The Sun.
London, England, 1859-04-20 00:00:00

.ROYAL GENERAL THEATRICAL FUND.

The fourteenth annual festival of this excellent
institution was held on Monday evening at the
Freemasons' Tavern, Great Queen-street. There was
a very large attendance of the friends and subscribers
of the charity. Covers were laid for about 200.
The chair was taken by Mr. Charles Mathews, who
was supported by Mr. Buckstone, Mr. Benjamin
Webster, Sir Wm. Fraser, Mr. Hawkins, Q.C., &c.
After the usual loyal toasts,
The CHAIRMAN, in proposing " The Army and
navy," said personally he knew very little of those
services, having never dined at a mess table in his
life, though he certainly could not say he had not
been in a mess. (Laughter.) Indeed, he did not
recollect ever representing a " Jolly Tar" on the
stage, but at the same time he felt a particular in-
terest in that service from having once got himself
into the " Fleet." (Great laughter.) Those two
gallant services were, however, the most earnest
patrons of the drama, and the most distinguished
supporters of private theatricals, and therefore he
had the greatest pleasure in proposing the toast of
the " Army and Navy," with which he would couple
the name of Sir William Fraser* (Applause.)
The toast was drunk with all the honours.
Sir WILLIAM FRASER returned thanks.
The CHAIRMAN then proposed the toast of the
evening, " Prosperity to the Royal General
Theatrical Fund," and said--Gentlemen, this toast
may not be dismissed so summarily ; and I begin to
feel the awful position in which I am placed.
(Laughter.) I have often experienced the trepi-
dation of appearing for the first time in a new
character, but I may safely say that I never felt
any responsibility equal to that I have incurred on
the present occasion, when I have not only under-
taken a new character for the first time, but one
quite out of my line, and one which I fear is far
beyond my capabilities. However, my manager,
Mr. Buckstone, has insisted upon my accepting it,
and I have not dared to disobey (laughter) for you
are, perhaps, not aware that the penalty (laughter),
refus-
ing a part amounts to no less than three weeks'
loss of salary, which I really cannot afford, so
here I present myself recklessly before you, and
though I cannot say that I have undertaken the
part "at short notice," I certainly do most earnestly
solicit " your usual indulgence." (Applause.) The
difficulties, I have to contend with are
Cheers
great. How-
ever, I am used to difficulties—(laughtr)—and am
ever ready to face them in a
good caus (.
They may be divided, like a
sermon,e. into three) parts. I have first to persuade you that I am the
proper exponent of the subject in hand; next, that
being the proper person, I am able lucidly to ex-
plain the object we have in view ; and lastly, that
I am possessed of the requisite eloquence to open
your hearts, and, what is more difficult still, your
purse-strings—(laughter and cheers)—that elo-
quence, in short, which has beenpoetically described
as of force sufficient to extract a sixpence out of a
gasp*. (Laughter.) I was rather puzzled at first
to conceive why I should be chosen to occupy a
chair, honoured as it has been hitherto by men
eminent for their great public talents and no less
whyracking my friend and manager should thus have de-
termined on placing me in so equivocal a position—
a position which I feel I am utterly unfit to hold—
(no, no)—and is laying me open to the many re-
marks which may naturally follow my presumption
in presenting myself before you as the advocate of
prudence and economy, I have at last come to this
conclusion, that he has selected me, not for the pur-
pose of setting me up before you as an example, but
rather aas
- warning. (Laughter.) Well, with all my art. If even in that capacity I can be made
serviceable to-day, I with pleasure accept the posi-
tion, and am ready to put my head in the pillory.
(Applause.) You will, therefore, be kind enough,
gentlemen, to look upon me in the light of a finger-
post, and allow me to point out to others that path
I / have not followed myself, but which I can
safely and conscientiously pronounce to be the right
one. (Hear.) The objects and advantages of the
admirable fund the interests of which we are to pro-
mote eare too well-known and recognised to need any
.?dvocacy of mine. Its various benefits and privileges
nave been over and over again descanted upon by
your excellent treasurer, who is here, true to his post,
to reiterate his observations ; while your worthy
secreto
ary sits in calm dignity—(laughter)—loaded
t the muzzle, with reports and figures respecting the state of the funds. You will be pleased to hear
pat I have nothing to do with the funds. (Laughter.)
am happy to say it is a department with which I
am not called upon to interfere, so that the only
task that remains for me is to exert my powers of
fascination to induce you to swell the amount of
those
funds, and aid the institution by a liberal
contribution this evening, and not only to produce
the donation from your right hand pockets, which
You have already placed there according to your
ssowcustom, but to extract that reserved fund
owsrom Your left-hand pockets, only provided in case
acme brilliant burst of eloquence or extra touching
appeal should wrench the button from its guardian-
hold, and magnetise the coy cash from its strong-
dilating
(Applause.) It is not by upholding and
upon the transcendent literary merits of
our national drama, nor on its instructive tendency
—nor
utpon their
upon the excellence of its professors—nor
high intellectual gifts, that I shall hope
(Lna`Larnibi_up the pecuniary cockles of your hearts.
to 1,-7.) It may, perhaps, be thought my duty
s 'ring forward those often-urged claims to your
`'"'laideration, but though I am here to do my duty,
I do not think it a part of my duty to teach you
beco
Yours. I have too much need to learn myself to
ratherme the
t teacher of others. (Laughter.) It is
wish to
0 your sympathy- than to your duty that I
appeal, and I am °lad of it, the task is
easier ; forb
all have obs
however perverse it may be, you must
boasted observed that while stern duty is ever. the
kind s is dear,
nit
~AnsPring of human action, it
Y Pethy, after all, that
sweetest partof quietly performs the
mine is a
eas the work. (Applause.) Now,
Coin
out _ e altogether of sympathy, .
and I leave
of the questio There is no duty which
compels
piness you to contribunie to the comforts and hap-
brighter hots e declining days of those who, in
reave added only to your amuse-
hasment—to smith
•
m former the the pillow of the poor actor who
of diverting years afforded you an innocent means
moil of thee world, and carried you away for
of rela7l.
anxieties from the carking cares and
and fatigued life that weighed down your spirit
at the time, youframe.a Now, you paid your money
the matter ' Y°° your money's worth, and there
r ended
SO your sylnn,m, ; there your duty ended, but not
of this 1 waciel, for I am happy to say, and it is
tion and aram:reniind you, that the mental relaxa-
hugs at toadents you purchase with your shil-
or th-
' cc'alsenttle
"ta of a theatre are not like the fender
man's—(laughter)3l4 purchase at the hardware-
and the remenibra--not like the cigar you enjoy,
with its butt end, nee
~of which you throw away
in the corner of ion have no lurking affection
whose shovel or Your
heart for the ironmonger
exchange for your nse corkscrew you carry off in
whose choice R cash, or even for the tobacconist
satisfaction, share7annah you puff with so much
friend who accepts dough it be with your dear
You do not nudge e liberality of your cigar case.
of pleasure, only e3triOn,r wife or a sister with a grin
celebrated physicianecaed by your politeness, as a
commissioner of wee'daan eminent barrister, or a
the streets, you hay and Forests passes you in
those still more combo congenial feeling towards
joyments—your ble. caterers to your solid en-
monger. You_point'ru,rs Your baker, your fish-
man,t is true, the great the great gen4`.
the learned judge, the
states-
reverend divine with r
mixed with awe, sometimeesPec•t, with admiration,
lvith love ;but it is the
privilege of the favourite
that friendly, indulgent, actoraffectionate alone to meet with
rtf recognition
that seems to proceed from a
towards the person who has Soo. genial yearning
kindlaced you in your
moments of depression—a
gratitude for
o
hours of pleasure enjoyed
without
membered without regret. (Applaus
alloy, and re-
nent barrister, the learned judge, the) The emi-
en.eral, the
divine, may all, in the exercise of their
uponars pro-
fessions, have trodden in some way
your interests.
lost you a
e toes of
The lawyer may., h.ave
cause—the jedge
against von--she have misdirected •
a Jury
T:eyral may have omitted your
son's or brother% name in his despatches—
even the very divin himself may have made you
feel uncomfortt
rine Jour boots from the pulpit ;
but when did
___lnv
Robson—(applause) ,mislead or dear little
Webster or Compton lose ead a jury ? When did
suit ? (Laughter.) Wheird'tiPur money in a law
_. mil Bedford refuse
your son promotion ? When did Wrieht or Buck.
(Applause.) make you uncomfortable by alio.
_._ mily? Never.
Your recollections are
all without
(Applause.)
agree-
drawbacks, and your. associations
able. The only feeling at all otese.s.efnstimiallillr affec-
tionate character is, I think, that maul esteds,_ r..
a favourite author; and how truly did Tarashiwugta
odsn
Irving observe, on his visits to Westminster Abbey,
that notwithstanding the simplicity of the nioix.
ments in Poets' corner, the visitors to the Abbey
always remain longest about them. A kinder and
fonder feeling, he remarks, takes place of that cold
curiosity or vague admiration with which they gaze
on the splendid monuments of the great and the
heroic ! They linger about these as about the tombs
of friends and companions, for indeed there is
something of companionship between the author
and the reader. Other men are known to posterity
only through the medium of history, which is con-
tinually growing faint and obscure; but the inter-
course between the author and his fellow men is
ever new, active, and
.immediate. He has lived for
he has sacrificed them more than for himself—he . up from the
sur-
rounding onjoymeuts) and shut

delights of social life, that he might the more inti-
mately commune with distant minds and distant
ages. Well may the world cherish his renown, for
it has been purchased not by deeds of vio c nee and
blood, but by the diligent dispensation of pleasure.
?iVeebllasmlaeyft topitosatehriitnyhbeerigtarnaeteef,unletof
his m: ory
names,for
and sounding
gems
sg ahcftitobnosu,gbbut, but whole
goldenletreasur,veihofswhifsdom,
b
lan-
guage. With what pleasure and delight do we
not point out in our streets the mighty spirits of
the literary world. The historians, the philosophers
whose works we have pondered over and studied
as our guides and preceptors, and still more
those elegant and fanciful intellects whose lively
imaginations have charmed our hours of leisure,
the author of " Pelham," the author of " Vanity
tragic,Fa
il" the popular, humanising, graphic, comic,
dramatic, heart-stirring, heart-soothing
author of the " Pickwick Papers "—(applause)—
and the many other delightful writers of our day ;
but much as we love and respect them, and pleased
as we are to greet them as they pass, with thanks
in our hearts and pleasure in our countenances,
there is not that same tickling about the short ribs
—that indulgent chuckle, like to convivial acquaint-
anceship, around that is felt towards the favourite
actor. It would be a liberty to laugh in the face of
the author of " Eugene Aram," however his most
comic creation might suggest itself ; even the re-
collection of Sam Weller would not justify us in
grinning at the author of poor " Little Nelly," and
as to the historian and the philosopher, we scarcely
dare walk on the same pavement with them. But
how have you found yourselves greeting your favou-
rite actor ? More like a spoiled child than as a
stranger. You never spoke to him in your lives,
and know nothing of him off the boards, but you
find yourselves talking of him as if he were your
personal friend. " There goes little Bob Keeley !"
and forgetting the disagreeable business on which
you were hastening to Chancery-lane, you linger
for a moment to stare at his funny little back when
he has passed. You talk of Ben Webster and Little
Bucky as though they were relations more than
mere stage-players. Of what other class of the com-
munity dare you speak with the same familiarity ?
With all your admiration for the works of Sir E.
Bulwer Lytton, would you venture to speak affec-
tionately of him as "Neddy Bulwer?" (Laughter.)
Would you talk of " Charley Dickens ?" or " Billy
Thackeray ?" You would not dream of such a thing;
while as to the other and graver members of society
such audacity would be out of the question. Who
would be bold enough while expressing his appre•
ciation of the great learning of the Lord Chief Jus-
tice, to call him " Johnny Campbell ?" or to desig-
nate the highly valued Chief Baron as " Freddy
Pollock ?" (Laughter.) I may safely say, no one. I
grant that there are and have been many among
the theatrical profession whom it would be equally
impossible to address with levity. I doubt, for
instance, whether the most intimate friend
of the grand John Kemble would have ventured
even in convivial moments to address him as
" Jacky," and I suspect that the nieces of the dig-
nified Sarah Siddons would have hesitated before
they addressed her even on a racecourse as " Aunt
Sally." (Laughter.) But these are the exceptions
to the rule, and the Jacks, Toms, Harrys, and
Freds are as common as household words. For my
own part I confess I feel actually flattered when I
hear, as I have heard, a greengrocer's boy or a cab-
man exclaim with a broad grin, "There goes Charley
Mathews." (Laughter.) Let the actor hug this
sign of kind regard to his bosom. Let him bask in
the sunshine of the present, and appreciate the
cordiality of his contemporaries. It is one of the
strongest holds he has upon their sympathy, and,
unlike the author, he has nothing to hope from
posterity. It is only to the present he must look,
for, alas ! his popularity is but of a day. Now, how
is this sympathetic feelinc, engendered ? It is not
because the favourite actorp is more beloved than
the favourite author, but, I take it, there is a
genuine lasting feeling of gratitude existing to-
wards those who supply a harmless recreation,
mixed with gratification to the mind and to the
senses, without exacting effort of any kind to
secure its full enjoyment. There are times when,
from physical or mental disinclination to exertion,
you would gladly go out of yourselves, and leave
to others the task of amusing you ; times when you
cannot fix your attention to the most interesting
book, for there is always a certain call upon the
imagination to embody and give reality to descrip-
tions, however vividly presented by the pen. Per-
haps no two persons ever formed the same concep-
tion of a Caliban, a Falstaff, or a Meg Merrilies,
from the ideas conveyed to them by the same
words. Then pencil and chisel fail equally to
impart a perfect image to the mind. Can a picture
or a statue convey without great mental aid from
the spectator the least notion of the words that
would flow from the beings they represent ? No.
It was the actor's province alone to present at once
to the eye, the ear, and the imagination, without
exertion of any kind on the part of the
audience, the full embodiment of the charac-
ter represented ; to give the true interpretation
of the poet's creation ; and, when surrounded
by all the aids of appropriate scenery and correct
costume, to stamp upon it the impress of reality. It
is this that is so delightful to the care-worn mind,
and which leaves so vivid an impression behind.
(Applause ) If, then, I have misstated or misre-
presented the relative positions of the actor and the
public, I think I have a strong case to go before a
jury with. I think, gentlemen, I have got you in a
corner, and that you will find yourselves on the
horns of a dilemma. Either you deny the truth of
the sketches I have given, and reject the actor's
claim on your affection (which you can hardly do
consistently with your numerous attendance-here
to-day), or you admit the faithfulness of my por-
traits, and then I think I have you fast—l have
you all, as Puff says, " at a dead lock," and you
cannot escape me. So, having, as I hope, softened
your hearts and awakened your sympathies, I shall
now proceed to strike while the iron's hot. Now,
beware, gentlemen, I warn you—take care of your
pockets, for I am going to turn them inside out, if
I can. I know they are full : you are not situated
like an acquaintance of mine, who, on being asked
by a friend to lend him a guinea, answered briskly,
" With pleasure," but suddenly added, " dear me,
how unfortunate, I've only one lending sovereign,
and it is out." You have your giving sovereigns in
your pockets, plenty of them, and I boldly assert
that now is the moment to invest them both to the
fund's advantage and your own, for you will place
yourselves thereby in the agreeable position I have
described as belonging peculiarly to the actor, and
not only enhance your own pleas ire in meeting
him, but enable him to point to you in return, with
heartfelt gratitude and pleasure, as the generous
friends who have assisted him in his praiseworthy
works of prudence and thrift—in his honest endea-
vour to secure for himself a small independence in
the decline of his days, and helped him to that pro-
vision for his old age which, unassisted, he would
with all his efforts have been unable to attain. Give
him your friendly arms as he toddles down the hill,
throw a flower in his path, and soothe the last days
of a harmless life expended in your service. Emu-
late the noble example set you by your excellent, ge-
nerous-hearted Queen, secure for yourselves a share
of the applause you have bestowed upon the an-
nouncement of her munificent contribution—come
liberally to the relief of the poor actor, and, revers-
ing the old words of Shakspeare—give to him that
which not impoverisheth you, but makes him rich
indeed. (Applause.) The chairman concluded by
associating with the toast the name of his friend,
Mr. Buckstone. (Applause.)
Mr. BUCKSTONE, on rising to return thanks, was
very warmly received. He said—Gentlemen, I am
exceedingly happy to tell you it is my opinion that
we have all of us cause for congratulation this even-
ing. The members of the fund, the patrons of the
fund, our guests, indeed all present and interested in
its prosperity have every reason to-night to be
pleased with everything and everybody. (Hear.)
In the first place, we have every reason to be pleased
with our chairman, and every reason to congratu•
late him on his first appearance amongst us at this
pleasant festival. (Applause.) It is, I know, his
maiden attempt to support the responsibilities of
his present position; for though he has often ad-
dressed an audience from the stage of a theatre, vet
this is the first time he has taken a chair, made a
speech, and carved a chicken at a public dinner—
(laughter)—but I am sure you will acknowledge,
although it is his first appearance in the character,
he has given no signs of being a novice, but seems
as practised and as adroit in his new vocation as he
is allowed to be accomplished and unrivalled in his
old one on the stage. And while we cannot but con-
gratulate ourselves on the possession of such a chair-
man on this occasion, I am convinced he will ac-
knowledge that he may congratulate himself on
being here. Few men have encountered more perils
than he—the perils of management, which led to
his acquaintance with two defunct gentlemen for-
merly known to the public as John Doe and his
brother Richard—the perils of four times crossing
the Atlantic—(twice there and back)—the perils of
ravelling thousands of miles on American rail-
.oaas and
encounter steamboats—and though last, not least,
rail-
enperils
of
for con e
them
animal
in the
perils, e matrimony. (Hear, hear.) Having
all these dangers, is it not a cause
in gratulation that he has come out of
tired habits.—
him heartily
sciiierisre,::nd, in the full flow of his excellent
behalf this eve
have passed away for ey
may be as prosper:alisaat,:ide
isnileinabled to turn his back upon his
o(ti:ohmaristeyel?usion, and publicly appear
Knowing as I do his re-
fornghter)—we ought indeed to thank
g, and to hope that all his reverses
_has undertaken in our
er, and that his future career
beet friends ean wiab,may, not only as his ,
wi" as grog talent mg i

untiring industry deserve. (Applause.) That the
members of the fund have cause for congratulation
I can show from the prosperous state of the institu-
tion. At the close of this evening, gentlemen, we
shall possess a capital greatly exceeding £ll,OOO •,
while, in addition to many expenses and charges paid
during the past year, we have given life annuities
to eleven members, the annuities ranging from £3O
and £6O to £9O per annum ; and those who respect
and admire the fair sex as I do, will be gratified to
hear that the majority of members receiving such
annuities are ladies. Thus the Lady Teazles, the
Lady Macbeths, and the Juliets of many years ago
are taken care of when they can no longer dream
of scandalous coteries, blood-stained daggers, or
lovers by moonlight. It is now well known that the
Royal General Theatrical Fund is open to all per-
formers, singers, dancers, pantomimists and promp-
ters in the United Kingdom who may think proper
to become members : and I am happy to tell you that
the number of subscribers is 111, all being entitled
to their annuities whenever they may become inca-
pacitated from following their profession when over-
taken by accident or infirmity. Now, gentlemen, is
not this an admirable institution that provides for
those in old age who have passed their youth and
their prime in the constant endeavour to instruct
and amuse the public, and calling but for a very
little care and attention on their part to enable them
to claim the proper reward for their prudence in
early life And does it not speak well for the
English actor and his habits that there are four
such provident and charitable institutions in this
metropolis belonging to the stage, all of them
excellent in their objects, and deserving of
what they receive the support of their members
and the public. Indeed, so prudent are the actors
considered, that one of the arguments used against
admitting them into a little corner of Dulwich Col-
lege was that the actors were already well provided
for by their respective funds ; and, therefore, that
wealthy endowment, founded by a profane stage
player, is " under the management of the Archbishop
of Canterbury," in whose benevolent countenance,
when, as with others of my class, I was summoned
before a committee of the House of Lords, I clearly
traced (although he said very little) the foregone
conclusion that the actors, with their humble peti-
tions and their claims, were to make their exit as
soon as possible, whether O.P. or P.S. did not mat-
ter, or in any other way, so long as they disappeared;
and disappear they certainly did down his ecclesi-
astical centre trap. (Laughter.) But Shakspear e
tells us :

" Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."

The jewel that the rejected actors discovered in
this adversity is the effort that is now being made
for founding a dramatic college, and which every-
body will acknowledge to be a noble retaliation for
an act of injustice; while the friends of the actors
now present will be rejoiced to hear that there is
every likelihood of the project being carried out,
for every person connected with the stage has been,
and still is, persevering in the cause. The per-
formers of the United Kingdom have sent, and are
still sending, their subscriptions. The performers
of the Australian colonies have been equally ener-
getic, and have sent to the committee a noble dona-
tion. The amateurs—the militia, we may term
them, of the drama—are continually exerting them.
selves for the benefit of the college, and forwarding
the profits of their various performances ; the pub-
lic is equally generous and zealous ; the three dra-
matic funds are leading the way in the struggle.
That of Drury-lane will build a house ; the Covent-
garden fund will build a house the sick fund will
endeavour to do the same. Mr. Charles Kean
will build a house ; others have promised to build
houses. That stony-hearted man, Mr. Benjamin
Webster (laughter) —has promised to supply
stone for the buildings from his Welsh quarries;
and that he will throw the stone with great vigour
I am convinced, as some little return for his Dul-
wich disappointment. And I am happy to add,
gentlemen, that I have the permission of the direc-
tors of the General Theatrical Fund, for whose
welfare you are assembled here this evening, to
tell you that we intend to build a house. (Ap-
plause.) Thus you will see that the cause of the
college is hopeful, and I trust that many of us will
live to see the day when a school for the education
of the children of actors and actresses will also be
endowed within the college—being the only want
that the dramatic profession now requires to be
gratified—and that it shall be a school for the chil-
dren of actors and actresses only, and not hereafter
to be perverted to any other educational purposes.
(Applause.) Therefore, gentlemen, you must ac-
knowledge that the actors possess courage, energy,
and economy, and a self-sustaining spirit under
every adversity. Cunning fanatics and reverend
deans may preach against them till the " crack o'
doom ;" but it will be without avail. The gentle-
man at Carlisle may denounce pantomimes every
day of his life if he pleases; but it is a " great con-
solation" to know that:in all time to come there will
be pantomimes at Christmas; and the clown will
salute you with " Here we are," and the pan-
taloon cry out " Somebody's coming"—long and
long after all the deans of this day have been
gathered to their fathers, and their innumerable
and daintily-worked slippers have disappeared
from the surface of the carpet. (Laughter.) Ano•
ther cause for congratulation we possess is the
knowledge that the majority of the English public
is with the actor and his art; and to prove this I
need only refer to the prosperous winter season just
past at the London theatres, to the " crowded
houses" during Christmas ; and for weeks after-
wards in the great northern theatres of Liverpool,
Manchester, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Glasgow,
and in Dublin, where I hear more money has been
taken than ever was known before at that time ;
but whether this may be the fact or not, I can
assure you that such has been the case at the Hay-
market—at least, during the six years of my ma-
nagement. (Applause.) I can also refer you to
the crowded tables in this hall to-night; and liter-
ally, to crown everything, I need only announce to
you that we have received her Majesty's donation
of 100 guineas, being the twelfth that has been
given from that high quarter of the same amount;
while, during the London season, does not the
Court Circular announce to you the frequent visits
of our beloved Queen to the various metropolitan
theatres ; and where such a Monarch—so good, so
beloved, so excellent, and so illustrious, such a
mother, and such a wife—sets the example, who
shall dare to decry those that follow it. (Applause.)
And now, gentlemen, as we all know it is a good
thing to follow a good example, I hope you will
this evening follow the one given to you by her
Majesty ; for although our cause is prosperous, yet
it is chiefly by your generosity on these occasions
that its prosperity can be sustained. We are all
very well aware that when we have a good balance
at our banker's it will not do to be continually
drawing cheques and making no deposits, for in
that case we should soon arrive at the ominous
words "no effects." Therefore, when the stewards
present you with their little scraps of paper, let the
points of your pencils penetrate deeply into your
hearts, and cause your figures to be as large as your
sympathies. (Hear.) Before I resume my seat I
think it my duty to thank Mr. Charles Dickens, as
one of our trustees, for his constancy to us through
many changing years, and to regret his unavoid-
able absence this evening, but although he is not
here in person I well know that his heart and his
best wishes are with us and with our cause ;
and also again to thank our chairman for his ser-
vices to-night. Many of us here must remember
his excellent father, and the merry days of " Mathews
at Home." That Charles Mathews was a member
of the Covent Garden Fund, and constantly at-
tended its annual dinners, where his unequalled
songs were one of the greatest attractions of the
evening. He was deeply interested in all that per-
tained to the independence and the respectability of
the actor, and nothing could or would have grati-
fied him more than to have seen his son occupying
the honourable position he has taken this evening.
(Applause.) And now, having appealed to you as
earnestly as my poor powers will permit me, I leave
the cause of the fund in your hands, and hope that
those hands will go heartily into your pockets ;
while to these whose duty it is to wait upon you,
our generous friends, and collect your donations—
to stimulate them to exertion, I can only parody
the words supposed to be spoken by the great duke
at Waterloo, "Up stewards and at em." (Laugh-
ter.)
Mr. BUCKSTONE again rose, and in complimen-
tary terms proposed the " Health of the Chairman."

The CHAIRMAN said he had to acknowledge the
great gratification he derived from the honour they
had done him. (Hear, hear.) He should not in-
flict on them the oft-told tale of his difficulties,
which had emanated from his original sin of enter-
ing into the speculation of managing Covent garden,
Theatre. The consequence of that sin had haunted
him ever since, and would, he supposed, continue to
do so to the end of the chapter. (Laughter.) He
remembered the late Douglas Jerrold having once
told him that "he did not despair of living to
see the day when he would see him walking up
Ludgate-hill with a cotton umbrella under his arm
to invest his funds in the Bank of England." He
regretted to say Mr. Jerrold did not live to see that
vision realised ; the only step he could announce to
his auditors Its having taken towards it being that
he had bought the umbrella. (Laughter.) He
had, however, endeavoured to make provision
for a rainy day, by having become that day
a member of the Theatrical Fund. (Hear,
hear.) He admitted he was rather an old finger
post to go into leading strings, but he might one
day be enabled to get into one of the little houses
of the Rozaal Dramatic) College, where he could
only saY the would be delighted to Dee se many