ANNALS OF THE TURF AND OTHER PASTIMES. In New South Wales and Elsewhere. NO. XIX

The jealousy exhibited by Mrs. Hudson Kirby against Mr. Nesbitt was roused by several incidents; first business was awfully bad, James Stark, Mrs. Kirby's affianced husband, had been playing to empty benches, so poor, as pointed out, that salaries were paid nightly. We may guess that the treasury contained only the night's receipts when the management "walked the ghost" in that fashion. The actors, to be on the safe side, stuck to the arrangement, as any night might close the theatre. When Nesbitt appeared things altered, as if by a magician's wand; the houses were packed, the actor evoking the utmost enthusiasm, on the nights, alternately with Stark, when he appeared, and the treasury filled. Mrs. Kirby was an imperious lady who could brook no rival near her coming husband's throne. There was a Sydney actor named Hambledon in the theatre. With him Mrs. Kirby first quarrelled, and in front of the curtain one night, with alleged tears in her eyes, she complained to the audience that she had been "insulted by those damned Britishers!" Mrs. Hudson Kirby was herself a favourite with the 'Frisco audiences, and the sight of their favourite in tears drew not ears, but revolvers. Nesbitt was playing Richard III, the house, as usual, was crowded, and the audience, naturally sympathising with the lady, called loudly for Nesbitt. When he came before the curtain he was so assailed that he could not make himself heard for a while. When he did get the ear of the audience he explained that he had no quarrel with anyone in the theatre; that he had never insulted anyone, and least of all a lady. But while making on effort to explain what he thought was the cause of the complaint, he was stopped by a man in the body of the pit exclaiming with an American drawl, "Shoot the b—r"— not beggar. Instead of leaving the stage under such intimidation, as a timid actor would, Nesbitt stepped to the footlights, and opening the breast of "Richard's" shirt, said firmly and defiantly, "Shoot, and be damned. I come from a country where men do not fear bullets." Very brave, but a dangerous experiment in front of a lot of red-shirted, well-bearded, half-drunken diggers from every clime under the sun. But Mr. Nesbitt's melodramatic attitude and fearless words changed the erstwhile antagonistic audience into friends, and the play proceeded uninterruptedly.

The incident upset the weak man. He flew to his usual consoler, brandy; just a little at first, by way of sedative, his usual remedy in cases of annoyance, and as usual, he took on overdose. During the next performance, while under the influence of liquor, something happened which put him in mind of the Hudson Kirby incident, and remembering the shoot and the "beggar" episode, he without an saving clause, condemned the audience and Americans generally to the care of his Satanic majesty and the warm regions generally. This was the signal for a general outburst of temper in the audience, and Nesbitt's friends feared for his safety. In an English or Australian theatre decayed vegetables or an occasional ancient egg would be the most unpleasant weapon used by an irritated audience, but in San Francisco in 1849, and with a deadly hatred against "Sydney ducks," the shooting irons were the argumentative measures introduced. And as the weapons were always handy to the diggers, who shot first and inquired afterwards, Nesbitt's friends wisely smuggled him from the theatre, and left the piece to be finished as best the management could. Mr. Nesbitt subsequently had an engagement at Macguire's Opera House, but details are meagre. When the Starks came to Sydney in 1853, Mr. Stark expressed his regret at the 'Frisco incident, but poor Nesbitt had by that time joined his fathers on the Golden Shore.

So many obstacles were placed in Nesbitt's way by those opposed to everything English— "blawsted English," as Henry Squires once said— particularly if that English had an Australian flavour about it, by the people of San Francisco that he became disgusted with his surroundings, and again had recourse to the bottle, lost his prestige upon the stage, and finally determined to try his luck at the "diggings." At the goldfields he found (what he ought to have known) that his strength was not equal to pick and shovel work, and he returned to 'Frisco. At this time he suffered terribly from rheumatic gout, and to relieve the pain, had recourse to morphine, and could take a grain and a half, said to be enough for five men, without any ill effects to himself.

During Nesbitt 's stay in California the place was infested with lawless characters from all quarters of the globe. Many of these outlaws were from Sydney— "old hands," the dregs of the convict system. On his return to 'Frisco, Nesbitt encountered a gang, who promptly proceeded to strip him, search his clothing, and generally "stick him up." Enfeebled as he was, resistance was out of the question. But while the process of searching was going on, Nesbitt recognised some Sydney faces among the gang, and saw some hope for himself. He asked them if they did not remember him? They did not, and did not care a "continental" who he was. When he announced that he was Nesbitt, of the Victoria Theatre Sydney, they were incredulous. If he were Nesbitt, let him give them "a bit of some play," Just to let them see. Nesbitt recited for them "Tell's Address to his Native Mountains," when one of the gang said: "You must be Nesbitt; no other man could recite that like him." The deadbeat actor's property was returned to him. He was hauled off to the "brigand's camp," and treated to the best of everything. They made him rest with them for a while, and, like Good Samaritans, sent him on his way rested. They offered him money, but Nesbitt was not without coin, though sorely hampered by illness.

In 1852 Mr. Nesbitt returned to Sydney. The voyage from the Golden Gate had so recruited his health that he was enabled to accept an engagement from Gordon Griffiths at the Victoria Theatre for a round of characters. His friends noticed that his fire had gone out, but enough was left to show what the man had been before he made the fatal trip to California, for fatal it was to his future career upon the stage. During the Victoria Theatre season new critics had come to the front, and these had not seen Nesbitt in his prime; yet they eulogised his acting, and the season was generally successful.

We next hear of Nesbitt early in 1853. Mr. Banks, then resident in Melbourne met an old acquaintance (James Holdstock, of Maitland), who informed him that Nesbitt was then lying dangerously ill at Passmore's Sydney Hotel. This hotel was in Queen-street, down near Flinders-street, and opposite "Bowden's Folly," as the old Western Market foundations were called. Bowden was an old-time city councillor, who caused a heap of money to be spent on the preliminaries of the markets. The foundations remained for years monuments of Bowden's folly. I think Mr. Passmore was an old Sydneyite, hence the name of the hotel. There is a big story hanging to this old-time Melbourne hostelry, which may be told another time. Mr. Banks—it was a Sunday morning— went to the hotel and inquired for Nesbitt. The landlord refused admission; but as Nesbitt had left his family in Sydney, and was alone in Melbourne, Banks would not take a refusal. Passmore said that Nesbitt was dying and ought to be let die in peace. All the more reason, thought Sam Banks, that he ought to be looked after. Sam expressed his determination to stay all night, or until he had seen his friend. At last Passmore gave in. On reaching the room he found Nesbitt lying as if in death, but the actor recognised his friend, and begged him to obtain for him his usual remedy, morphine. "A grain and a half of morphine will save my life," wailed the actor. Banks called at almost every chemist's shop for the morphine, but was refused by one and all; the quantity, they said, was enough to kill five men! Despairing of getting relief from his friend, Banks was returning to Passmore's to report the failure of his mission, when he met Dr. W. H. Campbell, to whom he was well known. The doctor lived in a pretty villa cottage, which he built at the corner of William-street and Bourke-street, afterwards the offices of Robert Cooper Bagot, the secretary of the Victoria Racing Club, and later still of the Volunteer Force, but on the site of which is now built Menzies' Hotel. Banks asked the doctor if he would give a dose of one grain and a half of morphine to a patient, and Campbell's reply was that he never knew but one man who could take such a dose, and that man was Francis Nesbitt McCron, the actor!

Banks explained the circumstances, the doctor gave the order for the morphine, and while Sam went for the drug the doctor made his way to the Sydney Hotel. The morphine was administered, and after seeing the patient in a peaceful sleep, Campbell and Banks left, promising to return early in the morning. Instead of finding a dying or dead man, they found Nesbitt up, shaving himself, and as bright and brilliant as if he never had a day's illness. That same Monday morning Nesbitt visited the Queen's Theatre, where he closed with the lessees and managers— Charles Young and John P. Hyde—for a season of 14 nights and a clear benefit. With a little extra care and total abstinence he played the engagement successfully, and then left to join his family in Sydney. Mr Banks followed soon after, and the pair agreed that after Banks had wound up some business which he had in hand, the pair should travel together. It was ordained otherwise; he had recovered his health and was anxious after a rest in the bosom of his family in Sydney to continue his colonial tour. The Victorian goldfields were in full swing, gold was being had for the seeking, theatres were being erected everywhere anything like a population had gathered. Though the theatres could not compare with the palaces of to-day, they satisfied the wants of the mining population, and the money was rolling in. With a steady man keeping him company, Nesbitt might yet have reaped a golden harvest; but in an unlucky moment, a freak, a whim, he, quite unknown to his family, shipped for Geelong, where he at once commenced an engagement which proved to be his last. The play for the evening, the fateful 28th of March 1853, was a favourite one with Nesbitt, Sheridan Knowles' "William Tell," which was played without a hitch up to the last act. After the curtain had fallen it was observed that there was something wrong with Mr. Nesbitt. He was seen to fall backwards, and on going to see what was the matter it was found that the actor had swooned. The sorrowful episode resembled in some measure the last appearance of the great Edmund Kean. That genius, whose brilliance had been dimmed by excesses such as Nesbitt suffered from, fell fainting on the shoulder of Charles, was carried from the stage, and never made another appearance. The actors in the Geelong theatre, knowing Mr. Nesbitt's weakness for alcoholic drinks, thought that his swoon was the result of over indulgence, that he was in fact what would be called to day "suffering recovery." What do you think the imbeciles did? The members of the theatrical profession are usually very lenient to their brethren who are weak, but on this occasion the sympathetic instinct was absent. The unfortunate actor was convoyed to the watchhouse. The peculiarities of the symptoms aroused the suspicion of the lockup-keeper, who immediately sent for medical aid. The moment the doctor saw the patient he diagnosed the case as not one of alcohol, or yet suffering a recovery, and ordered Nesbitt's immediate removal to the hospital. This was done, but as the hospital authorities were not aware of his morphine habit, or the cause of his exhaustion., their efforts to resuscitate the patient were unavailing, and Nesbitt's troubled life was ended. "Thus on March 29, 1853, at the early age of 44 years, the stage lost its bright particular star, his family an affectionate husband, and his friends the society of a genial, accomplished gentleman."' Such was the eulogy passed upon Mr. Nesbitt on his decease. The remains of the actor were interred in Geelong Cemetery. Some three years after, when another erratic genius, Gustavus Vaughan Brooke, was playing an engagement in Geelong, he visited the grave of his old friend, and, finding it unmarked, caused to be erected a monument to keep green the memory of the man whom he denominated his great predecessor in the affections of the Australian people. In honour of this thoughtful tribute of Brooke, a local poet composed some lines, which may be reproduced:

Neglected and forgotten the dead tragedian lay

Without a stone to mark the spot where he mouldered into clay,

Until a kindred spirit came, who, from green Erin's shore,

Elisha-like, the mantle of dramatic genius wore.

He gazed upon the naked sod, and then, with upturned eyes,

Bade to his countrymen and God a fitting tribute rise.

Thus generous hearts assimilate, when there's a touch within

Of universal nature, which makes the whole world kin.

In the spring of 1858 Mr. and Mrs. James Stark came to Sydney, and commenced an engagement under John Gordon Griffiths' management. Amongst the company engaged to support the transatlantic stars was a Sydney native, Thos. Willis, who is spoken of as a juvenile actor of great ability. He had been, in fact, a pupil of Mr. Nesbitt's, and profited greatly by his master's tuition. Mr. Willis had a great affection for Nesbitt. He has heard how his friend had been treated in 'Frisco, and believing that the Starks had a share in the trouble, he savagely assailed Mr. Stark on the stage in the presence of the company. It was only by the interposition of friends that Willis was prevented assaulting the American actor. For this grave offence Willis had to leave the company, and the knowledge of the circumstances reaching the public ear, the Starks suffered until the facts had become known. The American couple expressed their regret at the death of Nesbitt, and solemnly, declared their innocence of having had any hand in the Californian trouble. Young Willis did not long survive his friend. A few months after his vindication of Nesbitt on the stage at the old Vic he died, and the profession lost a promising actor. The Starks visited Melbourne, Hobart Town, and Launceston, and made "quite a pile." After a few years they returned, but found things theatrical mightily changed. G. V. Brooke had taken Australia by storm, and had such a hold on the play-going public that when the Starks appeared in tragedy and high comedy the American accent became distinctly marked, and the pair played to Luke warm audiences; in fact they utterly failed. On this occasion they further explained the Nesbitt-'Frisco business. They said that it had been published that Nesbitt had spoken disrespectfully of the Californian people, but that they (the Starks) did not believe it; that it was an unfortunate business, and that if Nesbitt had been less stubborn and wayward all would have been well. The Starks have long since passed to their rest, and like Nesbitt, "after life's fitful fever, sleep well.”

(To be Continued.)