The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-08-28 00:00:00

SUPPLEMENT TO tb r atbrrpooT tantarbf., AN D GENERAL COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER. His theatrical propensities still clinging to him, he engages in private theatricals to a considerable extent, and these furnish him with numerous anecdotical episodes. Out of these a favourable specimen of the book may readily be culled, and we sflect the following IJI 7'f) niv lINEIT------111-VG RIVER. ~. .11. Srt th9u dr------eataing °t. t ile "r hat th o. _ ~,, andeur of the seas ? 4 . leavest skies so beaming, Thy ;41.01 Shores so green as these. 11:1130W shells are lying ktirl tiiv%benath the noon-day sun, Nvh.qr°ol3ing reeds lie dying i,, ere th ‘soti wilt I' waves were wont to run. ~„ U h l t 'lot I; •5t,, t i11, 141 -oler, water, kr % ),, ,, t e "l by my side, Ihe ~,,Nlttll'lt f lowers I scatter ~. t r i S ia ,h4nkless tide. 4% w r t 44 4 4\1 6ht glisten, „ TO a t ,4t 1 : when hearts rejoice, Ai ~ ' e obl e Il se to listen With°4l(,B ,ktre.arthly voice. lirithq°4l(p,t .I,tiotbs river, A th e dre„,4°O Pour these weak waves forth, p lott ri it 4.e-,ttil sea for ever, tcNt thnepeth round the earth ? 40,14, pro„Ul,4lix with it thy being ? 9, thv ''''' riv er, it is vain, • I'l l ' ' l bOre 4 r kip ° U 41, 1 or ever fleeing, e l; 1 st still return again. 't o "I vre lid • IVI I 4 Olor f ending Ir v ! 4 b rin e -or which I pine, tililii„!th deepera Rows unending. i t 7 thy rests W aves than thine. () II till 4.001.Qas motion, ' \ vtlb4l:l3at elltienrg„T thy shore, Ilt ti , ti3h all ne .4, ver w_ran°derama ore. 46 0,. 4 i. 0r , 4 ~,,,tena, : ~.___ Nt ' 11 Y Lora"' , 1 - z Tv - s . scenes at London eta ti , 411( 1 131 , William Lennox.Home ..i t ~ aeic.et. N' liti:'llree yolunie . ' l4. l tVe ree ~ of absei l this work vt 3 , tx, . orued , it, _ , 1 ° i ' 'el ences o f 4 , pleasin„,. kkikktlt Mac es, and : con and lively , a life spent in a great . • i h t tlie4 dori„anil under widely differing cir ttp ilt „ %to . "g the 141 'Nil -L'ileellient t 1 years which elapsed 0 tea Y• TI k N l / 4 91‘, 11, h le o he middle of the . book scarcely aims at k, 4 1, f 411 ti°4 wi,• ll , t is fully entitled to all the f t "' o f ^ dent" le i' can he fairly bestowed on a e pi c •-'•tUre, stuffed with anecdotes, 'tt'4‘l,ll with io, Ai% 4 e l• %clod humour. In its earlier ~O lk + lvel Orld 1 4 4 Y Pictures of a peculiar, though 'll4l n vit helr i te% ?f individuals, who cut con if th ' l eer, _' ll the theatrical and dramatic it 4 e4t ti t'e 4V°rge the Third was king," and /s qtl 14 th e e ib et4l i k kic 1 1 ; - •,e 41 -pir e e Cooke wielded the sceptre k 7ql e .4 4r '44 ' and reigned as a dramatic k II), 4 . ea, tooCI, we have lively, and gay, and '`Yle ti 4o .‘ „ l 'eil ht,, of road scenes when stage ° I); ° , 11 , 1 0c,;, 1 1 thjef°ll-11. snorting "bloods," . bowled k 4 , tl tea' cl tio b , 'land, and ere their exciting - 40 4 t .seil , 4 1, ie , ti.,-- land, been substituted by _th . e , vh I llk "Iliql "11°1 •Nlb' l' : i n t 3 infinitely more powerful qle Ipoe.sltileilt- Plir. day sweeps onward, with ttitlitlit,p 4 d ash l . l l its train. °. 4 1.4 good 11 P Withillg Youth of little occupation, p koo, e ar,,, theatrical and other pastimes, t o mesa 4 en h -i Y, arid • t, 'l'°lllinit his military experiences f e llea of ,Y for fancy, and it may be Nkl ear mo ral the mess -room and its pecu ,,ee,. s and .. • , • ' N 4 R 4, aft Ligia etiquette. In his .4 44 er bein o . tpt' aro eanTh • t, engaged in some of 4p s 'A thereaigns of the time, he goes to , - whi c i , ' its else 1- wuere. meets with odd IL are ill general cleverly narrated. HISTRIONIC DILEMMA, Another event occurred at Quebec, daring the perform ance of " liaising the Wind," which may be worth record ing ; and again was I, who acted Jeremy Diddler, the hero of it. The second scene of the second act opens, and discovers the all-accomplished " Diddler," under the disguise of Fainwould, at the table of Mr. Plainway, at which are assembled that antiquated piece of virginity, Miss Laurelia Durable, and the "paragon of premature divinity," Peggy. According to the stage directions, Diddler is to sing a verse of The Beautiful Maid '—now addressing himself to the young, then to the old lady. In the acting edition, the following note is given : " The singing, on account of Mr. Lewis's inaptitude at turning a tune, is omitted in representation." The above being equally applicable to myself, as it was to the late popular comedian, the song was to have been omitted, when an idea occurred to me, which I lost no time in act ing up to. Among our corps was a gentleman, who, in addition to great dramatic powers, possessed a most beautiful voice ; and, anxious to give every effect to the scene, I prevailed upon him to place himself immediately behind the scene, at the front of which I vi as sitting, and sing the verse through a slit in the canvas. The scene opened, and Jeremy Diddler, with open mouth and appropriate action, appeared to be singing the stave. There was considerable surprise among my own friends, who were fully aware that singing was not one of my accom plishments ; the rest of the public listened with attention, and rewarded me with shouts of applause !" "Bravo!" shouted one from the upper boxes. "Encore, encore !" cried two enthusiastic admirers in the pit. " Encore !" echoed a dozen voices, stamping and beating with their feet and sticks. In vain I attempted to go on with the part. "Encore, encore !—The Beautiful Maid !" shouted the entire pit—for the verse had been exquisitely sung. I now tapped at the back of the scene, and asked in a low voice whether my double was ready to give the verse again; but unfortunately, the real Simon Pure had run off to his dressing-room at the upper end of the theatre. I now bethought me of what was to be done • the house was uproarious; nothing but the song would satisfy the audience. While in this dilemma, I rose from the table, advanced towards the lights, and, in a manner in which I attempted to imitate the great Robert William Elliston, that prince of apologists, said— " Ladies and gentlemen—" "Silence—hear him—song—bravo !" " Ladies and gentlemen—nothing would give me greater pleasure than having it in my power to comply with your flattering wishes ; but, unfortunately, within the last two minutes I have actually lost my voice, and I could not sing a note if my life depended upon it." "Bravo—go on !" shouted the Quebec public. At length silence was obtained, and I again took place—when at the very moment, the gentleman with the voice, who had been made aware of the cause of the disturbance, and had not quite caught the words of the apology, thinking an encore, even at the eleventh hour, was better than none, warbled forth the last verse of the " Beautiful Maid." For a moment I was completely upset; but recovering my self-possession, I opened my Ups, put my hand to my heart, appeared to labour in singing—and, at the end, drew forth such a shout as made the welkin ring. Miss Durable, instead of keeping to the text and saying, " Mr. Diddler, you sing delightfully," congratulated me on the sudden recovery of my voice, which drew down another round of applause, and the farce went off admirably. The preceding is a fair average sample, to speak commercially, of the dramatic incidents *ith which the book abounds. Horses appear to have been especial favourites with our " noble" author, and he discourses of them with much eloquence and spirit. They appear among his dramatis persona, and enact their role in the 'progress of the scene with as much spirit as many of the biped cha racters, and frequently play their-part with more propriety. His partiality for horseflesh, and his intercourse with " dealers," furnish material for several racy anecdotes, among others for the annexed scene with A YANKEE HORSE-RACER. On the evening of the first day's races, I was returning to Quebec, when a small, shrivelly man, with hollow cheeks, black twinkling eyes, and long lanky hair ; mounted on a good bay horse, somewhat out of condition, overtook me —and, drawing up, said— " I guess, Mister, you're one of the Britishers that have been racing on the plains ?" " I am, sir," I replied, not a little surprised at the tone of the new comer. " Now, I calculate," be continued, " that you know as much about racin' as a Chippewa Ingian does about a pair of dancing pumps. But, to the point. I've a four year-old colt, which I raised—half-blood, though a perfect pictur' of a horse—which, if you'll give me a little start, I'll run any horse in the country ; winner to be sold for three hundred dollars." I replied that I would at once accommodate him, with a slight alteration of his proposal—that instead of a little start, I would make him a handsome allowance of weight for age and breed. After some slight demur, the Yankee agreed to run his four-year-old American colt Eagle, Bst. llbs., against my thorough-bred English mare Camilla, aged, list., best of heats; the first a mile, the second two miles, and the third three miles ; for 200 dollars each, p.p. stakes to be made that evening, at the Union Hotel. As my f-iend trotted off, I fancied I heard him say—" I reckon I'll slip into those Britishers, afore I've done, as slick as a whistle. I calculate I can see as far into a mill stone as the best of 'em." The stakes were duly made, the articles drawn up, and the following morning I was proceeding to the race-course, when I heard a clatter be hind me, and, on looking round, saw my friend of the day before. Anxious not to have any further communication with him for the present, I pushed my hack on faster and faster, to his best trot. " I guess that's a pretty considerable smart horse; legs well under him—gathers all up snug—no rollin' or wab blin'—all steady," said the stranger, as he came beside me, and apparently reined in, to prevent his horse passing me. I felt humbled ; my favourite trotting hack Dick Turpin was beaten. This might be ominous of the fate hanging over me. To continue this unequal contest was humiliating —I yielded, therefore, before the victory was palpable, and pulled up. .. _ . . " Yes," continued my tormentor—" a horse of pretty considerable good action, and a fairish trotter, too, I guess." These words cut me to the quick ; Dick Turpin to be pronounced by a Yankee dealer to be merely " a fairish trotter." Anxious to change the conversation, I made the usual common-place English remark upon the weather, and deservedly was I punished for this piece of nationality. " It's generally allowed," said he, " our climate in America can't be ditto'ed. And Canada, before you Bri t ishers spilt it, was none so bad; but in the States it stumps the whole universal world. It whips English weather by a long chalk. None of your hangin', shootin', drowning, throat-cuttin' weather; but a clar sky, real cheerfulsome." We reached the race-course, and my "little unknown" weighed and mounted. Eagle was a thin leggy animal, very unlike his owner's description : " a real daisy, a per fect doll—dreadful pretty —a genuine clipper— could gallop like the wind ; beat a cannon ball by a neck or so ; had an eye like a weasel, and nostrils like Commodore Rodger's speaking-trumpet." The jockey was equipped in an old pair of dark-coloured corduroy unmentionables, shoes and gaiters, a waistcoat that once had been yellow, and a red silk pocket-handker chief tied round his head. No sooner was this American " Chifney," as he thought himself, in his seat, than the brute upon which he was mounted began rearing, kicking, and plunging. After one or two false starts, we both got away—the Eagle making tremendous running ; before we had got half-a-mile, however, he put his foot upon a stone, fell, and the rider pitched over his head. As the Eagle had flown across the , 0,„