Mr Amory Sullivan

My editor has handed me the following very interesting and to me most gratifying letter, and which, being addressed to the editor of the 'Sportsman,' is evidently intended for publication:—

"(To the Editor of the 'Sportsman.')

“Sir, — It is usually understood, I believe, that 'dead men tell no tales,' but in this case, as in others, the exception proves the rule, for according to 'Hayseed,' the present writer of this — to quote his own words— 'died in Sydney some years ago.' Yet in spite of being so heavily handicapped by him, I will, with your permission, 'a tale unfold' in answer to articles appearing in your paper of the 10th and 17th , instant. Under the above heading, the 'Sportsman' of the 10th instant says: 'When Barry Sullivan first appeared in Melbourne he was fairly a frost. He was exceedingly needy in appearance, etc.' Now, sir, the truth is that when Barry Sullivan landed from the good ship City of Melbourne—which brought him to Australia— he, with his son, drove straight to Menzies' Hotel, then in La Trobe-street, Melbourne, where he resided for some months, and right up to his departure for Sydney. Here he stopped at the Royal, and Wilton Hall at Tattersall's, where he committed suicide ; and thereby hangs another tale. Even in those days, old man Menzies' was not in the habit of allowing anyone 'of exceedingly needy appearance' anywhere about his premises, and certainly those whose personal expenses 'never exceeded two or three pounds a week' stood not the ghost of a chance at his hotel. Barry Sullivan appeared the first seven nights in 'Hamlet' following it with 'Richelieu,' 'Richard III,' etc. There were £368 in the first night, and he finished previous to his coming here to £211. Is this the 'frost' you allude to ? Mr. W. H. Campbell's statements are all quite strange to me. Nor do I remember anyone of that name, save the young barber's assistant whom my father put into 'business' (together with a partner), the firm being afterwards pretty well known as 'Campbell and Graham.' The supper alluded to by Mr. Campbell, as being given to Jefferson and Barry Sullivan, I very well remember, but he must be dreaming, surely, when he states 'it fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health,' and again, 'of those that made merry that night only Mr. Jefferson, Captain Johnson and myself remain to tell the tale.' Indeed, then where do I (with several more I could name) come in ? James Smith was always very bitter—he never quite forgot the long mongrel ballad published about him, which caused amusement at the time, and which he attributed to the 'Royal's manager.' The first verse I remember ran as follows :-

'I'm young man from the country, librarian I be.

Three hundred pounds and fifty more, a year they give to me ;

My place is but a sinecure, for naught have I to do.

But scribble on the theatres, and damn the actors, too.'

"That James Smith knew that he had failed to put down 'the Royal,' which he had worked so hard ' to accomplish, we have only to quote his own words : 'I have always understood that Barry Sullivan returned home with a small fortune. Quite right, Mr. Smith, he certainly did. In the 'Sportsman' of 17th instant you state that 'Miss Vandenhoff died of a broken heart,' etc. Whereas it is well known at home that consumption carried her off, after a long illness; but there is no 'romance' in consumption.

“In alluding to Miss Kyte, among other things you say : 'The lady had sailed for London a couple of days before Barry Sullivan was cheered off from Sandridge Railway Pier.' Yes, but you forgot to add that he travelled slowly, sailing from Brisbane in the s.s. Souchayo, via the Coral Seas, stopping at Java. Singapore, Calcutta, Egypt, etc., and taking altogether, over six months to reach England.— I am, sir, yours, etc., AMORY SULLIVAN.

"(son, and for 25 years Barry Sullivan's manager), late acting-manager and treasurer of Theatres Royal, Melbourne, Sydney, etc."

* * *

I won't make any apology for "killing" Mr. Amory Sullivan, as it has brought forth such an interesting and instructive letter; but I may say that a few months after Mr. Amory Sullivan's connection with the Theatre Royal, Sydney, ceased, I read with much regret, in a Sydney newspaper, of his death somewhere in Queensland. I believe I have the "cutting" still, and will hunt it up. Needless to say I am much gratified that Mr Amory Sullivan is still in the land of the living ; not to tell tales, but to establish facts. Now, I did not say that Mr. Amory Sullivan died in Sydney. If that gentleman will look up the "Sportsman" of August 10 he will find that my words were, "The later, now dead, was in Sydney a few years ago." Again my words are : "He was exceedingly seedy in appearance." Not 'needy,' Mr. Amory. My opening paragraph on the 10th fully explains why I consider Mr. Sullivan's ,early appearance in Melbourne a ''frost." The fact of there being £368 in the old Theatre Royal on Mr. Sullivan's first night, and £211 on his farewell performance proves, I think, that there was a falling off, my friend ! As I pointed out, the Australian stage was languishing for a star after Brooke left. But money taken at the doors does not make the stage representation brilliant and no one knows that better than Mr. Amory Sullivan.

I am not prepared to fall in with the opinion that the hotel of Archibald Menzies, in Latrobe-street, Melbourne, stood in the front rank. It was in a third-rate neighbourhood, stood a good distance off the street, and was hemmed in by stone buildings which were flush with the alignment line, and had a somewhat dingy appearance. But I will admit that it was a much better stamp of house than the Hope tavern, a dingy two-storied pub which stood on the corner of York-street and Barrack-lane (S.W.), or the Star Hotel, George-street North, Sydney, both of which Mr. Menzies kept before he went to Melbourne. Mr. Menzies left Latrobe-street in the mid-sixties, and built the present Menzies' Hotel at the corner of Bourke and William streets, a house deservedly holding a world-wide reputation.

If Mr Amory Sullivan will look up W. J. Lawrence's biography of his father, published 1893 by W. and G. Baird, 62 Ludgate Hill, E. C., London, he will see a long quotation from a letter of Mr. W. H. Campbell. And let me here interpolate something about Mr. Amory Sullivan's somewhat ungenerous allusion to the ''young barber's assistant of that name whom my father put into business;'' etc, The young barber's assistant" was Mr. John Campbell, who, when Barry Sullivan arrived in Melbourne, was managing the large business carried on by Mr. Bennett next door to the Theatre Royal, Bourke-street East. Mr. Bennett certainly did hairdress and shave, but his main business was that of a theatrical wigmaker and costumier, and Mr. John Campbell and his subsquent partner, Graham, were wigmakers, and I have no doubt, made many wigs for Mr. Barry Sullivan. The two —Campbell and Graham— left Bennett's service and opened for themselves in Swanston-street, and Mr. Barry Sullivan patronised them there, but that he set them up in business I very much doubt. John Campbell, to my certain knowledge, had private property, and I don't think Mr. Graham was without means. Anyhow, from poor Bennett's weakness for strong drinks, and his general neglect of business, the clientele followed Campbell and Graham. After a while Mr. Campbell sold out to his partner, and travelled, like Artemus Ward, with "wax figgurs," Mr. Campbell being himself the maker of the figures. While managing Mr. Bennett's business Mr. Campbell did all the artistic work in Madame Sohier's waxworks exhibition— not bad for a "young barber's assistant.'' Mr. Campbell travelled Tasmania with his 'wax figgurs,' and on reaching Sydney opened his show in Pitt-street in one of Uther's old buildings, where now stands the Imperial Arcade. William Caffyn, cricketer and hairdresser, then in business in George-street, near Elvy's (1871), wanted to go to England, and John Campbell bought him out. Campbell then sold the waxworks show to Johnny Gourlay, the Scotch comedian, and therein hangs another tale. Mr. John Campbell remained some years in George-street, and made money , enough to retire in dignified ease to the suburb of Burwood, Sydney, or at least he lived there— and may still—until he lost his energetic little wife some months ago. Mr. Amory Sullivan will have no difficulty, I think, in interviewing, the "young assistant barber, "John Campbell, any day in the reading room of the School of Arts, or at, I believe, his house in Burwood.

And here it may not be out of place to mention, re W. H. Campbell, that, though the supper was given to Messrs. Sullivan and Jefferson, and while these no doubt great actors have played together and met on and off the stage, I don't think Jefferson in his autobiography makes any mention of Barry Sullivan ! Mr. James Smith is still alive, and well able to take his own part in any controversy re theatricals in Melbourne in the early sixties. I prefer to make no further allusion to the ladies mentioned further than this : Miss Kyte's departure was a "nine days wonder," why she went being best known to herself and her family. Her mother (is it a coincidence?) died last week in Melbourne at a great age. Miss Vandenhoff's illness, perhaps, had nothing to do with the allegation that Mr. Barry Sullivan had neglected her, and that his name was tabooed in the Vandenhoff family. Notwithstanding her "consumption," she might have had a broken heart. Anyhow, Mr. Barry Sullivan's name is not mentioned in George Vandenhoff's book. Again allow me to express my gratification that the curtain has not yet been rung down on Mr. Amory Sullivan.

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.)

In a previous article ('Sportsman, 27/7/'04) I made mention of Avonia Jones' interest in Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Abraham Lincoln. As the letter, written to a friend in Melbourne, immediately after the tragedy, is extremely interesting I venture to give it. The letter is dated from Portland, State of Maine, May 1, 1865. In it Miss Jones says :— 'You have heard ere this that Abraham Lincoln is dead ; killed by one who believed that he was avenging the South ; but you do not know that the hand which struck the blow was that of one of my most intimate friends. I enclose you his portrait, and tell me if you think that such a face is that of an in famous assassin, as he is now branded. I have known John Wilkes Booth since he was four years old. He and his brother Edwin, three years his senior, were my childish playmates, and many happy hours we have spent together. John was over impetuous, enthusiastic and hot headed ; but kind-hearted, generous, and good-tempered. He was two years older than I am, and all three of us, as we grew up, retained a warm interest in each other's welfare, the success of either being a common delight. Edwin and I continued a constant correspondence, and I was mainly instrumental in bringing about his marriage with a dear friend since dead. Having no brother of my own, the Booths became such to me ; and when John and I met again, after a long absence, 10 months ago, the old fraternal relation was immediately resumed. Last winter, when I was performing in Washington, I saw a great deal of him. He played Romeo for my farewell benefit— it was his last performance on the stage, and a splendid piece of acting it was. . . He was intensely enthusiastic in the cause of the South, and told me in confidence that he had sent all his wardrobe to Nassau, and that as soon as the South met with any reverses he should go there, but would make all the money he could first, because the Confederates needed money as well as men. He had not acted for many months, but had been making a large fortune in oil speculations. One day I read him your letter, in which you alluded to Charlotte Corday. I remember now the look that passed over his face, and his wonder that such a woman had not arisen here. The last time I saw him was on the day I came from Baltimore to secure Colonel Nixon's exchange (which Miss Jones had obtained by her personal intercession with Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War). I ran after him to tell him the good news, at which he was overjoyed. He took me to the cars, kissed me, and bade me good-bye, and I never saw him more. Mother woke me early on the 15th of April with the news that President Lincoln had been assassinated. I simply felt shocked: but when she told me that he had fallen by the hand of John Wilkes Booth, all my thoughts centred in my old playmate and his family. Edwin Booth was playing an engagement at the Boston Theatre, and my first anxiety was on his account. I felt that I must go at once and see him. Mother and sister strenuously opposed it, for they did not want me mixed up in the affair owing to the intensely excited state of public feeling ; but at such a time how could I abstain from proving the genuineness and sincerity of my friendship? I went immediately to Boston, and, oh, how grateful he was ! I found him completely crushed by the blow, for, apart from his horror at John's act, it has ruined his career, which was a most brilliant one. And he seemed greatly troubled about the effect which the news would have upon his mother, who made an idol of John. I wanted to go back to New York, and the proposition was eagerly responded to; but when I reached that city I found that Mrs. Booth had gone on to Philadelphia to her daughter there, so that she might be near when John was captured. ... On the night of the assassination John managed to escape and was not discovered for a fortnight. He had fractured his leg in springing from the private box on to the stage of Ford's Theatre at Washington, rode 30 miles on horseback before the limb was set, and then had to limp on crutches into Virginia, where his friends represented him to be a wounded Marylander on his way home. At last he was tracked near Port Royal, and surrounded in a barn. When called upon to surrender he said that he never would while life remained. He was heavily armed, and as his 'brave' pursuers were afraid to enter and seize him, they set the barn on fire. It set my heart on fire to hear how, after his companion surrendered, he stood with his back against a burning hay-mow, calmly leaning on his crutch, while the flames hissed and crackled round him, determined to sell his life dearly. The roof above gave way, and he involuntarily looked up. At that moment a valiant sergeant fired at and mortally wounded him. He lived about three hours afterwards, and his last message to his mother was, 'Tell her I died for my country.' They brought his body to Washing ton, whither Edwin went to beg for it, but his request was refused. The remains of poor John were sewn up in a blanket — they would not allow even the rough box that had been made for them to be used, and he was buried, as the official announcement says, 'where no mortal eye can ever see him.' "

While admiring Miss Jones' loyalty to the friend of her childhood, one can scarcely sympathise with her in what she calls the cowardly acts of the soldiers pursuing the murderer of the popular President, seeing that Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln in the presence of his wife, and without a moment of warning. The murder may by some be looked upon as political and patriotic, but it was cowardly, nevertheless. However, that's only my opinion.

What memories crowd around Joseph Jefferson. ('Sportsman,' August 10, '04.) It has been said that he was 'discovered' in Melbourne. He arrived in that city, via Sydney, from California, in 1861 with a flourish of trumpets, advance agents, and mammoth posters. He opened in the wooden band-box; known now as the old Princess', in 'Rip Van Winkle,' and made his mark at once. He had not been playing many nights before Spring-street was deemed almost too small for the cab and carriage traffic which invaded the locality. The theatre was crowded in every part, and the playgoer who had not seen 'Rip' and Joe Jefferson was considered as benighted. Supporting Jefferson on his first appear ance were Mr. and Mrs. Robert Heir, Mrs. Alfred Phillips, Mr. J. C. Lambert, Clarence Holt (father of Bland of the same name), Richard Stewart, Fitzgerald, a stalwart Irish-American actor of the melodramatic order, and dear old sour-surly Jimmy Milne. Rip Van Winkle was perhaps Jefferson's character, and memory lingers on the many splendid points in it. His next best character was Asa Trenchard in 'Our American Cousin,' a part of which he was the original performer. Jefferson and Southern— the latter an Englishman—were stock actors at £10 a week each at Laura Keene's theatre in New York in 1857-58, when Tom Taylor wrote 'Our American Cousin' for the manageress. Jefferson was cast for Asa Trenchard a rough Kentucky backwoodsman, a character which Jefferson completely remodelled, and Southern for Lord Dundreary. The latter character was 'so shadowy and vapid,' as one critic styled it, that Southern threw it up, rather than risk what little reputation he had acquired. As this would have entailed his dismissal from the company and a severance of pleasant companionship, 'Jefferson filled in the outlines of the character with a number of oddities of gestures, gait, and gag, so as really to give it a certain amount of prominence, and to render it highly diverting. Thus amended, Southern consented to play it, made it a success, added to it new features from time to time, and when he carries the play with him to London — John Baldwin Buckstone being the Asa Trenchard— Lord Dundreary made a tremendous hit, and the unfortunate actor amassed considerable wealth by his incessant repetition of a part which he had originally rejected."

The late Richard Stewart was the Lord Dundreary of the Melbourne Princess', and right well old Dick played it.

I have seen Jefferson in over 20 of his characters, and could never tire of him. Salem Scudder in the 'Octoroon' (which had been introduced at the Princess' by Madame Duret and Mr. J. H. Le Roy, before Jefferson's advent, George Fawcett Rowe being the Salem Scudder), Solon Shingle, Bob Acres, Dogberry, Bottom the Weaver, Cornet Ollapod, Dr. Pangloss, Newman Noggs, Mazeppa (burlesque), Caleb Plummer ('Cricket on the Hearth'), Mr. Golightly ('Lend Me Five Shillings'), Graves ('Money'), Tobias Shortcut, and some others. 'Midsummer Night's Dream' was the first Shakespearian production Mr. Jefferson attempted, and the company at the Princess', who had been well drilled by G. V. Brooke and William Hoskins in the bard of Avon's plays, were rather sceptical of the American's ability to interpret 'Sweet Will.' They tittered a little, especially the ladies, at rehearsal, but Jefferson, in a quiet way, said, "Ah ! you may laugh, ladies, but you will find that my 'Bottom' will fill the house.'' And his 'Bottom' did fill the house for many nights.

If Jefferson had not been a great actor, he would have been a great painter, as it is, pictures from his brush are much valued. Unlike most of those of whom I have written, Joseph Jefferson is still on top in rural retirement in the United States.

Apropos Barry Sullivan ("Sportsman" 10/8/04), a correspondent, with the best intentions, draws my attention to a couple of omissions in the actor's personal history. I am not so sure that we have anything to do with the private history of Thespians. If we did meddle with such in the first half of the last century I am afraid we would cause much scandal, and perhaps be not always on the side of truth. It is, however, a fact that in his very readable book of reminiscences George Vandenhoff (himself an actor of much merit, and son of the great actor, John Vandenhoff, who died in 1861) makes no mention of Barry Sullivan whatever. Whether the story be one of romance or base desertion I am not prepared to say, but gossip says that Sullivan treated the lady shamefully. Miss Vandenhoff, sister of George, was a leading actress, a very pretty woman and supported her father in all his pieces. The romantic part of the story is that Miss Vandenhoff died broken-hearted, and that the name of Barry Sullivan was tabooed in the family. The story of Miss Kyte is well known in Melbourne, but no one outside the family circle ever quite got the actual facts. Mr. Ambrose Kyte, when lessee of the Theatre Royal, was a man of ample means and of humble origin. I have heard him on a public platform, when seeking a seat in Parliament declare that on his arrival in Port Phillip in 1840, an immigrant from Tipperary, he worked for ten shillings a week and saved four shillings out of it. His first venture was that of keeping a hay and corn store in Bourke-street, opposite the Eastern (or Paddy's) Market, where he afterwards built the row of fine houses and shops known as Kyte's Buildings, , one of which, by the way, was occupied for years by Mrs. Williams' waxworks exhibition— the first of the kind, I think in the Colonies-which were afterwards known as Kreitmayer's, Mrs. Williams having married the professor, though I quite forgot what Kreitmayer did "profess." Mr. Kyte's luck was always in, until close up to his death, when the tide turned. Anyhow he was a great friend of Sullivan's, and without doubt may be considered as a factor in the actor's fortune. Just before Sullivan's departure for England a banquet was given him, at which Ambrose Kyte presided, and at which eulogistic speeches were made. While the banquet was in progress and the speeches were being made, Miss Kyte was silently packing up her trunks preparatory to making a midnight flit. Any how, she left her home, much to the consternation of her friends. Some time elapsed, when it was discovered that the lady had sailed for London, a couple of

days before Barry Sullivan was cheered off from Sandridge Railway Pier. Mr Kyte was very prompt. He despatched his wife to London by the first steamer, and intercepted the lady before any damage was done. Mr. Sullivan's friends asserted that the actor knew nothing of the young lady's escapade, but there had been whispers of an engagement to marry and-well, you know people will talk. The romantic young lady returned with her mother to the paternal roof, and if everything did not end happily as in the story books, well, everything should have ended happily.

To Mr. Ambrose Kyte Australia is mainly indebted for the Burke and Wills' Exploring Expedition, his donation of £1000 being the nucleus of the fund which assisted the expedition on its unlucky journey.

Just to correct a typographical error. When conducting the Theatre Royal Melbourne, Barry Sullivan's right-hand man was his son, Amory Sullivan. At the beginning of his reign Mr. Sullivan would be heard to inquire if anyone had seen his son Amory. Towards the close of his reign Mr. Sullivan never inquired for his "son Amory." It was Mr Amory Sullivan who was always in request and some people did say that Mr. Barry Sullivan was trying to pass off his son Amory as his younger brother! Mr. James Smith alluded to Sullivan's bad temper ("Sportsman," 10/8/'04), but some actors would rouse the temper of the Angel Gabriel. Here is an instance : In 'As You Like It,' at a provincial theatre in an English midland county, Sullivan, of course, was the melancholy Jacques. Touchstone was represented by one of those clowns who disobey Hamlet, and speak more than is set down for them. This particular clown was under the impression that he could improve on Shakespeare. In the wrestling scene, when the wrestler was thrown, he (the clown) had to say, in relation to being out of breathe, "He cannot speak, my Lord !" In order to obtain a cheap laugh this clown said, "He says he cannot speak, my Lord!" which, of course, made the unthinking laugh and the judicious grieve. When the act drop fell Sullivan went over to where the would-be wit and comedian was standing, and said, "Touchstone was a fool, but not a damned fool, as you have made him. You have obtained a laugh, sir, but you have spoilt your part '' Had Mr. William Hoskins been about a simple 'damn' would not have sufficed.

Sullivan had the misfortune on the sixtieth night of the run of Colley Cibbers' adaptation of Richard III., to receive an unlucky sword thrust in the left eye, Mr. Sinclair, the Richmond, having made a mistake in the preconcerted business of the great fight in the final act. For some time the recovery of the sight of the eye was despaired of, but after lying twenty days and nights in utter darkness, Richard was himself again, seemingly all right, at least.

In this engagement at Drury Lane Sullivan performed Macbeth and Richard III on alternate nights during the engagement, the latter with 'new historical scenery' by William Beverley, and 'historically correct costumes' designed by Alfred Maltby from researches among acknowledged authorities.

(To be continued.)

As Mr. Amory Sullivan ('Sportsman,' 7/9/'04) is evidently unacquainted with Mr. W. H. Campbell, I may be permitted to quote the latter gentleman's letter to Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Barry Sullivan's biographer, in full. There is nothing uncomplimentary to the great actor in the letter, and I cannot conceive that Mr. W. H. Campbell can be an impostor, though Mr. Amory Sullivan fails to remember him.

Thus the biographer : "His (Barry Sullivan's) success was by no means assured at the outset, however, as the colonial players were not sufficiently off with the old love to be on with the new. In other words, they still retained wistful yearnings towards the prodigal who was fated

never to return. But Sullivan was not of that fibre to become disheartened under momentary coldness. It was an up-hill fight, but he conquered by sheer tenacity and strength of will.

"Mr. W. H. Campbell, a prosperous Ulster man, at present (1893) residing in San Francisco, writes as follows in an interesting communication to the author:

— 'I frequently met and was very well acquainted with both 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 ever set foot in the colonies, but he left for good before Sullivan's arrival there. The contrast between the two men, Irishmen as they were, was very striking. Brooke was good-natured, convivial, careless, and had moments of supreme inspiration. Sullivan, on the other hand, was practical, 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 Joe Jefferson, Fanny Cathcart, Heir, and a galaxy of lesser talent playing at the Princess'. I think they opened in 'Money;' Barry as Evelyn, Jefferson as Graves. A little supper was tendered those gentlemen and the two captains commanding the ships which brought them out to Australia. Of those that made merry that night only Mr. Jefferson, Captain D. H. Johnson, R.N.R., and myself remain to tell the tale. H. B. Donaldson, Sandridge, was there, and my fellow survivors doubtless remember how he and the genial C. L. Throckmorton went through the farcical ceremony of marrying the landlord's daughter over the broomstick for the special entertainment of our theatrical guests."

" 'It fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health, and in doing so I alluded to a keen, fussy controversy then 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 methods in regard to them being at variance with those formerly practised. My endeavor was to throw oil upon the troubled waters, and bring the unhappy dispute to an end, so I ventured to suggest to our friend the desirability of compromise, or such concession as

might please the ladies and satisfy popular clamor and prejudice."

" 'Jumping up, the tragedian replied in these characteristic words : "Do you think, sir," addressing me personally, "that I will concede ? No, sir ! Never, sir ! Never for a moment, sir ! Do you mean to say that I, Barry Sullivan, must stoop to the people of Melbourne ? No, sir! Far from it. I'll bring them up to me !" And he carried out 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 Guinness' Dublin porter. He was fond of praise, - though impatient of adverse criticism. 'Did you see my Don Caesar ?' he asked me on the street one day, after the production of 'Don Caesar de Bazan.' He fished for a compliment, and received a well-merited one.' "

Mr. W. H. Campbell renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Barry Sullivan, in San Francisco, early in 1876, whither he had gone to open the new Baldwin Theatre. Thus Mr. Campbell anent this interview : "Strolling up Market-street one afternoon I met Barry Sullivan, who invited me into the Baldwin Theatre, where a rehearsal was going on. As we chatted quietly in the back stalls his quick ear detected some mistake in the recital of the piece. 'What's that? What's that ? Horrible. That will never do, never do,' he muttered. Then he called out lustily, 'Stop ! stop ! Hold on, will you, there?' Like a flash he left my side, bounding over seats, footlights, and every impediment, and was on the stage amidst the performers before I could realise what was the matter. A good deal of his financial success he attributed, by the way, to his son, Mr. T. S. Amory Sullivan, whom he described to me as a very capable business man, who attended closely to details."

Surely Mr. Amory Sullivan must remember this Mr. W. H. Campbell.

In 1885 there appeared a pamphlet entitled, 'The Truth About the Stage.' It created some sensation owing tp its extreme pessimism, and was attributed to the late Hal Louther. In the pamphlet is the paragraph : "My own experience of this eminent tragedian (Sullivan) contrasted agreeably with the lying reports of my stage companions. If I had been fortunate enough to meet Mr. Sullivan at the commencement of my career, I should have been saved many years of toil and degradation. .... I have known his finest dramatic situations ruined by young actors who, through nervousness, have either forgotten some particular piece of business, or failed to give the proper cue. At the end of the act, when some poor fellow had gone to the tragedian's dressing-room to apologise for his shortcomings, instead of black looks and a curse; he received kind words of encouragement. On one occasion, when a persevering young actor ruined a grand scene in a Shakespearian play , I heard Mr. Sullivan interrupt his apology, when the curtain fell, with the following words : 'My dear boy, you did your best. You were a little nervous. You will do better next time.' "

Barry Sullivan's biographer says :— "It is satisfactory to find that Mr. W. H. Campbell's personal estimate of the Sullivan of the sixties agrees in the main with the impression left upon the mind of Mr. James Smith, the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics, who has now been associated with the fortunes of the 'Argus' for fully 40 years.' (This was written in 1893.) In a communication to the author, written some 12 months ago, apropos of our hero's career in the colonies, this accomplished journalist says, inter alia : 'As a man I did not like him. He was hard, cold and repellent, and his vanity amounted to a disease. He seriously believed that the British stage had produced only three 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 was almost childish. I could never detect any of the fire of genius in his performances; he possessed great talent and that 'infinite capacity for taking pains' which come 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 details connected with a theatre, from those of 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 in the 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 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 — a company scarcely less complete and efficient than Daly's. Every piece he produced was handsomely mounted, thoroughly rehearsed, and effectually 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. I wrote an advance criticism of some performance of Sullivan's, and a day or two afterwards I got into the compartment of a railway carriage on a suburban line, when he opened out upon me in a torrent of vulgar abuse in the presence of half a dozen other occupants of the compartment. His object was evidently to provoke me to strike him. But I preserved my own self-control, and ironically complimented him on his gentlemanly conduct and demeanor ; and he looked and acted like a man possessed by an evil spirit. Only a few months bfore he had dined at my house in company with Joseph Jefferson and Sir Charles Gavan Duffy. "

''Sullivan's reign at the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, was certainly not the least brilliant episode in the history of that theatre. He was one of the most hard working of managers and actors. He never spared himself, and he did not spare others. Indeed, he could not have succeeded or have fulfilled his duty to the public had he been indulgent or remiss. There was a good deal of person al magnetism in the man ; he could be almost winsome in his manners, but you felt that it was the attractiveness of the 'well-graced actor.' "

Mr. Amory Sullivan will admit that this is not a biased opinion given by one whom Mr. Amory Sullivan conceives was prejudiced against his father.

In connection with the name of Mr. W. C. Macready, I may mention that while Mr. Barry Sullivan was at the heyday of his success in the management of the Royal, a son of W. C. Macready turned up in Melbourne. The young man had been an officer in the army in India, led a fast life, left the army, and became stranded in the City by the Yarra. He appealed to Sullivan, and that gentleman gave him a ''show.' Young Macready appeared for two nights as Captain Absolute, in the ''Rivals." The piece was well mounted, and the support excellent. I saw the actor's debut. In face and figure he recalled the picture of his father, but there all comparison ended. He preached, mouthed and ranted by turns. There was an excellent house the first night, but on the second night a half-filled house ended Mr. Macready's engagement. He got lower in the social scale, and dropped to the grade of "a super," content to carry on a banner. Finally he left the stage in awful disgrace. I forget which Melbourne theatre he was at at the time, but in a state of delirium tremens be appeared among the company one night in a state of nudity. A blanket was thrown over the unfortunate man, he was removed, and the stage door barred against him in the future. I forget what became of him.

Mr. James Smith, "the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics," was born near Maidstone, in the county of Kent, and took to literary pursuits before he was out of his teens. He contributed occasionally to London "Punch," which brought him into contact with Douglas Jerrold, with whom he was associated in the "Illuminated Magazine," for which he wrote regularly. At the age of 20 he was editor of a country newspaper, and a year or two later had the chair of the Salisbury "Journal." This post he held from 1849 to 1854, in which latter year he came to Australia. In 1856 he joined the "Argus" staff as leader-writer, fine art and dramatic critic, and has been almost uninterruptedly connected with that paper ever since. He it was who advocated the institution of a National Gallery, and was one of the founders and the second editor of Melbourne "Punch." He was also editor of the "Evening Mail," the first afternoon paper published in Melbourne. From 1863 to 1868 he was Librarian at the Parliament Houses, an appointment conferred upon him by, I believe, the late Sir John O'Shannassy. His appointment created some jealousy, and one or two members, notably William Fraser, of Creswick, took exception to his appointment. Without doubt Mr. James Smith contributed to the newspapers while Parliamentary Librarian, but I doubt if he slated the actors as Mr. Amory Sullivan's quoted doggerel suggests. While Mr. Smith was Librarian he remodelled, classified and catalogued the library. He has lectured in public for 40 odd years, and in 1860 wrote and staged a drama entitled "Garabaldi." It was produced at the Prince of Wales' Theatre in Lonsdale-street — the same old building known in the early fifties as Rowe's Hippodrome, and later on as the Lyceum, when the Marsh Troupe occupied it, and yet again the Prince of Wales Theatre, when Richard Younge was stage manager, and M'Kean Buchanan, the spluttering American tragedian, was the star. To be just to Mr. Buchanan, there was one character in which he was in comparable— Sir Harcourt Courtly in Boucicault's "London Assurance." Mr. Smith also produced a successful farce —" A Broil at the Cafe" — the scene of which was laid at Spiers and Pond's Cafe de Paris, the piece being produced at the Royal. Mr. Smith has been a prolific writer, and a well read one. G. V. Brooke and James Smith were bound together by strong personal ties, and when Brooke, having made his final appearance at the Royal, was induced to give a short series of readings at the Old Exhibition Building, in William street, James Smith and Mr. and Mrs. Robert Heir assisted. I cannot, at this distance of time, conceive that Mr. James Smith and Mr. Barry Sullivan were unfriendly, as I have seen them together on more than one occasion. Many instances are recorded in which Barry Sullivan showed temper. Without question his conduct of the Theatre Royal was on the highest grade. In his day Melbourne was scandalised by a set of society poodles, who carried their va garies into the dress circle and private boxes of the Theatre Royal. One lady, the wife of one of the gentlemen mentioned by Mr. W. H. Campbell, carried on high jinks, and one night, with some military officers, so scandalised the pit that the denizens of that part of the house loudly called for Mr. Sullivan, who did not happen to be engaged on the stage that night. Mr. Sullivan, seeing how "the land lay," immediately entered the box and removed the occupants, amidst the cheers of the house. On another occasion he marched majestically before a well-dressed snob, whom he was removing from the dress circle, when the snob kicked the tragedian under the coat tails. Sullivan spun round like a teetotum— it was at the stairs— and asked, "You kicked me, sir?" 'I did ! " was the reply. Sullivan hit out with his right, and with one well-directed blow sent the cad reeling to the bottom of the stairs. In the early seventies. Mr. Barry Sullivan made an appearance at the Liverpool Police Court on a charge of having assaulted a stage carpenter, of which more anon.

(To be continued.)