Mr Henry Neil Warner

When Barry Sullivan first appeared in Melbourne, in 1862, he was fairly a frost. He was exceedingly seedy in appearance, and, having followed closely upon Brooke, was looked upon in the light of an interloper. He was introduced to Australia by Mr. Wilton, who had pioneered G. V. Brooke six years previously. The company at the old Royal was not the best that could be gathered in— added to which the theatre was in a state of sad repair, unclean and bedraggled-looking. Again, Mr. Sullivan's chief support was ; an ambitious rival, Henry Neil Warner, who did not treat the stranger as generously as he should have done. I am afraid the critics, too, were not as lenient to the newcomer as they might have been. That Sullivan felt the criticisms keenly may be gathered from the fact that on one occasion, as 'Richelieu,' he altered the text to suit his purpose— 'Beneath the rule of men entirely 'just,' the pen is mightier than the sword.' I heard him utter the lines, but they brought no responsive answer from the audience. Again, on another occasion, when hissing was prevalent, he stepped to the front and angrily exclaimed 'What do you want ? Don't think that I came here to make a name ; I brought it with me.' Mr. Barry Sullivan brought some of the trouble on to his own head. The people of Melbourne were used to seeing the leading lady share the call with the leading actor, but Sullivan always strutted before the curtain in answer to the call, which was not always for him. On such occasions the call would be for Mrs. Heir a vociferous one—when that lady would be led on by her husband, though often he was not in the cast. In after years I have seen Barry Sullivan, in the pink of fashion, leaning on the arm of Ambrose Kyte, chatting gaily with Mr. James Smith, the then recognised critic of the 'Argus,' and opposite the 'Argus' office too! and that after 'having a deadly quarrel with the critic.

Sullivan is said to have been born in Birmingham, of parents in very humble life. He was always reticent as to his early career. On one occasion he unbent just a trifle, at a national banquet given him in Dublin in December 1878, when he said : 'It may not be considered out of place if I mention, here the fact that I commenced the art which I have the honor to profess, not on the first rung of the ladder, but on the very ground. While yet a boy I stood alone in the world, without father, mother or friend, without means, and master only of 'a little Latin and less Greek.'

Sullivan was quite Homerian in a sense, inasmuch that at his death several cities claimed the honor of his birth. His parents were Irish, and he has often expressed himself as 'Irish to the heart's core,' and certainly his brogue was corroborative of his Irish origin. Some claim that Sullivan was born in Cork county, one faction standing up for Clonakilty, another for Dunmanway. It has, however, been placed beyond doubt that Thomas Barry Sullivan first saw the light on Shakespeare's birthday, April 23, 1824, in Birmingham, county of Warwick, the county which gave the immortal Will a birthplace. However, the Sullivans made Cork their home, while the future tragedian was yet a child. There he was found in 1838 a poor, ill-educated lad on the foot-board of life, as an assistant in a drapery store, a new establishment opened by one Swinburne, in Winthrop-street. From there he went to Todd's, another drapery house.

It was while in this establishment, a lad of 15, he was described as having a 'handsome Irish face, already showing in its lineaments the dawning of character and resolution, a sparse, elegant figure, and a profusion of jet-black ringlets.' So, at least thought the local players, into whose good graces he won his way. Finding that he had a tenor, light, but pleasing, he was invited to appear for one night at the old theatre in George's- street (Cork), for the benefit of one of the Misses Smith, the charming duetists, recognised as nieces of Kitty, the fascinating Countess of Essex, known on the stage as Kitty Stephens. Barry Sullivan appeared as Young Meadows in the once comic opera ''Love in a Village," that being his first appearance on the stage. His success was beyond a doubt, and manager Seymour at once engaged him to play 'leading, singing, walking gentleman.' In the spring of 1840 a Dublin tragedian named Paumier visited Cork and became manager of the George's street theatre. Under him Sullivan gained many valuable hints in fencing and dramatic elocution, which he found of great value in after life. During an engagement of operatic stars, Mr. and Mrs. Wood, the George's-street theatre was burned down, a calamity which caused Paumier to leave for England. Sullivan now found his former manager, Seymour, who had converted a hall in Cook-street into a theatre, naming it The Victoria. 'The ghost seldom walked,' a circumstance attributed by Seymour to the visit of a travelling booth managed by one Collins, who, with a good company, attractive melodramas, and low prices, did a roaring trade. Sullivan went over to Collins and obtained permission to appear in a round of legitimate characters. The venture was successful, money poured in, and Collins grew so joyful that he set about erecting a large wooden building as a theatre. With the old booth his luck went out, and Barry returned to the old 'Royal Victoria Theatre.'

During the winter of 1840, Barry Sullivan had the felicity of supporting Ellen Tree, then in the heyday of her youth, beauty and power, in Cork. Paul Bedford was in the company at this time and played Blueskin to Sullivan's Darrell in 'Jack Sheppard.' When things were quiet in Cork, the players migrated to Waterford, Limerick, and other neighboring towns. About this time the first and only instance of Barry Sullivan ever getting 'tight' occurred at Clonmel. He was Dewelskin the Smuggler in 'Rory O'More,' and in the scrimmage lost control of himself and ill-used one of the attacking party, and, grieving over this, he decided to abandon strong drink. "And," says a biographer, "he had strength of character, and religiously kept his resolution to the end." That is scarcely correct, however, as to my personal knowledge Sullivan always had a pint of Dublin stout with his supper every night.

At a banquet given Sullivan in Cork, in December 1878, in replying to the toast of his health, the tragedian said, among other things : 'I was going to the theatre, and as I was passing through the principal street, Denny street, there was a cry of fire. I went down with the other boys— for I was only a big boy at the time— to look at the fire, and presently I saw a very beautiful girl looking out of a window above, and with her a gentleman with a white head. ' To make a long story short, I went through the flames and saved those two. Suddenly I remembered that I was wanted at the theatre, which was in the Market House, and I really did not think that I had done anything worth remembering. Two or three days afterwards, however, it became known that the boy, the individual, the young man, who had saved the lives of this lady and gentle man - I remember they were Mr. Primrose and Miss Primrose, his daughter - it was discovered that it was young Sullivan, the vulgar little player, who had done this. Up to that time our theatre had been doing very badly, but from, this time forward we had crowded houses, I tell you.' A similar incident is recorded of G. V. Brooke.

In 1842 Barry Sullivan was supporting Charles Kean in Edinburgh, and 20 years after Barry Sullivan was at the Royal in Bourke-street, Melbourne, with a magnificent company, while Charles Kean, with a good company, was playing at the Haymarket Theatre on the opposite side of the street ! Barry Sullivan played Gaston to the star's "Richelieu," and in this connection may be mentioned an incident. In 1857 Barry Sullivan was playing 'Richelieu' in Edinburgh, and the Gaston of the night was Henry Irving ! It would be impossible (and quite unnecessary) to follow Sullivan in his upward career In England, Scotland, Ireland, and America, in these columns. His colonial career touches us more nearly.

On G. V. Brooke's return to England in 1861 the larger cities of Australasia had, for the first time, an opening for a first-class tragedian. Barry Sullivan took the tide at the flood, and entering into negotiations with Mr. J. Wilton, who at that time had the lease of the Theatre Royal, agreed to make his de but at that house. I think Barry Sullivan come to Australia "on his own." Mr. W. H. Campbell, recently residing in San Francisco, but in the fifties or sixties a resident of Melbourne, recalling matters theatrical, wrote thus to a friend :_ "I frequently met and was pretty well acquainted with G. V. Brooke and Barry Sullivan during the golden early days of Victoria, better known then as Port Phillip, the Australia Felix of the veteran pioneer, John Pascoe Fawkner. Brooke was undoubtedly the most popular actor who had ever set foot in the colonies, but he had left for good before Sullivan's arrival there. The contrast between the two men, both Irishmen, as they were, was very striking. Brooke was good natured, convivial, careless, and had moments of superb inspiration. Sullivan, on the other hand, was practical, energetic, abstemious, methodical. He was for the most part painfully aware of his importance, had immense vim, aimed high, and succeeded in reaching the grand goal of his ambition.

"The days when genteel comedy was at its best in Melbourne found Sullivan, with Joseph Jefferson, Fanny Cathcart (Mrs. Heir-Darrell) Heir, and a galaxy of lesser talent, playing at the Princess. I think, they opened in 'Money,' Barry Sullivan as Evelyn, Jefferson as Graves. A little supper was tendered these gentlemen and the two captains commanding the ships which brought them out to Australia. Of those who made merry that night, only Mr. Jefferson, Captain D.H. Johnson, R.N.R., and myself remain to tell the tale. H. B. Donaldson, of Sandridge, was there, and my fellow-survivors doubtless remember how he and the genial C. Throckmorton went through the farcical comedy of marrying the landlord's daughter over the broom stick, for the special entertainment of our theatrical guests.

'It fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health. In doing so I alluded to a keen, fussy controversy going on in the newspapers over a dispute between the tragedian and the management of the Royal, in which the ladies of the company were involved— owing to Sullivan's method in regard to them being at variance with those formerly practised. My endeavour was to throw oil on the troubled waters and bring the unhappy dispute to an end. So I ventured to suggest to our friend the desirability of a compromise, or such concession as might please the ladies and satisfy popular prejudice and clamour.

"Jumping up, the tragedian replied in these words, 'Do you think, sir,' addressing me personally, 'that I will concede ? No, sir! Never, sir! ! Not for a moment, sir ! ! ! Do you mean to say that I, Barry Sullivan, must stoop down to the people of Melbourne ? No, sir ! Far from it. I'll bring them up to me.' And he carried his point, as he always did, by sheer pluck, energy and 'go.' "Though very abstemious, Mr. Sullivan was not a total abstainer. I on many occasions supped with him at Spiers and Pond's Cafe Royal, when he invariably partook of a broiled steak or chop, accompanied by a pint, or half a pint, of Guiness' Dublin porter. He was fond of praise, though impatient of adverse criticism. 'Did you see my Don Caesar?' he asked me on the street a few days after the production of 'Don Caesar de Bazan.' He fished for a compliment and received a well-merited one."

The trouble with the ladies alluded to was that which was deemed discourteous, in not ''leading a lady on" in answer to a call or sharing the call with her. Sullivan, however, in after years, got on very well with the ladies ; he always had a double company and paid good salaries. The Cafe Royal alluded to above was the Cafe de Paris, run by Spiers and Pond, and occupied the frontage to Bourke-street, the theatre being built at the rear. I have, as one of my treasures, a picture of the old building, with a group of actors and actresses in front, in the group being G. V. Brooke, Robert Heir and his wife, Dick Stewart, and many other thespians long 'gone over.' In a basket phaeton, harnessed to two ponies, sits Christopher Pond, a fine, stalwart man, popular and prized. Sullivan's supper was not always broiled steak or chop. I remember on one occasion having business with him, after the theatre had closed, when his supper consisted of a lump of soused fish and the usual half-pint of Guinness' stout.

In 1863 Barry Sullivan came to Sydney and met with great success. On his return to Melbourne he secured a lease of the Theatre Royal from Ambrose Kyte, the first time in his life that he accepted the responsibility of management. He secured Hennings as scenic artist and H. R. Harwood as nominal stage manager, and on March 7, 1863, commenced a series of Shakespearian revivals. Then came the Keans, and the rivalry between the Keans and Barry Sullivan gave Melbourne the most brilliant theatrical season it ever enjoyed. The Keans were supported by a specially gathered company, each member of which was asked by Mr. Coppin to sink himself and his rank 'for the occasion only,' out of compliment to the distinguished visitors. Kean and wife brought with them J. F. Cathcart and — Everett, with Miss Chapman (a relative of Mrs. Kean). Henry Edwards, and other stock leaders of the day agreed to play "second fiddles" to the Keans and their company, it is an open secret that Charles Kean was disappointed with his Australian trip. He was, in fact, played out, and, but for the great assistance of his wife, would have been a dead frost. Old Londoners, who recollected his princely revivals of the Shakespearian drama, flocked to see him; but, divested of their spectacular effects, the plays, at the Haymarket, Melbourne, were as unlike the plays at the Princess', London, as Charles Kean was unlike his father, the great Edmund Kean.

Of Barry Sullivan, James Smith, who is regarded as the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics, and who has been associated with press work in Melbourne for over 50 years, thus wrote-: — 'As a man I did not like him. He was cold, hard, and repellent, and his vanity amounted to disease. He Seriously believed that the British stage had only produced thro j great actors— David Garrick, W. C. Macready, and himself. His self-love was as irritable , as it was irritating, and his jealousy of other actors almost childish. I could never detect any of the fire of genius in his performances ; but he professed great talent, and that 'infinite capacity for taking pains' which comes very near genius. Short of that, he was one of the best all round actors I ever saw—equally good in tragedy, comedy, Irish drama and farce. He was also an admirable manager. He was master of all the duties and detail connected with a theatre, from the call-boy upwards. He was very frugal, perhaps penurious ; for instance, he would see that no candle ends were wasted behind the scenes. And no doubt he was right, for 'colonials' are naturally wasteful and unthrifty, and poor Brooke's loss of the fortune he had made here was in part attributable to his carelessness and his, toleration of extravagance, and pillage in his subordinates. In spite of his jealousy, Barry Sullivan, while managing the Theatre Royal in this city (Melbourne) surrounded himself with an excellent stock company— such a company, indeed, as could not be organised now (1892), a company scarcely less complete and efficient than Daly's. Every piece he produced he had handsomely mounted, thoroughly, rehearsed, and effectively played, and I have always understood that he went home with a small fortune. I do not suppose his personal expenses ever exceeded £2 or £3 a week. His temper was as vile as Macready's, without being conscious of and penitent for it, as that actor was."

While in Melbourne Mr. Barry Sullivan's right-hand man in management was Mr. Son Amory. The latter, now dead,-was in Sidney, a few years ago, when I had some pleasant chats about old times and old people, of which and whom more at another time.

(To be continued.)

That Shakespearian controversy (in the "Sportsman," May 18, 1904) has awakened long dormant memories, and a pleasant evening recently spent with one, who, like myself, lives chiefly in the past, has served to recall many incidents in connection, with music and the drama not before seen In print.

What old faces we brought back in our gossip! What happy days we revived! The days when John Gordon Griffiths managed the old Victoria Theatre in Pitt-street, numbering in his company such artistes as Sarah Flower, Madame Carandini, Sam Howard (known as "Gypsy”“ and sometimes Tinker" Howard, the former from his appearance, the latter from his trade before taking to the stage), Mrs. Guerin (afterwards Mrs. Richard Stewart, and still with us), the Sisters Howson and their brothers, and many others of equal calibre and fair fame.

John Gordon Griffiths was a Shropshire man, born in August 1810, and shortly after leaving school joined a dramatic company. He became a member of the M’Kay circuit, and subsequently joined Mr. Alexander at Glasgow. It was while with these managers that Mr. Griffiths acquired a knowledge of Lowland Scotch, which made him a success in such parts. After leaving Scotland he played in London, and there met Mr. Joseph Wyatt, of the Victoria Theatre, Sydney, who induced him to come south.

He arrived in 1842, and opened in “Hamlet.” He met with great opposition, mainly, I think, from the friends and admirers of Francis Nesbitt McCron, who was in or near Sydney at the time. Griffiths, however, overcame the trouble, and eventually become manager of the Victoria Theatre, and in 1855 filled the same position at the Prince of Wales Theatre, Castlereagh-street. He retired after a short term, and took up his residence at the Pier Hotel, Manly, where he died on March 4, 1857. Gordon Griffiths was a good man, and a good actor.

The years 1855-56 saw many eminent actors in Sydney, Julia Mathews, Mrs. Charles Poole, Fanny Cathcart (Mrs. Robert Heir, and afterwards Mrs. Geo. Darrell), Lola Montez, Mrs. Charles Young (afterwards Mrs. Hermann Verzin), Mrs. James Stark, Julia Harland (a daughter of the house of Wallack and wife of William Hoskins), Marie Duret, the sisters Gougenheim, etc., etc., G. V. Brooke, George Coppin, Joe Rayner, Robert Heir, Richard Younge, Charles Young (not related), J. P. Hydes, James Stark, William Hoskins, John Dunn (father of Mrs. Marcus Clarke and Mrs. L. L. Lewis, M’Kean Buchanan, Charles Burford, etc., etc. Mr. George Coppin is the only one in this list who, to my knowledge is still amongst us. Strange to say, Mr. Coppin "managed" most of them at one time or other, and “imported” direct not a few of them. Julia Mathews and Lola Montez died in the United States; Charles Poole died in Boston, in the same country; and, presumably, Mr. and Mrs. Stark, Mr. M’Kean Buchanan, and Marie Duret returned to the country from which they hailed, and laid their bones there. Mrs. Charles Young, after a chequered domestic career, died not long since in England, I believe. Julia Harland and Fanny Cathcart lie near Ellen Mostyn, Mrs. Vickery, Marie St. Denis, Hattie Shepherd, John Dunn, G. H. Rogers, and other Thespians in the Melbourne General Cemetery. Poor Bob Heir sleeps his last sleep at the Bluff, having died at sea on his way, with his wife, to fulfil Maoriland engagements. Dick Younge died in England, Charles Young at his residence, the Museum Hotel, William-street Woolloomooloo, next to the Blind Asylum of to day.

I have in front of me an interesting playbill of the good, old-fashioned sort, about three feet in length and one foot wide. It is dated 1859, and was from the printing office of Charlwood and Son, “Herald” passage, Bourke-street East. It is issued for the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, and announces the farewell performances of MR. G. V. BROOKE. The play on this particular night is “Macbeth,” Brooke in the principal part, of course; Richard Younge as Macduff; Ben Tannett, the scenic artist (who, like W. J. Wilson, played occasionally), was the Banquo; dear old Lambert, his wife, and “Old” Downey, with the cracked voice, were the witches; Harwood was Duncan; Bob Lawrence (who married Carrie George) was Malcolm; Fanny Morgan, Donaldbain; and Tilly Earle, Fleance - The Lady Macbeth was Mrs. Vickery, one of the best I have ever seen in the character. Locke’s music was given in full, the Hecate being a Mr. Hancock, who, with his wife, was popular as a singer. Brooke did not go to London then, nor for a couple of years afterwards. When Richard and Fred Younge left Brooke he brought Henry Edwards from Sydney as manager, and Edwards brought Dick Stewart, Wigan, Bill Andrews, and other old Sydneyites. Then George Fawcett Rowe was brought into the management, and in their hands it was said that G. V. Brooke was ruined. Ambrose Kyte was now the supposed owner of the Theatre Royal, and it must be admitted, if he were truthful, that he assisted the treasury with much money. About this time, 1861, Miss Avonia Jones appeared upon the scene, at the Theatre Royal. She was the daughter of an actress (Mrs. Melinda Jones) who had filled a leading position on the American stage; her father was the Count Joannes, "a vain clever and eccentric author and actor, from whom the wife was separated." Avonia inherited nothing from her father but his handsome face; - at least Avonia herself said so. I never saw the father, but Avonia Jones was handsome and attractive, and on her arrival in Melbourne, in 1860, she was but 24 years of age. Here is a description of her, published in 1878, when she had been years dead, by one who knew her well and intimately. “Tall, well-made, with a lithe form and expressive features, and a sweet, powerful and flexible voice, she seemed born to become a tragedy queen. A classic head, wreathed with hair as black as a raven’s wing, eyes equally dark, and a complexion that was clear, though colourless, surmounted a figure that readily responded to every phase of emotion she was called upon to portray.” No wonder that the advent of such a lady at the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, caused some disruption in the Brooke household. The lady whom we knew as Mrs. Brooke joined her fortunes, domestic and otherwise, with Mr. Henry Edwards, and a newspaper war, much scandal and a lot of bitterness were imported into matters theatrical in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and sixty-one, in Melbourne.

Mrs Melinda Jones appeared seldom; she was without doubt “fat, fair and (certainly) forty.” I saw her play once, the character Romeo, her daughter being the Juliet. That was at the old “Princess” Theatre, in Spring-street. When Brooke saw the young lady he fell in love with her right off, and married her, as we then understood. When the quarrel with Edwards and Faucett caused G. V. Brooke to fall back upon George Coppin as his manager, the latter brought Richard Younge and other old supporters back to the old house – in Bourke-street. The nightly speeches by Coppin and the daily letters by Kyte, Faucett, and Edwards were choice, but the Shakespearian and other performances with Brooke and Avonia Jones in the leading characters, will live in memory.

Nothing has been seen before, and I am certain that nothing has been since, to equal them as joint performers. A great exodus of theatrical people, London-wards, took place then, the brothers Younge, Hancock and his wife, Mrs and Miss Jones, G. V. Brooke, and others taking part. Even then there was trouble. Richard Younge had a writ served on him at, I think, the suit of Robert Heir; Miss Jones was threatened with arrest at the suit of R. H. Home (“Orion”) who claimed to have written a drama which the lady declined; Brooke was sought for by the Sheriff’s officers, but could not be found; Younge promptly satisfied the claim against him. Miss Jones gave surety to defend any action which Horne might bring (he never brought one); and the Great Britain was said to have gone without the great tragedian. Wherever he had hidden himself, Mr. Brooke did leave in the Great Britain, and reached London.

It was announced some years afterwards that he had married Avonia Jones on February 28, 1863, at St. Philip’s Church, Liverpool. He led a very erratic life in England, Mrs. Brooke (Miss Jones) having left him for a time, ostensibly as a duty to her mother, but in reality because of her husband’s unhappy fondness for strong drinks. Playing at Belfast, poor Brooke was incapable one night of performing. The audience hissed, and Brooke, in dudgeon, advanced to the footlights, bowed to the audience, stuttered out a farewell, and left that stage, never to return. At Birmingham he was arrested for debt, and to obtain his release had to declare himself bankrupt. At last he picked himself up, and determined, with his only sister, to return to Melbourne under engagement to his old friend George Coppin. He took passage in the S.S. London, which, as all the world knows, foundered in the Bay of Biscay in January 1866, and Brooke and his sister went down in her. Richard Younge had returned to Australia before, and at a dramatic performance in Sydney delivered an address on the death of Brooke when the news reached this city.

I have before me another old playbill, only one of many, time stained, mildewed, and yet revered. It was issued from the Caxton Printing Office, 146 Pitt-street Sydney. Old Sydneyites will remember that it stood between the then Foxlow-place and Brougham-place, known in later days as Moore street and Rowe-street. The building was peculiar, being somewhat of the colonnade type. The printer himself was also peculiar, and E. G. is sadly remembered by some. He did most if not all, the theatrical and sporting printing. He was a jolly good sort; and at Jack Hampton’s Metropolitan Hotel in the garden beneath the trees, enjoyed with his friends the good things of things of this life. But Mr. G. fell on evil days, and Fiji for a time, and subsequently San Francisco, was his home. One cannot help but admire, however inexcusable, the ingenuity with which he engineered his way out of Sydney. He drove a handsome buggy, with a spanking horse, the admiration of Sydney. On the morning of his departure — a Saturday— he went among his friends and raised £30 each from half a dozen— “wages had to be paid,” and other engagements had to be met. To each he sold the horse and buggy, promising delivery in the afternoon. The last friend visited was a reverend father at St. Mary’s, who readily advanced such a prominent citizen as Mr. G. the sum required, and the reverend father became the proprietor of the horse and buggy. His claim was disputed, but he had a receipt and possession. A steamer was off Miller’s Point ready to sail. Mr. R. B. Smith - Bob Smith - the solicitor was on board seeing friends off. He encountered Mr. G., the latter saying that he was seeing some friends off also. He ostensibly got into a waterman’s boat, watched Bob Smith off and returned to the steamer; and sailed with her. The maddest man in Sydney on Monday, when the news of Mr. G.’s elopement was made known, was Robert Burdett Smith! Unlike another very prominent citizen and sporting man, who left about the same time, Mr. G. did not return to the city of the beautiful harbour. The Golden Gate was good enough for him.

This playbill is of the Victoria Theatre In the sixties, when Rachael Tolano was lessee, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dillon the stars, and “Belphegor the Mountebank” and “The Bonnie Fishwife” the bill of fare. Charles Dillon was announced as the great London tragedian, and was pronounced “a triumphant success.” It was the last week but two of their engagement. In the company was Henry Neil Warner, Fred Younge, C. H. Burford, Sam Howard, Appleton, James Hasker, and some minor men, including Mr. Harlowe, who was a brother of Richard and Frederick Younge, but, being a minor actor and merely a prompter, the brothers insisted on a nom-de-theatre. Amongst the ladies were Mrs. Charles Poole, Mrs. C. Jones, Mrs. M’Gowan and Miss Dickson. In the afterpiece Mrs. Dillon was the Miss Thistledown and Maggie Macfarlane. As the former she sang the old ballad “Ever of Thee,” and in the latter, of course, “Caller Herring.”

I saw Charles Dillon in Dublin in the early fifties as Belphegor, and I saw him in Australia in the sixties in the same character. He had not improved. Australia seldom gets an actor in his prime. I saw J. L. Toole in the Queen’s, Dublin, as Fanfaronade in “Belphegor,” with Dillon, and I saw him in the Royal, Sydney, and I thought it was a cruelty to induce the old gentleman so far away from the scenes where he was tolerated to such places as Sydney and Melbourne, where every playgoer is a critic.

Though Charles Dillon - of course I am speaking of the Charles Dillon of the mid-sixties, not the stage fraud who visited us under the same name years after - played a “round of characters,” he pinned his fame to the melodrama. “Belphegor” not only In Australia but in England, and it was, when the actor was in his prime, a splendid performance. The only man whomever played it in Australia to equal Dillon was to my mind, Clarence Holt, father of Bland Holt.

The Bancrofts, in their published memoirs, pay a high compliment to Dillon in this character. It may be perhaps from the fact that Mrs. Bancroft, when a little lady known only in the West of England as Marie Wilton — and now Lady Bancroft, thank you! — played Henri, that the particular circumstance is mentioned, but the mere mention shows how jealous the “star” of our old days was of any “fat” falling to the stock actor, Dillon objected to the little lady weeping at his pathos, but as she explained that she could not help weeping, he insisted that her weeping attracted public attention from him. Eventually the matter was referred to the manager, who decided that Henri could weep to his (her) heart’s content.

Henry Neil Warner was an especial favourite at Ballarat when that city was golden and could support a theatre and a good company. Warner was a great actor, but, like all good men in his line, had his little failing. When Barry Sullivan first appeared in Melbourne, Warner was engaged to support him, and did so very ungenerously. There was a prejudice against Sullivan at the time, why I know not. Warner was the favourite, and as the curtain fell Warner was called for, Sullivan ignored. One night, the play was “Richelieu,” Warner of course the Nemours. At the conclusion Warner as usual was called for, but Sullivan stepped in front. The decrepitude of the Cardinal had been left off, and Sullivan stood, towering in rage, amidst hisses, hoots and shouts of “Warner,” “Off, off” etc., etc. Sullivan bided his time. When a lull came he stepped forward with, “What do you want? I did not come here to make a name; I brought it with me.” The tone of the audience changed towards him, and after a year or two Barry Sullivan ruled at the Royal, with a double company, composed of the best men and women in Australia. Warner subsequently went to America, and, I believe, died there.

(To be continued.)