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forward and took the poor, shabby mother in her arms and made much of her. It was a very pretty sight. I presently prevailed on Polly to accept a trifling sum towards the funeral expenses and the purchase of a bit of black,' by which the humbler classes set so much store. Her gratitude knew no bounds. I met her a few days later, her picturehat surmounted by an enormous butterfly bow of black crape. The only object she possessed of any value was a huge coloured silk neckerchief, what is called a 'kingsman,' which she wore about her shoulders. 'If I 'ad this washed and ironed,' she

asked me, 'would you wear it?" 'Of course I would,' I answered. And in due course she presented me with a splendid Oriental wrap, the history of which goodness only knows, and I gave her an uninteresting new one in exchange. I prized her gift very highly, and I was very sorry when at last it was stolen from me.

The only other financial operation of any magnitude in which I was ever engaged with Polly was one autumn some years later when she wished to raise a loan to take herself, father, mother, brother, and Mary Anne (a baby whom Providence had sent to console her, poor thing! for the loss of John) on hopping expedition. 'How much do you want?' I asked. 'Well, yer see, dear,' said Polly, with apologetic hesitancy, 'I want a good deal. There's

four of us, not countin' Mary Anne, and there's one or two noo things I should 'ave to buy. I'm afraid I can't do it all under ten shillin's. Yer know, yer can't go 'oppin' any'ow.' Evidently there are laws of fashion that prevail in Kentish fields as on the plages of Dieppe and Trouville.

CHAPTER IX

'Summer season' at the Haymarket-The meanness of the 'dead-head''House full'-Bold advertisement - Stagedoor beggars-A pious crossing-sweeper - A distressed foreigner.

NOTHING is more difficult to gauge by the eye than the holding capacity of a theatre. I am able to speak with authority with regard to one, the Haymarket, as I once rented it for a summer season. At that time it held (I speak from experience) £12 a night. I understand, however, that Messrs. Maude and Harrison have made certain structural alterations, and that nowadays it holds considerably more than that modest amount. I believe that the summer of 1884 was the hottest we had had for twenty-two years. The Fisheries,' or whatever the particular exhibition in the far west of London chanced to be that year, did all the business. I had an excellent company and a very pleasant little programme. I was the pioneer of the revival of the triple bill, which afterwards had a prolonged vogue, but not, unfortunately, during my

six weeks of management. We began the evening with 'The Waterman,' with young Sims Reeves in his father's part of Tom Tug, Henry Kemble as Robin (with song), and charming Miss Julia Gwynne as Wilhelmina. This was followed by an oldfashioned two-act comedy, a version by Walter Pollock of Le Reveil du Lion,' which we called Evergreen,' in which I played the principal partan old beau who danced, sang, played the violin, fenced, had most of the good things to say, and who seldom left the centre of the stage. I was ably assisted by clever Miss M. A. Victor, Harry Conway, and Miss Julia Gwynne, who made a most engaging ingénue in a white foulard Empire frock. I made the period 1810, and designed the costumes myself (my sketches were afterwards used for the dresses in Beau Austin'). We wound up the bill with one of the broad old farces, either Two in the Morning' or 'Twenty Minutes with a Tiger,' I forget which, with Kemble and me in the principal parts. All the press notices were most favourable, some of them enthusiastic, but the public stayed away. I permanently injured my hand-writing by the number of 'complimentary' passes I had to sign. Every night waxed hotter than the night before. bought a few gross of Japanese fans from Liberty's, very pretty ones, with raised birds and flowers upon them. They cost nearly threepence each whole

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sale. I sprinkled these about the house for the comfort of my audience; but it was enough to turn anyone into a cynic. I discovered that two or three people came in early with orders, collared five or six fans apiece, and left before the performance began!

'What time shall I bring you the "second returns"?' inquired my acting manager early in the

run.

'Just before my pathetic scene, if you please,' I replied.

The regular box-office-keeper came to me very good-naturedly and told me he had had an offer to go immediately to Miss Mary Anderson; that, as there was no booking for my entertainment, he felt he had better save me his salary. I thanked him and let him go, and promoted to his place an extraordinarily intelligent lad, a youth who in the Bancrofts' time was one of the clerks. I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I used to look into his office in the morning, glancing at the outsides of my letters in the way I had seen Bancroft look at his.

'And how's the booking, Leverton?' I would ask.

Without turning a hair he would gravely reply. 'Well, sir, Bond Street's looking rather healthier. There are two balconies booked for Thursday.'