_In which is introduced a celebrated Comedian from the Theatre Royal,
Drury Lane, London._
The next morning, bright and early, "two travellers might have been
seen" crossing one of the ponderous bridges that lead over the
Schuylkill from Philadelphia to the opposite shore. The one was a stout
young cavalier, arrayed in fustian brown; the other was a pretty youth,
attired in broadcloth blue, and brilliant was his flashing eye, and
coal-black was his hair. By my troth, good masters, a fairer youth ne'er
touched the light guitar within the boudoir of my lady.
"Now, by my knightly oath," quoth he in fustian brown, "my soul expands
in the soft beauty of this rosy morn, my blood dances merrily through
every vein, and I feel like eating a thundering good breakfast at the
next hostelrie.--What sayest _thou_, fair youth?"
"Of a truth, Sir George," quoth he in broadcloth blue, in a voice of
liquid melody, "I am hungered, and would gladly sit me down before a
flagon of coffee, and a goodly platter of ham and eggs."
"Bravely spoken," quoth the stout young cavalier, with watering mouth;
and then, relapsing into silence, the train journeyed onward.
Soon they paused before a goodly hostelrie, which bore upon its swinging
signboard the device of "The Pig and the Snuffers."
"What ho, within there! House, house, I say!" hastily roared the youth
in fustian brown, as he vigorously applied his cowhide boot to the door
of the inn.
Forth came mine host of the Pig and Snuffers--a jovial knave and a right
merry one, I ween, with mighty paunch and nose of ruby red. Now, by the
rood! a funnier knight than this same Rupert Harmon, ne'er drew a
foaming tankard of nut-brown ale, or blew a cloud from a short pipe in a
chimney corner.
"Welcome, my masters--a right good welcome," quoth the fat host of the
Pig and Snuffers.
"Bestir thyself, knave," quoth the cove in fustian brown, as he entered
the inn followed by the pretty youth in broadcloth blue--"beshrew me, I
am devilish hungry, and athirst likewise. Knave, a stoup of sack, and
then let ham, eggs and coffee smoke upon the festive board!"
"To hear is to obey," said he of the Pig and Snuffers, as he waddled out
of the room in order to give the necessary instructions for breakfast.
It came! Ha, ha! Shall I attempt to describe that breakfast? Nay--my
powers are inadequate to the task.
But, dropping the style of my friend, G.P.R. James, the great English
novelist, I shall continue my narrative in my own humble way.
We breakfasted, and cheerfully set out upon our journey. The weather was
delightful; the odor of spring flowers perfumed the air, and the soft
breeze made music amid the branches of the trees. On every side of us
were the evidences of agricultural prosperity--fine, spacious
farm-houses, immense barns, vast orchards, and myriads of thriving
domestic animals. Sturdy old Dutch farmers, jogging leisurely along in
their great wagons to and from the city, saluted us with a hearty "good
morrow;" and one jolly old fellow who was returning home after having
disposed of a quantity of produce, insisted upon giving us a "lift" in
his wagon. So we got in, and about dark reached the farmer's home--a
substantial and comfortable mansion that indicated its owner to be a man
of considerable wealth.
I was surprised at the powers of endurance exhibited by my fair friend,
who after a pretty hard day's journey, exhibited not the slightest
symptom of fatigue. She kept up a most exuberant flow of spirits, and
seemed delighted with the novelty of the journey which we had commenced.
She was truly a charming companion, full of wit, sentiment and
intelligence; and I look back upon those days with a sigh of regret--for
such unalloyed happiness I shall never see again.
The good old farmer, with characteristic hospitality, declared that we
should go not further that night; and we gladly availed ourselves of his
kindness. He introduced us to his wife--a fine old lady, and a famous
knitter of stockings--and also to his only daughter, a plump, rosy, girl
about eighteen years old. This damsel surveyed my disguised companion
with a look of the most intense admiration; and I saw at once that she
had actually fallen in love with Mrs. Raymond!
"There will be some fun here," said I to myself--"I must keep dark and
watch the movements. The idea of a woman falling love with one of her
own sex, is rather rich!"
After a capital supper--ye gods, what German sausages!--I accepted the
old farmer's invitation to inspect his barn, cattle, &c. My fair friend
was taken possession of by the amorous Dutch damsel, who seemed to be
particularly anxious to display the beauties of her _dairy_, which is
always the pride of a farmer's daughter. I could not help laughing at
the look of comical embarrassment which poor Mrs. Raymond assumed, when
the buxom young lady seized her and dragged her off.
I of course praised the farmer's barn and stock with the air of a judge
of such matters, and we returned to the house, where I applied myself to
the task of entertaining the old lady, and in this I succeeded so well,
that she presented me with a nice pair of stockings of her own knitting.
After a while, my fair friend and the farmer's daughter returned;--and I
noticed that Mrs. Raymond looked exceedingly annoyed and perplexed,
while the countenance of the Dutch damsel exhibited anger and
disappointment. I could easily guess how matters stood; but, of course,
I said nothing.
During the evening, my fair friend had an opportunity of speaking to me
in private; and she said to me, with a deep blush, although she could
not help smiling as she spoke--
"I have something to tell you which is really very awkward and
ridiculous, yet you can't think how it vexes me. Now don't laugh at me
in that provoking manner, but listen. That great, silly Dutch girl,
after showing me her dairy, which is really a very pretty affair and
well worth seeing, suddenly made the most furious love to me--supposing
me, of course, to be what I seem, a boy. I was terribly confused and
frightened, and knew not what to say, nor how to act. Throwing her fat
arms around me, she declared that I was so handsome that she could not
resist me, and that I must become her lover. I told her that I was too
young to know anything about love; and then the creature volunteered to
teach me all about it. Then I intimated that I could not think of
marrying at present, as I was too poor to support a wife; but she
laughed at the idea of matrimony, and said that she only wanted me to be
her little lover. Finally I effected my release by promising to meet her
about midnight, in the orchard by the gate. Now, is not all this very
dreadful--to be persecuted by a big, unrelenting Dutch girl in this
manner?"
I roared with laughter. It was rude and ungallant, I confess; but how
could I help it? Mrs. Raymond made a desperate effort to become angry;
but so ludicrous was the whole affair, that she could not resist the
contagious influence of my mirth; and she, too, almost screamed with
laughter.
When our mirth had somewhat subsided, I inquired--
"Well, are you going to keep an appointment with the Dutch Venus?"
"What an absurd question! Of course not! She may wait by the orchard
gate all night, for what _I_ care--the great, lubbery fool!"
"What do you say to _my_ meeting her at the appointed time and place? I
will act as your representative, and make every satisfactory
explanation."
"You shall do no such thing. How dare you make such a proposition? I am
perfectly astonished at your impudence!"
The next morning, after breakfast, we prepared to depart. I saw that the
farmer's daughter regarded my fair friend with a ferocious look. The
damsel had probably passed two or three hours in the night air, waiting
for her "faithless swain."
Having thanked the good old farmer for his hospitality, and received his
blessing in return, we departed.
It is not my intention to weary the reader with the details of each
day's travel; indeed, my limited space would not admit of such
particularity. I shall, however, as briefly as possible, relate such
incidents of the journey as I may deem especially worthy of mention.
When we reached Lancaster, we discovered that our funds had entirely
given out, for we had lived expensively at taverns on the way, instead
of exercising a judicious economy. How to raise a fresh supply of money
was now the question, and one most difficult to be answered. But an
unexpected stroke of good fortune was in store for us. Strolling into
the bar-room of the principal hotel, I saw a play-bill stuck up on the
wall. This I read with avidity; and then, to my great satisfaction, I
became aware of the fact that an old friend of mine, one Bill Pratt, a
travelling actor and manager, had "just arrived in Lancaster with a
talented company of comedians, who would that evening have the honor of
appearing before the ladies and gentlemen of the above named place in a
series of entertainments at once Moral, Chaste, Instructive and
Classical, at the Town Hall. Admission--twelve-and-a-half cents."
So read the play-bill. I and my fair friend immediately posted to the
Town Hall, and there I found Brother Pratt busily engaged in arranging
his stage, putting up his scenery, &c. He was prodigiously glad to see
me.[I] Among his company I recognized several old acquaintances. I
introduced my travelling companion to the ladies and gentlemen of the
profession; and I do not think that any of them suspected her true sex.
We all dined together at the hotel; and a merry party we certainly were,
"within the limits of becoming mirth." Wit sparkled, conundrums puzzled,
bad puns checked, and rich jokes awoke the laughing echoes of the old
dining-hall. Happy people are those travelling actors--happy because
they are careless, and, in the enjoyment of to-day, think not of the
morrow. Are they not true philosophers?
"Oh, what's the use of sighing,
Since time is on the wing--
To-morrow we'll be dying,
So merrily, merrily sing--
Tra, la, la!"
After dining in company with Brother Pratt I seated myself upon the
piazza; and, while we smoked our cheroots, we recalled the past, dwelt
upon the present, and anticipated the future.
After a considerable amount of desultory conversation, the Brother
suddenly asked me--
"Who is that handsome little fellow with whom you are travelling?"
"Oh, he ran away from home in order to see something of the world, as
well as to avoid being apprenticed to a laborious trade," was my reply,
for I did not consider it at all necessary to let my friend into the
secret.
"He's a lad of spirit, and I like him," rejoined the Brother. "If he
went upon the stage, what a splendid court page he'd make! But where are
you going? Tell me all about it."
I told the Brother all that was necessary for him to know.
"And so," said he, reflectively, "you are entirely out of funds. That's
bad. We must raise you some cash, in some way or other. I will
immediately cause bills to be printed, announcing that 'the manager has
the pleasure of informing his numerous patrons that he has, at enormous
expense, succeeded in effecting a brief engagement with Mr. George
Thompson, the celebrated comedian from the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,
London, who will make his first appearance in his celebrated character
of Robert Macaire, in the great drama of that name, as performed by him
upwards of two hundred nights before crowded and fashionable audiences
including the royalty, nobility and gentry of England, who greeted him
with the most terrific and enthusiastic yells of applause, and Her
Majesty the Queen was so delighted with the masterly and brilliant
representation, that she presented Mr. Thompson with a magnificent
diamond ring valued at five thousand pounds sterling, which ring will be
exhibited to the audience at the conclusion of the performance.' How
will _that_ do, my boy? We'll raise the price of admission to
twenty-five cents on account of the extra attraction. I'll play Jaques
Strop, the house will be crammed, and you will go on your way rejoicing,
with a full pocket."
"I say, old fellow," I gravely remarked--"are you not laying it on a
_little too thick_?"
"Not at all," coolly replied the brother as he carefully knocked the
ashes off the end of his cigar, "not at all. Humbug is the order of the
day. I'll get a flashy ring to represent the one presented to you by
the queen. You know enough about stage business to play the part of
Robert Macaire very respectably and you also know that I am not very
slow in Jaques Strop. You'll make a hit, depend on it. I'll get you the
book, and you can look over the part. What you don't learn you can
gag.[J] I'll announce you for to-morrow night. Leave all to me; I'll
arrange everything. Let's go in and drink!"
I was soon master of the part; and, at the end of the next day's
rehearsal, I was found to be "dead letter perfect." The manager and the
members of his company congratulated me on the success which I was sure
to meet with. Meanwhile, the town had been flooded with bills, which
made the same extravagant announcement that Brother Pratt had suggested
to me. Public expectation and curiosity were worked up to the highest
pitch; and a crowd of excited people assembled in front of the principal
hotel, in anticipation of the sudden arrival of the "distinguished
comedian" in a splendid coach drawn by four superb white horses, and
attended by a retinue of servants in magnificent livery.
Evening came, and the large hall was crowded almost to suffocation,
although the price of tickets had been doubled. I was full of
confidence, having fortified myself by imbibing several glasses of
brandy and water. Just before going on the stage Brother Pratt was, to
use a common expression, "pretty well over the bay." Well, to make a
long story as short as possible, I went on at the proper time, followed
by Jaques Strop. My appearance was greeted with a perfect whirlwind of
applause, which lasted four or five minutes. Taking off my dilapidated
beaver, I gracefully bowed my thanks and then began the part which
commences thus:
"Come along, comrade, put your best leg foremost. What are you
afraid of? We are out of danger now, and shall soon reach the
frontier."
I may say without egotism, that I got through the part remarkably well,
and I certainly kept the audience in a continual roar of laughter. Mrs.
Raymond occupied a front seat;--and her encouraging smile sustained me
throughout the play. When the piece was over, I was loudly called for.
"Now, my boy," said Brother Pratt to me, "go in front of the curtain and
make a rip-staving speech--I know you can do it. Say that at the urgent
solicitation of the manager, you have consented to appear to-morrow
night as Jem Baggs, in the Wandering Minstrel."
"Very good," said I, "but these people will now want to see the ring
which Queen Victoria presented to me. How shall I manage that?"
"Easy enough," replied the Brother, as he drew from his pocket and
handed me a big brass ring ornamented with a piece of common glass about
the size of a hen's egg.
Out I stepped in front of the curtain. A bouquet as large as a cabbage
struck me in the face, and fell at my feet. The giver of this delicate
compliment was an ancient female very youthfully dressed. I picked up
the bouquet, and pressed it to my heart. This was affecting, it melted
the audience to tears. Silence having been obtained, I made a bombastic
speech, which Brother Pratt afterwards declared to be the best he had
ever heard delivered in front of the "green baize." I spoke of being a
stranger in a strange land, of the warm welcome which I received, of
eternal gratitude, of bearing with me beyond the ocean the remembrance
of their kindness, admitted that I was closely allied to the British
aristocracy, but declared that my sentiments were purely republican and
in favor of the "Star-Spangled Banner."
Here there was a tempest of applause and when it had subsided, the
orchestra, consisting of a fiddle and a bass-drum, struck up the
favorite national air which my words had suggested. Then I exhibited the
diamond ring which had been presented to me by the Queen of England;
and, as the spectators viewed the royal gift, the most profound silence
prevailed among them. When I had sufficiently gratified them by
displaying the lump of brass and glass, I remarked that I would appear
on the next evening as Jem Baggs in the Wandering Minstrel. This
announcement was received with shouts of approbation; and bowing almost
to the foot-lights, I withdrew.
The next night, the audience was equally large and enthusiastic, and my
"farewell speech" was so deeply affecting, that there was not a dry eye
in the house.
Brother Pratt urged me to become a regular member of his company; but,
although he offered me a good salary, and glowingly depicted the
pleasant life of a strolling player, I declined, not having any ambition
in that way. Besides, it was my duty to get on to Pittsburg with Mrs.
Raymond, without any unnecessary delay.
Having received nearly fifty dollars as my share of the proceeds, I took
my leave of Brother Pratt and his company; and, accompanied, of course,
by my fair friend, resumed my journey.
I wish I had sufficient time and space to describe all the adventures
through which we passed, prior to our arrival in Pittsburg. But such
details would occupy too much room, and I must make the most of the few
pages that are left for me to occupy.
We crossed the Alleghanies, and, taking the canal at Johnstown, soon
reached Pittsburg. Here we made some essential improvements in our
garments, and put up at a respectable hotel, Mrs. Raymond still
sustaining her masculine character.
By diligent inquiry, we learned that the villain, Livingston, was in the
city; and my fair friend prepared to avenge the base wrongs which he had
inflicted upon her.
FOOTNOTES:
[I] All who have the good fortune to know Bill Pratt _alias_ "The
Original Beader," will acknowledge that a wittier, funnier or better man
never breathed.
[J] This word, in theatrical parlance, signifies "to employ language
which the author of the play never wrote."