse himself about the place till I could join him.

" My dear boy," said he, taking my hand, while
the tears stood in his eyes, "you can't imagine
how you have shocked me. Let me go at once ;
I could not stay under this roof while you were
being cut and maimed; it is too dreadful to
think of."

His manner was perfectly sincere. There was
not the slightest suspicion of sham in it, nor
was it only the horror of the idea, — though, of
course, this affected him, — but a sincere sym
pathy for me ; so within an hour he had departed.
I may mention here that the operation, under
the skillful hands of Dr. Reuling, was entirely
successful, and that I have never had any trouble

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 389

with my sight since that, to me, most eventful
time.

I have often been taxed with idleness for not
studying new parts and adding them to my reper
toire. The list of plays that I have acted of late
years is certainly a very short one, and the critic
who becomes weary of witnessing them over and
over again naturally protests against their con
stant repetition. Setting aside the fact that every
one must be the best judge of how to conduct his
own affairs, there are other matters connected with
the course I have pursued that may have escaped
the attention of those who have rated me for my
lack of versatility ; and reference to a conversation
between Charles Mathews and myself on this very
subject may serve to illustrate what I mean. We
were good-humoredly quizzing each other about
our different styles of acting, when he rallied me
somewhat after this fashion:

" You call yourself a comedian," said he. " Why,
you can only play one part You are the prince
of dramatic carpet-baggers, and carry all your
wardrobe in a gripsack. Look at that huge pile
of trunks — mine, sir, mine ! Examine my list
of parts! Count them — half a hundred, at the
very least; you ought to be ashamed of your
self. Where is your versatility?"

"My dear Charlie," said I, "you are confound
ing wardrobe with talent. What is the value of
a long bill of fare if the stuff is badly cooked ?
You change your hat, and fancy you are playing

another character. Believe me, it requires more

25*

390 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

skill to act one part fifty different ways than to
act fifty parts all the same way." And here we
ended our rather comical argument

Charles Mathews was playing an unsuccessful
engagement, so far as numbers were concerned,
at the Boston Theater. He was a guest at No. 2
Bulfinch Place; and, being quaint and old fash
ioned in his tastes, relished with many of us
our late suppers in the old kitchen. One evening
after the performance, with all that light and brisk
manner which was so characteristic of this antique
youth, he exclaimed to us who were already attack
ing the supper, "Waiting for me, I see. Well,
that is kind. What a magnificent pile of lobsters !
Looks like one of the pyramids. Rather fresher.
Touched up for the occasion, I dare say." If ever
there was an aristocratic democrat it was this
merry, irreverent, elegant man. He could shake
hands with a prince and crack jokes with a butler
at the same moment, while the potentate and the
servant would both think him quite on their own
level. After he had seated himself the usual query
that one actor generally puts to another after the
play : " Well, and how was the house to-night,
Mr. Mathews?" "Splendid, splendid! I don't
think I ever saw a finer house, only there was
nobody in it Well, when I say nobody, I don't
quite mean that. Of course there was — well,
myself for instance, and the ladies and gentlemen
of the company (the old man did n't know a line,
by the by) ; and then there were the gentlemen of
the orchestra; and then the ushers too ; I must n't

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 391

forget them, though they really had done nothing
worth remembering. Oh, there may have been,
just here and there, you know, a few dismal indi
viduals, but they were so far apart that it was quite
impossible to count them. I verily believe that if
I had fired off a cannon, loaded to the muzzle with
grape-shot, point-blank at the middle of the par
quet I should not have wounded a critic ; and that
would have been hardly fair, considering how often
they have wounded me."

There was a ripple of laughter all through this
speech, which was given with superb gravity till
the end, when there was a round of applause such
as I believe he had not received during his whole
engagement. From what I remember of Mathews
I feel quite sure that he enjoyed making such a
speech and receiving the approbation of his com
rades more than he would have done in acting a
fine part to a crowded house. "Hello!" he ex
claimed, " there 's some one missing. Where 's
Povey?" Mr. John Povey, I should mention, was
the agent of Mathews, and came over from London
with that gentleman ostensibly to look after the
financial affairs of the star. " I hope you have n't
poisoned him in my absence," said he ; " for he 's
the best-natured, kindest-hearted, useless old fellow
that ever lived. It 's his business to look after the
money matters in front of the house, but during
the time he ought to be there I find him asleep in
my dressing-room. I do hope you have n't poisoned
him." While he was discussing the merits and
demerits of his agent there came a ring at the

392 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

t

door-bell. "That 's John now. Don't say I 'm
here ; just draw him out for me." And in a moment
Mathews had opened the door that led to the cellar
and disappeared. Enter Povey. " Hello!" said
John. "Has n't Mathews come yet?" — looking
round the table. " Well, you see he is not here,"
said one of the party. " Ah ! just like him. He
sent me in front to count up the house and promised
to wait for me. Then he pops off. I thought
certainly to find him here. I shall go back
to England; I won't be bothered in this way
looking after him." Then came the old question,
"How was the house, Povey?" "Oh, bad, bad!
Wretched ! They don't want him at all. He 's
too old fashioned. All very well twenty years ago.
There 's no fun left in him." Whereupon Mathews
popped his head out of the door, and glaring
comically at Povey exclaimed, "Is n't there, John?
Well, what do you think of this for a bit of fun,
eh?" If there had been a trap in the kitchen
floor I think we should have found Povey at the
bottom of the cellar the next minute. It certainly
was the most cruel joke that ever was perpetrated.
Povey was overcome with mortification, and
Mathews made the very cups and saucers on the
mantelpiece vibrate with his laughter.

John B. Rice was a connection of mine by
marriage, having been united to my cousin Miss
Mary Anne Warren, sister of William Warren, the
comedian, and of Harry Warren, the theatrical -
manager of Buffalo. Mr. Rice was a prominent
citizen of Chicago, having been at one time its

CHARLES J. MATHEWS AS "TIM."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 393

theatrical manager, its mayor, and afterwards a
Representative in Congress. Those who remem
ber this wise and honorable man, whose life was
devoted to usefulness, will recall the valuable
services he rendered to his adopted State and
city, and to those by whom he was surrounded.
The conduct of his life was simple and dignified,
and he received the smiles and frowns of fortune
with an equal bearing, and was ever ready to
assist the needy with either his purse or counsel.
Contented and cheerful, I scarcely ever saw him look
grave except when contemplating the prospect of
another one's misfortune. He was liberal, but wisely
prudent, and often rated me for my extravagance.
He once said to me, " You 're a young man now,
with an extra large family, and it behooves you as
a duty to that family to save some of your earn
ings; and I don't believe you do." I told him that
I thought he did me an injustice. I acknowledged
that I was making money, but I contended that I
had invested it " Listen to this young man talk.
He buys a large plantation in the South with
nothing left of the sugar-house but the chimney,
all the fences and everything in a dilapidated
condition, takes his family down to this wonderful
place, isolates them from the world, lives in a
tumble-down house that he has to prop up with
logs, shoots half a dozen wild ducks, fancies that
he 's enjoying himself, and then calls it an invest
ment." I ventured to suggest that perhaps the
orange groves in time might — " Orange groves !
What do you know about orange groves? The

394 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

negroes steal your oranges, don't they?" I could
not help admitting that a few had been missed.
" Ah! quite likely. You had better buy United
States 4's registered, and get out of those orange
groves as soon as possible. You '11 make more
money by acting than you will by oranges."

When, some years afterwards, my son informed
me that he received from St. Louis for a large
shipment of this delicious fruit, after deducting
expenses, three two-cent postage stamps, I con
cluded that Uncle John was about right. I recall
his smile — and what a smile it was ! — when I
told him of this disastrous commercial transaction.

John Rice and Edwin Forrest had been friends
for many years, but their intimacy had been
broken off by the frankness of one and the ill
temper of the other. Forrest, it seems, wanted
some information or assistance from Rice in
connection with a lawsuit that was at one time
creating much annoyance to the tragedian. Rice
declined to give it or to meddle in the matter, as
he deemed Forrest in some respects at fault and
had the courage to tell him so. This annoyed
the old actor, who never forgave an affront. To
differ with him as to the lawsuit was to make an
enemy of him; but when a matter of right and
wrong was to be considered John Rice was a
Brutus, and would decide the matter according
to his honest belief, regardless of the opinion of
friend or foe.

Among Rice's old acquaintances was a leader
of the orchestra, one John C . Quite a

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 395

musical genius was C , and a great char
acter. He was a perfect know-all ; no subject,
either artistic, musical, or scientific, could be
broached in his presence on which he did not at
once present himself as an authority. If a fast

horse was mentioned C had a father or an

uncle who owned one that could distance the
animal in question with ease. Should any one
venture to give an account of a remarkable storm
where the hailstones were as large as hens' eggs,
the old leader was down on him with goose eggs
at once. On a certain Sunday afternoon John
Rice and a party of his friends were sitting on the
back porch of his house, listening to some of the

marvelous experiences of C , when the host,

getting a little tired of these wonders, exclaimed :

« C , you seem to be an authority on most

matters; now I want your solution of a curious
fact that is staring us in the face. Look at that
apple tree over the fence" — pointing to one in
the orchard at the back of the house. " You see
it has no apples on it, and all the rest of the trees
are full of fruit; now how do you account for

that ? " C ran his eye over the orchard with

a profound look, and rising slowly from his seat
mounted the fence, let himself down upon the
other side with as scientific an air as the per
formance would admit of, and going down upon
his knees began to examine the roots of the bar
ren tree. The company during all this time were
watching the proceeding with becoming gravity.
C , having cut off a piece of the bark from

396 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the tree, wiped his eye-glasses and examined the
specimen with great care. At last he smiled with
a placid kind of triumph and exclaimed, "Ah! I
thought so." Again climbing the fence, he re
turned to the group who had been watching him
and said: "Now observe. You see that gray
color on the edge of the bark?" They did.
1 'Well, that is called fungi mortem, and when
ever that deadly sign appears at the root of an
apple tree it never bears fruit."

" I don't think you are quite right about it,"
said Rice ; "for that tree was full of apples yester
day, but the owner came this morning and gathered
them."

There was a shout of laughter, and C was

dumfounded. It was a dreadful blow, and it had
the effect of curtailing the scientific discourses 'of
C for some time.

For many years I had remarked a growing
disinclination on the part of the general public
to listen to dialogue unless it revealed the plot of
the play or abounded in easily understood wit.
The question may be asked, Why should this be ?
Is not the audience of to-day as intelligent as
that of a hundred years ago? This may be so,
but by degrees it has been accustomed to a supply
of entertainments for the eye rather than for the
ear, and like a child who has been lately fed upon
sugar-plums, it has lost its taste for daintier mor
sels. Our modern theatrical managers have
recognized this demand, and embellish even their
most classical productions with splendid scenery,

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "BOB ACRES."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 397

magnificent costumes, and mechanical contri
vances. Dramatic authors are alive to it also,
and seldom introduce poetical speeches or philo
sophical discussions into their works, confining
themselves to action or to the realistic representa
tion of local pictures with which the public eye
is familiar. The monthly magazines and journals
are filled with splendid illustrations, and even the
daily papers crowd into their columns crude and
hastily drawn pictures of current events. It is no
disparagement to say this ; on the contrary the
supply is in legitimate accordance with the de
mand, for it is both wise and useful to minister to
pronounced if not immoral public desire.

With these facts clearly before me I set about
altering and condensing Sheridan's comedy of
"The Rivals." "The School for Scandal" has
always been considered the finer play of the two,
and in many respects it is- so, but I felt that there
was no character in this play to which I could
do justice ; and though as a literary work " The
School for Scandal " is undoubtedly superior to
its companion, I consider "The Rivals" to be the
more effective dramatic production.

That two such comedies should have been
produced within a couple of years by a mere
youngster must always remain among the won
ders of dramatic composition. As "The Rivals"
bears the fresh impress of youth, one can com
prehend the fact that it was written by a mere
boy; but the "School for Scandal" smacks of
matured age and ripe experience, dealing as it does

398 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

with intrigue, worldliness, and almost actionable
defamation of character. Yet these two prodigies
were born but a short time apart, and were the
offspring of the same parent The greatest won
der is that being almost twins there should be
such a slight resemblance between them.

The artificial quality of "The School for Scan
dal " has been complained of by some critics, but
it should be remembered that the scene of the
comedy is laid in town and takes place during the
season of fashionable entertainment; the quaint
society of high life during the middle of the last
century was, according to the history and pictures
of the period, extravagantly artificial, Hogarth's
belles tand beaux strut through the Strand with
dainty step and arms akimbo ; the old fop takes his
pinch of snuff with the grotesque air of a dancing-
master. If in the play, therefore, the characters
remind us of figures in Dresden china, they are
poised with such grace that we pardon their lack
of warmth; for if actors are the " abstract and
brief chronicles of the time," an artificial period
could not be depicted if this quality were wanting.
The play does not seem to be intended to excite
our sympathies, but rather to challenge our intel
ligence. We must enjoy the quarrels of Lady
Teazle and Sir Peter Teazle, though we may not
care who gets the better of it.

It has been objected also that many of the
characters talk too brilliantly, the servants particu
larly, their wit being beyond their station, But
an author can easily bear the censure that taxes

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 399

him with having written too well. " The School
for Scandal" at the time in which it \vas written
must have been quite perfect ; its fault now grows
out of the fact that the present taste considers it
too coarse to be acted in its original form. The
theme itself, too, is somewhat indelicate. An
intrigue runs through the plot, and, though it
terminates innocently, while it is in progress it has
an unpleasant suggestion, so that however much
of the language may be omitted it can have but
little effect upon the action. No such charge can
be laid to "The Rivals," for after the excision of
a dozen lines there remains a pure dramatic
production. There is a rural flavor about it too,
imparted by the introduction of Bob Acres and
his old and attached servant David, that warms
the wit with a glow of humor.

This comedy kept running in my head of late
years with almost the same persistence that " Rip
Van Winkle" had done in the olden time. Bob, too,
was an attractive fellow to contemplate. Sheridan
had filled him with such quaintness and eccentri
city that he became to me irresistible. I would
often think of him in the middle of the night At
odd times, when there was apparently no reason
for him to call, he would pop up before me like
an old acquaintance, — for I had acted him years
before, — but always with a new expression on his
face. The variety of situations in which the author
had placed him; his arrival in town with his
shallow head full of nonsense and curl papers,
and his warm heart overflowing with love for an

400 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

heiress who could not endure him in the country
because he used to dress so badly ; a nature soft
and vain, with a strong mixture of goose and
peacock; his aping of the fashion of the town,
with an unmistakable survival of rural manners ;
his swagger and braggadocio while writing a
challenge ; and above all the abject fright that falls
upon him when he realizes what he has done —
could the exacting heart of a comedian ask for
more than these? Surely here was the best
material to work out that I could desire. I had
acted the part a quarter of a century before, and
possibly I may have blundered by a kind of in
tuition into some of the effects which now occur
to me, but I am quite sure that at that time I
could not have reproduced them from night to
night with any certainty. I will not say that the
methods by which I treated the various phases
of the character were all thought out previous to
its revival. Some of them came to me after, and
many at the time of their representation; for
during the late run of the comedy I had acted
Acres at least a dozen times before I had hit
upon a satisfactory effect with which to end the
second act, and even then it did not strike me
until the very moment of its execution.

During our first rehearsal of the comedy in
Philadelphia, Mrs. John Drew, who had evidently
been considering the part of Mrs. Malaprop with
great care, introduced some novel business in her
first scene with Captain Absolute that struck me
as one of the finest points I had ever seen made.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON: AS "BOB ACRES."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 401

When Mrs. Malaprop hands the letter for the
Captain to read, by accident she gives him her
own love-letter lately received by her from Sir
Litcius & Trigger. As the Captain reads the
first line, which betrays the secret, Mrs. Drew
starts, blushes, and simperingly explains that ''there
is a slight mistake." Her manner during this
situation was the perfection of comedy. She asked
me if I thought that the introduction was ad
missible. I replied that I not only thought it
admissible, but believed that Sheridan himself
would have introduced it if the idea had happened
to occur to him. It would have been curious if I
had not acquiesced in this original business after
the liberties I had myself taken with the comedy.
I had not only condensed the play from five acts
into three, but I had cut several of the characters
entirely out of it, brought down the curtain on
the first and second acts with terminations not
intended by the author, and concluded by having
the courage to write an epilogue. It must be
admitted that these were sweeping alterations,
and in the event of their failure they were likely
to endanger whatever reputation I had acquired
as a legitimate comedian. They succeeded, how
ever, and I was only subjected to some slight
critical censure from the press and a little quizzing
from a few old school members of the profession,
who were naturally and honestly shocked at my
having taken such unwarrantable liberties with their
past heroes. Some of the satirical remarks made
at my expense deserve mention.

402 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

William Warren on leaving the theater one
evening after seeing the play was asked what he
thought of the alterations. He replied, "It re
minded me of that line in Buchanan Read's poem,
'And Sheridan twenty miles away/" This was
not quite original with him ; it had been said before
by one of my own company, but I heard that it
was given with that quizzical humor which be
longed only to William Warren.

John Gilbert said that it was sacrilegious, and it
would serve me right if the shade of Sheridan
should haunt me.

One Christmas Eve during the run of the revived
comedy a merry meeting of the company was
arranged after the play; a Christmas tree had
been erected, and it was understood that each one
should hang a present for the other on it, and that
no one should know the donor. A gentleman was
selected to take down the different parcels from the
tree and present them. The choice proved an ex
cellent one, as he bestowed the various gifts with wit
and humor. His opportunity was exceedingly good,
however, as many of the presents were suggestive
of our weak points and our various positions. Our
manager, for instance, received a bundle of railway
guides, the advance agent a paste-pot and brush,
and I a book of "The Rivals" with all the parts
cut out of it but my own.

But, seriously, if I needed any excuse for my
emendations of "The Rivals," I have discovered
one lately in Doran's "Annals of the English Stage,"
wherein it is recorded that Sheridan altered Sir

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 403

John Vanbrugh's comedy of " The Relapse " and
entitled his play " A Trip to Scarborough." Ap
parently as an excuse for this liberty he makes one
of his characters say, " It would surely be a pity to
exclude the productions of some of our best writers
for the want of a little wholesome pruning, which
might be effected by any one who possessed
modesty enough to believe that we should preserve
all we can of our deceased authors, at least till they
are outdone by the living ones." Here is a confes
sion that he not only sanctioned the liberty, but
that he took it himself; so that should the shade
of Sheridan ever rebuke me, I shall defend myself
by confronting him with his own words.

A monumental figure in Boston, and one whose
vacant place upon the stage has not been filled,
was William Warren. The humorous characters
presented by this gifted actor covered the entire
range of legitimate comedy, and from the great
length of time that he performed at the Museum,
and the constant change of entertainment that was
a prominent feature of this establishment, it is safe
to conclude that this versatile comedian studied
and created more parts than any other actor of his
day. The great respect of the public, and the
warm affection of his personal friends, was recipro
cated by his loyalty to the city that by universal
consent made him its dramatic ideal. For years
his benefits were the events of the season ; and the
last testimonial of public favor, upon his fiftieth
anniversary upon the stage, given just previous
to his final retirement, was marked by a depth of

404 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

feeling that neither the recipient nor the donors
could ever forget.

His career as a stock actor was a most remark
able one. I say a stock actor in. no disparagement
of his ability to be the leading feature of a theatri
cal entertainment. On the contrary, there were
during his day few, if any, of those who traveled
as stars who were superior to him as a comedian.
He was offered many inducements to star, but
it was only for one season -that he could be
prevailed upon to give up his regular engage
ment. He soon wearied of the constant change of
scene, and, longing for the quiet and domestic com
fort that could not be obtained while constantly
moving about, he returned to his old position and
to the audience whom he had missed and who had
missed him. His welcome on his re- appearance,
and his own delight at receiving it, proved that
the affection between him and his audience was
mutual. He had entered the Boston Museum
during its early struggles, and became from the
first the foundation upon which its prosperity was
built, as he remained to the last the pillar which
supported its dome. His talent as an actor, his
sacred duty to the public, and his loyalty to his
temple, were the principal causes of the success that
for so many years attended the dramatic produc
tions of the Boston Museum. While he was
undoubtedly the principal feature of the company,
he never presumed upon the strength of his posi
tion, nor at any time during his lifelong service did
he offer the slightest obstruction to any change in

WILLIAM WARREN AS "HERR WEIGEL."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 405

the managerial policy of his dramatic home. If it
was found necessary to bring forward one of those
sensational or catchpenny actors who sometimes
hold for a brief period the esteem of the public to
the exclusion of better stuff, he never complained ;
but, yielding to the decision of his manager and the
caprice of the public, he would step gracefully aside
and make place for the ruling mushroom, and so
allow some new-fledged and popular buffoon to be
sandwiched between his legitimate efforts. He
seemed to have that gallant confidence in his own
worth that made him soar above the pangs of petty
jealousy.

There are few living who remember William
Warren so far back in the past as I do. I was
about ten years old when I first saw him. He was
attached to my father's company, sharing in all our
fortunes and misfortunes in the far West. He was
then a tall, handsome young man about twenty-five
years of age. He had fine, expressive eyes> a
graceful figure, and a head of black, curly hair that
must have been the envy of our juvenile tragedian,
who was himself quite bald. William was at that
time what is technically called a heavy actor, and
played such parts as Rashleigh Osbaldistone in
Scott's "Rob Roy," and Beauseant in Bulwer's
" Lady of Lyons." My father's comedian disap
pointing him, Warren was cast in that line of char
acters known as low comedy. He had been highly
educated in his youth, and having a mind that
applied itself diligently to whatever it undertook,
he soon became famous as an actor. Always

86"

406 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

modest, and not endowed with an abundance of
self-reliance, it was to his talent rather than to any
particular energy that he owed his advancement in
the dramatic art. Conscientious to an inordinate
degree, he neglected nothing in the preparation of
costumes or the study of his characters to render
his acting worthy of his audiences. He was uni
versally acknowledged to be one of the most finished
artists of his time. It was the pride he took in his
profession and the wisdom which characterized the
important actions of his life that warned him not
to return to the stage after he had bid it farewell.
Once having made this resolution nothing could
tempt him to venture again before an audience.
He was a veteran, certainly, when he retired, but
he had not staid too long, and if there was any
vague suspicion that his powers had weakened, it
was in his own mind, and his conscientious nature
would not permit him to linger before the public
when he felt that he could no longer do his duty ;
so that up to his final exit from the stage his audi
ence retained the best impression of his acting.

I recall him in the very prime of his life when I
went to Boston first to join the stock company at
the Howard Athenaeum. He was the reigning
favorite of the town, and all who remember him
well know that he remained so to the end.

Again I went — this time to play a star engage
ment, when I had the not very cheering assurance
of the manager that I was the only one by whom
he had lost money during that season. This would
have been a crushing blow indeed, but I had the

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 407

consolation of knowing that, when he could get
away from the Museum, Warren came to see me
act if no one else did.

At this time we lived at the same house in Bui-
finch Place. There was a grand old kitchen here
where, in company with many passing stars, we
supped together after the play. Warren always
sat at the head of the table, and was usually con
cealed behind a huge pile of lobsters, and as he
served them liberally the scarlet edifice would
slowly sink as if it were going through the stage
in pantomime, revealing as it descended the fine
face of the genius of the feast. For many seasons
after this, when I came to act in Boston, our
suppers in the old kitchen were among the agree
able features of the engagement

James Wallack, Charles Mathews, Fechter,
Walter Montgomery, Peter Richings (dear me, I
am the only one left!), and many others. Such
jokes, old and new ; such reminiscences, foreign
and domestic ; tales of the Drury Lane, legends
of the Th6itre Frangais, and romances of the
old Bowery; then the discussion as to whether
the actors of the past were better than those of
the present — all of the old actors insisting on it
that they were, and all the young ones insisting on
it that they were not.

Again I recall Warren as one of the bright
features of a memorable feast — Mrs. James T.
Fields at one end of the table and her husband
at the other. Beside William Warren sat Dr.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, while Mr. Longfellow

408 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

sat facing me — I the youngest man of those as
sembled, and greatly pleased to be one of such a
group. Here was table-talk indeed — a feast of
wit as well as viands. As I think now of that
interesting day I seem to listen to the brilliancy of
Fields, the wisdom of Longfellow, and the wit of
Holmes. Then Warren modestly joins in the con
versation, planning his words to the theme under
discussion — so adroitly too, that 'no joke is sus
pected until the climax. This is indeed the very
art and perfection of an anecdote.

Time rolled on and we met quite often, always
in the summer. To sit and talk with Warren
under the trees was ever a treat to me. He had
known me when I was but a boy, and now he
knew me as a grandfather. No lack of retro
spect and reminiscence with such acquaintances!

Then came the fiftieth anniversary of his d£but
I was not there to see it, but I know of it as
though the scene had passed before me. Thou
sands flocked to witness it. Gray-haired men who
had been taken to see him when they were boys,
hurried to bid for places that they might do him
honor. There was a loving-cup from those who
cherished him ; flowers from a whole city ; a
token of affection from his old comrades. I saw
him shortly after this, and there was a shade of
sadness in his face. He seemed to feel that all
was over. A laurel wreath will cheer its wearer
when it is bestowed on one who is in the zenith
of his victory, but it weighs heavily upon a retired
head.

WILLIAM WARREN* AS "jEFFKRSOX SCATTERING BATKINS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 409

William Warren bore up bravely under the
burden of seclusion ; but time, and the loss of that
more than magnetism which is imbibed by an actor
from the warm appreciation of his audience, and
which had stimulated him for so many years,
gradually told upon his health, and then his bright
mind faded and he passed away. Boston's best
sons arid daughters were present to witness the
ceremonies that attended upon his final rest.
Those who had lived and wept with him in his art
showed, by their presence and unsuppressed emo
tion, how they were saddened by so great a loss.

Relatives and friends, who stood in groups about
the tomb, were overcome with sorrow. John Gil
bert stood gazing into the grave with streaming
eyes and a dazed look. He felt that the time was
fast approaching when he would join his comrade.

CHAPTER XV

SOME OLD FRIENDS

Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams — John Drew —

Charlotte Cushman — Mrs. Drake — F. S. Chan-

frau — John T. Raymond — John McCullough

— The Lester Wallack Benefit — Actors of To-

Day and Yesterday

M

R. AND MRS. BARNEY WILLIAMS attracted
much attention, shortly after their mar
riage, as American stars. The associa
tion of the Irish boy and the Yankee girl was a
novelty, and as a dramatic feature strong in
contrast

Williams had been quite popular even before
his marriage, and his union with Mrs. Charles
Mestayer (also very popular), and their joint
appearance in Irish drama and musical farce was
at once a success and placed them among the
theatrical attractions of the day. The laugh of
Mrs. Williams was infectious, and her droll sing
ing of " Independence Day" made it the favorite
local song of the time. Williams was an effective

410

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 411

actor, and his graceful figure and attractive face
made him always welcome to his audiences.

Barney and I were once walking together in
a heavy shower of rain, and were near his own
house, where dinner was awaiting us. As we
reached the gate the Irish girl was discovered
watering the flower-beds in the garden. She,
like ourselves, was sheltered from the storm by
an ample umbrella, but a high wind was blowing
at a terrible rate, and had turned her protector
inside out With the now useless shelter in one
hand and the watering-pot in the other she was
whirled about like a weather-cock in a stiff breeze,
and in this helpless condition was pouring an aux
iliary shower on the already drenched and drip
ping plants. Barney hailed her reprovingly, and
demanded to know why she was doing such a
stupid thing. " Sure, sir, ye told me to be after
watering the flowers every day." "Yes, but not
on a rainy day," said the master. " Sure, sir,"
said Biddy, "I thought a rainy day was every
day as well as any other day.'1 " Why, you are
drenched with the rain," said Barney; "go into
the house." "I will, sir, indeed," said she; "for
if the posies have had enough of it, I am sure I
have."

It is said that John Brougham, who wrote the
domestic drama of "The -Irish Emigrant," and
had acted the hero with some success, declared
upon seeing John Drew play the part that he
would never attempt it again. I have myself a
most vivid remembrance of Drew in this character.

412 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

(This gentleman was the father of the present
John Drew and the husband of the distinguished
actress who now bears his name.) He acted a
star engagement under my management in Rich
mond, Virginia, in 1856, appearing in a round of
Irish characters with marked success. I saw him
in Handy Andy, O* Flanaghan, and the Emi
grant, and his entrance in the latter character
was one of those simple, bold, and unconven
tional effects that invariably command recognition
from an audience, be they high or low, rich or
poor, intelligent or ignorant. A figure passes an
open window and pauses for an instant to look
into the room ; then a timid knock. " Come
in ! " The door slowly opens, and upon the
threshold stands a half-starved man, hunger in
his gaunt form and hollow cheeks, but kind
ness and honesty in his gentle eyes. What a
pathetic sight is this ! As the character is devel
oped through the incidents surrounding it, you
see always the same man, changed only as he
would be by the circumstances through which
he passes.

There is a sincerity in this kind of artistic treat
ment that wins for it a lasting remembrance in
the minds of those who have witnessed it. To
do bright and sparkling things that for a moment
trick an audience of its applause, though they
be entirely out of keeping with a character, is a
grave error. With whatever variety a character
may be treated, the audience should feel that
it is the same man whose different moods are

JOHN DREW AS "HANDY ANDY,"

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 413

developed by the change of his position in the
story. I think it has been generally conceded
that since Tyrone Power there has been no
Irish comedian equal to. John Drew. Power, as
a light and brilliant actor, with piercing eyes,
elegant carriage, and polished " school," daz
zling his audiences like a comet, was undoubt
edly unparalleled in his line, but I doubt if
he could touch the heart as deeply as did John
Drew.

We were afterwards together in Philadelphia;
he played Sir Lucius O 'Trigger -with me in "The
Rivals," Mrs. Drew appearing as Lydia Languish.
There was one part that he acted during this brief
engagement which made a strong impression upon
me and revealed his versatility perhaps more than
any other character I had seen him in. It was that
of a young English squire, gay and desperate,
warm-hearted and profligate, whose condition
changed from wealth and station to poverty and
almost degradation, from the bowling green of the
quiet village to the gambling hell of a great city
— these vicissitudes of fortune being brought upon
him by his own careless nature, which p'assed from
gay to grave, deeply touched by the misfortunes
of others and reckless of his own. Drew's treat
ment of this character, while it was not widely
known, won for him great admiration from his
artistic comrades.

Charlotte Cushman was a prominent figure in
the dramatic history of her day — tall and com
manding in person, with an expressive face, whose

414 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

features might have been called plain but for the
strength and character in them. She was self-
educated, and had consequently stored her mind
with just that sort of material that would serve to
develop it. The most cultivated society of Eng
land and America delighted to entertain her, and
her hospitality and kindness to Americans who
visited this lady during her sojourn in Italy won
for her the esteem and gratitude of many rising
young artists, whom she took great pleasure in
bringing into notice. Her dramatic career was a
long and brilliant one ; and in the legitimate drama
she was more prominent than any other actress of
her time.

Mrs. Warner was the nearest approach to Miss
Cushman. Her face was classic, and there was a
grace and majesty in her presence that was very
charming ; but in force and fire Miss Cushman far
outshone her English rival. She had great tact in
society, being perfectly at ease and making every
one else so. Her faculty for either entertaining or
being entertained was remarkable. She could do
all the listening or all the talking, whichever was
the most agreeable to her guest. As Lady Macbeth
and as Queen Catherine she was regal from head
to foot ; but her most popular character with the
public was Meg Merrilies, in " Guy Mannering."
As Scott's heroine, critics objected to her extrava
gant acting and the liberty she took in standing
aloof from the novel, and in her re-creation of the
character. As I have been guilty of the same
thing, it will not do for me to complain. But be

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 415

this as it may, her acting was amazingly effective,
and that quality covers a multitude of dramatic
sins. She was witty and agreeable, with an im
mense flow of animal spirits, and I never met her
without having a good laugh, either at our own
expense or that of somebody else. She had a
warm heart, and her charities were very numerous.

Before Charlotte Cushman reached the height
of her popularity the leading tragic actress of
America was Mrs. A. Drake. She was an accom
plished lady, and during her whole life held an
enviable position both on and off the stage. When
a boy of sixteen I acted with her the page Cyprian
Gossamer in " Adrian and Orrilla." She taught
me the business of the part with great care, com
ing to the theater an hour before the rehearsal so
as to go over the scenes with me before the actors
assembled. She had a queenly bearing, and was,
during her dramatic reign, undoubtedly the tragic
muse of America.

Her son, some years ago, knowing that I had
a great regard for his mother, gave me three let
ters which relate to theatrical matters in general,
and to Mrs. Drake in particular. I shall there
fore take the liberty of inserting them here. They
have never been published before, and as two of
them are from John Howard Payne, the author
of " Home, Sweet Home," and the other is from
Washington Irving, they cannot fail to be inter
esting. One of Mr. Payne's letters is to Daniel
O'Connell, the great Irish statesman, introducing
Mrs. Drake to his notice.

416 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY, Sept. 4, 1832.
JOHN MILLER, ESQ.,

Agent for the American Legation, London.

MY DEAR SIR : As you are well versed in theatrical affairs, I
would ask your advice and services for Mrs. Drake, an American
lady, who is about to try her fortunes on the London boards.
You may already have heard of her success in the United States.
I have merely had the pleasure of witnessing her powers one
evening, in the Widow Cheerly ("The Soldier's Daughter"), and
the part of Mary in the " Maid of the Inn"; but from those speci
mens am led to form a very high opinion of her talents both in
the serious and comic lines of the drama. I cannot but think
that, if she has a fair chance, she will make a very favorable im
pression on the London public.

A personal acquaintance with Mrs. Drake has still more inter
ested me in herself and her fortune; and I shall feel it as a kind
ness to myself if you would do anything in your power to
facilitate her views in England.

With kindest remembrances to Mrs. Miller,

Yours very truly,

WASHINGTON IRVING.

NEW YORK, May 20, 1833.
DAN'L O'CONNELL, Esq., M. P., London.
(Hand by Mrs. Drake.)

MY DEAR SIR: A lady of the highest standing both as a
gentlewoman and an actress — Mrs. Drake of the Western region
of our Western World — visits Europe and intends to make a
professional experiment in London. I have thought I could
greatly serve her and gratify you by making you known to each
other ; and as Mrs. Drake will probably visit Ireland, I shall con
sider any attention she may receive there through you as a com
pliment from you to our republic, as will my countrymen. Mrs.
Drake is one of the few among us who are allowed by Mrs.
Trollope to possess first-rate talent ; and the Duke of Saxe- Wei
mar, in his Travels, speaks of her with more enthusiasm than even
Mrs. Trollope. I prefer, for reasons which I need not name,
giving you upon this subject the opinions of foreigners, espe
cially of such as are supposed to be rather prejudiced against us.

I write in great haste, being apprised of the departure of Mrs.

MRS. A. DRAKE,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 417

Drake for England only as I am myself departing for the South
ern States of America. I can only add how infinitely I shall feel
obliged by any attention it may be in your power to offer Mrs.
Drake. She travels in company with a particular friend of hers,
Mrs. White, who (with her husband, a member of the United
States Congress for Florida, Colonel White) is desirous of seeing
Europe. Should you meet them you may wonder a little that a
part of the world so recently a wilderness should produce such
poor specimens of savageness and unrefinement.

With best and most grateful remembrances to Mrs. O'Connell
and all your family who may still bear me in recollection, believe
me, my dear sir, with great respect,

Your obliged and faithful friend and servant,

Dan'l O'Connell, Esq., M. P. J. HOWARD PAYNE.

NEW YORK, 67 Varick St.,
Hudson Square, Oct. 20, 1833.

MY DEAR MRS. DRAKE: You will doubtless think me most
ungallant in having so long omitted to answer your kind letter of
July r. But be assured the neglect has not been of the mind, for
I have often thought and spoken of you and always intended to
write to you — to-morrow; the to-morrow is now here; but
whether it will guide my remembrance to you is a question which
it would delight me to find answered speedily in the affirmative
by your own fair hand.

My attention since I heard from you has been entirely taken
up by the project of a new periodical I am preparing — Mr.
Hyde, of Schenectady, obliges me by conveying you a pros
pectus. I must have five thousand subscribers before I can start,
and as yet the names come in slowly. People seem astonished by
the plan and still more by giving two guineas for literature ! I
have only about 230 of the five thousand as yet, but I mean to
persevere. I have great hopes from the Western States, and
should be most happy to confer with you upon some plan for
taking the warm hearts you tell me of there by storm. The
scheme is one I am much devoted to, and surely a nation like
this ought to yield from her whole population five thousand sup
porters for such a project. I mean to travel through the United
States myself, and in each place send out a person to solicit

418 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

names. It is humiliating enough to have to solicit even by a
second person — but if no other names offer I will do it by myself
rather than fail. I shall take Albany, of course, on the way; but
when, is yet uncertain. I am very desirous, however, of ascer
taining as early as may be what chance that good city offers me;
and Mr. Hyde, who is a worthy and enthusiastic young man, a
student of Union College and the editor of a magazine published
there, has most handsomely undertaken to try what he can do
towards the increase of my list. I have desired him to see you,
and to get your advice. The ladies are the best friends after all,
and not only know how these things ought to be managed, but
can point out the readiest way of giving their knowledge effect.

May I hope you will favor me with a line very soon, mention
ing what you are about and whether I can be of any use to you
in return for the commission with which I am troubling you.
Yours in haste,

Most faithfully,

Mrs. Drake. J. HOWARD PAYNE.

These simple letters from two gifted and delight
ful men attest not only Mrs. Drake's dramatic quali
ties but her private worth. And it is a pleasure and
a privilege to publish them, and so revive the mem
ory of an honorable and talented lady. Had they
been commonplace letters of introduction from un
known people I should not have intruded them on
the reader ; but as it is I feel sure that no apology
is needed for their insertion.

A little incident connected with the meeting of
Mrs. Drake in Louisville has been brought to my
recollection while I have been writing of her.
There is nothing particularly interesting about it
except that it has a humorous side, and I cannot
resist the temptation of noticing it here.

We had, at that time, a lady attached to our
company who was a great character. Her thirst

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 419

for autographs was unquenchable, and I have never
seen a more perfect specimen of the female lion-
hunter. She knew most of the celebrities in the
country, and always kept on hand a large assort
ment of introductory letters ready for presentation
at the shortest notice. This is an innocent kind
of pastime, and if it does no good it certainly
does no harm. This lady had a weakness for not
remembering names. This was singular, too, as
half her time was employed in collecting them ;
but they seemed to revenge themselves for their
imprisonment in her album by escaping from her
memory ; and it was comical to observe the woe
begone expression of her face when she related
some of her unfortunate mistakes.

" It is so dreadful, my dear/' she would say, "to
commit these blunders, and there is no excuse for
them. Just imagine my being introduced to a gen
tleman by the name of Smith and calling him Mr.
Montgomery five minutes afterwards."

Of course she was anxious to meet an interesting
lady like Mrs. Drake, and, armed with an intro
duction which I gave her, called on the retired
actress, hoping that she would be able to collect
some theatrical matter for a book that she was
writing, and desiring to get the much-prized, but
rather conventional, actor's autograph with a
Shaksperean quotation.

In due time Mrs. Drake returned the call and
was ushered into the vast parlor of the Gait House,
where a number of ladies and gentlemen were
assembled to pay their respects to the lion-hunter.

420 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Mrs. Drake was distinguished for a majestic bear
ing at all times, and any ceremonious occasion
would naturally intensify her dignity. The tragedy
queen was therefore with more than usual loftiness
led into the center of the apartment and introduced
by her hostess as Mrs. Duck. A slight titter of
quiet mirth rippled over the assembled company
as Mrs. Drake glared with a reproving Lady
Macbeth eye at the nervous little hostess, who
was so overcome with mortification that she burst
forth with, " Oh, I beg your pardon, I mean Mrs.
Goose." This of course settled it.

F. S. Chanfrau, while he acted a vast number of
characters with success, will be best remembered
by those who go back some thirty years ago, as
" Mose," the fire boy. He was the talk of the
town for two seasons or more — when I first saw
him he was extremely handsome. He was modest,
too, and manly. These qualities are so rarely allied
to beauty that Chanfrau comes back to my remem
brance as quite a novelty. He had success enough
to have turned his head, but he bore it bravely, so
that he must have been as well poised in his mind
as he was in his person. His imitations of For
rest, the elder Booth, Macready, and Burton won
him hosts of admirers.

John T. Raymond, like Florence, J. S. Clarke,
Owens, and myself, was known as a legitimate
comedian. This is a somewhat technical term,
usually applied to those actors who confine them
selves as strictly as possible to the acting of char
acters in old English and Shaksperean comedies.

F. S. CHAN'FRAU.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 421

Raymond was also, like those actors previously
mentioned, a creator of American characters. He
appeared as Ichabod Crane in a dramatization
of Washington Irving's "Wolfert's Roost," and
also as Col. Sellers in Mark Twain's " Gilded
Age." The latter character he acted with great
success for many seasons in this country, though
the play failed to create any enthusiasm in Eng
land.

I preferred him in his acting of Ichabod Crane.
It was a quaint and strong performance ; his love
scene with Katrina was acted in the best spirit of
comedy; the serio-comic expression that he threw
into this woe-begone, love-sick swain was irresist
ibly droll. Raymond was energetic and industri
ous, acting up to the very night before his death.

I saw McCuIlough act but once, and then he was
ill, so that I could scarcely give a fair judgment of
his talent He was undoubtedly a great favorite
with the public, and much admired by his friends
both as a man and an acton The loss of his mind
in the very prime of his life was a mystery that
medical skill was unable to account for* From a
gentle, yielding nature he changed completely, and
at times became quite violent. His career as a
tragedian was most prosperous, and he died leav
ing hosts of friends and admirers.

The Lester Wallack Testimonial, which was
given at the Metropolitan Opera House on the
evening of Monday, May 21, 1888, brought
together a number of actors so celebrated that I

desire to chronicle the cast in these pages. The

27*

422 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

play on this occasion was " Hamlet," and the
distribution of characters was as follows :

Hamlet EDWIN BOOTH.

Ghost LAWRENCE BARRETT.

King Claudius FRANK MAYO.

Polonius JOHN GILBERT.

Laertes EBEN PLYMPTON.

Horatio JOHN A. LANE.

Rosencrantz CHARLES HANFORD.

Guildenstern LAWRENCE HANLEY.

Osric CHARLES KOEHLER.

Marcellus EDWIN H. VANDERFELT.

Bernardo HERBERT KELCEY.

Francisco FRANK MORDAUNT.

ist Actor JOSEPH WHEELOCK.

id " MILNES LEVICK.

is? Gravedigger JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

2d " W. J. FLORENCE.

Priest HARRY EDWARDS.

Ophelia HELENA MODJESKA.

Queen GERTRUDE KELLOGG.

Player Queen ROSE COGHLAN.

On the bill of the play were printed the names
of about one hundred and forty actors and actresses
who volunteered as auxiliaries.

The reception to those who volunteered to act
was most cordial ; and when Mr. Wallack re
sponded to a universal call he did so in well-
chosen words ; and as he retired from the stage
his audience, who seemed to be composed of old
friends, applauded as though they were bidding
him adieu for the last time; and so, indeed, it
turned out to be.

In dealing freely, and I hope fairly, with the
players of the past, I have, for obvious reasons,

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 423

refrained from passing judgment on the actors of
the present I belong to the latter group, and have
therefore no right to criticize it. There are many
both in England and America that I would be
pleased to praise and praise highly, but in doing
this I should tacitly censure others, and this is not
my mission. The first group have passed by, but
we are before the public, which alone has the right
to pass judgment. Besides, actors are not by any
means the best judges of acting; we have our
prejudices, which naturally bias fair criticism ; and,
in referring to the past history of the stage, I find
that all actors of genius and originality have given
great offense to the conventional school that their
brilliancy disturbed. Quin said of Garrick, " If
he is right, then we are all wrong"; the Kembles
were shocked at the fire of Edmund Kean ; and so
it has gone on, and ever will.

Original painters seem to suffer still more than
actors, and I honestly believe it is because artists
are at the heads of the academies, where they sit
in judgment and at times denounce the work of an
original painter, refusing to hang his picture be
cause he has had the courage to be unconventional.
Corot and Millet were for years refused admittance
to the Salon, and are striking proofs of the unfair
ness or prejudice of their brother artists ; and it is
quite likely if actors and authors sat in judgment
on their kind that many original actors and authors
would be tabooed ; but fortunately the great public
gets at them first and praises or condemns un
biased by professional jealousies. The painter has

424 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

no such advantage ; before his work can reach the
public it must be filtered through the judgment of
his brother artists of the Academy; -if they are
conventional (as they generally are), he is doomed
to obscurity. Corot was fifty years old before his
work was honored by a place in the Salon, and he
did not sell a picture until he was past that age.
After the first sale had been made, the dear old
man said to his friends, "Well, I have sold a
picture ; but I am sorry for it, for now my collec
tion is incomplete."

We have, I think, a natural tendency to dignify
the events of the past beyond their deserts, and
so we often throw a glamour of excellence over
departed actors which we would not accord to
them if they were here. This, of course, is
erring upon the safe side. The only danger is
that our reverence may at times cause us to dis
parage the good qualities of those who are among
us. Dramatic affairs, too, have undergone a
change that renders a fair judgment almost im
possible. For instance, the actors of, say, forty
years ago rarely visited the smaller cities: they
were concentrated in the larger ones; but now
the demand for dramatic excellence is so great,
and the facilities for travel are so extended, that
the same amount of talent is diffused all over the
world; so we are apt to fancy that it does not
exist because it is not with us. If all the great
actors of to-day were concentrated into a few
companies as was formerly the case, we would be
amazed at the entertainment they would give us.

MRS. BARNEY WILLIAMS

CHAPTER XVI

REFLECTIONS ON THE ART OF ACTING

The Dramatic Instinct — Spontaneity and Prepara
tion — Rehearsals — A Warm Heart and a Cool
Head — Taking Time — Advice to Beginners —
Remarks suggested by "Rip Van Winkle" —
Realism and Idealism — Dramatic Writing

DRAMATIC instinct is inherent throughout the
human family. Savages, even of the low
est type, are never so enthusiastic as when
they indulge in ceremonies representing death and
destruction. They will start upon an ideal warpath,
suddenly stopping to scalp an imaginary enemy.
The New Zealanders, who both physically and
intellectually are far above the ordinary savage, are
excellent in pantomimic action. They will even
act scenes and crudely represent historical tradi
tions of their tribe.

Watch the little boy in frocks — not two years
old. If you would delight him, fold a piece of
paper in the shape of a cocked hat, pop it on his
head, then give him a stick, and in a moment the

425

426 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

little fellow will straighten up and begin to march
about, pretending that he is a soldier. If in
another year you supply him with shovel and
wheelbarrow you will see him trudge off, joining
others of his own age who are building embank
ments or digging canals, and calling one another
by names that do not belong to them, acting and
pretending that they are somebody else. A group
of little girls will not have been in the room to
gether twenty minutes before one will play lady, as
if she had just called, and another pretend she is
the hostess, and the smallest of all act mother, and
nurse her doll with loving care. After a time the
grown-up people in the room will draw one an
other's attention to this little drama, and, not wish
ing to interrupt the play, will quietly nudge their
neighbors and nod approvingly.

The lawyer often clears his guilty client by de
picting the sorrow of a family who will be stricken
with grief if the jury should convict. The influ
ence of the stage has crept into the pulpit, which
to-day contains some of the finest actors of our
time.

Here then we have evidence not only that this
dramatic instinct pervades all classes of humanity,
but that its possessors insist upon displaying their
artistic qualities. And the encouragement of this
desire is as universal as the gift; for theaters,
opera-houses, lecture-rooms, and churches all over
the world are filled with eager audiences anxious
to witness any and all brilliant dramatic achieve
ments. The demand, too, is increasing. Half a

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 427

century ago there were but few good theaters in
America, and even these were badly lighted, poorly
heated, and indifferently appointed. In many of
the small towns the only places used for dramatic
entertainments were the dining-rooms of the hotels,
from which, after tea, the tables were removed and
the chairs set back that the play might be acted.
Now, in nearly all of the new and rising cities, the
theater or the opera-house is centrally located ; and
it is generally the finest building, both in point of
size and architecture, to be seen — heated with
steam, lighted by electricity, and provided with
every comfort. Within these temples, actors,
opera-singers, minstrels, and ministers hold forth,
and the same audience goes to hear them all. The
desire for dramatic entertainment has resolved
itself into a tidal wave that nothing can stop, par
ticularly as there is no desire to impede it. It has
not the fleeting character of a political movement
that might change with the new influence of the
next Administration; it belongs to no party; it
is born of no sect ; but it is the outcome of a uni
versal passion.

Naturally, other members of my profession have
given as much consideration to matters connected
with their art as I have — perhaps more. It is
therefore likely that a few may think as I do,
many may differ with me, though possibly some
may not have thought about the matter at all.

If I err I shall be glad to throw off my pre
conceived ideas and adopt other, better, and
newer methods. In fact, I have already dis-

428 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

carded many pet theories, and, as I have grown
older and more experienced, have been taught
by my own observations and the successful
achievements of others that there is always
room for reform.

Acting has been so much a part of my life
that my autobiography could scarcely be written
without jotting down my reflections upon it, and
I merely make this little preparatory explanation
to apologize for any dogmatic tone that they may
possess, and to say that I present them merely as
a seeker after truth in the domain of art.

In admitting the analogy that undoubtedly
exists between the arts of painting, poetry, music,
and acting, it should be remembered that the
three former are opposed to the latter, in at
least the one quality of permanence. The pic
ture, oratorio, or book must bear the test of
calculating criticism, whereas the work of an
actor is fleeting: it not only dies with him, but,
through his different moods, may vary from night
to night. If the performance be indifferent it is
no consolation for the audience to hear that the
player acted well last night, or to be told that he
will act better to-morrow night; it is this night
that the public has to deal with, and the impression
the actor has made, good or bad, remains as such
upon the mind of that particular audience.

The author, painter, or musician, if he be dis
satisfied with his work, may alter and perfect it
before giving it publicity, but an actor cannot
rub out; he ought, therefore, in justice to his

JOHN DREW AS "THE IRISH EMIGRANT."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 429

audience, to be sure of what he is going to
place before it. Should a picture in an art gal
lery be carelessly painted we can pass on to
another, or if a book fails to please us we can
put it down. An escape from this kind of dullness
is easily made, but in a theater the auditor is
imprisoned. If the acting be indifferent, he must
endure it, at least for a time. He cannot with
draw without making himself conspicuous; so he
remains, hoping that there may be some im
provement as the play proceeds, or perhaps from
consideration for the company he is in. It is this
helpless condition that renders careless acting so
offensive.

The supremacy in both the writing and acting of
comedy has been for many years accorded to the
French stage. My opinion upon this subject will
be of little value. An American comedian acting
only in the English language could scarcely speak
with confidence on this subject unless he under
stood and spoke the French language as well as the
French actors themselves. In tragedy the matter
would be quite different. The expressions of love,
jealousy, hate, revenge, pride, madness, or despair
are so pronounced in tragedy that we can judge of
their intensity and effect in any language. Com
edy has but little to do with the violent exhibition
of these passions. Its effects are more subtile and
depend much upon minute detail accompanied by
slight but most important inflections of the voice,
and by delicate pantomime. No one not thoroughly
and practically acquainted with the French Ian-

430 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

guage could offer a fair opinion upon French act
ing. I can only say that I saw much of French
comedy in France and was delighted with it. Its
grace and finish were quite perfect, and in acting
their own comedy I should say that the comedians
were exceptionally fine ; but, with all their excel
lence, there is one glaring fault which I think I
may venture to express condemnation of, no mat
ter in what language it occurs, and which I think
they themselves could hardly defend — I mean the
unnatural trick of speaking soliloquy and side
speeches directly to the audience. We should act
for the audience, not to the audience.

To appeal every now and then to the front of the
theater for recognition is an exhibition of weakness.
An actor who cannot speak a speech with his
back to the audience when the situation demands
it has much to learn. As soon as we acknowledge
the presence of the public we dispel its attention
and ruin its enjoyment. We were forced to do
this in the days when we were his Majesty's ser
vants, and when it was considered disrespectful to
turn our backs on royalty. How absurd to see a
courtier present a document at the foot of the
throne in the play and sidle up the stage with his
back to the mimic king because the real article is
in the royal box !

I have seen impulsive actors who were so confi
dent of their power that they left all to chance.
This is a dangerous course, especially when acting
a new character. I will admit that there are many
instances where great effects have been produced

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 431

that were entirely spontaneous, and were as much
a surprise to the actors who made them as they
were to the audience that witnessed them ; but just
as individuals who have exuberant spirits are at
times dreadfully depressed, so when an impulsive
actor fails to receive his inspiration he is dull
indeed, and is the more disappointing because of
his former brilliant achievements.

In the stage-management of a play, or in the act
ing of a part, nothing should be left to chance, and
for the reason that spontaneity, inspiration, or what
ever this -strange and delightful quality may be
called, is not to be commanded, or we should give
it some other name. It is, therefore, better that a
clear and unmistakable outline of a character should
be drawn before an actor undertakes a new part.
If he has a well-ordered and an artistic mind it
• is likely that he will give at least a symmetrical
and effective performance; but should he make
no definite* arrangement, and depend upon our
ghostly friends Spontaneity and Inspiration to
pay him a visit, and should they decline to call,
the actor will be in a maze and his audience in
a muddle.

Besides, why not prepare to receive our mys
terious friends whether they come or not ? If they
fail on such an invitation we can at least entertain
our other guests without them ; and if they do ap
pear, our preconceived arrangements will give them
a better welcome and put them more at ease.

Acting under these purely artificial conditions
will necessarily be cold, but the care with which

432 T^E AUTOBIOGRAPHY

the part is given will at least render it inoffensive ;
they are, therefore, primary considerations, and not
to be despised. The exhibition of artistic care, how
ever, does not alone constitute great acting. The
inspired warmth of passion in tragedy and the
sudden glow of humor in comedy cover the artifi
cial framework with an impenetrable veil: this is
the very climax of great art, for which there seems
to be no other name but genius. It is then, and
then only, that an audience feels that it is in the
presence of a reality rather than a fiction. To an
audience an ounce of genius has more weight than
a ton of talent ; for though it respects the latter, it
reverences the former. But the creative power,
divine as it may be, should in common gratitude
pay due regard to the reflective ; for Art is the
handmaid of Genius, and only asks the modest
wages of respectful consideration in payment for
her valuable services. A splendid torrent of genius
ought never to be checked, but it should be wisely
guided into the deep channel of the stream from
whose surface it will then reflect Nature without a
ripple. Genius dyes the hues that resemble those
of the rainbow ; Art fixes the colors that they may
stand. In the race for fame purely artificial actors
cannot hope to win against those whose genius is
guided by their art; and, on the other hand, Intui
tion must not complain if, unbridled or with too
loose a rein, it stumbles on the course, and so al
lows a well-ridden hack to distance it.

Very numerous rehearsals are not always neces
sary to attain perfection ; on the contrary, it is the

JOHN T. RAYMOND AS £<COL. SELLERS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 433

quality, not the quantity, that is important. Tedious
preparation day after day will sometimes pall upon
a company of actors, who, wearied by constant repe
tition, lose the freshness with which their perform
ance should be given ; and that quality once lost is
seldom regained. It is vain for a manager to argue
that he pays the actor for his time and attention. He
has a perfect right to these, certainly ; but the feel
ing and enthusiasm with which the time and atten
tion should be given he can no more command than
he can alter the human nature of his company.

Just as an early impression is the most indelible,
so the first rehearsal is the most important, and
being so should never be called until the author
and stage-manager shall have fully digested their
plans and thoroughly understand what they intend
to do. This course not only saves labor but begets
the respect of the company, who feel that their
time will not be wasted and that they are in the
hands of patient and conscientious directors.

It is the time-honored excuse of some actors
that they cannot study a part until they have
rehearsed it, forgetting that it is not possible to
rehearse properly until they are perfect in the
words. A part is more easily studied after a
rehearsal of it, certainly ; but I am not discussing
ease, remember, but propriety. How can we
watch the action and progress of the play if
our eyes are bent upon the book? It is merely
a bad habit, and one that has grown out of a
desire that some people have to shirk their duty;
being naturally inclined to procrastination they
28

434 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

shelter themselves under this weak and conven
tional excuse.

Usually the scenery and properties of a play are
brought into requisition during the later rehearsals,
and increased in detail till they culminate at the
last rehearsal.

This is working from the wrong direction. It is
at the first rehearsal that these adjuncts should
be used, and if they are not ready substitutes
should be put in their places; for if the set of
the scene, the chairs, tables, and other mechanical
arrangements are placed upon the stage for an
initial rehearsal, the manager and the actors
know then and ever afterwards where to find
them and how to arrange their groupings, exits,
entrances, and stage business in accordance with
the position of these useful materials ; but if, after
all the stage business has been arranged, the
company suddenly find at the last rehearsal that
chairs, tables, seats, etc. are met upon the stage
in unexpected places, they become obstacles to the
actors instead of adjuncts,

I do not mean to say that the entire business of
a play can be arranged at the first rehearsal. New
ideas continually crop up during the early stages
of preparation which upon consideration may be
more valuable than the original ones, and actors
may have suggestions to make, the effect of which
had not struck the author. But while a good
general shows his genius best when dealing with
an emergency, he does not disdain to plan the
battle before the action takes place.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 435

Better have no rehearsal at all than one that is
long, rambling, and careless: a clearly cut and
perfectly defined outline gives precision and finish
to the work. If it were possible the pantomime
and action of a play should reveal its meaning to
an audience without the aid of dialogue; this
would give force to the language and enable those
who do not catch all the words fully to comprehend
their meaning.

An audience should understand what the actors
are doing if it does not hear all that they are
saying. It is eager to do this, and quite competent,
if we only give it a fair opportunity ; but inartic
ulate delivery and careless pantomime will not
suffice.

We must not mistake vagueness for suggestion,
and imagine that because we understand the mat
ter we are necessarily conveying it to others.
Sheridan, in his extravaganza of " The Critic ; or,
a Tragedy Rehearsed," gives a humorous illustra
tion of this error. During the rehearsal of Mr.
Puff's play the character of Lord Burleigh enters,
walking slowly and majestically down to the foot
lights. The noble knight folds his arms, shakes
his head solemnly, and then makes his exit without
saying a word.

"What does he mean by shaking his head in
that manner?" asks Mr. Dangle, a theatrical
critic.

To which Mr. Puff replies : " Don't you know ?
Why, by that shake of the head he gave you to
understand that even though they had more jus-

436 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

tice in their cause and more wisdom in their
measures, yet, if there was not a greater spirit
shown on the part of the people, the country
would at last fall a sacrifice to the hostile ambition
of the Spanish monarchy."

"Did he mean all that by shaking his head?"
asks Mr. Dangle.

To which Mr. Puff replies, "Yes, sir; if he
shook it as I told him."

As this satire was written over a hundred years
ago, it is quite evident that the vanity of vagueness
is not a new histrionic development.

And here the quality of permanence as allied to
the other arts and not to acting presents itself. If
we do not at first understand a great picture, a fine
piece of music, or a poem, each of these, being tan
gible, still remains ; so, should we desire it, we can
familiarize ourselves with it, and as we grow older
and become more highly cultivated we will under
stand a school of art that was at first obscure. But
there must be no vagueness in acting. The sug
gestion should be unmistakable ; it must be leveled
at the whole audience, and reach with unerring aim
the boy in the gallery and the statesman in the
stalls.

A reminiscence of some forty years ago will
serve to illustrate the value of careful preparation
at rehearsal.

The production at Burton's Theater of "Dombey
and Son," dramatized by Mr. Brougham, was a curi
ous combination of failure and success. Much was
expected of Burton's Captain Cuttle, and to the

JOHN* MCCULLOL'GH AS " YIRGI'XIUS."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 437

surprise of the expectant critics and of Burton
himself he did nothing with it. Brougham was
equally dull as the two B's, Bunsby and Bagstock ;
the hit of the piece, at least on its first production,
was made by Oliver Raymond as Toots. This
gentleman had been previously an obscure actor,
but on making a success in a play wherein Burton
had failed, he came to the front at once and was
the lion of the hour.

Burton's failure as Cuttle was easily accounted
for. He had studied the character carelessly, and
not only was imperfect in the text but had been
absent from many of the rehearsals, relying too
much upon his great powers and the spontaneity
of his dramatic resources. He was usually able to
command them, but during the first run of this piece
they played him truant. Dismayed at his own
failure and mortified at young Raymond's success,
the manager took the drama from the bills and
substituted another programme. Not satisfied with
Brougham's adaptation, — for the novel had been
badly dramatized, — he and the adapter worked
together to reconstruct the play.

The great comedian now set himself seriously to
work on the character, perfecting himself in the
words, and amplifying the .part by the introduction
of stage-business and by-play. In this kind of in
genious elaboration he was a master, and clearly
proved it on the revival of the discarded play. His
performance was in magnificent condition when I
witnessed it, and who that ever saw Burton as
Captain Cuttle, Mariner^ can ever forget it ? What

438 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

expression ! what breadth ! what humor ! and what
tenderness !

In the scene with Florence Dombey where he is
trying to reveal to her that her lover, supposed to
be drowned, was rescued, he sits awkwardly shift
ing his position from side to side, puffs his pipe, and
tells his tale, letting the story go from him little by
little and hauling it back lest the joyful tidings
should be too great a shock, his fat face drawn
down with serio-comic emotion, his eyes protruding
in a solemn, stupid stare, and his utterance choked
with tears that seem to force themselves out and
mingle with the smoke. As the door bursts open
and the returned lover clasps his sweetheart in
his arms, the captain jumps from his seat, cocks
his tarpaulin hat over his eyes, folds his arms
tightly, and, trying to whistle a tune, bursts into
tears and dances a sailor's hornpipe around the
loving couple. I had heard of his missing the
part at first ; but he was in the height of his triumph
when I saw the performance, and it was amazing to
see into what a superb success he had elaborated
a failure.

If any proofs were wanting that an actor, no
matter how great, should arrange the mechanical
details of his work before he presents It to the
public, the failure and ultimate success of Burton's
Captain Cuttle offer sufficient evidence. Here
stood an actor to whom dramatic genius was
universally accorded. Yet even he had been
taught a lesson, and learned not to place too
much confidence in the spur of the moment.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 439

Much has been written upon the question as to
whether an actor ought to feel the character he acts
or be dead to any sensations in this direction. Ex
cellent artists differ in their opinions on this impor
tant point. In discussing it I must refer to some
words I wrote in one of the early chapters of this
book:

The methods by which actors arrive at great effects vary ac
cording to their own natures ; this renders the teaching of the
art by any strictly defined lines a difficult matter.

There has lately been a discussion on the sub
ject, in which many have taken part, and one quite
notable debate between two distinguished actors,
one of the English and the other of the French
stage. These gentlemen, though they differ en
tirely in their ideas, are, nevertheless, equally right.
The method of one, I have no doubt, is the best he
could possibly devise for himself; and the same
may be said of the rules of the other as applied to
himself. But they must work with their own tools;
if they had to adopt each other's they would be as
much confused as if compelled to exchange lan
guages. One believes that he must feel the char
acter he plays, even to the shedding of real tears,
while the other prefers never to lose himself for
an instant, and there is no doubt that they both
act with more effect by adhering to their own
dogmas.

For myself, I know that I act best when the
heart is warm and the head is cool. In observing
the works of great painters I find that they have

440 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

no conventionalities except their own ; hence they
are masters, and each is at the head of his own
school. They are original, and could not imitate
even if they would.

So with acting, no master-hand can prescribe
rules for the head of another school. If, then, I
appear bold in putting forth my suggestions, I de
sire it to be clearly understood that I do not present
them to original or experienced artists who have
formed their school, but to the student who may
have a temperament akin to my own, and who
could, therefore, blend my methods with his pre
conceived ideas.

I think it is generally conceded that imitators
are seldom fine actors, though they are usually
great favorites with the public. I confess that I
enjoy the exhibitions of this kind of talent exceed
ingly. There is something very attractive and
even strange to see one man display the voice,
manner, and expression of another — particularly
if that other be not yourself. We may enjoy the
imitation of our dearest friends, but our smiles
vanish and our faces elongate if the mimic attempts
to give "a counterfeit presentment" of the party
of the first part. I have heroically tried on sev
eral occasions to enjoy imitations of myself, but
have never succeeded. These ingenious tran
scripts contain a slight touch of ridicule that always
offends the original. An anecdote of Mr. Buck-
stone, the English comedian, will serve to illustrate
what I have said. He was an actor whose man
nerisms were so marked that they infused them-

J. B. BUCKSTONE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 441

selves through all the characters he played. He
was undoubtedly humorous, or, more properly
speaking, funny; but whether he acted Sir An
drew Aguecheek or Cousin Joe he seemed to have
no power of embodying the character — rendering
each of them with the same voice, manner, and
attitude ; consequently, he was an admirable sub
ject for imitation.

At the close of a dinner party he had been
given to understand that there was a person
present who gave an excellent imitation of him
self. Buckstone at once desired the gentleman
to let the company have a test of his quality.
The gentleman politely declined, saying that he
might give offense ; but the comedian would not
let him off, insisted on the exhibition, and, rubbing
his hands together with great glee, settled him
self down for unlimited enjoyment The imitator,
seeing that there was no escape, arose, and amid
breathless silence began. His hit was immense,
and as he sat down the guests broke forth in loud
laughter and applause : the whole table was in a
roar of merriment; every one was in ecstasy
except Buckstone, who looked the picture of
misery.

" Well, Mr. Buckstone," exclaimed a wag% who
was quietly enjoying the comedian's discomfiture,
" don't you think the imitation very fine ? "

" It may be," he replied, "but I think I could do
it better myself."

Acting is more a gift than an art. I have seen a
child impress an audience by its natural grace and

442 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

magnetism. The little creature was too young to
know what art meant, but it had the gift of acting.
The great value of art when applied to the stage
is that it enables the performer to reproduce the
gift, and so move his audience night after night,
even though he has acted the same character a
thousand times. In fact, we cannot act a character
too often, if we do not lose interest in it. But
when its constant repetition palls on the actor it
will as surely weary his audience. When you
lose interest — stop acting.

This loss of interest on the part of the actor may
not be visible in the action or pantomime ; but
unless care and judgment are observed it will
assuredly betray itself in the delivery of the lan
guage, and more particularly in the long speeches
and soliloquies. In dialogue the spirit of the other
actors serves to stimulate and keep him up ; but
when alone, and unaided by the eye and presence
of a companion, the old story fails to kindle the
fire. An anecdote of Macready that I heard many
years ago throws a flood of light upon this subject;
and as I think it too important a one to remain
in obscurity I will relate it as I got it from Mr.
Couldock, and then refer to its influence upon
myself and the means I used to profit by it. The
incident occurred in Birmingham, England, some
forty years ago* The narrator was present and
naturally listened with interest to a conversation
upon art between two such able exponents of it
as Mr. Macready and Mrs. Warner. What they
said referred to an important scene in the tragedy

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 443

of "Werner/1 which had been acted the evening
before.

Mr. Macready, it seems, had much respect for
Mrs. Warner's judgment in matters relating to the
stage, and desired to consult her on the merits and
demerits of the preceding evening's performance.
As nearly as can be remembered, his question and
her reply were as follows :

"My dear madam," said Macready, "you have
acted with me in the tragedy of * Werner ? for many
years, and naturally must be very familiar with it
and with my manner of acting that character. I
have noticed lately, and more particularly last
evening, that some of the passages in the play do
not produce the effect that they formerly did.
There is a certain speech especially that seems to
have lost its power. I refer to the one wherein
Werner excuses himself to his son for the 'petty
plunder' of Stralenkeim's gold. In our earlier
performances, if you remember, this apology was
received with marked favor, and, as you must have
observed, last evening it produced no apparent
effect ; can you form any idea why this should be ?
Is it that the audience has grown too familiar with
the story? I must beg you to be candid with me.
I shall not be offended by any adverse criticism you
may make, should you say that the fault is with me."

"Well, Mr. Macready, since you desire that I
should speak plainly," said Mrs. Warner, "I do
not think it is because your audience is too fa
miliar with the story, but because you are too
familiar with it yourself."

444 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

"I thank you, madam," said Macready ; "but
how does this mar the effect of the speech ? "

"Thus," said Mrs. Warner. "When you spoke
that speech ten years ago there was a surprise
in your face as though you then only realized
what you had done. You looked shocked and
bewildered, and in a forlorn way seemed to cast
about for words that would excuse the crime ;
and all this with a depth of feeling and sincerity
that would naturally come from an honest man who
had been for the first time in his life accused of
theft."

" That is as it should be given," said Macready.
" And now, madam ? "

"You speak it," said his frank critic, "like one
who has committed a great many thefts in his life,
and whose glib excuses are so pat and frequent
that he is neither shocked, surprised, nor abashed
at the accusation."

" I thank you, madam," said the old actor. " The
distinction may appear at first as a nice one, but
there is much in it."

When I heard the story from Mr. Couldock it
struck me with much force. I knew then that I
had been unconsciously falling into the same error,
and I felt that the fault would increase rather than
diminish with time if I could not hit upon some
method to check it. I began by listening to each
important question as though it had been given
for the first time, turning the query over in my
mind and then answering it, even at times hesi
tating as if for want of words to frame the reply.

SARAH STEVENS.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 445

I will admit that this is dangerous ground and apt
to render one slow and prosy ; in fact, I was
accused, and I dare say quite justly, of pausing
too long. This, of course, was the other extreme
and had to be looked to, so that it became neces
sary that the pauses should, by the manner and
pantomime, be made sufficiently interesting not to
weary an audience ; so I summed it up somewhat
after the advice of Mr. Lewes — to take time with
out appearing to take time.

It is the freshness, the spontaneity, of acting that
charms. How can a weary brain produce this
quality? Show me a tired actor and I will show
you a dull audience. They may go in crowds to
see him, and sit patiently through his perform
ance. They have heard that he is great, they
may even know it from past experience; so they
accept the indifferent art, thinking, perhaps, that
they are to blame for a lack of enthusiasm.

Pantomimic action, unless it is in perfect har
mony with the scene, is fatal to the effect of a deli
cate point If the situation be a violent one, such
as the preparation for battle in " Richard," or where
Hamlet's uncle rises from his seat in the play
scene, dismissing the audience, the situation
being pronounced and the action strong, indiffer
ent pantomime upon the part of the actors might
not be noticed in the bustle and excitement.
But, to exemplify my meaning, let us take a point
where the audience is called upon, not for enthusi
astic applause but for rapt attention ; where the
situation is so subtile that the head bowed slowly

446 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

down, or a movement of the eye, will reveal the
meaning. Now, at this critical point, if one of
the actors should even remove his hat, or unmean
ingly shift his position, he will destroy the effect.
The finer the acting the more easily the effect is
destroyed, just as a scratch will disfigure a polished
surface that would not show on the face of a cob
blestone.

The audience cannot look in two places at once ;
the eye is such a tyrant that it distracts from the
subject "then necessary to be considered," direct
ing the attention to a useless and intrusive move
ment The value of repose is so great that it is
difficult to estimate it.

At rehearsal the amateur having finished his
speech invariably asks the stage-manager what
he should do next. As soon as he ceases to be the
interesting figure he should observe the action of
the other characters ; this is the most natural by
play and the least likely to do harm. It acts like
the distance in a picture, which, by being subdued,
gives strength to the foreground. But the tyro is
generally fearful that he will fail to attract atten
tion, whereas obscurity instead of prominence may
at that time be the most desirable. To do nothing
upon the stage seems quite simple, but some people
never acquire this negative capacity.

It is David's speech (in " The Rivals ") that terri
fies Acres. How could an audience get the full value
of what David says if they were looking at the face
of Acres? The two characters would conflict with
each other, and so rob the picture of clearness.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 447

But if Acres here will subdue his personality and
sink, as it were, into the background, the audience
will get the full force of what David says, and
become as perfectly saturated with its meaning
as Acres himself. Now see how fully they are
prepared to receive the expression of fear from
the latter. After David's scene is over, Acres
has the audience at his full command — the slight
est suggestion from him is taken up at once.
They know his character and realize his position as
vividly as he does himself; it is because they have
had the full and uninterrupted benefit of the previous
scene. If, during David's speech, I, as Acres, show
my face to the audience or pull out my handker
chief and weep, I might gain a temporary advan
tage, but I should weaken David, and in the end
mar the effect of my own character ; and, believe
me, an audience is always grateful to an actor who
directs its attention the right way. The traveler
thanks the truthful finger-post, but never forgives
the rascal who has misdirected him.

Nothing in art is more distressing than to see
an actor attract the attention of the audience,
from an interesting point in the performance, by
the introduction of some unimportant by -play.
At times this is done from ignorance, but, I
regret to say, often through jealousy. This un
fair spirit reflects back upon the guilty party,
for the public resent it quietly while the offender
least suspects it : their enjoyment has been marred,
and the obnoxious cause of it has only consoled
them by a display of unmeaning activity; they

448 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

refuse this rubbish and inwardly mark the indi
vidual who has had the impertinence to offer it.
But as two pigs under a gate make more noise
than one, it is still worse to see a pair of ranters
or a couple of buffoons trying to outdo each other.
There is but one recompense ; they are both
self-slaughtered in the conflict,

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together,
And choke their art.

Many instructors in the dramatic art fall into
the error of teaching too much. The pupil should
first be allowed to exhibit his quality, and so teach
the teacher what to teach. This course would
answer the double purpose of first revealing how
much the pupil is capable of learning, and, what is
still more important, of permitting him to display
his powers untrammeled. Whereas, if the master
begins by pounding his dogmas into the student,
the latter becomes environed by a foreign influence
which, if repugnant to his nature, may smother
his ability.

It is necessary to be cautious in studying elocu
tion and gesticulation, lest they become our masters
instead of our servants. These necessary but dan
gerous ingredients must be administered and taken
in homeopathic doses, or the patient may die by
being over-stimulated. But even at the risk
of being artificial, it is better to have studied
these arbitrary rules than to enter a profession
with no knowledge whatever of its mechanism.
Dramatic instinct is so implanted in humanity

CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 449

that it sometimes misleads us, fostering the idea
that because we have the natural talent within,
we are equally endowed with the power of
bringing it out. This is the common error, the
rock on which the histrionic aspirant is oftenest
wrecked. Very few actors succeed who crawl into
the service through "the cabin windows"; and
if they do it is a lifelong regret with them that
they did not exert their courage and sail at first
" before the mast."

Many of the shining lights who now occupy the
highest positions on the stage, and whom the public
voice delights to praise, have often appeared in the
dreaded character of "omnes," marched in proces
sions, sung out of tune in choruses, and shouted
themselves hoarse for Briitus and Mark Antony.

If necessity is the mother of invention, she is
the foster-mother of art, for the greatest actors
that ever lived have drawn their early nourish
ment from her breast. We learn our profession
by the mortifications we are compelled to go
through in order to get a living. The sons and
daughters of wealthy parents who have money
at their command, and can settle their weekly
expenses without the assistance of the box-office,
indignantly refuse to lower themselves by assum
ing some subordinate character for which they are
cast, and march home because their fathers and
mothers will take care of them. Well, they had
better stay there!

If Edmund Kean had been wealthy the chances
are that he never would have submitted to the

450 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

insults of the manager and some of the actors
during the memorable rehearsal at Drury Lane
Theater. He perhaps would have broken his
engagement and retired from the stage in dis
gust; but half-starved and threadbare, his loved
wife and child living in a garret, he had a noble
motive to stimulate his power, and I believe that
Kean on the night of his first appearance in
London was a greater actor than he had ever
been before. His situation was desperate, and
aroused the slumbering genius within him. The
whole history of that eventful night impresses
one with the idea that he himself was surprised
at what he did.

Fitzgerald, in his admirable " Romance of the
English Stage," says that " Kean had a gallant
confidence in himself all through." There is
nothing in the story that implies this. He had
courage, no doubt, or he could not have made
the effort; but it was fitful and uncertain. Genius
is seldom confident. Fitzgerald himself quotes
the last words Kean said as he left his house
for the theater. " He kissed his wife and infant
son, and muttered, ' I wish I were going to be
shot.'" There is no confidence in these terrible
words. They show the brave nature of the man
because he was not confident Who can say how
fervently he may have prayed as he trudged
through the dark, wet streets, with a beating
heart and a nervous foreboding of disaster in
the approaching trial. His hit was tremendous,
and, when the manager congratulated him on

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 451

his wonderful success, in Kean's own description
of the event he said, "The pit rose at me." This
sounds confident, I admit; but the remark was made
after the battle was won.

The whole picture is more interesting and truth
ful when we view the man as being fully alive to the
danger of the situation and apprehensive lest the
invisible genius within him should fail to appear.
When this mysterious influence, which comes un
bidden, burst forth at the theater that night, the
public were amazed, the critics stunned, and Kean
himself was surprised. No intellectual effort could
have created this effect The source of genius
is in the soul ; it seldom aims at the brains of
the audience, but oftener shoots at their hearts
through its own. It shrinks from assuming the
arrogance that commands attention, and modestly
invites it.

But whether you are rich or poor, if you would
be an actor begin at the beginning. This is the
old conventional advice, and is as good now in its
old age as it was in its youth. All actors will
agree in this, and as Puff says, in " The Critic,"
"When they do agree on the stage the unanimity
is wonderful." Enroll yourself as a " super" in
some first-class theater, where there is a stock
company and likely to be a periodical change of
programme, so that even in your low degree the
practice will be varied. After having posed a
month as an innocent English rustic, you may, in
the next play, have an opportunity of being a noble
Roman, Do the little you have to do as well as

452 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

you can ; if you are in earnest the stage-mana
ger will soon notice it, and your advancement will
begin at once. You have now made the plunge,
the ice is broken ; there is no more degradation
for you, and every step you take is forward.

A great American statesman said, "There is
always plenty of room at the top." So there is,
Mr. Webster, after you get there. But we must
climb, and climb slowly too, so that we can look
back without any unpleasant sensations ; for if we
are cast suddenly upon the giddy height, our heads
will swim and down we go. Look 'also at the diffi
culties that will beset you by beginning "at the
top." In the first place, no manager in his senses
will permit it ; and if he did, your failure — which is
almost inevitable — not only will mortify you, but
your future course for some time to come will be
on the downward path. Then, in disgust, sore and
disheartened, you will retire from the profession
which perhaps your talents might have ornamented
if they had been properly developed.

While acting once in Boston I received a note
from the publisher of "The Atlantic Monthly," to
know if I would call at the publishing house to
meet Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. It seems the
lady had been at the theater where I had acted the
night before, and in a note to the publisher had
expressed a desire to see me. We had a long and,
to me, a very pleasant chat. In speaking of her
visit to the theater she said she was struck by the
scene in which Rip meets with his daughter, and
that it reminded her of the situation between Lear

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "*R!P VAN WINKLE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 453

and Cordelia. I told her that the scene was un
doubtedly modeled on the one from Shakspere, and
perhaps the white hair and beard floating about
the head of the old Knickerbocker had some share
in this likeness. She said she was sure that I
could play Lear. I was sorry to differ with a lady,
but I told her I was quite sure that I could not.

Shortly after this I met another lady of equal
intelligence, who seemed much interested in Rip
Van Winkle. Among the many questions she
asked of me was how I could act the character
so often and not tire of it. I told her that I had
always been strangely interested in the part, and
fearing that I might eventually grow weary of it,
I had of late years so arranged my seasons that I
played only a few months and took long spells
of rest between them, but that my great stimulus, of
course, was public approval, and the knowledge
that it must cease if I flagged in my interest or
neglected to give my entire attention to the work
while it was progressing.

"Another question, please. Why don't you have
a dog in the play ? "

I replied that I disliked realism in art, and realism
alive, with a tail to wag at the wrong time, would
be abominable.

" But don't you think that the public would like
to see Schneider? "

"The public could not pay him a higher compli
ment, for it shows how great an interest they take
in an animal that has never been exhibited. No,
no ; ' hold the mirror up to nature* if you like, but

454 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

don't hold nature up — a reflection of the thing, but
not the thing itself. How badly would a drunken
man give an exhibition of intoxication on the stage!
Who shall act a madman but one who is perfectly
sane? We must not be natural but appear to
be "so."

''One question more, and I have done. Why
do you not refuse the cup that Gretcken offers
you at the end of the play ?"

To which I replied : " Should Rip refuse the cup
the drama would become at once a temperance
play. This subject has both its adherents and its
opponents, and has, moreover, of late become a
political question. The action would have a local
and even a modern flavor. I should as soon expect
to hear of Cinderella striking for high wages or of
a speech on woman's rights from old Mother Hub-
bard as to listen to a temperance lecture from Rip
Van Winkle ; it would take all the poetry and
fairy-tale element completely out of it. I would
prefer that the impression on the audience as the
curtain falls should be suggestive, so that they
might terminate it in a manner most agreeable to
themselves. Let us not suppose in, the end that
Rip and his wife get ill, send for the doctor, take
pills, and die, but that they sit like Darby and Joan
by the fireside and eventually go up the chimney
in the smoke. If " Rip Van Winkle " had been
treated in a realistic manner it never would have
lived so long."

What is called the moral drama is artificial and
insincere, and I doubt if it ever taught a whole-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 455

some lesson. Mr. Gough's mission was a different
one from mine. In his entertainment he announced
himself as a temperance lecturer. The audience
were prepared to hear and approve of his views*
In my case it would be a deception to announce a
play and preach a sermon, and the very people
who ask for it would consider it an impertinence
if it had been gratuitously offered.

The beautiful lessons contained in many of the
plays of Shakspere are not thrust upon the
audience. They are so delicately suggested that
the listener takes the splendid truths and hugs
them to his heart The great dramatist does not
stand forth and dogmatically expound his views on
acting, but mark with what modesty he shows us
the way to tread. One of his characters, Ham
let, has a play, and with kind consideration takes
aside the actors who are to perform it and tells
them how he would have his play delivered.
These simple instructions, of not more than a
dozen lines, contain the whole art of acting ; the
player need go no further for instruction ; those
who entangle themselves in a labyrinth of argu
ments over the proper or improper way of
rendering plays or characters can settle all their
disputes by this little speech.

Again, Polonius does not sermonize his audience.
As his only son is leaving home, the youth kneels
at his father's feet and asks a blessing: who
would not wish that his boy should go through
life freighted with such precepts ? These are the
lessons that Shakspere has taught us, and this

456 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

must surely be the way to teach them. So it
would seem that Shakspere, in giving his lessons
to the world, is like a kind father who when his
son has been guilty of a grave offense, instead of
storming at him in a temper, waits until the wrong
is half forgotten, and then when they are the best of
friends takes the little fellow on his knee and tells
him for his own sake what he would have him do.

Realism and idealism are important factors in
the dramatic art. No one, I think, will question
the fact that imagination has given us the highest
dramatic compositions, and that it enters largely
into the best form of acting ; and there is a strong
belief that the introduction of realism in plays of a
highly poetical character often goes far to weaken
their effect.

We are told by an authority that no one seems
inclined to dispute that the judgments of the judi
cious " should outweigh a whole theater of others ";
but then who are in this case the " judicious " —
may it not be the many instead of the few ?

That manager is unquestionably the most useful
who entertains the greatest number when he does
not degrade them, and certainly there is no degra
dation in the realistic productions in question. So
the matter stands just where it did ; the audience
must decide which it prefers, and the actor must
consider how far these introductions may assist or
mar his work.

It was my good fortune during the earlier part
of my dramatic career to add the romantic story
of "Rip Van Winkle" to my repertory, under

J!..»SEPH JEFFERSdN AS "KIP VAN WINKLE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 457

circumstances elsewhere related. I was attracted
by the poetic nature of the legend, and en
deavored to treat it in harmony with that feature.
After acting it for many years I had various sug
gestions made to me for elaborating the spectacular
and scenic effects of the play, among which were
the introduction of several fat old Knickerbockers
smoking their long pipes and quarreling in Dutch,
a large windmill with the sails to work, dairy
maids with real cows, mechanical effects for the
sudden and mysterious appearance and disappear
ance of Hendrik Hudson's crew, and in the last
act the Continental army with drums and fifes, a
militia training, and the further introduction of
patriotic speeches about American independence.
So unreal a theme could not have been inter
woven with all this realism without marring the
play. If I were a stage-manager and were
producing a plain, matter-of-fact nautical drama,
where the characters are mere commonplace every
day people, I would exert all my ingenuity in the
invention of realistic effects. The ship should be
perfectly modeled, the masts round, the sails can
vas, and the coils of rope of undoubted veracity.
On the village green I would place cottages built
out and thatched with veritable straw, and the
garlands of roses that hung from the May-pole
should perfume the auditorium, if Lubin's extract
of new mown hay could do the business ; but I
should hesitate before I placed smoking hot joints
on the banquet tables of "Macbeth." It does
seem out of place that the audience should have

458 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

their nostrils saluted with the odor of baked meat
while they are gazing at the awful ghost of "the
blood-boltered Banquo." According to this view
of the subject, realism should halt before it
trenches upon or vulgarizes the effect of a poeti
cal play.

A curious incident occurs to me that is con
nected with the play of " Rip Van Winkle " ; let
me put it down and I have done.

There is in the village of Catskill a Rip Van
Winkle Club. This society did me the honor to
invite me to act the character in their town. I
accepted, and when I arrived was met by the
worthy president and other members of the club,
among whom was young Nicholas Vedder, who
claimed to be a lineal descendant of the original
"old Nick." Emulating the spirit of evolution,
the citizens had turned the skating-rink into a
theater, and a very respectable-looking establish
ment it made, though in its transition state the
marks of rollers did " cling to it still." I was tak
ing a cup of tea at the table in the hotel, when I
was attracted to the colored waiter, who was giv
ing a graphic and detailed account of this legend
of the Catskill Mountains to one of the boarders
who sat nearly opposite to me.

" Yes, sah," he continued, " Rip went up into de
mountains, slep' for twenty years, and when he
came back hyar in dis berry town his own folks
did n't know him."

"Why," said his listener, "you don't believe the
story *s true ? "

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 459

" True ? Ob course it is ; why/' pointing at me,
" dat 's de man."

The town was filled with farmers and their wives
who had come from far and near to see the open
ing of the new theater, and also, I think I may say,
to see for the first time on the stage the story
which Washington Irving had laid almost at their
very doors.

As I drove to the theater the rain came down
in torrents, the thunder rolled and the lightning
played around the peaks of the distant mountains
under the very shadow of which I was to act the
play. It gave me a very strange sensation. When
I got to the theater I could scarcely get in, the
crowd was so great about the door — countrymen
trying to get into the ticket office instead of the
proper entrance, and anxious and incredulous old
ladies endeavoring to squeeze past the doorkeeper
but refusing to give up their tickets. The rush
over, the play began. The audience was intent on
the scene as it progressed, and seemed anxious not
to lose a word. During the scene in the last act
where Rip inquires of the inn-keeper, " Is this the
village of Falling Water?" I altered the text and
substituted the correct name, " Is this the village
of Catskill ? " The crowded house almost held its
breath. The name of the village seemed to bring
the scene home to every man, woman, and child
that was looking at it From this time on the
interest was at its full tension. Surely I had
never seen an audience so struck with the play
before.

460 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

There was a reception held at the club after the
play, and the worthy president in introducing me
to the company was so nervous that he announced
me as "Mr. Washington Irving."

If I dwell at length upon so old a subject as this
well-worn drama it is not only because the play
and its hero were important to me, but for the
reason that there are incidents connected with its
career from which a lesson may be drawn ; and
while I do not aspire to be a teacher of Art or set
myself up as a Sir Oracle, or a finger-post to point
out the road to dramatic success, I cannot resist
the desire I have to give some of my young friends
on the stage a few hints in relation to the conduct
of their professional lives that may be useful even
if they are dry and uninteresting.

The rules that would seem to promote success
upon the stage are so shifting and at times so
inscrutable that the most diligent and experienced
actors often stand amazed at the disappointing re
sults which have attended honest and intelligent
labor. I have known members of the theatrical
profession who, though possessed of great ability
and an untiring industry, have never met with one
cheering success, and I have seen novices come
upon the stage knowing nothing of dramatic art
and possessed of no talent whatever, startle the
public and command its attention at once, and all
this from the mere exhibition of youth, beauty,
and confidence. This latter kind of popularity,
however, is not lasting, nor does it ever revive
after it has once lost its power, and here is just

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS "RIP VAN WINKLE."

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 461

the point in question: an ephemeral success is
worse than no success at all, for all the feverish
flattery and hollow applause that may have at
tended it in the beginning cannot atone for the
disappointment that follows upon neglect. The
once petted favorite sinks under the desolation
which comes from public indifference. A legiti
mate and well-earned success is almost perennial,
if pursued by the artist to the end with the same
love of his work that characterized its beginning.
"Rip Van Winkle" was not a sudden success.
It did not burst upon the public like a torrent.
Its flow was gradual, and its source sprang from
the Harz Mountains, an old German legend,
called " Carl the Shepherd," being the name of the
original story. The genius of Washington Irving
transplanted the tale to our own Catskills, The
grace with which he paints the scene, and, still
more, the quaintness of the story, placed it far
above the original. Yates, Hackett, and Burke
had separate dramas written upon this scene and
acted the hero, leaving their traditions one to the
other. I now came forth, and saying, "Give me
leave," set to work, using some of the before-
mentioned tradition, mark you. Added to this,
Dion Boucicault brought his dramatic skill to bear,
and by important additions made a better play and
a more interesting character of the hero than had
as yet been reached. This adaptation, in my turn,
I interpreted and enlarged upon. It is thus evi
dent .that while I may have done much to render
the character and play popular, it has not been the

462 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

work of one mind, but both as to its narrative
and its dramatic form has been often molded and
by many skillful hands. So it would seem that
those dramatic successes that "come like shadows,
so depart," and those that are lasting, have ability
for their foundation and industry for their super
structure. I speak now of the former and the
present condition of the drama. What the future
may bring forth it is difficult to determine, The
histrionic kaleidoscope revolves more rapidly than
of yore, and the fantastic shapes that it exhibits
are brilliant and confusing; but under all circum
stances I should be loath to believe that any con
ditions will render the appearance of frivolous
novices more potent than the earnest design of
legitimate professors.

One word on dramatic writing: On the dis
covery of a mysterious murder, when all are at loss
as to who has committed the deed, the first thing
the detective searches for is motive. If the mur
derer be not insane a motive must exist ; and as
the actions of our lives, when we are in a state of
reflection and cool deliberation, spring from this
cause, so must the playwright, in the construction
of his plot and the action of his characters, give
us motive.

Again, an audience should never be kept in the
dark as to the true state of all matters connected
with the play, particularly in comedy. Let the
characters be deceived and entangled in a perfect
labyrinth of difficulties if you will, but the audience
must know just how the matter stands, or they

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 463

cannot enjoy the confusion of the actors. For ex
ample, in "She Stoops to Conquer," when young
Marlow makes love to Miss Hardcastle he thinks
that she is the barmaid, but the audience know
perfectly well that she is not; hence they enjoy
his mistake. If they had not been let into the se
cret the effect would be lost ; but an " equivoke "
scene, wherein both characters are deceived as to
each other's identity, is the most enjoyable and
requires perhaps more ingenuity in its construction
than any other branch of writing in comedy. Such
a scene, too, must be rendered with great skill and
the most perfect seriousness; if a smile should
steal over the actor's face, showing that he inwardly
sees the humor of the situation, the whole effect
will be lost. The bewilderment of the characters
must be supreme, and as the scene progresses
and they become more and more entangled, their
blank looks of amazement delight the audience,
who alone are in the secret

CHAPTER XVII

IN LOUISIANA

The "Pirate of the Gulf" — Pierre Landry and
his Wife — Under the Live- Oaks — Conclusion

THE plantation I purchased in Louisiana was
at one time the property of a prominent
Spaniard named Carline, to whom it had
been granted when the State was under the
dominion of Spain. He had made his selection
with considerable judgment, as the large tract
that had been ceded to him contained an island
of two hundred acres, which stood at an eleva
tion of about ninety feet above the sea, and was
covered with grand live-oak and magnolia trees.
When it passed from Carline it fell into the hands
of an old Scotchman named Randolph, who was,
from all accounts, as sagacious as the Spaniard.
He added to the beauty of the island by planting
it with pecan and orange trees, which were in full
bearing when I purchased the place.

It is currently reported by the peasantry of
this region that Captain Lafitte, who was also

464

JOSEPH JEFFERSON 465

*k

celebrated under the high-sounding title of the
" Pirate of the Gulf/' often visited the island.
This hero's virtues have been extolled in a roman
tic novel, several love songs, and a bad nautical
drama ; and history has in some measure tried to
elevate him beyond the average of mankind be
cause he refused the overtures of General Pak-
enham and joined the forces of General Jackson
at the battle of New Orleans. But the truth is,
that the captain had plenty of money ; the British
bribe possessed no fascination for him, as the
United States Government had set a price upon
his head; and there is consequently a slight
suspicion that self-preservation and not patriot
ism induced him to cast in his lot with America.
He was undoubtedly a highly cultivated buca-
neer ; and having with care and industry amassed
a large fortune by robbing his fellow-men, he
retired from business in the prime of life and
secluded his virtues under the shade of Mr.
Randolph's peaceful orange groves. It is said
that he became so stung with remorse at the
retrospect of his piratical career that he even
tually atoned for his crimes by going into the
slave trade. It is further hinted that the gal
lant captain made this place his headquarters in
the summer.

The cares of piracy and slave stealing would
naturally, in time, undermine the constitution of
a sensitive nature, and it was therefore necessary
that during the heated term — an unpleasant sea
son for the latter business — he should require

466 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

time for recuperation, and an opportunity to hide
his treasures. It is said that he generally per
formed this ceremony in the moonlight assisted
by his gallant band, who were sworn to secrecy,
and, being men of honor, could of course be
depended upon. It being a foregone conclusion
that this story is true, it was natural that I should
have been warmly congratulated when I became
the rightful owner of all this ill-gotten gold — that
is, if we ever find it I have never looked for it
myself. In the first place I have never had time,
and in the next I really am afraid that I should
not find it. I wish the rest of the community
were as skeptical of its presence as I am, for
then they would stop disfiguring the shore
around the lake and digging holes under every
tree upon which some mischievous fellow has cut
a cross. Nothing has been discovered so far ex
cept an old long-bladed knife, of a size and shape
quite convenient for pirating, and a silver dollar;
but as the latter was coined in 1829, it is quite
evident that Lafitte was buried first, so it could
not have been his property.

These treasure-seekers have periodical attacks
of this insanity, like the same class of idiots who
ruin the clam business on Long Island by digging
up the shore in hopes of discovering the treasures
of the late lamented Captain Kidd.

The scenery and villages along the Bayou
Teche have for years been famous for their ro
mantic beauty, and the fine islands — on one of
which we live — are still a mystery to the geolo-

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 467

gists who have examined them. Of course they
all have their theories, but I fancy that they differ
in their opinions. One of these beautiful spots
is called Salt Island, and is owned and occupied
by the Averys, a charming and hospitable family,
who have lived there for many years, and who
are the owners of the celebrated salt mine which
the place contains. It is a weird and beautiful
cavern. Arch after arch stretches far away ; look
ing down the dark and gloomy avenues one is
amazed at the inexhaustible deposit, and when it
is artificially lighted up millions of crystals flash
and sparkle with wondrous splendor.

Five miles from this charming place is our island.
During the first eight years of our southern jour
neys the beaten track of commonplace travel
ended at Brashear, which was then the terminus
of the railroad. Here we used to get on board of
a little stern-wheel boat, so small that, contrasted
with the leviathan Texas steamers anchored in the
bay, it looked like a toy. Our route lay westward
up the Bayou Atchafalaya to where it met the
Bayou Teche. This is the point where Gabriel
and Evangeline are separated in Longfellow's
poem.

Our passage up the Teche was extremely pic
turesque. The stream is narrow, and the live-oak
and cypress trees stretch their branches over it till
in places they fairly meet and interlock. When
the darkness came on pine knots were burned in
the bow of the boat, and as she steamed up the
narrow river a strong light fell on the gaunt trees

468 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

that suddenly started out of the black night like
weird specters. The negro deck-hands, some bare
to the waist and others in red and blue shirts,
would sit in lazy groups chanting their plantation
songs, keeping perfect time with the beat of the
engine. It was delightful to light a pipe and sit
on the deck, to look upon the novel scene and
listen to these strange sounds; to feel that the
season had closed, and to anticipate three months
of perfect rest — no letters to write, no engagement
to keep, no dreadful appointments hanging over
one's head !

As I have been living here for the past eighteen
winters there is naturally some curiosity among
the peasantry, both white and black, as to the pre
cise nature of my vocation. The town near us
has had no theater or hall of any kind until lately,
so that the only public amusements with which
they are familiar have been confined to the circus.

The country people know me very well, and it
is a mystery to them what I can possibly do in a
"show," as they call it. I had been out duck
shooting and was being paddled slowly along the
bayou in a canoe by my " man Friday," a colored
boy about eighteen years of age. As a rider of
buck-jumping ponies he was a wonder either with
or without a saddle, and the perfect ease with
which he handled a canoe made him invaluable as
a guide ; he would dip the paddle deep into the
stream and with a firm and steady hand move the
boat with great speed, and yet with such skill and
so silently that he made no splash or ripple in the

PIERRE LANDRY AND HIS WIFE.

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 469

water. I have often sat with my back to him in
the quiet of a sunset evening and listened if I
could catch the slightest sound ; but no ; though
we glided along the water like an arrow, John's
paddle was quiet as a mouse.

On the excursion referred to the silence was
broken by John's voice. " Mr. Joe, will you be
mad if I ax you somefen ? " " No, John ; what is
it ? " There was a pause, then calling up all his
courage he broke forth with a question which I
have no doubt he had meditated upon and could
contain no longer. "What does you do in a
show ? " I told him that it would be rather diffi
cult for me to explain to him what my peculiar line
of business was. "Well/1 said John, "does you
swallow knives ?• " I told hirti that I had no talent
whatever in that way. "Well, your son told me
that you swallowed knives, and forks, and fire, and
de Lord knows what -all, and I believe he was just
foolin' me." I agreed with him, saying that he
was quite capable of it " Well, dere 's one thing
certain," said John; "you don't act in the circus,"
I asked him how he could be sure of that Here
he burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, almost
tipping the canoe over in his violent mirth, " Oh, no
— oh, no, sah ; you can't fool me on dat. I Ve seen
you get on your horse ; you ain't no circus actor."

Near our plantation lived a famed Acadian
named Pierre Landry. When he was a boy he
had seen Lafitte, the "Pirate of the Gulf," and
many tales of this bold bucaneer were traditional
in his family. I had heard much of this old man;.

470 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

and being curious to see him, set out with the
intention of taking a photograph of him and his
family, and of getting perhaps some interesting
matter relating to Lafitte. About three miles from
the entrance gate of our plantation runs the Bayou
Petite Anse. Its low banks are fringed with tall,
gaunt cypress trees, hung with tangled vines and
drooping moss. It would have had a mysterious
and even dismal look but for the few quaint little
houses scattered throughout the woods ; some of
these are painted with faded pink wash, others are
colored yellow, with blue and green window-
shutters, and some are white, giving the place a
more cheerful look. The little salmon-colored
store and post-office is situated near a long and
rambling bridge, mafle of cypress logs and earth
embankments.

Strung along this crossing on a Sunday are to be
seen from ten to a dozen negro women and children
fishing in the bayou. This is a holiday for them
and they are dressed in their best attire — clean
blue cotton jean in various faded shades, according
to the age of the material ; some in deep sun-
bonnets, and others, generally the older branches
of the family, with their heads done up in gaudy
colored bandanas. Upon the western side of this
bayou stands a picturesque cottage with a high
gabled roof, and on its wide porch, covered with
rose vines and honeysuckle, sat Pierre Landry and
his wife and daughter.

The old man could not walk, and had been
wheeled out in his chair to enjoy the lovely spring

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 471

morning. He was a fine specimen of an Acadian
patriarch ; his complexion was of a rich brown, and
his snow-white hair floated about his reverend
brow. He had been for years the arbitrator in
all questions of importance among his people — a
grand old peacemaker, whose wisdom and justice
settled the petty and important quarrels of his
more irritable neighbors with unerring justice ; and
many misunderstandings that would have lapsed
into ruinous lawsuits were arranged by him with
out a murmur from either plaintiffs or defendants, so
that the attorney of the village looked upon him as
a mortal foe, and on one occasion threatened to sue
him for damages.

There was a cheerful aspect about the place : the
birds were singing, the bees were buzzing amid
the flowers, and the whirl of a spinning-wheel
upon the porch, turned by old Landry's daughter,
gave the spot a homelike look that told of love
and peace. As we entered the little garden gate,
Madame rose from her chair, and with rustic French
politeness invited us to enter. " Entrez, monsieur,"
she said, in kindly tones. I told her the intention
of our visit : she seemed pleased, and said, through
our overseer, that she had been informed of it,
and was quite ready. She then began arranging
her husband, her daughter, and herself into what
would have been, I am afraid, a rather stiff family
group. I told her there was no hurry, and that I
preferred she should take her former position;
and that I would wait until some fitting picture
presented itself.

472 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I asked the driver to tell her that my visit was
not one of mere idle curiosity, but that I had heard
what an interesting character her husband was, and
that, as the house was so quaint and pretty, I had
taken a fancy to photograph it and give the picture
to some magazine for illustration, and that then
they would become quite famous.

She laughed at this, and whispered something
to her husband, who looked at us in a dazed and
bewildered kind of way as if he did not quite un
derstand what was going on ; she patted him cheer
fully on the back and seemed quite childlike in
her joy at the prospect of becoming historical.
In chatting about various matters I asked if her
husband were ill. "Oh, no," said she; "but old,
very old — not able to walk now." And the tears
came into her honest eyes. Her daughter knelt
upon the steps and looked up into her father's
face. " My darling husband," the wife continued ;
"we have been married many years. He has
been all his life so good, so brave, so noble — my
own dear Pierre." She laid her hand upon his
shoulder, and, half-turning her head from me,
looked down upon him with as much affection as
she could have done upon her wedding-day. Now
was the time. "Stay that way for a moment," I
said — and the picture was taken.

She could scarcely believe it was over, never
having seen the operation before, and wanted to
look at the picture at once. I told her that she
must wait, and that I would bring the picture at
some future time; and so we parted. Just one

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 473

year after this my wife and I, driven by our
overseer, stopped at the garden gate in front of
this same cottage. How glad I was that I had
taken the picture and could give it into the hands
of Pierre Landry's widow; for in the mean time
he had been called away to plead his own cause
in another world, and if virtue and honesty be
weighed in the balance there, the chances are
that he has been acquitted. The place looked
much the same, but there was a curious stillness
about it that seemed almost sacred, or I fancied
so. The roses and honeysuckles of the year before
had gone, like him whose hand had reared the
vines ; but new ones were in their place, and old
Madame Landry sat in her husband's chair upon
the porch. Coming down to greet us with some
flowers in her hand to give my wife — for the
driver had told her we were coming — she was
about to hand them when I gave her the picture.
The dear old woman for a moment seemed bewil
dered, the freshly gathered flowers fell unheeded
at her feet, and, gently kissing the likeness of
her husband, she burst into tears and sank upon
her knees ; then clasping the picture closely to her
bosom she cried out, "O, my darling, my own,
my noble Pierre ! you have come back to me."
My wife and I looked into each other's faces with
moistened eyes, and, respecting her sacred sorrow,
stepped quietly into the carriage and drove away.
As I glanced back I saw the dear old woman had
risen from the ground, and was tottering towards
the gate. With one hand she clasped the picture

474 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

to her heart, waving the other almost wildly over
head in an ecstasy of grief and joy.

As we passed the corner of the field the driver
pointed to a mound marked by a simple cross and
covered with blooming roses.

AND now I must end my life, not " with a bare
bodkin," but with a harmless goose quill; and how
ever painful the suicide may be to me, it is a satis
faction to know that with the same blow I have put
an end to the sufferings of my readers. Besides,
an extended sojourn here, either in a literary or a
personal state, may after all be of little moment.
Seneca says, when writing to his friend Lucilius on
this matter, " Life is like a play upon the stage ;
it signifies not how long it lasts, but how well it is
acted. Die when or where you will, think only on
making a good exit."

In Louisiana the live-oak is the king of the
forest, and the magnolia is its queen ; and there is
nothing more delightful to one who is fond of the
country than to sit under them on a clear, calm
spring morning like this. The old limbs twine
themselves in fantastic forms, the rich yellow foli
age mantles the trees with a sheen of gold, and
from beneath the leaves the gray moss is draped,
hanging in graceful festoons and swaying slowly
in the gentle air. I am listening to the merry chirp
of the tuneful cardinal as he sparkles like a ruby
amid the green boughs, and to the more glorious
melody of the mocking-bird. Now in the distance
comes the solemn cawing of two crafty crows ; they

OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 475

are far apart ; one sits on the high branch of a dead
cypress, while his cautious mate is hidden away in
some secluded spot: they jabber to each other as
though they held a conference of deep importance ;
he on the high limb gives a croak as though he
made a signal to his distant mate, and here she
comes out of the dense wood and lights quite near
him on the cypress branch : they sidle up to each
other and lay their wise old heads together, now
seeming to agree upon a plan of action : with one
accord they flutter from the limb and slowly flap
themselves away.

I am sitting here upon the fragment of a broken
wheel ; the wood is fast decaying, and the iron cogs
are rusting in their age. It is as old as I am, but
will last much longer. Most likely it belonged
to some old mill, and has been here in idleness
through generations of the crows ; it must have
done good service in its day, and if it were a sen
tient wheel perhaps would feel the comfort in old
age of having done its duty.

Over my head the gray arms of two live-oaks
stretch their limbs, and looking down into the
ravine I see the trees are arched as though they
canopied the aisle of a cathedral ; and doubtless
they stood here before the builder of the mill was
bora. Behind a fallen tree there stands another;
and on the trunk, from where I sit, I plainly see
the initials of my wife's name, cut there by me
on some romantic birthday many years ago. We
live here still, and it is legally recorded in the
archives of the parish that this place belongs to

476 JOSEPH JEFFERSON

us ; and so it does, just as it did to the man that
built the mill.

And yet we are but tenants. Let us assure our
selves of this, and then it will not be so hard to
make room for the new administration ; for shortly
the great Landlord will give us notice that our
lease has expired

SHAKSPERE vs. BACON

THE FOLLOWING LINES WERE WRITTEN AND DELIVERED

BY MR. JEFFERSON BEFORE THE PROFESSORS OF

YALE UNIVERSITY, IN REPLY TO IGNATIUS

DONNELLY'S CRYPTOGRAM

SHAKSPERE vs. BACON.

RESPECTED member of the Bar and State:
In Law and Literature profoundly great ;
As you have thrust at an immortal name,
I claim the right of parrying the same.
For though I 'm neither skilled in Law or Science,
The gauntlet you Ve thrown down in bold defiance,
(Espousing Bacon's cause armed cap-a-pie,)
I here take up to have a tilt with thee.
You pose before me as the great " I am,"
And flourish forth that deadly Cryptogram ;
That curious volume, mystic and misleading,
Co-jointly with your case of special pleading.
But I defy them both, for good or ill,
And stand the champion of " immortal Will."
So shall my sword upon thine own impinge,
"The croaking Raven bellows forth ' Revenge/"
The Actor doth the Lawyer here oppose,
The sock and buskin for the woolsack goes.
Lay on, MacD.,

With all your legal stuff,
And damned be he

Who first cries, " Hold ! enough."
Stay : Ere we come to blows, with main and might,

479

480 SHAKSPERE VS. BACON

I beg to scan the ground on which we fight.
The question 's this, if I am not mistaken,
" Did William Shakspere or did Francis Bacon,
Inspired by genius and by learning too,
Compose the wondrous works we have in view ? "
The scholar Bacon was a man of knowledge,
But inspiration is n't taught at college.
With all the varied gifts in Will's possession
The wondering world asks, "What was his profes
sion?"

He must have been a lawyer, says the lawyer ;
He surely was a sawyer, says the sawyer ;
The druggist says, of course he was a chemist ;
The skilled mechanic dubs him a machinist ;
The thoughtful sage declares him but a thinker,
And every tinman swears he was a tinker.
And so he 's claimed by every trade and factor; —
Your pardon, gentlemen, he was an actor !
And if you deem that I speak not aright,
I 11 prove it to you here in black and white,
Not by the ink of modern scribes, you know,
But by the print of centuries ago ;
For he was cast in Jonson's famous play,
And acted Knowell on its first essay.
The buried King of Denmark at the Globe
He played with Burbage in his sable robe,
And good old Adam must not be forgot
In " As You Like It," yes,— or " as you like it not."
If Bacon wrote the plays, pray, tell me then
Were all the wondrous sonnets from his pen ?
Did Bacon, he himself a versifier,
Resign these lovely lays and not aspire

SHAKSPERE VS. BACON 481

To be their author ? Lay them on the shelf
And only keep the bad ones for himself?

The argument against us most in vogue

Is this, that William Shakspere was a rogue, —

His character assailed, his worth belied,

And every little foible magnified.

We know that William, one night after dark,

Went stealing deer in lonely Lucy Park,

We also know Lord Bacon oft was prone

To take another's money for his own.

Now come, deal fairly, tell me which is worse,

To poach a stag or steal another's purse ?

Lord Bacon did confess to his superiors

That he had taken bribes from his inferiors.

From his own showing, then, it will be seen

That he both robbed his country and his queen? —

A kind of aldermanic Yankee Doodle,

Who cherished what we understand as boodle.

So if good character is to be the test of it,

It seems to me that William has the best of it.

If Shakspere was so poor a piece of stuff,
How is it Bacon trusted him enough
To throw these valued treasures at his feet
And not so much as ask for a receipt ?
Such confidence is almost a monstrosity,
And speaks of unexampled generosity.
Oh, liberal Francis, tell us why we find
Pope calling thee the " meanest of mankind"?

But now to Shakspere let us turn, I pray,
And hear what his companions have to say.

31

482 SHAKSPERE VS. BACON

First, then, Ben Jonson, jealous of Will's wit,

Paid tribute when his epitaph he writ.

If other proofs are wanting than Rare Ben's

We will consult forthwith a group of friends.

Awake ! Beaumont and Fletcher, Spenser, Rowe,

Arise ! and tell us, for you surely know :

Was, or was not, my client the great poet ?

And if he was n't, don't you think you 'd know it?

These, his companions, brother playwrights, mind,

Could they be hoodwinked ? Were they deaf or

blind ?

I find it stated, to our bard's discredit —
The author of the Cryptogram has said it —
That Shakspere's tastes were vulgar and besotted,
And all his family have been allotted
To herd and consort with the low and squalid ;
But whence the proof to make this statement valid?
They even say his daughter could not read ;
Of such a statement I can take no heed,
Except to marvel at the logic of the slight :
So, if she could n't read — he could n't write ?
Your statements are confusing, and as such
You 've only proved that you have proved too much.
The details of three hundred years ago
We can't accept, because we do not know.
The general facts we are prepared to swallow,
While unimportant trifles beat us hollow.

We know full well

That Nero was a sinner,

But we can't tell

What Nero had for dinner.
Now, prithee, take my hand, and come with me

SHAKSPERE YS. BACON 483

To where once stood the famous mulberry tree.
Then on to Stratford Church, here take a peep
At where the " fathers of the hamlet sleep."
They hold the place of honor for the dead,
The family of Shakspere at the head*
Before the altar of the sacred place
They have been given burial and grace.
Your vague tradition is but a surmise ;
The proof I offer is before your eyes.

And oh, ye actors, brothers all in Art,
Permit me just one moment to depart
From this, my subject, urging you some day
To seek this sacred spot, and humbly pray
That Shakspere's rage toward us will kindly soften,
Because, you know, we 've murdered him so often.
I ask this for myself, a poor comedian :
What should I do had I been a tragedian ?

I could pile up a lot of other stuff,
But I have taxed your patience quite enough ;
In turning o'er the matter in my mind,
This is the plain solution that I find:

It surely is — "whoe'er the cap may fit" —
Conceded that these wondrous plays were writ
So if my Shakspere 's not the very same,
It must have been another of that name.

INDEX

INDEX

Abel Murcott, Charles W. Couldock as, Adelaide, S. A., appear in, 329.

194, 197. Adelphi Theater, London, " Rip Van

Acadian home, an, 470, 471. Winkle " at, 302-310.

Acting, harmony in, 108, 109 ; artistic, " Adrian and Orrilla," Mrs. Drake in,

109,412,413; intense, 129, 130; 415; play Cyprian Gossamer in,

combined with elocution, 153; com- 415.

pared with a picture, 157,428,429; Adversity, parting with old friends

a model of, 355; reflections on, in, 194; sweet uses of, 449, 450.

425-463 ; analogy between paint- Adulation, sorry food, 334.

ing, poetry, music, and, 428; offen- Affection, Australian maternal, 244;

siveness of careless, 429; thorough parental and filial contrasted, 296-

preparation in, 431; a child's, 441, 301.

442; a gift, 441, 442; tharm of, AfricanSal, success in London, 105.

445. Age, effect of, on an actor, 261, 262,

Action, dramatic. See Dramatic ac- 265, 267, 268, 408, 409.

tion. Agnew, Messrs., purchasers of Gains-

Actor, commercial career of a retired, borough's " Duchess of Devon-

59 ; compared with musician, 157, shire," 367 ; their loss, 369, 370.

385; effect of combination system Ague, dramatic, 131.

on, 326-328 ; contrasted with paint- " Ajax Defying the Lightning," 6.

er and writer, 385; relations of Alamo, fall of the, 75.

audience and, 385 ; work of, fleet- Albatross, the, 275, 276.

ing, changeable, and ineffaceable, Alessandro Afazsaroni, James Wal-

428; proper preparation due to lack, Sr., as, 40, 41.

his audience, 428, 429 ; should he Alexander, Mr., manager of Theater

feel a part ? 439, 440 ; a tired, 445 ; Royal, Glasgow, 372 ; modesty

how to become an, 451, 452; of, 372; tomb, 372.

compared with temperance lee- Alfred jEvefyn, scene between Clara

turer, 455. Douglas and, 195.

Actors, pursuits in hard times, 52 ; Alleghany Mountains, crossing the,

love for the theater and their vo- 84-88.

cation, 78, 237 ; generosity, 45, Allen, Mrs., 142 ; as May Fielding,

117, 343; personal vanity, I}2; 208; beauty of, 209.

elastic spirits, 188, 189; draw- Amateur, signs of an, 138, 139.

backs to health of, 320; capabih- Ambition, ill effects of too much,

ties on and off the stage, 342; 108.

extravagance of some in London, American sailor and Greek pirate, 14,

362, 363; impulsive, 430, 431. 15.

Adams, Edwin, as Snake, 151; as American Theater, New Orleans,

Pythias, 158; career, personal ap- closed, 80.

pearance, and character, 322, 323 ; Amphitheater, Philadelphia, union of

as Enoch Arden, 323; likeness to drama and circus at, 118; "Cap-

Charles Burke, 323. tain Kidd" at, 121 ; « Mazeppa-"

487

488

INDEX

at, 123; "St. George and the
Dragon " at, 125-127.

Andes, the, 292.

Andrews, George, as Sir Oliver Sur
face, 151.

Animals, cruelty to, n.

"Annals of the English Stage," 402,

4°3-

" Amigone," at Arch Street Theater,
102; at Theater Royal, Dublin,
102 ; appear in the chorus, 104.

Apple-tree, a barren, 395, 396.

Arch Street Theater, Philadelphia,
managed by W. E. Burton, 57,
83, 108; take Charles Burke's
place at, 88; "Antigone" at, 102-
104; w A Glance at New York" at,
105, 1 06 ; managed by Wheatley
& Drew, 149, 150.

"Arrah na Pogue," success at Prin
cess's Theater, 314.

Art, devotion of French to, contrasted
with their loyalty, 176, 177; com
bination of nature and, 208; an
actor's sweetheart, 223 ; probable
result of mingling American poli
tics with, 352; sacred in Paris,
352; cheap better than none,
358, 359 ; the handmaid of Genius,
432 ; foster-mother of, 449,

Art and literature, powers compared
with drama, 259.

Art criticism, 22, 23.

Art galleries of Paris, 355.

Art gallery and theater compared, 429.

Artist, assistant, am billed as, 36.

Artistic work in acting, 109, 412,

4I3*

Artists, prejudiced at hands of breth
ren, 42;,, 424.

Asa TrencJiard, in character of, 194,

222, 223.

Assassins of the pen, 168, 344, 345.

Assignation, a deadly, 258.

Astley's Circus, London, 118, 124;
a family party at, 312.

Astronomer, a Scotch gardener's
opinion of an, 374, 375.

Audience, distracting an, 121, 122;
an aristocratic, 137; danger of dis
appointing an, 161 ; a pleased,
165; insulting an, 217, 218; a sym
pathetic, 259-261 ; a select, 341,
342 ; addressing the, in acting,
352-354, 430; a delightful, 364; a
rare, 379, 380 ; playing to different
classes of, 385 ; relations of actor
and, 385 ; proper preparation by
actor due to, 428, 429 ; virtual im
prisonment of, 429 ; a dull, 445 ;

ocular attention of, 446, 447 ; ob
servant critics, 447, 448; judg
ment of the, 456; must possess
secret of the play, 462, 463.

Australia, stock companies in, 237;
skeleton dance, 242-244; scenery
of the interior, 245 ; a strange
meeting in, 246 ; bushrangers in,
256; reminiscences of, 273, 274.

Australian black contrasted with
Charles Kean, 266, 267.

Australian station, an, 241, 242.

Author compared with actor, 428.

Authors, extravagance of some in
London, 362, 363.

Authorship, first attempts at, 3, 4.

Autograph -hunter, an, 419.

Avery family, 467.

Badger, Edward, comedian, 67 ; part
nership with, 68-74, 77.

Ballarat, Victoria, appear in, 239.

Baltimore, birth of sister in, 9 ; estab
lishment of telegraph line from
Cumberland to, in, 112.

Baltimore Museum, become stage-
manager at, 151.

Bannister, Jack, 296.

Barn-storming, 54-57.

Barrett, Lawrence, as The Ghost, 422.

Barron, J. M., as Sir Harry Biimper,

151-
Battles: Palo Alto, 66; Resaca de la

Palma, 67 ; Fort Brown, 67.
Bavaria, contrast of religious tone of

England and United States with

that of, 291.

Bayou Atchafalaya, romance of, 467.
Bayou Petite Anse, 470.
Bayou Teche, 466-468;
Beauseant, William Warren as, 405.
Bedford, Paul, geniality, 303, 304 ; ns

Jack Gongt 304; as Nick Vedder,

3?4-

Beggar on horseback, a, 285, 286.

Beggars, conventional, 93 ; in Lima,
285, 286.

Belfast, success in, 380.

Bellman of Castlemaine, the, 239-241.

Bendigo, Viet., appear in, 239.

Bernardo, Herbert Kelcey as, 422.

Bertha, Sara Stevens as, 208.

Bickford, George, 15.

Billington, Mr,, opinion of "Rip Van
Winkle," 304.

Birth, date of my, 14.

Black arts, one of the, 351.

Blacks, Australian, sports and cere
monies of, 242-245 ; maternal af
fection among, 244.

INDEX

489

Blake, Mrs., as Mrs. Fielding, 208.

Blake, William Rufus, as Malvolio,
107; personal appearance, 200,
204; friendship for, 201 ; difference
with, 201; a curious figure for
Puck, 204.

" Blanche of Brandywine," produced
by Laura Keene, 189-192.

Blindness, threatened, 388 ; operation
for, 388.

Blue- gum tree, virtues of, 245.

Bob Acres, in character of, 150; char
acteristics of, 399, 400; evolution
of the part, 400 ; notes on scene be
tween David and, 446, 447.

Bob Brierly, in character of, 260;
sympathetic audience for, 260.

Bob Tyke, 223.

Boomerang, throwing the, 245, 266.

Booth, Agnes, 230.

Booth, Barton, apothegm on, no.

Booth, Edwin, as Hamlet, 422.

Booth, Junius Brutus, early recollec
tions of, 5 ; in Mobile, 41 ; char
acter, 41, 43-45; versatility, 44;
generosity, 45; imitations of, 87,
420 ; kindness of, 129 ; as Sir Giles
Overreach, 129-131 ; wonderful
acting, 129, 130; presence of mind
and good taste, 130.

Booth's Theater, appear at, under
Augustin Daly, 381 ; pulled down,
381, 382.

Borrower, a professional, 93-96.

Boston Indians, Buck Wallace's opin
ion of, 76.

Boston Museum, William Warren's
connection with, 404, 405.

Boston Theater, first engagement at,
340; Fechter at, 340; Charles
Mathews's dislike of, 384.

Bottom, Samuel Phelps as, 171; pro
pose to play, 204, 205.

Boucicault, Dion, at Ford's Theater,
Richmond, 157; manager at Win
ter Garden, 207; valuable advice
from, 209-211 ; difference with,,
211-213; rewrites "Rip Van
Winkle," 302 ; feud with Webster,
303, 305-308 ; judgment, 304 ; tem
per, 304, 305; author of "The
Parish Clerk," 321.

" Bounding Brothers of the Pyrenees,'*
the, 139.

Bounty, mutiny of the, 232.

Bowie, Capt. James, inventor of the
bowie knife, 75 ; assassination of,

Boxing, take lessons in, 212, 213.
Boyhood,

Brashear, 467.

Brazos Santiago, voyage from Mata-
moras to, 78.

Breakfast, a coach-office, 84, 85 ; sooth
ing influences of a good, 86.

" Brigand, The," James Wallack, Sr.,
in, 40, 41.

Brogue, Rip with a " shlight taste "
of the, 378.

Brother Sam, E. A. Sothern as, 198.

Brougham, John, at Palmo's Theater,
107; as CfGrady, 314; character
and ability, 314-317; author of
" Pocahontas," 315, 316; manager
of the Lyceum, 315 ; as Powhatan,
316; as Pocahontas, 317; author
of "The Irish Emigrant," 411;
dramatizer of ** Dombey and Son,"
436; as Captain Buns by, 437; as
Major Bagstock, 437.

Browning, Robert, meetings with, 360-
362; character and talents, 360,

361 ; lunch at Lord C 's with,

361, 362; intimacy with Longfel
low, 361, 362.

Buckstone, J. B., 171; imitation of,
440, 441; as Sir Andrew Ague-
cheek, 441 ; as Cousin Joe, 441.

Buffalo, 19 ; Harry Warren, manager
at, 392.

Bulfinch Place, Boston, suppers in the
old kitchen in, 390,407; William
Warren's home in, 407.

Bulwer, Edward, Lord Lytton, author
of" Money" and" Lady of Lyons,"
195.

Bunker Hill, tableau of the battle of,
190-192.

Burke, Charles, my half brother, 8 ;
with company in Mississippi, 52,
53; engagement at Arch Street
Theater, 57; invites me to Phila
delphia, 83 ; meets me in Philadel
phia, 88; affection, 88; joins the
Bowery Theater, bS; at Palmo's
Theater, 107; harmony in acting
with Burton, 108, 109; short life
of, 109; reputation, 109 ; contrasted
with Burton, no; character, style,
genius, personal appearance, and
domestic traits, no ; objects to my
marriage, 127; uses influence in
my behalf, 128; successful come
dian, 222 ; plays early version of
« Rip Van Winkle," 226, 461.

Burlington, la., 27.

Burnett, James G., joint adapter of
"Blanche of Brandywine, 189;
arranges a tableau, 192 ; our friend
ship, 192; character, 193; as Sir

490

INDEX

Anthony Absolute, 193; as Lord
Duberly, 193; manager of Deagle's
Theater, 382; plays at Baltimore
Museum, 382; in Laura Keene's
stock company, 382.
Burns, Robert, good advice from,

Burnt-cork knight, the first, 6.

Burton, W. E., manager at Arch
Street Theater, 57, 83 ; married to
Tom Glessing's sifter, 90; prom
inence, 96, 97; character, style, and
genius, 100-110; as Captain Cuttle,
loo, 436-438; as Micawber, 100;
as Van Dunder, 100; literary tal
ents, loi ; editor of the " Gentle
man's Magazine," 101 ; fondness
for lawsuits, 101, 102; humor on
the witness stand, 102; success
with "The Naiad Queen," 102;
produces "Antigone" at Arch
Street Theater, 102-104; apolo
gizes for Sophocles's non-appear
ance before the curtain, 102, 103 ;
loss on " Antigone," 104 ; domes
tic happiness, 104, 105 ; produces
" A Glance at New York " at Arch
Street Theater, 105, 106; success,
106; purchases Palmo's Theater,
106; successfully opposes Mitch-
ell of the Olympic Theater, 107;
as Sir 7o&y £elch, 107; death,
108; harmony inacting with Burke,

| 108, 109; contrasted with Burke,
no; personal appearance, no;
Chanfrau's imitations of, 420;
reasons for failure in Captain Cut-
fo* 43 7> 438 ; ultimate success, 437,
438.

Burton's Theater, " Dombey and
Son " at, 436-438.

Bushrangers, origin of, 256 ; Morgan,

257. 258-

Butcher's lucky chops, a, 369.

Butler, the melodramatic villain of so
ciety, 363, 364; superiority of
handmaid over, 364.

By-play, compared to distance in pic
ture^ 446; natural, 446; proper
and improper use of, 446-44.8.

Byron, Henry J., dinner with Planche",
Mathews, and, 386, 387.

Byron, Lord, comment on a battle,
163 ; sentimentality of, 256.

C , John, character and genius of,

394, 395; marvelous experiences,
395 ; diagnoses the case of an ap
ple-tree, 395, 396; scientific dis
courses curtailed, 396.

C , Lord, lunch with, 361, 362;

simplicity of life, 362.
Cabin windows, through the, 449.
Cairo, 111., 47.
Calanthe, Edwin Forrest's parting

with, 158-160.
Caleb Plummer, in character of, 208-

210.

California, start for, 229.

Calker, an imperturbable, 278, 286,
287.

Callao, from Melbourne to, 275, 276 ;
arrival at, 276; unfortunate situa
tion and history, 279, 280 ; riot in,
280, 281 ; incident in life of French
consul at, 280, 281 ; Spanish theater
in, 288-290 ; religious tableau con
trasted with Passion Play at Ober-
Ammergau, 290, 291 ; leave for
Panama, 293.

Calvary, the scene on, 289-291.

Camp, a floating, 62

Candle-boxes, a new use for, 145,
146.

Candor, Mrs,, Kate Horn as, 151.

Captain Absolute, 400, 401.

Captain Bunsby, John Brougham as,

437-
Captain Cuttle, W. E. Burton as, 100,

436-438.
"Captain Kidd," engagement in, at

Amphitheater, Philadelphia, 121,

122.

Cardinal Wolsey,2&$.

Careless, A. H. Davenport as, 151.

" Carl the Shepherd," origin of " Rip
Van Winkle," 461.

Carpenter, the opposite sex to a, 387.

Cartlidge, John, leading man at Ast-
ley's Circus, 123; cast for The
Kkan at the Amphitheater, Phila
delphia, 123, 124; grief at deposi
tion, 123, 124.

Carusi's Hall, Washington, first per
formance of " Rip Van Winkle "
at, 227-229.

Castlemaine, the bellman of, 239-241.

" Castle Spectre," success of, 106.

Cathedral and theater by daylight
compared, 284.

Catskill, N. Y., Rip Van Winkle
Club in, 458; play "Rip Van
Winkle" in, 458, 459; waiter
identifies me as the original Rip,
458, 459; reception at the club,
460.

Cemetery, my early playground in
New York, 15, 1 6.

Chambers Street Theater, New York,
managed by W. E. Burton, 108.

INDEX

491

Chanfrau, F. S., successful comedian,
222,420; personality, 420; imi
tations of Booth, 420 ; as M0se, 420.

Chapman company, floating theater
of, 62.

"Charcoal Sketches," 11.

Charity, a doubtful, 37.

Charles Surf ace t J. E. Murdoch as,
15 1-154 ; criticism of the character,
153 ; Charles Mathews as, 153.

Charleston, season at, 146-149.

Charleston Hotel, description of, 136.

Chatham Theater, New York, engage
ment at, 128, 129.

Chemical Bank, New York, in panic
of 1857, 188.

Chestnut Street Theater, Philadelphia,
under management of John Gil
bert, 149 ; appearance at, 149,150.

Chicago, rise of, 17; first visit to,
21 ; theater at, 22; married in,
323 ; appear in, 324 ; connection of
John B. Rice with, 392, 393.

Chief Osceola, a valiant, 59.

Childhood, my, 1-16.

Children, dramaticinstinct in, 425,426.

Child's acting, a, 441, 442.

Chili and Peru, war between, 293.

Chinese orchestra, a, 268, 269 ; value
in its place, 359.

Chinese theater, visit to a, 268-271.

Chinese tragedian, a, 270, 271.

Chorus, function of the Greek, 354.

Choruses, requirement of space for,

383-
Christ, in religious tableau at Callao,

289, 290.

Christmas tree, a theatrical, 402.
Chromos, place in education, 358,

359-

Church, the, use of drama by, 291.
Gibber, Colley, complains of degen
eracy of the stage, 106.
Cincinnati, O., Alexander Drake

manager in, 62.
Cincinnati Dramatic Festival, invited

to produce " The Rivals " at, 382 ;

mishaps at, 382, 383.
Circus, union of drama with, 118.
Clairvoyant dog, a, 252, 253.
Clara Douglas, scene between Alfred

Evelyn and, 195.
* Clari, the Maid of Milan," 27.
Clarke, J. S., 420.
Clarksville, Tenn., a night at, 46.
Classics, mastering the, 150.
Claude Melnotte, absurd speech for,

195 ; Fechter as, 340.
Clergyman, life of an English, 365,

366.

Coach-office breakfast, a, 84, 85.

Coffin, a mystery in a, 376, 377.

Coghlan, Rose, as The Player Queen,
422.

Colman, George, author of "The
Heir at Law," 184.

Colonel Sellers, John T. Raymond as,
421.

Combination, with Windham, 324;
the system discussed, 324-328.

Comedian, hiring by weight, 120;
tragedian's advantage over, 220;
must preserve gravity, 463.

Comedians, two great, 108, 109;
dangerous innovations by modern,
154 ; excellence and fault of French,
43° J legitimate, 420.

Comedy, physical, 120; James E.
Murdoch's style in light, 153, 154;
compared with tragedy, 220, 429 ;
fine details of, 429; work of the
French Stage in, 429, 430 ; the
life of, 432 ; important for audience
to possess secret of, 462, 463.

Competition and opposition" con
trasted, 101.

Compton, Henry, 171.

Conservatism, 325.

Constable, John, nature of his work,

357-
Conventionality, violation of, 226,423,

^ I24' •

Cool reception, a, 297-301.

Cooper, James Fenimore, Buck Wal
lace's opinion of his novels, 76;
sentimentality of, 257.

Cordelia, 453.

Corot, Jean B. C, a rival to, 350;
nature of his work, 357; tardy ad
mittance to the Salon, 423, 424.

Corrobories, Australian, 242.

Costume, in Lima, 283, 292 ; increased
magnificence of, 397.

Couldock, Charles \V., with Laura
Keene's company, 194; as Abel
Murcott, 194, 197; anecdote of
Macready, 442-444.

Country management, trials and fas
cinations of, 114, 115, 131.

Courage and self-confidence con
trasted, 450.

Cousin Joe, J. B. Buckstone as, 441.

Craotree, Thomas Placide as, 151.

* Cricket on the Hearth, The," 208.

« Critic, The; or, A Tragedy Re-
hearsed," illustrations from, 435,

Criticism, remarkable, 87; in the
dressing-room, 97 ; newspaper,
importance to an actor, 115; one

492

INDEX

way of writing, 167, 168 ; effect of
selfishness on, 194; of acting at
Theatre Fraiisais, 352-355 J d°g-
matism in, 358, 359 ; just and un
just, 422-424; of tragedy, 429;
conditions for, of French comedy,
429, 430.

Crocker, John, goes to Wilmington
by schooner, 142 ; as Romeo, 145,
146.

Crockett, Davy, 75.

Crucifixion, tableau of the, 289-291.

Culinary odors, incongruity of ghosts
and, 457, 453.

Cumberland, Md., terminus of stage-
road across the Alleghanies, 88;
opening of telegraph line from
Baltimore to, in, 112; a good
house in, 113; hard work in, 114,

"5-

Cumberland River, down the, 46.

Cushman, Charlotte, compared with
Mrs. James W. Wallack, Jr., So ;
personal appearance, career, and
kindness, 413, 414; compared
with Mrs. Warner, 414; as Lady
Macbeth, 414; as Queen Catherine9
414 ; as Meg Merrittes, 414.

Cyprian Gossamer, in character of,
415-

Daly, Augustin, manager of Booth's

Theater, 381.
"Damon and Pythias," at Ford's

Theater, Richmond, 158.
Dance, Australian skeleton, 242-244.

angi^Mr., 435*436-
bigny, Charles F.,

nature of his

Daubigny,
work, 357.

Davenport, A. H., as Careless, 151 ;
as The Stranger, 208.

David, 399; notes on scene between
Bob Acres and, 446, 447.

Dawson, I. M., as Sir Benjamin
Backbite, 151.

Daylesford, Australia, visit a Chinese
theater in, 268-271.

Deagle's Theater, St. Louis, appear at,
382; under management of James
Burnett, 382.

Dean, Julia, at the Mobile Theater,
146-148; versatility, 146; a step
to fame, 147, 148 ; as Lady Priory,
147, 148; appearance in Charles
ton, 148, 149; brings success to
Ellsler and myself, 148, 149.

Dean & McKenney, managers of
company in Buffalo, 19, 20.

Desertion, trial on a charge of con
templated, 97-100.

Detroit, play in, 324; form combina
tion with Windham in, 324.

" Devil and Little Mike, The," 19.

Devlin, Mary, as Maria, 151.

Dialogue, effect of action compared
with, 214, 215 ; decline in public
favor, 396; supplemented by action,

435» 436-

Diaz, N. V., nature of his work, 357.

Dickens, Charles, Burton's portrayal
of his characters, 100 ; author of
"The Cricket on the Hearth,"
_ 208.

Dieppe, 172.

Discipline of a theater, 198-200.

Distance in picture compared to by
play in acting, 446.

Doctor Ollapod, his harmless prescrip
tion, 97 ; in character of, 150.

Doctor Pangloss, in character of, 150,
184.

Dog, an intelligent, 246-253, 255 ; ab
sence of, in " Rip Van Winkle,"

453-

Dogberry, wisdom of, 116, 359.
" Dombey and Son," at Burton's

Theater, 436-438 ; reconstruction

of, 437-

Don, Sir William, first meeting with,
133-136; engagement of, 135; in
"Used Up" and "The Rough
Diamond," 136; stage fright, 137,
138; engagement a financial suc
cess, 138 ; character of his acting,
138, 139 ; unappreciated at Wil
mington, 139; animal spirits of,
139 ; in " The Bounding Brothers
of the Pyrenees," 139; in "The
Sprite of the Silver Shower,"
139 ; letters from, 140, 141 ; criti
cized in Boston, 140; in Ludlow
Street jail, 140, 141.

Don Casar de Bazan, James Wallack,
Sr., as, 41 ; Fechter as, 340.

Doran, John, ** Annals of the English
Stage," 402, 403.

" Dot," at Winter Garden, 208, 209.

Dot, Agnes Robertson as, 208.

Drake, Alexander, manager in Louis
ville and Cincinnati, 62.

Drake, Mrs. A., personal character
istics and ability, 415, 416, 418;
in " Adrian and Orrilla," 415 ; let
ters relating to, 415-418; as Widow
Cheerly, 416 ; as Mary, 416 ; Mrs.
Trollope's opinion of, 416; Duke
of Saxe-Weimar's opinion of, 416;
letter from John Howard Payne
to, 417, 418; ludicrous incident
in Louisville, 418-420.

INDEX 493

Drama, a rustic patron of the, 55 ; Duke of Gloucester ; James \V. Wai-
union of circus with, 118 ; power lack, Jr., as, 79-81.

of the, 259-261 ; used by early Duncan, 186.

Church, 291 ; character of moral, Dunedin, N. Z., horrors of the coast,

454,455; what will be the future 271.

of the ? 462. Dusty Bob, success in London, 105.

Dramatic action, definition of, 185- " Dutch Governor, The," \V. E.

187 ; distinguished from panto- Burton in, 100.

mime, 185-187; effect of, in com- Dying Gladiator, The, 6.

edy, 185, 186 ; in " Macbeth," 186, Dyspepsia, treatment for, 212 ; a cure

187; preferable to words, 185-187; for, 309, 310.

compared with dialogue, 214, 215.

Dramatic ague, 131. Earliest appearances, my, 3, 5-8.

Dramatic author, duties as to rehear- Eavesdroppers, 97, 98.

sa-l» 433- Economy, practising, 141 ; a passion
Dramatic company, likened to a ma- in Paris, 175.

chine, 155, 156; to a piece of Editor, an old-time, 328-331.

mosaic, 156. Education,place of chromos ^1,358,359.

Dramatic effects, way to attain the Edwards, Harry, as The Priest, 422.

best, 108, 109. Ellis, Mr., as Rowley, 151.

Dramatic instinct, 425-427. Elliston, Robert W., 296.

Dramatic picture, stepping out of the, EUsler, John, partnership with, 131-

354. 149.

Dramatic scene spoiled, a, 297-301. Elocution, combined with fine act-
Dramatic success, hints on, 460-462 ; ing, 153 ; study of, 448.

ephemeral and legitimate con- Emigrant, The, John Drew as, 411,

trasted, 460, 461 ; foundation and 412.

superstructure of, 462. Emulation and imitation contrasted,
Dramatic writing, importance of mo- 152, 153.

tive in, 462. England, America's first dramatic
Drew, John, as The Emigrant, 411, challenge to, 165; sail for, 171;

412 ; plays in Richmond, Va., contrasted with France, 172 ; reli-

412; as Handy Andy, 412; as gious tone of Bavaria contrasted

O'Flanaghan, 412; ability, 412, with that of, 291; reception of

413 ; as Sir Lucius O1 Trigger, 413 ; American actors in, 344, 345.

compared with Tyrone Power, English drama, love scenes in, 195.

413 ; versatility, 413. English people, loyalty of, 261.

Drew, Mrs. John, 41 2 ; as Mrs. Mala- Enoch Arden, Edwin Adams as, 323.

prop, 400, 401; success of, 400, Enthusiasm, professional, 308, 309;

401 ; as Lydia Langzdsh, 413. influence of, as compared with

Drop curtain, a wonderful, 22. money, 433.

Drumming in Vicksburg, 52. Equestrian drama, 122.

Drunkard, a reformed, 24^-255. Equivoke scene, enjoyability of 3^463.

Drury Lane Theater, London, Mac- Erie, Lake, 20.

ready's Shaksperean revivals at, Erie Canal, traveling on the, 18.

154; **The Gladiator" at, 165, Error, a popular dramatic, 184.

166; mishaps in performance of Ethics of the stage, 199-203.

« Macbeth," 318, 319. Eucalyptus, virtues of, 245.

Dublin, play at Gaiety Theater, 377, Europe, first visit to, 171-182. ^

378 ; poor success, 377, 378, 380. Evangdine and Gabriel, parting of,
Dubuque, la., good season at, 27. 46 7-

Duchess, The, 198, 204. Execution, enlarging the, 384, 385.

Duchess of Devonshire, Gainsbor- Exit, importance of making a good,

ough's portrait of, 367, 369; a 474-

good canvasser, 369 ; kissing the Extravagance, sad results of, 334-3S6-

butcher,309; theft of the portrait, Eye, growing preference for appeals

369, 370. to the, 396, 397.

Duck, Mrs., 420.

Duck-shooting on the Cumberland Fair play, 344.

River, 46. Fairyland, a dramatic, 1 77-182.

494

INDEX

Fairy Star, The, 157.

Falling \Yater, identifying with Cats-

kill, 459.

Fame, 277 ; on the road to, 225.
Family reunion, a, 311, 312.
Fandango, a, 287, 288.
Farmers as patrons of the drama, 55-

Farren, William, 155.

Fechter, Charles, meeting with, 340;
plays at Boston Theater, 340 ; as
Claude Melnotte, 340 ; as Don Ca-
sar de Bazan, 340 ; friendship with
William Warren, 340, 341 ; plays
to a select audience, 341 ; personal
qualities and talents, 341-343 ; im
itation of Lemaitre as Belpke'gor,
341 ; resemblance to Garrick, 342;
failures as manager, 342; generosity
of, 342, 343 ; retirement from Globe
Theater, 342, 343 ; benefit, and
disposition of its funds, 343 ; cup
presented to, its fate and rescue,
343, 344; in the Bulnnch Place
kitchen, 407.

Feeling a part, 439, 440.

Fielding^ Mrs., Mrs. Blake as, 208.

Fields, Mr. and Mrs. James T., at a
memorable feast, 407, 408.

Fifth Avenue Theater, New York,

Fight, a Paris, 174, 175.

First Actor, Joseph Wheelock as, 422.

First Gravedigger, in character of, 422.

First love, my, 73.

First night's audience, nature of, 165.

Fitzgerald, Percy, author of "Romance

of the English Stage," 450 ; story

of Edmund Kean, 450.
Flatboat, down the Cumberland River

on a, 46.

Flattery, effect of, 350.
Fletcher, John, 6.
Florence, W. J., 222, 420; as Second

Gravedigger, 422.
Florence Dombey, 438.
Florida, murder of actors by Indians

in, 60.

Fly, the sjnder and the, 351.
Flying artillery in Mexican War, 66.
Fool, The, Placide as, 107.
Foote, Sam, character of his work, 221.
Forbes, William C., company attacked

by Indians in Florida, 60.
Ford, John T., 157.
Ford's Theater, Richmond, become

manager at, 157; "The Sea of

Ice » at, 157 ; « The Naiad Queen »

at, 157: "Damon and Pythias"

at, 158,

Forrest, Edwin, imitations of, 87, 420 5
at Ford's Theater, Richmond, 157-
160; personal appearance, acting,
and character, 157-170; as Jack
Cade, 157; as Virginius* 157; as
Metamora, 1 60 ; laughable mishap
at rehearsal, 158-160; series of
mishaps in Metamora, 160-165;
my ultimatum to, 161 ; career in
London, 165-167; appearance in
"The Gladiator," 165 ; second visit
to England, 166; jealousy of Mac-
ready, 166, 167; as Othello, 167;
as King Lear, 167; as Hamlet,
167; attempted persecution of, 167,
168; violent temper, 168; gener
osity, 1 68; decline, 168-170; quar
rel with John B. Rice, 394.

Forrest and Macready riots, 344.

Forrest Home, the, 168.

Forster, John, English dramatic critic,
166.

Fort Brown, bombardment of, 67.

Fortune, guarding a, 113, 114.

Foster, Charles, as Mazeppa, 123; as
St. George, 125, 126.

Foster, Joseph, stage-manager at Phila
delphia Amphitheater, 118; career
and abilities, 118, 119, 122, 123;
gives me an engagement, 119, 120.

Foster-mother, my, 8-10.

Fox, Charles James, an eager canvas
ser for, 369.

" Fra Diavolo," 294.

France, first visit to, 1725 contrasted
with England, 172; spend summer
in, 345 ; contrasted with United
States, 352.

Francisco, Frank Mordaunt as, 422.

Frank Oatland, 223.

French and Spanish women con
trasted, 283.

French comedians, glaring fault in,

43°-

French comedy, 179, 180, 429, 430;
conditions for criticism of, 429,

430-

French consul at Callao, incident in
life of, 280, 281.

French drama, love scenes in, 195.

French loyalty and art contrasted, 176,
177.

French teacher, our, 346, 347.

French thrift, 37, 38.

Frith, W. P., invitation from, 367.

Funeral, a midnight, 284.

Fungi mortem, the deadly apple-tree
disease, 396.

Furnished houses, drawbacks in hir
ing, 350-352.

INDEX

495

Gabriel and Evangeline, parting of,
467.

Gaiety Theater, Dublin, play with
poor success at, 377, 378, 380.

Gainsborough, Thomas, portrait of
Duchess of Devonshire, 367, 369,
370; " Going to the Spring," 368;
portrait of Garrick, 368 ; other
paintings, 368.

Galena, 111., 24; perilous journey to
Dubuque from, 25.

Gallatin to Lebanon, walking from, 45.

Galveston, Tex., engagement in, 57;
feeling about Mexican War in, 65.

Gambling in Lima, 293.

" Gamester, The," in Charles Kean's
repertory, 264 ; criticized, 264, 265.

u Gamin de Paris, Le," in a Chinese
theater, 269.

Gardener, an old Scotch, 373-375.

Garrick, David, contemporary of
Foote, 221 ; resemblance of Fech-
ter to, 342; portrait at the Garrick
Club, 362 ; portrait by Gainsbor
ough, 368 ; criticized by Quin,
4?3.

Garrick Club, London, pictures at,
362.

Generosity compared with caution,

35-

Genius, 432, 450, 451 ; Art the hand
maid of, 432 ; compared with talent,

432 ; source of, 451.
"Gentleman's Magazine, The,"

edited by W. E. Burton, 101 ;

contributed to by Poe, 101.
Germon, Jane, as Lady Sneerwell,

151.

Gesticulation, study of, 448.
Ghost, The, Lawrence Barrett as, 422?.
Ghosts, incongruity of culinary odors

and, 45 7, 45&
Gilbert, John, manager of Chestnut

Street Theater, 149; criticism on

my changes in " The Rivals," 402 ;

at William Warren's grave, 409;

as Polonius, 422.
" Gilded Age, The," John T. Ray-

mond in, 421.
" Gladiator, The," Edwin Forrest in,

165.
" Glance at New York, A," at Arch

Street Theater, 105, 106.
Glasgow, appear at Theater Royal,

372-

Glavis, 46.
Glen Cove, "W. E. Burton builds

country house at, 108.
Glessiug, Tom, scenic artist at Arch

Street Theater, 88-93 > our friend

ship, 88-90, 332 ; adventure with
an Indian, 91, 92; rehearsing a
speech, 91-93; re-meeting with,
331; his roses, 331; ingenuity,
mechanical and argumental, 331,

332-

Globe Theater, Boston, Fechter's re
tirement from, 342, 343.

" Going to the Spring," picture by
Gainsborough, 368.

Goldfinch, in character of, 224.

Goldsmith, Oliver, works of, some
times overshadowed by inferior
plays, 106; Robertson's estimate
of, 318.

Golightly, Mr., criticism of the char
acter, 153.

" Good Old Days of Adam and Eve,
The, "87.

Goose, Mrs., 420.

Gough, John B., his mission con
trasted with mine, 455.

Grand Gulf, Miss,, experiences in,

52-

Grand Opera, Paris, 176.

Grand operas, requirement of space

for, 383.
Grand Spanish Saloon, Matamoras,

in refreshment business in, 68;

murder in, 76, 77.
Greek pirate and American sailor, 14,

*5-

Greek tragedy, W. E. Burton's pre
dilection for, 102, 104.

Greenroom, early recollections of the,
4, 5 ; a perfect gem, 23.

Gregory, Dr. John, 373.

Gregory mansion, 373~375> celeb
rities entertained in, 374.

Gregory, Miss, 373; favorite parrot,

Greuhen, 454-

Guide, a Paris, 176-179, 181, 182;
a misleading, 360, 361 ; an invalu
able, 468, 469.

Guildenstern, Lawrence Hanley as,
422.

Gunnjohn, 377.

Gunn, Michael, 377; suggests mak
ing Rip Van VVinkU an Irishman,

„ 378.
Guying, 215-220.

Hackett, James H., in New Orleans,
48; defects in his acting, 138; a
successful comedian, 222; plays
early version of ** Rip Van Win
kle/' 226, 461.

Hamlet, 445; Edwin Forrest as, 167;
an Australian manager's opinion

496

INDEX

of, 236 ; adapted for large theaters,
383 ; Edwin Booth as, 422 ; sim
plicity of instructions to the Play
ers, 455.

" Hamlet," a finer play than, 316;
Lester Wallack testimonial, 422.

Hancock, Gen. W. S., dine with, 329.

Handy Andy, John Drew as, 412.

Hanford, Charles, as Rosencrantz,
422.

Hanley, Lawrence, as Guildenstern9
422.

Hardcastle, Miss, 463.

Harmony, in acting, 108, 109; im
portance in works of art, 156.

Hartz Mountains, source of legend of
" Rip Van Winkle," 461.

Havana cigars made in Vicksburg,
52-

Haymarket Theater, London, J. E.
Murdoch at, 153, 154; Tyrone
Power at, 221.

Haymarket Theater, Melbourne, 239 ;
appear at, 259.

Heart and head in acting, 439.

"Heir at Law, The," at Chestnut
Street Theater, 150; at Laura
Keene's Theater, 184.

"Henry IV.," 221.

Hercules and the Lion, 6.

Hidden treasure, 466.

Highland castle, a, 370.

High life in the country, 370, 371.

Hill, George H., 222.

Hill, Barton, as Lord Lowell, 130.

Hissing, decline of, 49, 50; rare in
America, 218.

HobartTown, Tasmania, "The Ticket-
of- Leave Man" in, 259-261; a
sympathetic audience, 259-261 ;
triumphant success in, 260.

Hogarth, William, artificiality of char
acters, 398.

Holcroft, Thomas, author of "The
Road to Ruin," 224.

Holland, George, 336 ; friendship
with, 337-340 ; character and
practical jokes, 337, 338; death
and funeral of, 338-340.

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, at a memo
rable feast, 407, 408.

Holt, Clarence, manager of Dunedin
Theater, 271.

" Home, Sweet Home," under diffi
culties, 27.

Hope, 35, 336.

Horatio, John A. Lane as, 422.

Horn, Kate, as Mrs. Candor, 151.

Horsemanship, a ludicrous exhibition
of poor, 125-127.

Hotels, playing in, 54, 427.

Houston, Tex. , playing in, 5 7 ; " Rich
ard III." in, 62-65.

Howard Athenaeum, Boston, in stock
company at, 406.

Howe, J. B., as Trip, 151.

Huron, Lake, sunset on, 20.

lago, 220.

Ichabod Crane, John T. Raymond as,

421.
Idealism, important factor in dramatic

art, 456.
Illustration, increase of, in magazines

and newspapers, 397.
Imagination, fertile, II, 12; influence

of, 456.
Imitation and emulation contrasted,

152, 153-
Imitators, 87, 420, 440 ; anecdote of

Buckstone, 440, 441.
"Independence Day," Mrs. Barney

Williams's song, 410.
Indian, Tom Glessing's adventure

with an, 91, 92.
Indianapolis, Tom Glessing's cottage

at, 331. 332.

Indians, the stage variety contrasted
with the genuine, 59; murder,
actors in Florida, 60 ; in the toggery
of the legitimate drama, 60 ; hung
for murder, 60 ; their respect for the
drama distrusted, 60; theatrical
weapons against, 61 ; murder Buck
Wallace's wife and child, 75 ;
Wallace's opinion of " Boston
Indians," 76; how to deal with,
92; Cooper's erroneous descrip
tion of, 257.

Industry the superstructure of dra
matic success, 462.

Informers, theatrical, 97, 98.

Ingenuity, dramatic, 1 86, 463.

Inspiration, 431, 432.

Instinct, dramatic, 425-427.

Instruction in the dramatic art, 448,
449.

Interest in character, importance of
actor feeling, 442-445.

Introductions (interpolations), actor's
right to make, 184; in "The Ri
vals," 401.

Intuition, 432.

Inventors, fate of, 112, 326.

Investments, dubious, 393, 304.

Ireland, Joseph N., " Records of the
New York Stage," 14.

Irish blood, an attribute of, 101.

" Irish Emigrant, The," John Drew
in, 41 1, 412.

INDEX

497

Irish servant girl, Barney Williams's,
411.

"Iron Chest, The, " 44.

Irving, Washington, '* Life and Let
ters of, " 224 ; am complimented
by, 225; "The Sketch Book,"
225; "Rip Van "Winkle," 225;
letter to John Miller, 415, 410;
author of b* Wolfert's Roost," 421 ;
am introduced as, 460 ; exaltation
of " Carl the Shepherd " into " Rip
Van Winkle," 461.

Itinerant actor, hopeful disposition of,

Itinerant theatricals, pleasures of, ill.
Ivy, beauty and ill effects of, 375.

Jack Cade, Edwin Forrest as, 157.

Jack Gong, Paul Bedford as, 304.

Jarrett, Henry C., the railroad mana
ger, 151; produces "The School
for Scandal" in Washington, 151,
152, 154-156-

Jealousy, sometimes useful, 82 ; pro
fessional, 1 1 6-1 1 8, 211, 447.

Jefferson, Joseph (my father), hope
ful nature, 17; death, 36.

Jefferson, Margaret C., death of, 229.

Jefferson, Sarah, sickness of, 376.

Jefferson, Cornelia F. T., as Clari, 27 ;
keeps boarding-house, 37; vicissi
tudes in life of, 54; death, 118.

Jefferson, Cornelia, acts as bridesmaid
at my wedding, 128.

Jefferson, Lieut Frank, commander
of Queen Victoria's yacht, 310.

Jefferson,_ Rev. Joseph, visit from,
364-367.

Jefferson, Tom, letter from, and hos
pitality of, 310, 311.

Jefferson features, 365.

Jem Baggs, 103.

"Jim Crow," 6-8.

Job Thomberry, 223.

John, my Man Friday, 469.
ohn Bull, a little, 366.

John Peerybingle, Harry Pearson as,
208.

Johnson, T. B., as Tackleion, 208.

Joke, a cruel, 391, 392.

Joseph Surface, J. W. Wallack, Jr., as,
151.

Juliet, 265 ; playing under difficulties,
145, 146.

"Julius Caesar," mishaps in, at Cin
cinnati Dramatic Festival, 383.

Katrina, 421.

Kean, Charles, in New Orleans, 47,
48; in the English colonies, 261 ;

success of, 261 ; effects of age on,

261, 262, 265, 267, 268; character,
265-268 ; comment on the boome
rang, 266; contrasted with Aus
tralian black, 266, 267.

Kean, Mrs. Charles, in New Orleans,
48; in the English colonies, 261,

262, 265, 267, 268 ; character, 267,
268.

Kean, Edmund, as Richard ///.,
drawing of, 205, 206 ; offends the
Kembles, 423 ; early trials of, 449,
450; success on first appearance in
London, 450, 451.

Keene, Laura, opens theater in New
York, 183 ; engages me for leading
comedy, 183; judgment in regard
to plays, 184, 185; ability and in
dustry, 187, 189-191, 205; pro
duces "Splendid Misery," 189;
produces "Blanche of Brandy-
wine," 189-192; earlier experi
ence, 190; arranging a tableau,
190-192; produces " Our American
Cousin," 193; her diamonds, 194;
in "Our American Cousin," 197;
misunderstandings with, 198-200,
202-204; produces "A Midsum
mer Night's Dream," 203-205 ; as
Puck, 204; last days of, 205 ; part
ing gifts from, 205, 206 ; death , 206 ;
personal appearance, versatility,
and character, 206; in "The Sea
of Ice," 206.

Kelcey, Herbert, as Bernardo, 422.

Kellogg, Gertrude, as The Queen,
422.

Kemble, Charles, traces of his school
of acting, 152; as Mercutio, 154.

Kemble, Fanny, early recollections
of, 5.

Khan, The, John Cartlidge cast for,
123, 124.

Kidd, Captain, 466.

«£ Kidd, Captain," at the Amphitheater,
Philadelphia, 121, 122.

Killmist, Mr., offers me place at
Washington Theater, 97; theater
burned, 100.

King, the mimic before the real,
430.

King Claudius, Frank Mayo as, 422.

King Lear, Edwin Forrest as, 167;
Samuel Phelps as, 171 ; compared
with Rip Van Winkle, 452, 453.

Kingsley, Charles, meeting with,
360.

« Kiss in the Dark, A," at St. Charles
Theater, 79.

Koehler, Charles, as Osric, 422.

498

INDEX

Lady Anne, warned to beware of a
bigamist, 64.

Lady Macbeth, 220, 265 ; Charlotte
Cushman as, 414.

"Lady of Lyons, The," at Clarks-
ville, Tenn., 46 ; in Mississippi, 56 ;
love scenes in, 195 ; William War
ren in, 405.

Lady Priory, Julia Dean as, 147, 148.

Lady Sneerwell, JaneGermon as, 151.

Lady Teazle, 398; Lizzie Weston as,

151-

Laertes, Eben Plympton as, 422.

Lafitte, Captain, buccaneer and slave-
trader, 464-466, 469 ; at battle of
New Orleans, 465.

«LJ Ami Fritz," at the Theatre Fran-
$ais,353.

Land, Agnes, 230.

Landry, Pierre, an Acadian patriarch,
469-474; as peacemaker, 471;
grave of, 474.

Landscape painting, French school of,
356.357; difficulties of, 356, 357;
secret of, 356, 357.

Landslip, a great, 279, 280.

Lane;, John A., as Horatio, 422.

Language and action compared, 214,
215.

Laughter a cure for dyspepsia, 309, 310.

Laurel wreath, pleasure and pain with
a, 408.

Lawsuit, exhilarating effects of a
threatened, 99.

Lawyer meets his match, 102.

Lawyers, dramatic wiles of, 426.

Legitimate comedians, 420.

Lemaitre, Frederic, Fechter's admira
tion for, 341; imitation of, 341,
342.

Lepard, George, 189.

Le Vert, Madame, 38-40.

Levick, Milnes, as Second Actor, 422.

Lewis, Monk, au thor of** Casde Spec
tre," ic6.

"Life in London," 105.

likeness, family, 310, 311.

Lima, Peru, visit to, 281-293; se,w-
erage, 281, 282 ; beauty of ladies,
282, 283 ; cavaliers, 282, 283 ; use
of gas, 282 ; theater, 282 ; manners
and customs of the theater, 283,
284 ; costume, 283, 292 ; the Grand
Plaza, 284; the cathedral, 284,
285 ; beggars, 285, 286; lack of rain,
291 ; scenery, 291-293 ; gambling,

•293-
Lincoln, Abraham, in defense of the

drama, 30.
Lion-hunter, a female, 419.

Listeners, the usual fate of, 306.

Literature and art, powers compared
with drama, 259.

Lithographs, early use of, 236, 237.

Little Church Around the Corner,
christening the, 340.

Littleton Coke, criticism of the charac
ter, 153.

Liverpool, appear in, 321.

'* Living Statues, The," 6.

London, first visit to, 1 71 ; arrive in,
301 ; settle in, 303 ; first appear
ance in, 310; remarkable effects
of its atmosphere, 311; pleasant
society in, 313 ; reception of Ameri
can actors in, 344-345 ; revisit in
1875, 345 J engagement with Mr.
Chatterton, 345 ; letting furnished
houses in, 351, 352; return from

Paris to, 359 ; play long engage
ment at Princess's Theater, 359;
dinner-giving in, 359, 360; clubs

of, 362; critical society of, 363;
live on Belsize Avenue, 304."

Longfellow, Henry Wads worth, in
timacy with Browning, 361, 362;
kindness of, 362 ; at a memorable
feast, 407, 408; scene from " Evan-
geline," 467.

Lord JBurZeigk, 435, 436.

Lord Duberly, James G. Burnett as,

193-

Lord Dundreary, Sothern's early
dread of the character, 194; Soth-
ern as, 197, 198.

Lord Lovett, Barton Hill as, 130.

Louisiana, my plantation in, 393, 464—
476.

Louisville, Alexander Drake manager
in, 62 ; meet George D. Prentice
in, 328.

"Louis XL," a private rehearsal in a
public place, 263; in Charles
Kean's repertory, 265.

Love scenes, general weakness of
dramatic, 195 ; English and French
compared, 195; Sardou's, 195;
Bulwer's, 195 ; " Romeo and Ju
liet," 195.

Loving couple, a, 364-367.

Loyalty, of French contrasted with
their devotion to art, 176, 177; of
English people, 261.

Lucilius, Seneca's advice to, 474.

Ludlow & Smith, managers of St
Charles Theater, 47, 79; theatri
cal partnership, 115 ; managers of
Mobile Theater, 146.

Ludlow Street Jail, Sir William Don
in, 140; an invitation to, 141.

INDEX

499

Lunatic asylum, a floating, 47.

Lutz, John,' recognizes merits of
"Our American Cousin," 193;
manager for Laura Keene, 204.

Lyceum, New York, under manage
ment of Brougham, 315; under
James Wallack, 315.

Lyceum Theater, London, Fechter's
failure at, 342.

Lydia Languish, Mrs. John Drew as,
4I3.

McAllister, keeper of billiard saloon in
Memphis, 32.

McAllister, Mrs., an appeal by one
woman to another, 34.

Macbeth, 186, 187, 220, 265 ; Samuel
Phelpsas, 171, 319.

"Macbeth," dramatic action in, 186,
187; mishaps in, at Drury Lane
Theater, 318, 319; impropriety of
realism in, 457, 458.

McCullough, John, 421.

McKenzie & Jefferson, build theater
in Springfield, 111., 28, 29 ; dissolu
tion of partnership, 31.

Macon, Ga., successful season in, 132.

Macready, William, early recollec
tions of, 5 ; in Mobile, 41 ; char
acter, 41-44; singeing his wig,
42; as Werner, 42,442-444; on
the war-path, 43 ; influence of his
style upon James W. Wallack, Jr.,
80 ; Snaksperean revivals at Drury
Lane Theater, 154; troubles with
Forrest, 166, 167 ; Chanfrau's imi
tations of, 420; Mrs. Warner's
criticism of, 442-444.

Macready and Forrest riots, 344.

"Mad Arithmetician, The," by
Charles Mathews,386.

Madison Square Theater, New York,
Charles Mathews's fondness for,

« Maid of the Inn, The," Mrs. Drake

in, 416.
Major Bagstock, John Brougham as,

437-

Major Oakly, criticism of the charac
ter, 153.

Malaprop, Mrs., Mrs. John Drew as,
400, 401.

Malvolw,^, R. Blake as, 107; Sam
uel Phelps as, 171.

Management, love for, 141.

Manager, enthusiasm of a, 58, 59;
qualities of a successful, 131, 132;
a star in search of a, 135 ; from
lamplighter to, 235 ; the most use-
fol, 456.

Managers, a word as to, 183, 184.

Manchester, play " Rip Van Winkle "
and "The Parish Clerk" in, 321.

Mandillos, 70.

Maoris, physical features of, 272.

Marble, Danford, 20, 222.

Marcellus, Edwin H. Vanderfelt as,
422.

Maria, Mary Devlin as, 151.

Marie Antoinette, thoughts of, 173.

Mark Antony, 383; in a queer pre
dicament, 383.

Marfow, 463.

Marrall, cast for, 129.

Marriage, my first, 127, 128; my sec
ond, 323.

Mary, my foster-mother, 8-1 o; death,
40.

Mary, Mrs. Drake as, 416.

" Masaniello," overture in Lima Ca
thedral, 284.

Massachusetts vs. South Carolina,
276, 278, 279.

Matamoras, Mex., occupied by United
States army, 67 ; reopening old
Spanish theater in, 67; close of
theater, default of manager, ^and
dissolution of company, 67 ; open
coffee and cake stand, 68? j>en-
alty for murder, 69 ; early closing;
71, 72; houses and life in, 72;
voyage to Brazos Santiago from,
78.

Maternal affection in Australia, 7.44.

Mathews, Charles (the elder), char
acter of his work, 221.

Mathews, Charles, as Charles Surf off,
153; as Roderigo, 154; on the
character of Mercutio, 154; fond
ness for Madison Square Theater,
383* 384; character, talents, and
humor, 385-392; trip on Flying
Scotchman with, 386; dinner with
Byron, Planche, and, 386, 387;
philosophy of, 387 ; sympathy and
affection, 387, 388; repertory of,
389; unsuccessful engagement at
Boston Theater, 390 ; jokes on the
subject, 390-392 ; in the Bulftnch
Place kitchen, 407.

May, Capt Charles A., charge of, at
batde of Resaca de la Palma, 67.

May Fielding, Mrs. J. H. Allen as,
208.

Mayo, Frank, as King Claudius, 422.

" Mazeppa," at Amphitheater, Phila
delphia, 123.

Mechanical contrivances, increase in
use of, 397.

Mechanical ingenuity, 144.

500 INDEX

Millies, Charlotte Cushmanas,
MeLtier contrasted with Millet,

Melbourne, Viet., from Sydney to, as They Were and Maids as They

239, 273; successful season at Are, at, 147, 140-

Princess's Theater, 239; Hay- Modjeska, Helena, as Ophelm^.

market Theater, 239; return to, Moliere, comedies of, at the Theatre

259; play at Haymarket Theater, trancais, 354.

259; voyigeto New Zealand from, " Money," love scenes in, 195.

271 ; to Callao from, 275, 276. Monterey, march on, 67.

Melbourne Argus, excellence of criti- Montgomery, Walter, in the Bulfinch

cisms in 2?g Pla.ce kitchen, 407.

Melodrama,' duties of low comedian in, Moonlight, acting by, 56; musings by,

I20 121 173*374; sleeping in the, 254.

Memphis, 47 ; first visit to, 31 5 inter- Moral drama, character of, 454, 455-

view with mayor of, 31 ; passage to Mordaunt Frank, as ifranasco, 422.

Mobile from, 33-36. Morgan, Australian bushranger, 25 7,

Scotland, residence at,

lS Charles, marries Mw*\ F.3S?*Chanfrau as, 420.
illiams 410. Moses, appearance as, 151.

as, 160; "Mother? Pet, The," in a Chinese

mishaps to Forrest in,

Metropolitan Opera House, New writing, 462.

York, Lester Wallack's testimonial Mowatt, Anna Cora, m New Orleans,

at 421, 422 : cast, 422. 4§ ; defects in her acting, 138.

Mette W £77 78 Munden, Joseph S., portrait of, at

E^V^^ut^akof, 65. ^ Garrick'ciA, 362.

Mexico life in 72. Murdoch, James E., as Charles Star-

$£3i?w!f£ Burton as, loo. >ta, 151-154; ^T^n^hi

Michigan, Lake, 21. ginality of, 152-154; style in light

"Midfummer Night's Dream," pro- comedy, 153, '54; at Haymarket

duced by Laura Keene, 203-205. Theater, London, 153, 154-

Miller, John, letter from Washington Murray River, visit to region of,

Millet™!' F.!5afld*picture by, 355; Myft^ryfpieasure in, 333; a dark,

apostrophe to, 355 ; treatment by 376, 377-

SiedM "Naiad Queen, <Hie,»at Ford's The-

Tonier, 385. ater» Richmond, 157.

Mirabel, criticism of the character, Nashville, Tenn., 45.

jt3. Natchez, Miss., Tom Glessmg's ad-
Missionary, New Zealand use for, venture at, 91-93* . . . „,

272> J* Nature, resentment of imitation, 356,
Mississippi, Charles Burke with com- 357; on the stage, 453, 454-

pany in, 52, 53 ; barn-storming Nautical drama, propriety of realism

in, 54-57; traveling through, 57. in, 457-

Mississippi River, scenery in the, 25; Neal, Joe, n.

fishing in, 35; up the, 48; float- Neal, Mrs., 11-13- , , ^

ing theater on, 62. Necessity the foster-mother of art,
Missouri River, floating theater on, 449- ^ .. _ .., . , .

62. Neptune, The, sail for England in,

Misiher O* Winkle, 378. I7*-

Mitchell, William, manager of the Nervousness at meeting new corn-

Olympic Theater, 107; conflict pany, 303. .

with W. E. Burton, 107; stricken New Englander, how depicted, 20.

with paralysis, 107. Newman ftoggs, in character of, 209,

INDEX

501

New Orleans, voyage from Brazos
Santiago, to, 78 ; American Thea
ter closed, 80; Lafitte at battle of,

465-

Newspaper controversies, 101.
Newspaper criticism, importance of,

to an actor, 115.
Newspapers, increase of illustration

"NTw Way to Pay Old Debts, A,"
play Marrall in, 129.

New York, great fire of 1835, 13;
first appearance in, 14, 15 ; early
residence in James Street, 15 ; my
cemetery playground in, 15, 16 ;
marriage at old church in Oliver
Street, 128; shipping actors to
Wilmington by schooner from,
141-143 ; fishing in Union Square,
337, 338 ; Fechter's failure in, 342 ;
reception of English actors in, 344,

345-

New Zealand, from Melbourne to,
271; .success in, 272; use for
missionaries in, 272; to Sydney
from, 272.

New Zealanders, dramatic instinct in,
425.

Nick Vedder, Paul Bedford as,
304.

Nimrod, The, embark from San Fran
cisco for Sydney on, 231.

Norfolk Island, 232.

North vs. South, on the stage, 213-
215.

Notoriety, evil effects of desire for,

334*
Notre Dame, Paris, moonlight view

of, 173-

Novices, ephemeral success of some,
460, 461.

Ober-Ammergau, religious tableau at
Callao contrasted with the Passion
Play at, 290, 291. •

O'Connell, Daniel, letter from John
Howard Payne to, 416, 417.

" Octoroon, The," difficulty with the
management in, 211-213; power
ful influence of, 213-215 j produced
in Sydney, 239.

O1 Flanaghan, John Drew as, 412.

O'Grafyj John Brougham as, 314.

O'Grady, 'Father, fellow-passenger on
the Nimrod, 231; calls on me in
Sydney, with his wife, 273 ; apos
trophe" to, 283.

Ohio River, down the, 46, 47; float
ing theater on, 62.

Old friends, disloyalty of, 194.

Olympic Theater, New York, man
aged by William Mitchell, 107 ; end
of conflict between Burton and,
107.

O. P. riots, 296.

Opera, the, Paris, 355.

Opera Comique, the, Paris, 294, 355.

Operas, grand, requirement of space
for, 383.

Ophelia, Helena Modjeska as, 422.

Opposition and competition contrasted,
101.

Orange groves, profits from, 394.

Oratorio compared with acting, 428.

Orchestra, a panic-stricken, 126, 127;
a Chinese, 268; perils surround
ing an, 163.

Originality in acting, 152, 153.

Osric, Charles Koehler as, 422.

Othello^ 220 ; Edwin Forrest as, 167.

" Our American Cousin," early rejec
tion of, 193; produced by Laura
Keene, 193; success of, 193, 194,
196-198, 200, 203; value of the
love scene in, 194-196; strong cast
in, 197; secure right of starring
with, 205 ; results, 207 ; my first
serious work in, 209; as Asa
Trenchard in, 222 ; produced in
Sydney, 239.

Overtoiling, evil effects of, 229.

Owens, John E., 222, 420; as Mr. Pit-
tibone, 79, Si, 82 ; his fine acting,
8x, 82.

Pacific coast, a misnomer, 279, 280.

Pacific Ocean, 275, 276.

Painters, extravagances of some in
London, 362, 363 ; subject to bias
at hands of brother artists,423, 424.

Painting, 348, 350; secret of land
scape, 356, 357; compared with
acting, 384, 385, 428 ; analogy be
tween poetry, music, and, 428.

Pakenham, General, 465.

Palais Royal, Paris, 177, 353, 355.

Palmo's Theater, New York, pur
chased by W. E. Burton, 1 06;
strength of company at, 107.

Palo Alto, Mex., battle of, 66.

Panama, voyage from Callao to, 293-
295 ; cool reception in, 297-301 ;
leave for England, 301.

Panic of 1837, effects on theatrical
matters, 52.

Panic of 1857, 187-189.

Pantomime, distinguished from dra
matic action, 185-187; English,
312, 313; value of, 435, 436; ne
cessity of harmony with scene, 445.

502 INDEX

Paradise Valley, Pa., summering at, Philosophical discussions, decline of,

224. in modern plays, 397.

Paris, first visit to, 173; Hotel Byron, Philosophy, inborn, 33, 34.

173; a terrible fight at, 174; econ- Physiognomy, a curious fact about,

omy in, 175; second visit to, 176, 250,251.

177; a guide in, 176-179, 181, Pigs and "Home, Sweet Home," 27,

182; theatrical wardrobe shops in, 28.

177-182; guyed in, 179, 180; re- Pioneer, The, canal-boat, 1 8.

turn to America from, 182 ; third Pirate of the Gulf, the, 465, 469.

visit to, 346 ; Hotel Mirabeau, Pitcairn Islanders, 232.

346; our flat in Avenue d'Eylau, Pittibone, Mr,, John E. Owens as,

346, 348-351 ; engage French 79, 81, 82.

teacher in, 346, 347 ; scenery Pizarro, 281.

around, 348; furnished houses in, Placide, Henry, as The Fool, 107; as

351; sacrednessofartin,352; art Sir Peter Teazle, 151, 154, 155;

galleries of, 355. follows style of Farren, 155; his

" Parish Clerk, The," play in Man- career, 155.

Chester in, 321. Placide, Thomas, as Crabtree, 151.

Parrot's coffin, a, 376, 377. Planche", James R., 313 ; dinner with

Partnerships, theatrical, 115, 116. Mathews, Byron, and, 386, 387.

Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau con- Plantation songs, 468.

trasted with religious tableau at Play, community that never saw a,

Callao, 290, 291. 55-57; likened to a picture, 157;

Past vs. Present, 422-424. on altering text of, 201.

Patent theaters, privileges of, 368. Player Queen, The, Rose Coghlan as,
Patriarch, an Acadian, 469-474- „ 4*2. _

Pauline, 195. Players, The, simplicity of Hamlet's

Path Pry, 103. instructions to, 455.

Pawn, getting an actor's wardrobe out Playground, a strange, 15, 1 6.

of, 136. Playhouse, my first, 1-5.

Pavne, John Howard, author of "Clari, Plays, literary merit of, 184, 185 ; old-
"the Maid of Milan," and of fashioned, 264, 265.

" Home, Sweet Home," 27 ; letter Plympton, Eben, as Laertes, 422.

to Daniel O'Connell, 415-41 7; let- " Pocahontas," written by John

ter to Mrs. Drake, 417, 418; Brougham, 3 15, 316; played under

scheme for periodical, 41 7. difficulties, 315-31 7-

Pearson, Harry, as John Peerybingle, Pocahontas. John Brougham as, 317.

208. Pocono Mountain, Pa., summering

Pedestrian exercise, 45. near, 224.

Peldn, 111., play in a pork house in, 27. Poe, Edgar Allan, contributes to the
Peoria, 111., 27. " Gentleman's Magazine," 101 ;

Perry, Harry, 230. quarrels with Burton, 101.

Persecutions, early, 9, 10. Poetical speeches, decline of, in

Peru and Chili, war between, 293. modern plays, 397.

Peruvian, scalping a, 5, 6. Poetry, analogy bet ween music, acting,

Peruvian bark, a heavy dose of, 277. painting, and, 428.

Phelps, Samuel, versatility of, 171 ; as Point Isabel, Tex., voyage to, 66.

Macbeth, 171, 319 ; as SirPtrtinax Point of view to be regarded in paint-

McSycophant, 171; as Maholio, ing and acting, 384, 385.

171; as Xing Learfiji; as Sir Poker, a British estimate of, 136.

Anthony Absolute, 171 ; as Bottom, Police, theatrical contempt for, 313.

171. Policeman, hooking a, 338.

Philadelphia, myplace of birth, 14; Politics and art, 352.

Arch Street Theater managed by Poloniw, John Gilbert as, 422 ; sim-

W. E. Burton, 57, 83 ; a desperado plicity of advice to his son, 455.

from, 75; death and burial of Pork-house, playing in, 27.

my mother at, 118; the Amphi- Port Gibson, Miss., Charles Burke's

theater-at, 118. company in, 53 ; arrival at, 54.

Phillips, Mr., stage-manager at Adel- Posturing, 6.

phi Theater, 305. Pot-luck, definition of, 140.

INDEX

503

Povey, John, agent for Charles Ma-
thews, 391 ; cruel joke on, 391,
392.

Power, Tyrone, early recollections of,
5 ; an early star, 22 1 ; ability and
success of, 221, 222; at Theater
Royal, Dublin, and Haymarket
Theater, London, 221; influence
on the American stage, 222 ; com
pared with John Drew, 413.

Powhatan, John Brougham as, 316,

317-

Practical joker, a, 337, 338.

Prairie, a journey over, 24, 25.

Prejudice in criticism, 423, 424.

Prentice, George D., editor of " Louis
ville Journal," 328 ; manner, per
sonal appearance, and talents, 328-

331-

Preparation in acting, 431.
Pre-Raphaelite work, value of, 359.
Present vs. Past, 422-424.
Priest, Harry Edwards as, 422.
Prince of Wales's Theater, under

Marie Wilton, 317.
Princess's Theater, London, " Arrah

na Pogue," at, 314; engagement

at, 345, 359-

Princess's Theater, Melbourne, suc
cessful season at, 239.

Private rehearsal, 308, 309; in a pub
lic place, 263.

Procrastination, 433.

" Prodigal Son, The," at Spanish
Theater, Callao, 289.

Profit-sharing in early days, 57, 50.

Properties, drying out, 26; use of, at
rehearsal, 434.

Provincial companies, customs of, 143,

144-

Pruning, value of, 403.
Public, the, 105, 106; fair play of,

Queen's yacht, commanded by Lieu
tenant Frank Jefferson, 310.

Quin, James, criticism on Garrick,
423-

Quincy, 111., playing in court house,
27.

Quizzing, an actor's fondness for, 127,
128.

Raeburn, Sir Henry, portraits by, in
Gregory mansion, 373.

Railroad manager, the, 151.

Raskleigh Osbaldistone, William War
ren as, 405.

Ray, Mrs., 143.

Raymond, John T., a successful co
median, 222 ; manages " Rip Van
Winkle " at Carusi's Hall, Wash
ington, 227 ; a legitimate comedian,
420; as Ichabod Crane, 421; as
Colonel Sellers, 421 ; ability, 421.

Raymond, Oliver, at Palmo's Theater,
107; as Mr. Toots, 437; sudden
rise, 437.

Reade, Charles, 313.

Realism, in art, 453, 454; important
factor in dramatic art, 456 -458;
out of place in « Rip Van Winkle,"
457 J propriety of, in nautical drama
and rural scenes, 45 7.

Rebozo, the, 292.

Reception, a cool, 297-301.

« Records of the New York Stage,"
14.

Re-creation of characters, 414.

Rehearsal, a private, in a public place,
263 ; private, 308, 309 ; quality, not
quantity, 432, 433 ; importance of
the first, 433; stage-manager's,
author's, and actor's duties as to,
433 ; use of scenery and proper
ties at, 434; importance of thnr-
oughness in, 435 ; value of careful

•9AA „ UUJ^UUCaa III, ^J^ , vo.im_ v* wi

Public approval, a great stimulus, preparation at, 436-43?-
4e, rr Rehearsing under difficulties, 89,

453-
Puck, refuse to play, 204; Laura

Keene as, 204.

Puff, Mr,, 435,436; wisdom of, 451.
Pulpit, actors in the, 426
Pumping, 277, 278, 286, 287
Pythias, Edwin Adams a>, I 8

Quarrels between actor and iranager,

213.
Queen* The, Gertrude Kellogg as,

422.
Qite n Catherine, 265 j Or rlotte CiiFh-

man as, 414.
Qiteen Elizabeth, Mrs J. W. Wa.lack,

Jr., as, 79, 80.

Reign of Terror, thoughts of the, 173.

" Relapse, The," 402, 403.

Religion, the drama and, 29, 30; de
mocracy of, 285.

Religious tableau, a, 289-291.

Repose, value of, 446.

Resaca de la Palma, battle of, 67.

Reuling, Dr., oculist, 388.

Reunions, family, 311, ^12.

Revenue, a sister's, 258

Rice. John B., Salisbury's telegram to,
215 ; married to Mary Anne War
ren, 392; theatrical manager in
Chicago* 393 ; mayor of Chicago,
393; member of Congress, 393;

504

INDEX

character, 393-395 ; ridicules my
investments, 393, 394 ; quarrel with
Edwin Forrest, 394; dumfounds a
scientist, 394-39°*

Rice, T. D., 6-8.

jRichard Dazzle, criticism of the char
acter, 153.

Richard ///, Pudding Stanley as,
62-65; dt awing of Edmund Kean
as, 205, 206 ; ludicrous blunder in
playing, 368.

''Richard III," 445; at St. Charles
Theater, 79-81.

Riches, philosophizing on, 303.

Richings, Peter, in the Bulfi nch Place
kitchen, 407.

Richmond, Va., become manager of
Ford's Theater, at, 157; in search
of news from, 278,279; season in,
412.

Ringgold, Major Samuel, wounded at
battle of Palo Alto, 66.

Rip Van Winkle, monologue for, 22 7;
strikes a sympathetic chord in G.
D. Prentice, 33 1; suggested change
to an Irishman, 378; compared
with King Lear, 452, 453 ; not a
temperance lecturer, 4=4; am iden
tified as the original, 458, 459.

"Rip Van Winkle," evolution of,
223-229, 302,456,461, 462; early
dramatizations of, 225, 461; first
rehearsals of, 227, 228 ; analysis of
the long sleep in, 228 ; results of
first presentation of, 229 ; remod
eled, 229 ; produced in Sydney,
239; re written by Boucicault, 302,
461 ; engage to play at Adelphi
Theater, 302; reading, 303 ; re
hearsal, 304-306; an important
production of, 308; first produc
tion in London, 310 ; success of,
310, 380, 458, 459: appear in Man
chester in, 321 ; success in Belfast,
380 ; not a temperance play, 454 ;
poetic element in, 454; suggested
end of characters in, 454 ; impro
priety of realism in, 457; play in
Catskill, 458, 459 ; a new reading
in, 459 ; lessons to be drawn from
its career, 460-462.
Rivalry, 1 16- 1 r 8.

" Rivals, The," am invited to produce
at Cincinnati Dramatic Festival,
382 ; compared with, " The School
for Scandal,*' 397-399; altering
and condensing, 397~403> purity
of, 399 ; introduction by Mrs. John
Drew, 401 ; epilogue, 401 ; criti
cism of my changes in, 401, 402, •

justification of changes, 402, 403 ; in
Philadelphia, 413 ; effects in, 446,
447.

"Road to Ruin, The," at Laura
Keene's Theater, 224.

Robbers, in dread of, 113, 114.

Roberts, David, picture by, at the Gar-
rick Club, 362.

Robertson, Agnes, at Ford's Theater,
Richmond, 157; as Dot, 208;
beauty of, 209.

Robertson, Tom, meeting with, 317;
writing comedies for Marie Wil
ton, 317 ; success and good qual
ities of his plays, 317; character
and genius, 317-319; as racon
teur, 317, 31$; views of Gold
smith, 318 ; sense of humor, 319 ;
attachment for Artemus Ward,
320, 321.

" Rob Roy," 405.

Robson, Mr., 171.

Roderigo, Charles Mathews as, 154.

Rolamo, Mr., manager of theater at
Sydney, 234; cockney tongue of,
235 ; industry and success of, 235 ;
estimation of Yankee comics, 235 ;
opinion of "the legitimate," 236.

Rolla, 5.

Romance, a dreamland of, 293.

" Romance of the English Stage, The,"
450.

Romee>) playing, under difficulties, 145,
146.

"Romeo and Juliet,'^ 220; in Wil
mington, 144; ludicrous accident
in, 144-146; perfection of love
scene in, 195.

Rosebush, a sympathetic, 333.

RosencrantZy Charles Han ford as, 422.

Roses, Tom Glessing's, 331, 333.

Rouen, 173.
Rough Diamond, The," produced in

, ,

Savannah, '136-138.
Rousseau, T., nature of his work,

Rowe, George Fawcett, manager of
Princess's Theater, M elbourne,

f; contract with, 239.
, Mr. Ellis as, 151.
Academy, Loan Exhibition at,
308.

Sf. Andrew, ludicrous mishap of, 125-

127.

St. Anthony, a modern, 273, 283.
St. Charles Theater, New Orleans,
acting in, 47; "Richard III" at,
Si ; under management of Lud-
& Smith, 79 ; "A Kiss in the

INDEX sos

Dark " at, 79; James W. Wallack, Search, Jake, property man at Ford's
Jr., Mrs. Wallack, and John E. Theater, 1 60 ; hides from Forrest's
Owens at, 79-82. wrath, 160, 162.

St. David, 125. Second Actor, Mimes Levick as, 422.

St. Denis, ludicrous mishap of, 125, 126. Second Gravedigger, W. J. Florence

St. George, Charles Foster as, 125, 126. as, 422.

" St. George and the Dragon " at Am- Second-hand shops of Paris and Lon-
phitheater, Philadelphia, 125-127. don contrasted, 178.

St. Louis, Mo., a summer's acting in, Sefton, John, 15; partnership with,
48, 49 ; hissed off the stage at, 49, 1 1 1-1 16.

382 ; play with Burnett in, 193. Seguin company, as leader of chorus

St. Patrick, 125. in, 327.

Sala, George Augustus, meeting with, Seine, scenery of the, 173.

360. Self-confidence and courage contrasted,

Salem Scudder, in character of, 209 ; 450.

resign part, 211. Self-defense, take lessons in, 212,

Salisbury, Charles, guying tendency, 213.

215, 216; telegram to Rice, 215 ; Selfishness, incentive to favorable cnt-

wonderful memory, 215 ; dunned icism, 194.

by laundress, 2 1 6. Seminole War, murder of actors dur-

Salon, Paris, treatment of Millet, 356 ; ing, 60.

prejudice in admitting members, Seneca's advice to Lucilius, 474-

423, 424. Shabby gentility, 378-380.

Salt Island, 467. Shakspere, William, works sometimes

Sampson, in character of, 44. overshadowed by inferior plays,

San Antonio, Tex., offer to play in, 106; starring system attributable
5$, 59. to, 220 ; magnitude of his heroes,

San Francisco, Cal., failure in, 229; 220; characters in his comedies,
sail for Sydney from, 23 1. 220, 221; former restrictions re-

San Francisco cathedral at Lima, 284, garding his plays, 368; simplicity
285. of presentation of His lessons, 455,

Sardou, Victorien, estimate of, 185 ; 456.

dramatic action in one of his com- Shaksperean productions, improve-
edies, 185, 186 ; coarseness of, 195. ment in modern, 108.

Savage Club, London, 362. Shaksperean revivals, at Drury Lane

Savannah, Ga., ill success in, 132, 133 ; Theater, Macready's, 154.

its beauty, 133. Sharing scheme, a, 57, 58.

Saxe- Weimar, Duke of, opinion of Sheep-farming in Australia, 242.

Mrs. Drake, 416. Shepherds, Australian, 247.

Scenery, dipped in the Mississippi Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, works
River, 25 ; a new use for, 46, 47; sometimes overshadowed by infe-
acting without, 54; increased rior plays, 106 ; description of a
splendor of, 396; use of, at re- lady's face, 365 ; alters « The Re
hearsals, 434. lapse" to "A Trip to Scarbor-

Schenectady, playing in, 17, 18. ough," 402, 403.

Schneider, public interest in, 453. Sheridan twenty miles away, 402.

Scholastic dramatic institution, im- " She Stoops to Conquer," deception
portance of, 354, 355. of characters in, 463.

School, influence of the free, 50. Siddons, Mrs., 296.

" School for Scandal, The," produced Sign -painting, from scene-painting to,
by Jarrett at Washington, 151, 31, 52.

152, 154-156; artificiality, 398; Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Lester Wai-
indelicacy, 399; compared with lack as, 107; J. B. Buckstone as,
"The Rivals, "397-399. 441- , „, ,

Scotland, honesty in, 352; sport in, Sir Anthony Absolute, Samuel Phelps
37o, 371. as, 171 ; James Burnett as, 193.

Scottish chief, a, 370. Sir Benjamin Backbite, I, M. Dawson

"Sea of Ice, The," at Ford's Theater, as, 151. T « « t.

Richmond, 157; Laura Keene in, Sir Edward Mortimer, J- B. Booth
206. as, 44.

506

INDEX

Sir Giles Overreach, J. B. Booth as,

129-131.
Sir Harry Bumper, J. M. Barren as,

151.

Sir John Fahtaff, 221.
Sir Lucius O' Trigger, 401 ; John

Drew as, 413.
Sir Oliver Surface, George Andrews

as, 151.
Sir Pertinax McSycophant, Samuel

Phelps as, 171.
Sir Peter Teazle, Henry Placide as,

IS** *54» 155-

Sir Toby Belch, W. E. Burton as,
107.

Sister's revenge, a, 258.

Skeleton dance, Australian, 242-244.

Slavery question, the, 213-215.

Slave-stealer, a, 465.

Sleep, the great doctor, 361.

Smith, E. T., manager of Astley's
Circus, 312.

Smith, James, theatrical critic of Mel
bourne "Argus," 239.

Smith, Rev. Sydney, description of a
New Zealand lunch, 272 ; earnest
wish of, 272.

Snake, Edwin Adams as, 15 !•
Snoring, the philosophy of, 85,

86.

Social position in England and America
contrasted, 251, 252.

"Soldier's Daughter, The," Mrs.
Drake in, 416.

Soldiers, United States, sufferings in
Mexico, 78.

Soliloquy, addressed to audience, 430 ;
importance of keeping up interest
in, 442.

Sophocles, "Antigone," 102-104;
called before the curtain by a Phil
adelphia audience, 102, 103.

Sothern, E. A., early dread of charac
ter of I^ord Dundreary, 194, 197;
plays the part with success, 197,
198 ; as Brother Sam, 198 ; a suc
cessful comedian, 222.

South vs. North, on the stage, 213-
21$.

South Carolina vs. Massachusetts, 276,
278, 279.

Southern circuit, 132-149.

Spanish, learning, 74.

Spanish and French women contrasted,
283.

Spectacles, fate of their inventor,
112.

Spectacular plays, requirement of
space for, 383.

'•Spectre Bridegroom, The," by moon
light, 56.

Speech, rehearsing a, 91-93.
Spider and the fly, the, 351.
Spiritualism, 252, 253, 255.
"Splendid Misery," produced by

Laura Keene, 189.
Spontaneity, 431, 432, 437, 445.
Sports, Australian, 242-245.
Springfield, 111., 275 building a theater

in, 28.
" Sprite of the Silver Shower, The,"

139.

Stage, tricks of the, 65 ; complaints of
degeneracy of, 106; ethics of,
199-203 ; nature on, 453, 454.

Stage-coach traveling in 1846, 84-88.

Stage direction, importance of a, 187.

Stage fright, 48, 137, 138.

Stage-management, thorough prepa
ration in, 431.

Stage-manager, duties as to rehearsal,

Stanfield, Clarkson, marine picture by,
at Garrick Club, 362.

Stanley, George, prompter at Mobile
Theater, 147.

Stanley, Pudding, 58-65 ; as Richard
III, 62-65 ; his career, 62, 63.

Star, in search of a manager, 135 ;
advertising a, 136 ; a war, defined,
322.

Star and Garter, Richmond, a memor
able lunch at, 360, 361.

Star chamber, a theatrical, 97-99.

Starring, my first thoughts of, 222,
223.

Starring system attributable to Shak-
spere, 220.

" Star-Spangled Banner, The," given
under difficulties, 48.

Stevens, Sara, in "Our American
Cousin," 197; as Bertha, 208;
beauty, 209.

Stiff piece of humanity, a, 297.

Stimulus, a noble, 450; public ap
proval, a great, 453.

Stock companies, character of Aus
tralian, 237; contrasted with com
binations, 326, 327.

Stock company, my first, 3, 4.

Stock theater, qualities of successful
manager of, 131, 132.

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, meeting with,
452, 453; comments on resem
blance between Rip Van Winkle
and King Lear, 452, 453.

Stranger, The, A. H. Davenport as,

Stuart, William, engage with at Win
ter Garden, 207; difference with,
211-213.

INDEX

507

Success, ephemeral and legitimate
contrasted, 460, 461 ; the founda
tion of, 462.

Suggestion compared with vagueness,
435, 436.

Sunrise, The, sail from Liverpool to
New York on, 321.

Super, beginning as a, 451, 452.

Superstition, 252, 253, 255, 333.

Supper time, the actor's golden hour,

341-

Swordsmanship, James W. Wallack,
Jr.'s, superb, 81.

Sydney, N.S.W., sail from San Fran
cisco for, 231 ; beauties of the har
bor and city, 233; character of
company in, 237; introduction to
company, 238 ; first appearance in,
238 ; success, 238 ; leave for Mel
bourne, 239; from New Zealand
to, 272 ; meet Father O'Grady in,
273 ; to Melbourne from, 273.

Sydney Heads, terrors of, 232.

Syracuse, playing in, 18.

Tableau, arranging a, 190-192; a re
ligious, 289-291.

Tackleton, T. B. Johnson as, 208.

Talebearing, 97, 98.

Talent, confounded with wardrobe,
389 ; compared with genius, 432.

Tasmania, from Melbourne to, 259;
convict element in, 259-261.

Taylor, Tom, author of " Our Ameri
can Cousin," 193, 196.

Tea, the beverage of the Australian
bush, 250.

Telegram, my first, in, 112.

Temperance lecturer compared with
actor, 455.

Temperance play, a, 454.

Temptation, a terrible, 248, 254, 255.

Tennessee, traveling through, 45.

Texans, refining depraved tastes of,

59-

Text of play, on altering, 201.
Thames River, 360.
Theater, lighting a, fifty years ago, 29 ;

an improvised, 56 ; a floating, 62 ;

discipline of a, 198-200; attraction

for actors, 78, 237; daylight effects

on cathedral and, compared, 284 ;

playing to different classes in, 385 ;

compared with art gallery, 429.
Theater Royal, Dublin, "Antigone"

at, 102; Tyrone Power at, 221.
Theater Royal, Glasgow, appear at,

372; its modest manager, J* 72.
Theater Royal, London, Edmund

Kean's tnals at, 449, 450.

Theaters, infants in, 28; large and
small contrasted, 383, 384; in
crease of, and improvement in, 427.

Theatre Francais, Paris, criticism of
acting at, 352-355; "L'Ami
Fritz " at, 353 ; comedies of Mo-
liere at, 354.

Theatrical profession, progressive na
ture of, 328.

Thompson, Lysander, at Palmo's The
ater, 107.

" Ticket-of-Leave Man, The," at Ho-
bart Town, 259-261.

Tillie Slowboy, Mrs. John Wood as,
208.

Timour the Tartar, a daunted, 122.

Titus, Master, 14.

Tony Lumpkin, wisdom of, 52.

Toots, Mr., Oliver Raymond as, 437.

Tragedian, advantage over comedian,
220; compared with savage, 266,
267 ; a Chinese, 270, 271.

Tragedy, compared with comedy, 220,
429 ; criticizing, 429.

Training, natural talent aided by, 448,

449-

Treasure, hidden, 466.
Tree, Ellen, 261, 262.
Tnp, J. B. Howe as, 151.
"Trip to Scarborough, A," altered

from « The Relapse," 402, 403.
Troll ope, Anthony, 314.
Trollope, Mrs., opinion of Mrs. Drake,

416.

Tropics, discomforts of the, 297.
Trumbull, John, 190.
Turner, J. M. W., early and later

works estimated, 358.
Twain, Mark, author of " The Gilded

Age," 421.

« Twelfth Night " at Palmo's Theater,
I 107, 108.

United States, first dramatic challenge
to England, 165 ; hissing rare in,
218; religious tone of, contrasted
with that of Bavaria, 291 ; reception
of English actors in, 344, 345 ; con
trasted with France, 352.

" Used Up," produced in Savannah,
136-138.

Urica, playing in, 18.

Vagueness, compared with suggestion,
435, 436; illustration from "The
Critic," 435, 436.

Valrie, M., French consul at Callao,
280. 281 ; meeting with, on voyage
from Callao to Panama, 293;
broken English, 294; domestic

508

INDEX

happiness, 294; fondness for drama Warner, Mrs., compared with Char-
ana opera, 294; as a whist-player, lotte Cushman, 414; criticism on
295. Macready, 442-444; in** Werner,"

Vanbrugh, Sir John, author of " The 442-444.

Relapse," 402, 403. Warren, General, sufferings of, 191,

Vanderfelt, Edwin H., as Marcellus, 192.

422. Warren, Harry, theatrical manager in

Van Diemen's Land, from Melbourne Buffalo, 392.

toj 259; convict element in, 259- Warren, Mary Anne, married to John

261. B. Rice, 392.

Van Dunder, W. E. Burton as, 100. Warren, Sarah, my marriage to,

Vanity, 1 16, 226, 308, 309. 323.

Vedder, Nicholas, 45*8.

Verey's, London, family reunion at,
312.

Versatility, lack of, 389; of actors,
146.

Vert, Mme., 348-351.

Vestris, Mme., 205.

Vicksburg, Miss., drumming in, 52;

Havana cigars made in, 52.
Viola, Lizzie Weston as, 107.
Virginia Water, Queen's yacht on, 310.
Virginius, Edwin Forrest as, 157.

Walcott, Charles, 287.
Wallace, Buck, adventures of, 75, 76;
b

Warren, William, introduces Artemus
Ward, 320 ; friendship with Fech-
ter, 340, 341 ; rescues Fechter's cup
from the crucible, 343, 344; criti
cism on my changes in '* The
Rivals," 402; prominence in Bos
ton, 403, 404; versatility, 403;
character, talents, and career, 403-
409; fiftieth anniversary of his
debut, 403-408; as a star, 404;
connection with the Boston Mu
seum, 404, 405; early recollec
tions of, 405, 406; personal
appearance, 405 ; as Rashleigh
Osbaldistone, 405; as Beauseant,
405 ; retirement of, 406, 408,
409; at a memorable feast, 407,
408 ; last days, death, and burial,
409.

wife and child murdered by Co-

manches, 75; murdered, 70, 77;

opinion of Cooper's novels, 76.
Wallack, James, Sr., in Mobile, 40 ;

character, 40 ; in "The Brigand," War star defined, 322.

40, 41 ; succeeds Brougham at Washington, D. C., early recollections

the Lyceum, 315; in the Bulfinch of, I; T. D. Rice in, 6; Killmist's

Place kitchen, 407. theater burned, 100; with Ford's

Wallack, James W., Jr., personal ap- company at, 160 ; open with " Rip

pearance and acting of, 79-81; Van Winkle" at Carusi's Hall,

swordsmanship, 81 ; as Duke of 227-229.

Gloucester, 79-81 ; influence of Watches, purchasing, for self and wife,

Macready's style upon, 80; in 149; value of mine, 149.

"Antigone," 104; as Joseph Sur- Webster, Benjamin, engagement for

face, 151. + "Rip Van Winkle" with, 302;

Wallack, Lester, cousin of James W. feud with Boucicault, 303, 305-308;

Wallack, Jr., 79, note ; as Sir An- temper, 305-308.

drew Aguecheek, 107; testimonial Werner, Macready as, 42, 442-444.

at Metropolitan Opera House, 421, West, power of recovering lost posi-

422. tion in the, 251, 252.

Wallack, Mrs. James W., Jr.,as(?z/£w* Weston, Lizzie, as Viola, 107; as

Elizabeth, 79, So; her acting, 80; Lady Teazle, 151.

compared with Charlotte Cushman, Wheatley & Drew, managers of Arch

80; in "Antigone," 104. Street Theater, 149, 150.

Wall Street, in panic of 1857, 188. Wheeling, W. Va., coach office at,
War, effect upon theatrical finances, 84.

80. Wheelock, Joseph, as First Actor,

Ward, Artemus, in London, 320; char- 422.

acter and humor, 320, 321 ; death, Whist, a queer idea of, 295.

320, 321 ; attachment for Tom Rob- White, Col., 417.
T ertson,320,32i. White, Mrs. 417.

Wardrobe, confounded with talent, Widow Cheerly, Mrs. Drake as, 416.

389. Wife, a loving, 364~367» 47^, 473-

INDEX 509

"Wife's Secret, The," 265. « Wives as They Were, and Maids as
Wikawite, N. Z., Maori village, 271, They Are, "at Mobile Theater, 147,

272. 148.

Wilderness, a marine, 276. "Wolfert's Roost," John T. Ray.
Wilford, 44. mond in, 421.

Wilkie, David, 365. Wood, Mrs. John, as Tillie Sbwloy,
Williams, Barney, acts as my grooms- 208 ; beauty of, 209.

man, 128 ; a successful comedian, Wood & Warren, theatrical partner-

222; marries Mrs. Charles Mes- ship, 115.

^tayer, 410 ; popularity of, 410. Wrecked life, a, 251.

Williams, Mrs. Barney, popularity of, Wright, Mr., 171.

410.

Wilmington, N. C., playing at, 139, Yankee, characteristics of a, 277-279.

143. Yates, Frederick H., plays early ver-
Wilton, Marie, manages Prince of sion of "Kip Van Winkle," 225,

Wales's Theater, 317. 461.

Windham, Charles, form combination Young man, a London idea of a, 361.

with, 324. " Young Scamp, The," in a Chinese
Winter, Messrs., hospitality of, 241, Theater, 269

242.

Winter Garden, engagement at, 207 ; " Zampa," 294.

a combination of nature and art, Zekiel Homespun^ 224.

208 ; " Dot " at, 208, 209. Zoe, 214, 215.

106239