Washington. I, who, comforted to a degree of high spirits by our sudden transition from the cold and darkness of the railroad to the light and shelter of this rude mansion, had been flippantly bandying jokes, and proceeded some way in a lively flirtation with this illustrious American, grew thrice respectful, and hardly ventured to raise either my eyes or my voice as I inquired if he lived alone in this remote place. Yes, alone now; his wife had been dead near upon two years.

Suddenly we were broken in upon by the arrival of the expected cars. It was past eight o'clock. If we delayed we should have to travel all night; but, then, the Colonel pressed us to stay and sup (the bereaved Colonel, the last touching revelation of whose lonely existence had turned all my mirth into sympathising sadness). The gentlemen were famished, and well inclined to stay; the ladies were famished too, for we had eaten nothing all day. The bustle of preparation, urged by the warm-hearted Colonel began afresh; the negro girls shambled in and out more vigorously than ever, and finally we were called to eat and refresh ourselves with-dirty water -I cannot call it tea,-old cheese, bad butter, and old, dry biscuits. The gentlemen bethought them of the good supper they might have secured a few miles further, and groaned; but the hospitable Colonel merely asked them half a dollar a-piece (there were about ten of them ;) paying which, we departed, with our enthusiasm a little damped for the warrior of the revolution, and a tinge of rather deeper misgiving as to some of his virtues stole over our minds on learning that three of the sable damsels who trudged about at our supper service, were the Colonel's own progeny. I believe only three, though the young negro girl, whose loquacity made us aware of the fact, added, with a burst of commendable pride and gratitude, "Indeed, he is a father to us all!" Whether she spoke figuratively, or literally, we could not determine. So much for a three-hours' shelter in North Carolina.

GUY'S CLIFFE MILL.*

AN EVENING SKETCH.
BY WILLIAM JONES.

A TRANQUIL beauty marks the spot
Where stands the ancient mill;
The fetter'd waters heaveth not,
The noisy wheel is still!
Ev'ning, with ling'ring step, draws on,
As though it fain would stay
Its reign awhile, subdued and lone,
To aid the parting day.

A light gleams from the miller's home,
His cheerful meal is spread,

The tankard wreathes itself in foam,
The fire is amply fed.

This is one of those beautiful points of scenery with which Warwickshire is so plenteously studded. An additional charm belongs to this venerable structure, from the fact of a mill having occupied its site long anterior to the Norman Conquest, which was bestowed by Geoffrey de Clinton on his newly-founded monastery of Kenilworth, together with, as 'Dugdale quaintly observes, "both the miller and his children.”

15

THE ABSENT MANAGER.

BY DRINKWATER MEADOWS.

"All the world's a stage."

MR. THORNTON was for many years the manager of several theatres in the west of England. He was a most eccentric, absent, and forgetful person; and for an actor to be absent or forgetful " is most intolerable, and not to be endured." Mr. Thornton's lack of memory was most extraordinary, particularly so for an actor, and above all for a

manager.

In a country theatre, "no more cats are kept than catch mice," as the saying is, and "each man in his time plays many parts," frequently two in the same piece, which is professionally called “doubling." Actors have been known, for lack of numbers, to double Las Casas with the Sentinel, and Orozembo with the Blind Man (Pizarro), Tressel with the Earl of Richmond, and the Lieutenant of the Tower with the Duke of Buckingham (Richard the Third) and Juliet has been known to sing at her own funeral, with her back to the audience.

The variety of characters performed by most actors in small country companies is also very great-" to wit," Young Norval and Lubin Log. I have seen Doctor Panglos, Sir Charles Rackett, and Peter Fidget played, on the same night, by the same actor, in his own hair, so "wonderfully transform'd," as to answer for these very opposite characters; and on another occasion the same gentleman acted, on the same night, Hamlet and the Clown in a pantomime.

By such means only, in those days, could country managers keep their theatres open, every actor being engaged to make himself "generally useful;" in a few instances, "menial business excepted" was inserted in the engagement. There was this advantage in performers thus acting everything, they discovered at length what they were best adapted for. Leading tragedians have, in many instances, commenced their theatrical career as comedians, and several first-rate comedians have started as tragedians. "We know what we are, but know not what we may be."

Mr. Thornton was a manager who always had an eye to economy, and the lowest "peace establishment." He was always foremost himself in taking parts at " a short notice,"-I cannot say studying them; for he either had not the application or the memory requisite for study. He was always ready to double or treble; "for his own good all causes did give way.” He never paused to consider what he could or could not do, when there was any difficulty in obtaining a representative for any particular character, but instantly undertook it.

""

On one occasion he undertook to " go on" for Baron Wildenheim, in Lovers' Vows, the actor who usually played that part being too ill to appear. An apology was made, and the usual "kind indulgence of the audience claimed for Mr. Thornton, "who had undertaken the character at a very short notice."

He went through his first scene tolerably correctly for him; but, alas! when he was called for his second, he had lost all recollection of

the subject, and was under the necessity of applying to his old friend the prompter for assistance.

Lovers' Vows being then very popular, and having been acted by the company several times, the prompter naturally imagined the manager, above all, must be thoroughly acquainted with the plot, and be aware that neither the Baron nor Frederick are supposed to know they are father and son until late in the play, when the discovery forms one of the most interesting scenes,-the prompter therefore merely said,

"In this scene, sir, you are supposed to be hunting with Count Cassel-you meet your son, who is in great distress, in consequence of the destitute situation of his mother, and his inability to relieve her - he solicits you to bestow a trifle for her assistance you give him a piece of money-he asks for more-you refuse-he draws his sword-you call for assistance-your servants enter-they secure him, and you commit him to prison."

"Oh! very well; I understand it. You may begin the act. Ring up-I am ready."

Up went the drop-scene, and the act commenced.

"Enter FREderick.

To return with this trifle, for which I have stooped to beg!-return to see my mother dying!-What can I buy with this? Ha! what do I see?-a nobleman, I suppose, or a man of fortune-yes, I will once more beg for my mother.

[Enter COUNT CASSEL, to whom he appeals in vain; then enters BARON WILDENHEIM.

FREDERICK. Havé pity, noble sir, and relieve the distress of an unfortunate son, who supplicates for his dying mother.

BARON. I think, young soldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, instead of begging.

FREDERICK. I would with all my heart; but at this moment my sorrows are too great. [BARON gives him a piece of money.] I entreat your pardon-what you have been so good as to give me is not enough.

BARON. Not enough!

FREDERICK. No, it is not enough. If you have a charitable heart, give me one dollar.

BARON. This is the first time I was ever dictated to by a beggar what to give him.

FREDERICK. With one dollar you will save a distracted man.

BARON. I do not choose to give any more.

FREDERICK (drawing his sword, and seizing him by the breast). Your purse or your life.

BARON (calling his attendants). Seize and secure him."

So Mr. Thornton should have said, and "would have said ;" but memory did not "hold a seat in his distracted globe;" therefore, when Frederick solicited relief, he replied,

"Oh! I see, I see your mother 's not well off, eh ?—Ah! no wonder. It has been a severe winter-there is a great deal of distress and sickness in the country-the weather still keeps cold, and the potato crops have not been good. Well, there's something to help her ;"

and, on Frederick's asking for more, he complied, saying, "Quite right. I dare say I didn't give you as much as I ought, under existing circumstances; so there's a little more for you."

Frederick whispered to him, not to be heard by the audience, "No, no; you must not give me any more, sir;" on which Thornton burst into a passion, and loudly exclaimed, to the horror of Frederick, and the destruction of the plot,

"D-n it, sir, what do you mean by no more? How dare you dictate to me? Surely I have lived long enough to know what is right and proper for a father to give. You are my son, and I must not see you starve. How is your poor mother, and how many more children has she? Take that, and be a good boy to her. Good day." And exit the Baron.

Thornton had his peculiarities off the stage as well as on. Mrs. Thornton would occasionally ask him what the performances were to be for the next evening, when he generally replied in a way so very explicit and clear, as to leave her quite as wise as she was before.

"The play, my dear," (pulling his nose,) "is to be that which we acted last winter."

"Which do you mean, my dear?"

"Why, my love, that comedy which we acted."

Well, but, my dear, as we acted several, I can't tell which you

mean."

"Dear, dear, dear, my dear, I mean that comedy in which our light comedian acts the part, you know, of a dashing young fellow."

"Bless me, Mr. T., there is generally a dashing young fellow in every comedy. Now, what play do you mean? "

"Good heavens! Mrs. T., you surely ought to know, it's that play in which the father gives his daughter to the young man, in the last

scene."

66

"Why, goodness-heart-alive! Mr. T., that is what is done in almost every comedy. Do,-pray try and recollect the title."

"Mrs. T., you are becoming stupid. You ought by this time to know the name of every play. It's that five-act comedy, written by the author who wrote the play we acted one night only for a benefit." "There, there, that will do; for if you go on for a month I shall be no wiser, I suppose. I shall see what it is to be, when the printer brings the proof-bill."

"To be sure you will, my dear; though, as he received his orders from me what to print, I can't see how he can possibly tell you more than I can."

66

Mr. Thornton, having written a letter, would sometimes ring for a candle to seal it, go to the window to read it with the candle in his hand, though the sun was shining full in his face, fold the letter up, and give it to the servant to post, unsealed and undirected.

On Mr. Thornton's return once from Newbury to Reading, after an absence of two or three days, having been to the former town to obtain a licence for opening the theatre there, Mrs. Thornton, on their retiring to rest, inquired, as she unpacked his portmanteau, where his shirts were, which she herself had packed up for him on his departure, and which now were not forthcoming.

"What shirts, my dear?" pulling his nose. 'Why, my dear, the three I put up for them."

you,

VOL. XII.

I don't see one of

C