The Sun.
London, England, 1859-03-28 00:00:00

ducted the little band to victory. (Cheers.) Now, I
think I have made out the claims of Mr. Webster as
a manager, and I approach his claims as a
ask you, gen tlemen, who know him, was Mr.
ever backward in the cause of charity ? Did he ever
forget in his prosperity, the better feelings of ad-
versity? Did he ever fail to apply the knowledge
he had acquired ? Did he ever fail to apply those
feelings which might have keen softened in adver-
sity, to the good of his fellow men ? (Cheers.) It
may fairly be said of Mr. Webster that he has ex-
emplified that great principle that man to man
should bring relief. Look at his conduct in endea-
vouring to procure advantages for the profession to
which he belongs. Look at his conduct as regards
Dulwich College. That lam at least enabled to
speak of personally, because, in a public character,
Mr. Webster has, more than once, applied to me for
aid in his endeavours. Then, there are the several
dramatic funds to which Mr. Webster has applied
himself, and in which he has been the life and soul.
(Cheers.) Well, then, gentlemen, whether as an
actor, whether as a manager, or whether as a man,
I submit to you that we have here before us an
example to his fellow men. (Loud cheers.) Let
actors study as closely and intensely their profession
as Mr. Webster has done, Let managers bring
prudence to the management of their theatres, and
liberality at the same time. (Hear, hear.) Let the
actor and the manager never forget in prosperity
the duty he owes to his fellow men. On these
grounds, gentlemen, I claim your sympathy for
Benjamin Webster. I drink his health, and you will
do the same with that feeling that an honest man
deserves under the circumstances in which he stands
placed before you. (Loud cheers.)
The toast was drunk with. rapturous applause,
with three times three, and one cheer more,. 'which
was designated a special fire.
Song, "Home, sweet home," Miss Roden.
Mr. BENJAMIN WEBSTER was received with deaf-
ening cheers, the whole company rising. He said—
Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, this is a most anxious
occasion to me, for I unfeignedly feel perfectly in-
adequate to the task of thanking you sufficiently for
the encomiums, the warmth of feeling, and the ho-
nour you have conferred upon me. To have expressed
a desire to shun the felicitations of success would have
exhibited a weakness as foreign to my nature as want
of nerve to confront the chances of a failure. It would
have been a sen timent that might have been construed
into being more exclusively vain than sincerely
modest, and ill repay the generous qualities of each
and all who have appeared here. This evidence of
success is not less grateful to me than hopeful for
the English Stage. It assures me that the efforts to
discharge with integrity my responsible duty to the
public and the drama have not been in vain. (Cheers.)
It is believed that everyman during his earthly pil-
grimage has at least one opportunity of grasping
fame or fortune, but it is given to few to receive
such an ovation of true and unvarnished friendly
appreciation. (Cheers.) Gentlemen, the mark of
honour you have this day set upon the actor and the
manager must ensure respect for the class to which
I belong ; and every step towards respectability is
an upward advance in the eyes of the world, and
raises us above our defamers, especially those who
would " damn us all on one side, like an ill-roasted
egg." You have heard to-night that we have close
observers of the wrong side of our picture from
Rottendean to Carlisle—(loud laughter and cheers)
—but, thank heaven, there are higher minded
Churchmen—and one has offered us land for our
College—(cheers)—who are superior to such vulgar
prejudices, and practise what they preach—charity
to all mankind. (Cheers.) It was not ill said of the
celebrated French actress Dejazet, when she at-
tracted crowds in the straitlaced town of Geneva,
" Art is greater than tradition." Gentlemen, the
hon. chairman has thought some phases in my
worldly movements worthy of mention ; and if
perseverance can give courage to others to strive
against adverse fortune, I have at least done some
good. I have drunk deep of the bitter cup of the
actor's chequered life. My career has been most
varied and precarious ; often on the confines of
despair, sans friend, sans food, sans everything.
From boyhood to ripening manhood each step has
been beset with difficulties and stumblingblocks ;
but I unflinchingly climbed to my present position,
and this banquet of congratulation amply rewards
me for all my trouble. (Loud oheers.) To the
player who has to win his way to fortune—and how
few attain it—there are three important periods.
There is the hopeful time of youth, when twenty
is the golden age of life, when " Never despair" is
the motto, and all seems gilded in the bright future
with riches, honours, and applause. There is the
anxious time of middle age. when the hoped-for
goal of youth seems fading from the view, when it
is necessary to count the milestones on the road of
life, and the means whereby to live, and provide
for those who are dependent on you are in suppo-
sition. Then there is furrowed, white-haired age,
with perhaps the only one comfort of having done
their duty, and done their best through what hard
course it may have been, and whether with good
or ill success. There is no trodden path to dramatic
fame either in acting or writing, and yet the un-
tiring zeal with which it iv sought is marvellous.
I left a home almost of luxury for the sock and
buskin, and I was often with scarcely a shoe to my
foot, and frequently Without a meal for my inward
man. But my first love for the art was such that
it would never allow me to repent, and to confess
that my notions of the profession were erratic, for
my thin condition was accompanied by a light
heart. (Laughter and cheers.) Hunger, instead
of turning my steps homewards, seemed to sharpen
my wit and increase my power of endurance, and
I pushed on. Yet I was more favoured than many
others of the followers of Thespis, and the cart of
Thespis was in my young ambition higher than the
chariot of the conqueror. I had three strings to my
bow. If I lacked employment as an actor my fiddle
was my friend in need, and the orchestra was my
home of refuge—(laughter and cheers)—from
which Terpsichore would sometimes lure me to
assume the motley garb of Harlequin. Perhaps it
may interest you to know, and it does me very
much to inform you, that the first stage I ever trod
upon as an actor was that of the Warwick theatre,
and I believe a greater guy Warwick never wit-
nessed. (Laughter.) I dare say many good plays
have been murdered there, and I have lately heard
that it is to be converted into a slaughter-house.
(Laughter.) "To what base uses may we not re-
turn." (Laughter and cheers.) However, there I
thought nay fortune was made, for my triple quali-
ties were practically illustrated ; and, to reverse
Mrs. Malaprop's figure of speech, I was one single
gentleman rolled into three. (A laugh.) I was
Thessalus and the mob in " Alexander the Great ;"
I was first and second violin in the orchestra ; and
Harlequin in the pantomime of " Whittington and
his Cat," all three in one evening, and all for 255.
a week, one great coat covering the Grecian and
the mime for the charms of music between the acts.
(Loud laughter.) From there, a barn, that " hotbed
of genins," as Elliston used to term it, opened its
door at Bromsgrove. There I was the entire band,
for the musicians of the town were dissenters.
(Laughter.) However, the ingenuity of the mana-
ger turned their loss to his profit, for he converted
the orchestra into a private box for the squires of
the neighbourhood, and I—the band—played be-
hind the curtain—(roars of laughter)—besides
dancing melancholy hornpipes without music, except
an occasional charitable whistler in the gallery—
(renewed laughter)—and singing doleful comic
songs unaccompanied. However, variety was pleas-
ing, especially pleasing to me, and I executed my
task upon ultimately a share of one and sixpence a
week, and I assure you I was never happier in my
life. (Cheers.) My first appearance in print was
with my dear, old, and lamented friends, Douglas
Jerrold and Laman Blanchard, in magazines and
cheap literature, published by a theatrical book-
seller named buncombe. How big with fate were
those days. But youth dreams of the future, and
age of the past. At 10 years old I was ambitious
of authorship, and wrote a pantomime called " Har-
lequin Soldier," and made all the tricks. The gun
that was to shoot the deserter changed into an
umbrella, and his coffin into a boat, in which he and
Columbine escaped--(a laugh)—little dreaming then
that I should ever be an actor. But the child's
idea was father to the man's destiny. After-ex-
perience has taught me that dramatic composition
is the most fascinating and yet the most difficult to
attain perfection in. The author must have a great
knowledge of human nature, "miraculously con-
versing," to use the words of Shirley, " with all
mankind." It is not a very flattering fact for our
self-esteem that the English stage of late years owes
much of its existence to our prolific and witty
neighbours, the French dramatists and novelists.
This should not be with the host of fine and great
original talent which this country now boasts. I
would say to the purveyors of the stage, with Mon-
tesquieu, that if you always translate you will never
be translated, that
.you will first die in quarto and
die again in duodecimo. While lam on this theme
I may, perhaps, be pardoned for thinking that if
the actor cannot live without the author, the actor
is the indispensable complement, the alter ego of the
dramatic author. In regarding the intimate
cohesion of the two separate intelligences
as the generative principle of every truly