The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1881-01-01
SELECT LITERATURE.
THE NEIGHBOURS BARN.

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! >--
Lfhe following little sketch by the IA
nous English actor, is from the "Green
Room Annual:l
At the present time, while the pro-
gress Of realism is marking an epoch in
stage management, a little special atten-
ton may not inopportunely be given to
| the humanitarian branch of stage real
iSm-that of food. The old days ofpaste-
board pie and wooden chickens are gone
| from good theatres let us hope, forever.
! The real veal and ham err in the inter-
esting reproduction of dot at the
| Folly was quite a success, and brought
| the dinner hour instincts of all present
| to the of hiStrionic effect. | was much
struck. not long since. by the thoughtful
consideration manifested by charming
young lady in a successful opera boutfe.
who took care that the vast amount of
l, al bread. which she had cut so grace
fully, WAS ultimately distributed to that
portion of the French army in the rear,
who seemed to have been hitherto made
quately supplied with rations, and to
whom the nightly addition to their
present emolument may have been of
some little service.
When. year ago, we produced at the
| Lyceum. as a first piece the old Scotch
drama Of "Cramond Brig the various
members of the company PLAYING in the
| piece had full choice of wherewithal to
wash down their heed and harrigles "
| tof which, by the way. over a hundred
"ere consumed daring the rum. aud the
miller's supper became nightly iollity
except. perhaps, to the Scotch nobility
and the kings huntsmen, who, with
watery mouths and eager eyes, crowded
the wing, forbidden by the irony of
dramatic fate to enter upon the scene
until the supper had been cleared away.
This piece reminded me of an incident
which came under my notice, good
many years ago. In the off season of
large provincial theatre, in which | was
a stock actor. took an engagement at a
small town, then known as one of the
most thriving seaports ofthe North. The
salary was little: the parts were long,
and there was not much opportunity for
gaining rcnown. However. it was better
than remaining idle, as, at the worst, the
| amount of debt to be accumulated was
minimized. The manager was not a bad
fellow, and having been good actor in
! his time, was only too glad to be sur
rounded by class of actors whose SER
vice he could only obtain by the oppor-
tunity afforded by the bright Summer
in those palmy days the darkest and
wintriest season to the airy comedian or
the thoroughly legitimate tragedian. Onr
opening bill consisted of "Cramond
Brig, Lord Darnley," wallace, the
| Hero Of Scotland and " Gilderoy, the
Bonnie Boy" in all of which | played,
| besides contributing my share in the
National Anthem. which was right loyal
| ~ and loudly sung by the entire strength
of the company. After the rehearsal of
"Cramond Brig our jolly manager said
Now, boys, shall stand a real supper
tonight; no paste board and parsley,
but real Sleeps head and little drop
of real Scotch A tumult of applause.
The manager was as good as his word.
| for at night there was real head, well
equipped with turnips and carrots, and
| the drop % real Scotch The ''neigh-
bor's BARN" an important character in
the scene. came in and took her seat rs
usual beside the miller's chair. She was
a pretty, sad-eyed, intelligent child of
some nine years old. In the course Of
the meal, when Jack Howison was freely
passing the whiskey, she leaned over to
him and said. Please, will you give me
little?" He looked surprised. She was
so earnest in her request, that whisper
ed to her. "To-morrow. perhaps, if you
want it very much, you shall have
thimbleful.'
Tomorrow night came, and to my
amusement, she produced from the pocket
of her little plaid frock a bright piece of
brass, and held it out to me. l said,
What this?'
"A thimble. sir.
l." But what am to do with ito''
You said that you would give me
thimhleful of whiskey if wanted it, and
| | clo want it,
| This was said so naturally that the au-
dience laughed and applauded. looked
over to the miller. and found him with
the butt end of his knife and fork on the
table, and his eyes wide open, gazing at
us in establishment. However, we were
both experienced enough to pass off this
unrehearsed effect as part OF the piece.
| filled the thimble. and the child took it
back carefully to her little creepy stool
beside the miller. l watched her, and
presently saw her turn her back to the
audience and poor it into little half
penny tin snuff-box. She covered the
boz with a bit of paper, and screwed on
the lid, thus making the box pretty
water tight, and put it into her pocket.
When the curtain fell, our manager
came forward and patted the child's
head. why, my little girl" said he,
'you are quite a genius. Your gag is
the best thing in the piece. We must
have it in every night. But, my child.
YOU mustn't drink the whiskey. No, no !.
that would never do
"Oh, sir. indeed won't; give you
my word | WON'T she said quite ear
nestly. and ran to her dressing room.
"Cramond Brig" had an unprecedent-
ed run of six nights. and the little lady
always got her thimbleful of whiskey,
and her round OF applause. And each
time | noticed that she corked up the
former safely i'll the stuff box. | was
curious as to what she could possibly
want with the spirit, and who she was.
and where she came from. | asked her,
but she seemed so unwilling TO tell. and
turned so red. that did not press her;
but | found out that it was the old story
no mother, and a drunken father.
Still, it was strange; what could she
want with the whiSkey-a child like here
1t could not be for the drunken father. |
was completely at fault. took fancy
to the little thing, and wished to fathom