tickets of the actors when they came into our neighbourhood, and was also in the habit of asking some of the best to dinner, and insisting on our servants treating them with the same respect and attention as the highest family in the neighbourhood. For my own part, my master’s dining-table was my Board of Green Cloth, and any one sitting thereat had passed the rubicon for me, and was respected and waited on accordingly.
At the request of my young friend the B. C., I will begin at medias res (I don’t know what it means), and not dwell upon the bill of fare or the cellar-book.
“You were an old friend of poor Buskin,[1] who died lately, were you not?” said Sir Thomas, addressing Mr. Spangles.
“Yes, Sir Thomas; I knew him from the time he made his first appearance. He had the making of a good actor, but was painfully sensitive—he cared too much for his audience. I remember one night he was playing Hamlet for his benefit. I was the Ghost—being a benefit night I played anything. Buskin had his own conception of the Royal Dane, and one of his points was this. When the Ghost had beckoned him to ‘more removed ground,’ Hamlet began a sort of telegraphic communication with ‘his father’s spirit,’ now leaning on his sword, now waving his hand to the paternal shade, and then wiping the sweat drops from his brow. All this occupied some minutes, and the effect was far from bad, I assure you; but on this night, when poor Buskin was more anxious than usual to distinguish himself, a blackguard Irishman in the gallery bawled out, ‘Make haste, Mr. Buskin, or you’ll lose him.’ Exit Hamlet, of course, uttering anything but the text of the divine William.”
We all laughed (me behind my screen) at this story, and Mr. Buffboot remembered an incident connected with Buskin’s early career, which he told as follows:
“Buskin really made a very favourable impression when he came out, and was (to use a theatrical phrase) very ‘coally’ upon himself. The leading lady of the company was a remarkably handsome person, remarkably so.” Mr. Buffboot sighed, I remember, and then said, “Well! no matter! She loved ‘not wisely, but too well,’ and married a lawyer’s clerk. When the company to which she and Buskin were attached concluded their season at B, they had to proceed to the next town on their circuit, some twenty miles distant. The majority of the people went by coach or waggon—there was no railroad at that time—but Buskin and Miss Bugles were allowed by the manager to have a post-chaise, and to travel in state. I remember Adelina—I mean Miss Bugles, said (for it was she told me the story, and I ‘with greedy ear did devour up her discourse') that they were surprised at the interest their departure occasioned in the gathered crowd, and the cheers which greeted them as they drove out of the inn-yard at the back of the theatre. As they passed through the town people ran to their doors and smiled them a good-bye, whilst troops of merry boys succeeded each other until the post-chaise had left the town far behind them. They were surprised somewhat at their own popularity, for, to tell the truth, neither Buskin’s nor Bugles’ benefits had been over-productive; but now, every one upon the road paused to gaze at the passing carriage, smile, and wave them a farewell.” Mr. Buffboot here flourished his napkin in a very graceful way, I recollect. “Onward sped the happy pair until they came to a small village about five miles from the town they had left, and to the great surprise of both, the same ovation awaited them. Boys still escorted them. Everyone still smiled upon them, and cheered with lusty shouts, until Buskin could not help remarking, ‘I had no idea that we could have been so recognised. These people must have come frequently to the theatre, regardless of the distance.’ ‘And we really must have made a strong impression upon their rude minds,’ replied Miss Bugles; ‘the fact promises well for the next season.’ On, on! still on! as the novelists say, and still the same pleasant greeting everywhere, and never did a happier couple pull up at the Red Lion to change horses than Harry Buskin and Adeline Bugles. They had brought a crowd with them to the inn door, and the waiter smiled so pleasantly when he invited them to alight, that it would have been churlish to have refused him. With the grace of a Charles Kemble, Buskin handed Bugles into the Red Lion, and having partaken of a little refreshment, re-conducted her to the post-chaise. ‘Horror on horror’s head accumulate!’ What did they see! With a glance their Aladdin’s palace vanished.” (I think he said Aladdin’s palace.) “The secret of their great popularity was disclosed! The ‘property man’ of the theatre had tied behind their post-chaise, with its four legs sticking out, the wicker-work elephant used in the comic pantomime of Blue Beard!”
I am sorry to say that I was guilty of a great rudeness at this point of the story, but being in the act of satisfying myself that the port was in proper condition, a gulp went the wrong way and I nearly coughed myself into an apoplexy.
“I remember the circumstance very well,” said Mr. Spangles.—“The story got into a local paper, and poor Buskin was so ashamed of it that he threw up his engagement, although I have known some of those newspaper paragraphs produce very satisfactory results.”
“I should like to hear of an instance,” said Sir Thomas, “if it would not be troubling you.”
“Not in the least. I shall not mention the name of the actor to whom I refer, for he subsequently obtained a very high position in his profession, and the story is really a true one. I heard him tell it, and will give it you as nearly as I can in his own words.”
After my first appearance in London I accepted a provincial engagement down in the North. I had been favourably received in the Metropolis, but had done nothing to justify me in supposing I should meet with more than respectful attention and fair appreciation. I was destined to be agreeably surprised. As soon as I appeared upon the stage the house rose and received me with such demonstrations of favour and applause that I was- ↑ All the names are supplied by my talented young friend the B. C.
