The Sun.
London, England, 1864-02-12 00:00:00

THERMOMETER.

This day at Two o'clock

Barometer-29.80.
Wind—S.W.; moderate, with rain.

• AT., 5F.),

LONDON, FRIDAY, FEB. 12, 1864.

The marriage of the Count de PARIS with the
daughter of the Duke de MONTPENSIER is officially
announced. The Queen of SPAIN has given the
customary information to the other Sovereigns,
and, among various complimentary responses, has
received affectionate congratulations from—the
Emperor NAPOLEON ! The present Sovereign of
France and secure ruler of the French people, can
afford to offer his congratulations, no doubt hearty
and sincere—for what has he to fear from such an
alliance ?—to the exiled heir of Louis PHILIPPE.
When that very wily and over-clever sovereign, in
the plenitude of his wisdom concocted the crowning
scheme of his deeply-planned family aggrandisement
—the Spanish Marriage—he did not foresee that the
result would be, in after times, the marriage of a
daughter of his son and the Spanish Infanta, with the
throneless,hopeless, exiled inheritor of all the glorious
expectations of the royal house of ORLEANS. Truly
a sad anti-climax to so much ambitious anticipation
—perhaps an appropriate catastrophe to "a sinister
career." So much for the disappointed hopes and
frustrated ambition of Louis PHILIPPE. For the
young bridegroom, as an individual member of an
amiable and admirable family, there can only be
experienced one unanimous feeling of interest and
sympathy. Whatever obloquy may have justly
followed the deceitful policy of the father, the
late ex-King of the FRENCH, his whole
family, from the revered and virtuous Queen
MARIE•A_MELIE and his numerous sons and
daughters, have always merited and obtained a
very large share of the popular respect and ad.
miration—sentiments which no mere rank no mere
royalty can purchase, and which can only be earned
by individual excellence. General good wishes and
congratulations, as "affectionate" as those of the
Emperor NAPOLEON, will be showered upon the
young couple. It is only to be regretted that in
the present generation of the House of Orleans,
inter-marriages should ba so muc:l in vogue. It
was but the other day that a family party assem-
bled at Claremont—sacred to the memory of disap-
pointed hopes—to celebrate the union of the daugh-
ter of the Prince DE JOINVILLE with her cousin, the
Due de CIIARTRES, another grandchild of Louis
PHILIPPE. The marriage of the Count DE PARIS
is the second or third instance of such alliances
among the nearly related members of the exiled
family. It is to be hoped that it will be the last,
and that the example of the youthful heir of the
House may not be followed by the junior branches.
tinder very different circumstances from those which
surrounded his cradle, the young Count of PARIS
will celebrate his marriage. At the time of his
birth his grandfather was in the pride of
his power, and the first-born son of the
Duo d'ORLEANS was hailed as the cer-
tain inheritor of the Crown of France,
amid rejoicings similar to those which have just
greeted the advent of the grandson and future heir
of our own sovereign, the young Count de PARIS
was welcomed to existence. In the satisfaction with
which the English people hail another heir to their
royal house, the happy assurances of a past ex-
perience give a safe guarantee for the anticipations
of the future. With the subjects of the new King
of the FRENCH, it was otherwise. All there was in
futuro—promises and pledges given only to be dis-
appointed. Therefore it is that ; the hope of the
house—

"The heir of Palaces without a home"—

may celebrate his marriage day only as a private
individual. We may trust that the domestic happi-
ness which has hitherto been among the happy
possessions of the offspring of Queen MARIE
AMELIE may now become the precious inheritance
of the heir of ORLEANS, and may compensate him
for all other disappointments.

The annual assembly of the friends and supporters
of the Dramatic, Equestrian, and Musical Sick Fund
Association took place on Wednesday. The ladies
and gentlemen who take a prominent part in the
social gathering are gifted with quick wit and ready
talent, besides possessing to a high degree that tact
and self-possession secured by the experience of a
long public career. Such was especially the case
on this occasion, when the list of the company
assembled to do honour to this admirable institu-
tion included most of tho foremost names in the
ranks of our dramatic talent. The speeches showed
no diminution of their accustomed brilliancy either
in the gay sallies of Mrs. STIRLING, or the interest-
ing reminiscences of Mr. BUCKSTONE, who was the
occupant of the presiding chair, a post for which he
was eminently well fitted. In proposing the coast
of the evening, Mr. BUCKSTONE, with a mixture of
humour and pathos, explained the objects of the
association. " When the poor actor," he said, " is
cast down by illness, and unable to don his theatri-
cal dress for Hamlet, Sir Peter, or Mr. Box—when
the musician has no wind for his trombone—the
singer unable to bring out hisfalsetto—or the eques-
trian cannot obtain a leg up for his rapid act of
horsemanship—this association helps him till his
troubles are over, and if he succumbs to them, it
buries him. What can it do more ?" It is a fact
worth notice, as contradicting in a great measure the
general opinion entertained of the thriftlessness and
recklessness of the theatrical profession with regard to
money matters, that where loans have been advanced
by this society for the purpose of enabling actors to
carry on their engagements, they have always been
punctually repaid. The unprofessional reader may
naturally overlook the serious perplexity which an
inevitable journcy may be to tho struggling young
actor of limited means. Could we tell by what
privations and even saffering4 the minor actors
sometimes reach their place of performance, Nve
s lould look with interest even on the .4 walking
gentleman" and confidential companion. Mr.
LUCKSTONE, in the plentitude of his reputation and
sncces,,, can afford to tell us some of the secrets of
the prisonhouse. As he had once been a poor
country actor himself. he said he could well appre-
ciate the bonefits of this society, for had it existed in
his provincial days it might have saved him many a
long journey on foot and many a wonder as to what
he was to de. He once walked seventy-two
miles with only fourpecce,-halfpenny in his packet.
Another time, being part of a theatrical Company
assembled at Folkestone, whose, manager suddenly
decamped, he had to consider how to get to London,

as he was penniless. This was not an easy matter
to decide, but the skipper of a coasting ship. carry-
ing a cargo of leather for a London wharf, offered
him a berth in the hold. There, rolled up in hides,
with a hide for his pillow, he stowed himself away'
and finally reached London in safety, although with
his convictions that "there was nothing like leather"
very much shaken, at least so far as feather beds
were concerned. Another time at a provincial
town the now:popular dramatist, actor, and manager
was again the victim of an illusory engagement.
But the misdoings of the manager were amply
compensated for by a model landlady. She had
been cook at the Rosa Tun, where lived the pretty
barmaid, celebrated by GAY, and, perhaps, in defe-
rence to the literary traditions of the house she
encouraged the young author, who remained
valiantly writing his tragedy, telling him he
would certainly be somebody some day. Happily,
for landlady and lodger, a temporary engagement
as accountant brought more immediate relief from
difficulties than the tragedy of an unknown
writer was likely to do, but these misadventures
which Mr. BtiCKSTONE tells us had little effect ou
his youthful energy and spirits, would have been
terrible to many less sanguine, less courageous, less
physically fitted for the battle of life. Doubtless
many a hopeful career has been cut short for
want of timely aid, many a bright hope has died
out, many a cherished project has been abandoned,
many a chance has been missed, and many a favour-
able opening closed for lack of the helping hand
which this association stretches out. And if such
necessities press hardly on the young aspirant for
dramatic honours at the outset of his career, they
fall with treble force on the sick, the aged,
the broken down, the weary with overwork
and worn with disappointment and anxiety. To
such straitened means are a terrible evil, for they
deprive them of the chance of retrieving their for-
tunes. If the actor cannot find the money to pro-
cure the comforts necessary to recruit his strength,
if he cannot pay the expenses of conveyance to the
place where he is offered an engagement, if his
mind is harassed by the prospects of the future, all
the while he is lying in enforced stillness, what
chance has the feeble frame to regain its force,
the fretted nerves to recover their tone ? The pro-

fession of an actor is peculiar, its successes are
prompt but brief, its triumphs intoxicating but
evanescent. For a time he wields that
" Spell of hearts
Which only acting lends,"
and the public bends unreservedly to his sceptre,
but when age or infirmities overtake him, woe betide
the popular idol if he have made no provision for
the evil day. Another fills his place upon the stage,
another name is on the tongue, another's triumphs
have dimmed even the memory of his former suc•
cesses. His name is scarcely heard, his fortunes are
uncared for, and few trouble themselves to inquire
what has become of the old favourite. If this be
the case with the great stars of the profession, how
much more is it so with the crowds of minor
actors and secondary performers, who yet
spend the best of their lives and energies in
catering for the public amusement. There is
therefore urgent need for some certain means of
supplying all these wants and requirements, and
the principal members of the dramatic profession
have come nobly forward to acknowledge the obli-
ge tions which weigh especially on them as the
favourites of fame and fortune. But the pubic is
not released from its share of the duty by their
warm hearts and open hands. O❑ the contrary,
they who derive so much pleasure from the labours
of the actor should be the foremost to come to his
aid in the hour of distress and trouble.

It is quite time that the state of things in Bethnal-
green was made the subject of inquiry, It is really
scandal to the community that so much want and
misery are suffered to prevail. If some stringent
measures be not shortly adopted, the very unhealthy
atmosphere which prevails in these localities must
spread its noxious influence and exercise a delete-
rious effect on other places. There is nothing so
detrimental to health, so encouraging to disease,
and so fatal to life as bad air and impure dwellings.
It is astonishing to reflect that so much indifference
exists on the subject. People will pity almost any
other grievance, and seek to remedy every other
evil, before they turn their attention to the
sanitary condition of dwelling-houses. let rightly
considered, what affliction can be greater than for a
poor family to be fixed in a house badly drained,
badly ventilated, and altogether unfit for human
occupancy. Perhaps non-payment of some arrears
of rent, the want of means to migrate to healthier,
fresher dwellings, or the many other hindrances of
which the rich know nothing, yet which the poor
feel so acutely, intervene to prevent a removal.
Meanwhile the children sicken and die, the adults
drag on a miserable existence, until some epidemic
occurs which carries off its victims by scores in such
places. There is no decimation like a fever in these
dreadful localities. The influences which a strong
frame can throw off in a comparatively healthy dis-
trict are unconquerable where the poisonous exhala.
tions have prevailed for some time, and enervated
the health and wasted the strength. Now it seems
a mistake, in so far as regards political economy,
for our rulers to suffer so unsatisfactory a condition
of affairs to prevail for so long a period,
without endeavouring to circumvent the evil and
remedy the deficiencies. It is also a reproach to
the well-disposed members of society, who do so
much in various quarters to aid the unemployed,
provide for the destitute and relieve the sufferer,
that they do little or nothing to stop not the effects,
but the cause of such horrors. It is all very well
to afford temporary succour, but it is a permanent
improvement that is required, and which is so im-
peratively called for. The statements made by
Mr. GAY, the senior surgeon to the Great Northern
Hospital, is in itself sufficient to warrant the
strongest measures being adopted, and the fullest
reform being instituted. In commenting on the
circumstances that attended the death of a child
the most fearful disclosures were made. The child
died during convalescence from the scarlet fever, in
consequence of the state of the house in which it
was. No wonder the medical man gave it as his
opinion that the premises were the cause of the
illness of the child, and of other persons. The de-
scription of the place conjures up a frightful picture
to the mind. " The ground was saturated with filth,
the air stank, and the rooms were dilapidated and
unwhitewashed ; the air was so impure that the
child could not throw off the vitiation of the blood,
which was the proximate cause of death." Could
a more painful case be presented to the mind, and a
more glaring instance of the want of proper accatn
tnodation fur residence than in these details. It is
not the notion of a quixotic philanthropy which
calls for an inquiry into the state of things which
creates such horrors ; it is not a morbid desire
to dwell upon the dark side of things which bids
us ponder on the lamentable issue of these disas-
trous occurrences. It is surely enough for such
things to be made public, to awaken the desire of
all who are right-minded and well-meaning to in-
vestigate the cause, and put a period to the recur-
rence of such calatniti.2B. Private endeavours may
do much, bat it is not right that the authorities
should no nothing. What is the use of a Poor-Law
Board, of what avail are sanitary inspectors or any