The Minor Theatres of London

THE minor shows of London form a subject of rather wide scope ; it embraces those numerous popular entertainments necessarily pertaining to a great city, commencing with the minor theatre proper, graduating to musichalls and open-air exhibitions, and ending with “the penny-gaff,” — a theatrical entertainment of the vilest description, supplied, though forbidden by law, to the young of both sexes, of the very lowest class.

Beginning with the minor theatres, we may observe, in a preliminary kind of way, that the London stage at the present time is a very different thing to what it was even a quarter of a century back. In the old and palmy days of theatrical affairs, the distinction between major and minor theatres was very broad. The major theatres were established under letters-patent from the crown, which conferred many valuable privileges, and the actors were honored—if honor it were — by the appellation of “ His Majesty’s Servants.” The minor theatres were simply licensed by the Lord Chamberlain with powers of a very limited description. The major theatres were empowered to play tragedy, comedy, drama, domestic or otherwise, opera, farce, ballet, — whatever, in fact, could come into the category of dramatic representation. The minors were really confined to music, singing, dancing, dumb show, “ground and lofty tumbling,” and tight and slack rope performances.

Some enterprising managers began to insinuate into their entertainments musical interludes and trifling pieces of which no notice was taken by the superior members of their craft; and they crept on step by step until farces and what were termed melodramas — the first sensational pieces — were placed upon their respective boards. But all this was upon sufferance. By and by the encroachments stretched to positive infringements of the rights and privileges of the patent theatres, and then the law was appealed to. The ultimate result, however, of a long and keenly contested struggle was an act of Parliament, which threw open to all theatres alike the right to play all entertainments sanctioned by the law.

During the battle of the theatres, what was known as the legitimate drama began to wane. It had received a severe shock in the disappearance from the stage of the famous tragedian Edmund Kean, and the destruction of the patents of the great theatres — the homes of tragedians and comedians who had been carefully trained in provincial theatres — may be said to have given it the coup de grâce. Those actors were dispersed, and a tragedy or comedy by the old dramatists, excellently played in its subordinate parts as in its principal characters, became a thing of the past.

It is true that spasmodic attempts have been made since to resuscitate a taste for the old tragedies and comedies.

Charles Kean endeavored to accomplish it with the aid of gorgeous dresses and magnificent scenery, but failed. The veteran Phelps still floats about the London stage, enveloped in that Shakespearian mantle conferred upon him at a public banquet by William Charles Macready on his retirement from the stage, — a phantom oftragic art. Fechter has attempted to carry London by storm — although he amazed and confounded his audiences — by playing Hamlet in a yellow wig. Mademoiselle Stella Colas sought to restore Shakespeare to the foot-lights by representing Juliet as a sentimental Parisian young lady, — not an altogether unpleasing representation, by the way; and Mrs. Scott Siddons has proved to us what a fascinating creature that most lovable of all Shakespeare’s women, Rosalind, must have been, if she closely resembled her : still, so far as the resuscitation of the purely legitimate drama is concerned, without avail. Indeed, so little faith have theatrical managers had in these attempted revivals, that, as a rule, the plays of the old dramatists have been, on these occasions, put on the stage by them in the most slovenly way. A weak and wretchedly inefficient cast has been supplemented by horribly old scenery and more dreadful supernumeraries. The public, which is mostly keen-sighted in its own interest, has therefore refused to accept the “ Brummagem ” as the genuine article. It insisted upon a better setting to the polished gem, and, not getting it, declined any farther part in the transaction.

On the first liberation from their bonds, the managers of the minor theatres made a dash at Shakespeare and other contemporary dramatists ; but although they were able to produce the pieces, they failed to supply the actors, and failure was the result. It is a somewhat remarkable fact that the efforts which succeeded in throwing open all theatres alike to the performance of the works of the highest dramatic literature should have resulted in almost driving it altogether out of the field.

Covent Garden Theatre, so long the home of tragedy and comedy, the scene of the triumphs of a long line of celebrated actors and actresses, in which the names of Mrs. Siddons, the Kembles, and Miss O’Neill shine resplendent, soon gave up the attempt to compete with the smaller theatres on their ground, and resigned itself to be, and was, resolved into an Italian Opera House. Drury Lane Theatre, with the memories of Garrick, Kean, Macready, James Wallack, and other great men racking its brain, staggered about in the fight like a beaten man. At one time it took to equestrianism and great “ bare-backed ” riders, and has since wandered deliriously into any path whither the manager for the time being thought the public was beckoning it. While the Haymarket, the third patent theatre which, under the management of Webster, saw “ The Bridal ” of Beaumont and Fletcher and “ The School for Scandal” of Sheridan acted throughout as they never had been before and as probably they never will be again, has glided into representations by Buckstone, Sothern, and Compton, and Compton, Sothern, and Buckstone.

Having, then, no prescribed major theatres for the performance of what is known as the legitimate drama, one may be tempted to ask, “ What is a London minor theatre?” That question we will attempt to answer.

The minor theatres referred to in the preceding remarks are still in full vigor, and we will make a flying visit to the most prominent of them.

In the West Central district of Lonhe largest number of them are congregated together within the radius of little more than a mile. They all hugged the vicinity of the patent theatres, and for many years they received no accession of numbers. Indeed, in 1735 an act was passed to limit the number of theatres. But whether that act has been repealed by the last act of Parliament regulating theatres we do not pretend to say; but within three or four years several new theatres, all in the same neighborhood, have been erected and opened, while others, in the course of building, will soon be added to the list. Managers of old standing and well-tried experience shake their heads at the new experiments, but actors of mediocre talents, whose name is legion, are elate; for situations will become plentiful, and even very moderate talent will command higher prices. Between the two the public betrays serenity : it is neither buoyant nor depressed; it sadly needs “good ” entertainments, but guiding its anticipations by its knowledge of the past, if it is hopeful it is not too sanguine.

If anything will, however, tend to bring about a healthier condition of dramatic art, it will be through energetic theatrical competition. Managers are already bidding high for the best dramas, the best actors, and the best scenic effects. Those managers who desire even to hold their own must at least keep pace with their rivals ; and if there be any to suffer, which is by no means a necessary consequence, the public at least will be the gainer.

Many of the minor theatres, it may be here mentioned, affix the word “ Royal ” to their distinctive titles ; but while the patent theatres used it by right as holding letters-patent direct from the crown, the minor theatres assume it on the ground that her Majesty or some member of the royal family, prince or princess, has paid a visit to their theatre.

Of these is the Theatre “ Royal ” Adelphi, in the Strand, one of the main thoroughfares of London, which runs parallel to the Thames from Temple Bar to Charing Cross. This theatre dates from ]8o6, and has from the commencement to the present time kept on in its own way, playing dramas of the sensational kind, as well as pantomime, farce, and burlesque. It has among its associations the production of “ Tom and Jerry,” which was played, we believe, for three hundred nights, without a break, excepting the intervals between its seasons. The original and celebrated Charles Mathews was once its lessee, in conjunction with Frederick Yates, the father of the present Edwin Yates. John Reeve and Buckstone played beneath its roof for many years together; the “Colleen Bawn” was produced here, and ran for many hundred nights. Here Miss Bateman achieved an extraordinary success as Leah, and here Mr. Fechter has appeared in Dickens’s “ No Thoroughfare ” and Wilkie Collins’s “ Black and White.” The present theatre was built by Mr. Benjamin Webster, one of the best and most versatile actors who ever graced a theatre. He is the founder and master of the Dramatic College, and, though in his seventieth year, still acts with unabated excellence.

Near to it stands the Lyceum Theatre, erected in 1765, burnt down in 1815, burnt down again in 1829, and reopened in 1830. It has been everything by turns and nothing long, — tragedy, comedy, opera, sensation dramas, pantomime, burlesque, cum multis aliis. Here the notorious Madame Vestris once displayed that leg of faultless symmetry, which was modelled, in compliment to its beauty, by Brucciani ; here Balfe acted in his own operas ; here the Harrison Pyne troupe discoursed excellent English music; here Fechter became for a time lessee, and left it a sadder and we fear a poorer man ; here the cancan was introduced not long back, it is said, by a veritable cocotte from the Mabille ; and here, perhaps in penitence, the delinquent manager has produced “ The Rightful Heir,” by Lord Lytton, and the last new play by Westland Marston, but without overflowing his treasury.

The St. James Theatre is placed in a very aristocratic quarter. Around it dwell princes, dukes, earls, and bishops. Contiguous to it are the crack West-End clubs and the residence of the Prince of Wales. It is a handsome theatre, and was built and opened in 1835 by John Braham, the celebrated singer, not long after he had confided to a committee ot the House of Commons that no inducement of any kind whatsoever should cause him to become the manager of a theatre. It bears the odor of more failures than successes. At a certain part of the year it is occupied by a French company, the excellence of which may be judged from the fact that it has numbered among its artistes the great Rachel, Ravel, Frederick Lemaitre, Dupuis, and last, and in the interest of startling effects not least, Mademoiselle Schneider. This theatre has been taken by Mrs. John Wood, well known in the theatrical circles of New York. It has been asserted that she is about to carry on her campaign with some special and novel claims to success.

The Olympic Theatre, situated in Wych Street, near to the Strand, was built and opened in 1806 by the famous old equestrian, Philip Astley. It subsequently fell into the hands of Robert William Elliston, and afterwards into those of Scott, the original proprietor of the Adelphi. It changed hands many times after this, falling lower in the scale of respectability, until it became a kind of refuge for destitute actors and a resort for the scum of the vicinity. While in this condition Madame Vestris selected it for her first essay in a managerial capacity. Nothing could be greater than the public surprise at this step, for the theatre was placed in a very narrow, dirty street, surrounded by filthy, squalid slums. Undeterred by this circumstance, Madame converted the sty into an elegant French drawing-room. She surrounded herself with accomplished actors, among whom may be enumerated Liston, Farren, and John Brougham, and with clever actresses, and pretty as well. With a compact little army of the best light comedians of the day, and assisted by clever, sparkling pieces and burlesques by Planche, Charles Dauce, Brougham, and others, she not only drew crowded audiences, but she attracted to her charming little theatre — disreputable as the neighborhood was — the very cream of the English aristocracy. She was, however, not content to leave well alone, but transferred herself and company to the Lyceum Theatre, — and failed. The Olympic Theatre was afterwards burnt down, but was rebuilt on a much handsomer scale. It was leased by one Watts, who embezzled the funds of an insurance company with which to carry on his speculation. When the day of inevitable discovery came, and he was consigned to a prison. he destroyed himself in his cell. In this theatre Robson established his fame. The Olympic is now in the possession of Mr. Benjamin Webster, who occasionally acts there.

It was at the Princess’s Theatre, in Oxford Street, that Charles Kean endeavored to sustain the legitimate drama upon a principle initiated by Macready; which was to combine the most popular works of the best old dramatists with the aids and appliances of magnificent scenery and splendid but accurately correct costumes. He carried out this idea at a vast expense, but with comparatively poor pecuniary reward. The conception was good, but he omitted one important element of success, —a strong cast. His own abilities, aided by those of his wife and one or two other artists worthy of mention, were insufficient to satisfy the expectations of the public. It admired the scenery and dresses, but it wanted good subordinate actors as well ; those not being forthcoming, the public grew indifferent, the lessee’s efforts were rewarded with the nickname “ upholstery management,” and the enterprise came to a bad end. At this theatre that excellent actor, perhaps the best melodramatic actor the stage has ever known, James Wallack. may be said to have taken his farewell of a British public ; and here Mr. Dion Boucicault has been running riot with “ Arrah na Pogue,” the “ Streets of London,” “After Dark,” and other such sensational productions.

With Charles Kean’s management all attempts to resuscitate the “ legitimate drama ” on a decent scale may be said to have ended. The respective managers of the old and the very new theatres have applied themselves to what has been aptly described as the “ presentation of contemporary subjects treated in a contemporary spirit.” Mr. T. W. Robertson is at present the most successful exponent of the new style, and three of his latest efforts have been played recently at three of the London theatres at the same time. One of these theatres is the Gaiety, a spick and span brand-new theatre erected on the site of the most lugubrious of music-halls in the Strand. It is an exceptional theatre in intention and effect. It strives to combine comfort with luxury ; there are no fees to servants, no charge for anything beyond the price of admission ; footstools are provided; fans are presented to ladies, together with some small appliances of the toilet ; gentlemen are favored with the evening papers, and the proceedings at the House of Commons, as they occur, are telegraphed to the theatre for those who need the information. The auditorium is tastefully, elegantly, and richly decorated ; and to the theatre itself a very large restaurant has been added, so that a man can dine, enter the theatre, and return to the enjoyment of any selected beverage and cigars during or after the performances. The aim seems to have been to render the theatre like its French namesake, and yet something beyond it; the result at present, apart from its comforts and luxuries, appears to be a compound in which it is hard to determine whether theatre, music-hall, or grand hotel predominate. The entertainments are a play by T. W. Robertson, burlesque, and ballet. A burlesque entitled “ Robert the Devil ” is said to have been the occasion of a letter of reproof, and a lecture upon propriety, from the Lord Chamberlain to managers generally; inasmuch as the ballet-girls at this theatre presented themselves to the audience with the scantiest attire imaginable.

Another new theatre near at hand, placed in Long Acre, called the Queen’s Theatre, was erected about eighteen months back, on the site of St. Martin’s Hall, a building devoted to the performance of sacred music. It was opened under the management of Alfred Wigan, commenced with “ drawing-room plays ” to the thinnest audiences, and then made a dash at sensational pieces and burlesques.

The Globe Theatre, scarcely a hundred yards from the Olympic, is also a new theatre not many months old. It catered for the public with a drama by Byron, the well-known burlesque-writer, a comic extravaganza by T. W. Robertson, and a burlesque. It is in the throes of a struggle for existence, which it will probably successfully win at no distant date.

The Holborn Theatre, built, like the Globe, by Mr. Sefton Parry, still lessee of the former, tried to gain popularity and success with Dion Boucicault’s “ Flying Scud,” which was produced here. For a time it succeeded, but the play having run itself out, the manager resigned the theatre to Miss Patty Josephs, whose efforts at management were rewarded with only questionable success. It is now under the direction of Mr. Barry Sullivan, who hopes to make a new home for “ high - class dramatic literature.”

The Strand Theatre, situated in the Strand, is called the “band-box of burlesque.” It is one of the smallest, if not the smallest, theatre in London, but it describes itself as “Royal,” because of a visit from the Prince of Wales. It revels in burlesques, and has produced the smartest and liveliest of those written by H. I. Byron and Bernaud. Marie Wilton, the pretty, piquant, and clever lessee of the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, made her first appearance in London at this theatre, and by her saucy acting, her affectation of sparse attire, her lively singing, and her nimble performance of those terpsichorean feats known as “ break-downs,” she gave increased popularity to a class of entertainments generally confessed to be more amusing than edifying. It was at this little theatre that Douglas Jerrold undertook the part of lessee, and made his first and last appearance as an actor in his own play, the “ Painter of Ghent.” Its present manageress, Mrs. Swanborough, confines herself to “screaming ” pieces and “ rattling ” burlesques ; and it is here that Mr. J. S. Clarke has recently gained universal approbation for his performance of Major de Boots in a farce called “ The Widow Hunt.”

The Royalty, in Dean Street, Soho, under the management of “ Patty Oliver,” pursues a similar course and with a like successLively, light pieces and smart burlesques are the staple entertainments. It was at this miniature “play-house” that the well-known burlesque “ Ixion ” was produced. The pretty faces and the pretty limbs of the actresses in it went far to obtain the success it achieved, and that success seems not to have deserted the theatre since.

The Prince of Wales’s Royal Theatre—royal through a visit from the Prince and Princess of Wales — has had a somewhat remarkable career. It stands in a mean street leading out of Tottenham Court Road, which is a populous thoroughfare leading from St. Giles’s Holborn to Hampstead, not frequently patronized by “ the nobility and gentry ” of the metropolis. Many years back, when known as the Queen’s Theatre, it achieved notoriety by fighting the battle of minors against the majors by the production of the tragedies of Shakespeare. The speculation was not successful, although it served its purpose, and it subsequently declined to the status of the “penny-gaff” class. Anything more deplorable than its theatrical condition can scarcely be conceived ; yet from such a slum Marie Wilton, as Madame Vestris had done with the Olympic, created one of the most agreeable theatres in London. She commenced with burlesques and dramas by H. I. Byron, and has followed with “ Society,” “ Ours,” “ Caste,” “ Play,” and “ School.” The light and pleasing character of these pieces, the sparkling and brilliant dialogues, and the excellent acting of the performers, male and female, engaged in them, have produced such a succession of crowded houses that seats are engaged a month in advance, and the audiences are one blaze of rank and fashion. It is, in truth, a remarkable illustration of the fact that the secret of theatrical success is, after all, to be found in “good pieces well and carefully acted.”

The category of the West-End minor theatres ends here. Taking our way to the north, we proceed to Sadler’s Wells Theatre. This is at least one of the oldest theatres in London. It takes its name from a man named Sadler, who, discovering a mineral spring here in 1683, erected a music-house to tempt the public to come and drink the waters. This grew into a place of theatrical entertainment, and, though many times altered and even rebuilt, has remained such to the present day. One lessee over and above his entertainments presented his visitors with a pint of good wine for their admission money, — “ A pleasant custom,” naively remarks a writer sixty years since, “but it is no longer continued.” Tumbling and rope-dancing, musical interludes, “ real-water ” pieces — for it stands on the very banks of the “New River,” — pantomimes, etc., for years formed the bill of fare ; and here, in 1820, the author’s own version of “ Tom and Jerry” was produced ; here Joey Grimaldi, the inimitable clown, tumbled, stole, swallowed strings of sausages, and burnt everybody, himself in particular, with the famous red-hot poker. It was at Sadler’s Wells that Mr. Phelps took up the Shakespearian drama where Macready had left it, and made a determined struggle to keep its head above water. But his efforts proved futile, and he ultimately abandoned the attempt. Miss Marriot, a clever tragedienne, followed in his footsteps with a similar purpose, but she too has given up the management and the hope, and found her way to the United States.

A few hundred yards from this house is one of the chief streets of London leading from Islington to the city, called the City Road. Not very many years since it was flanked by green fields, not a trace of which is left. Near to the roadside towards the city end there stood a small tavern, to which were appended “tea-gardens.” It bore the sign of the “ Eagle,” or, as its patrons styled it, “ Ther He-gull.” In bright, warm, summer afternoons, often on week-days and especially on Sundays, the “tea-gardens” were thronged with artisans and their wives and children. Hot water was supplied at “ tuppence ” per head, and all the appliances of the tea-table, except edibles, were included. But other fluids were freely partaken of, from malt liquors or ginger-beer at “ tuppence ” a bottle up to a glass of rum-and-water, “ varm with a slice of lemming in it.” To enliven the cheering glass, the proprietor introduced two musicians, with violin and harp; to these instruments a key-bugle was added ; then a clarionet, and subsequently a drum and cymbals. The “pandean ” pipes were excluded as a thought too low. This band was a great success and drew immensely; but there are often wet nights during the English summer, and the tavern-keeper wanted to secure visitors every night, so he built a commodious room, furnished it with tables and seats and an orchestra for the band. But it was needful even among his customers to draw a line, so as to keep the room sacred from the intrusion of the irrepressibly “ wulgar ” ; he therefore demanded sixpence admission, but this amount was returned in refreshments. To secure the preservation of order, the landlord occupied a seat in the room as chairman, or, as he declared it, to see “fair play” between party and party. This room and the band suggested dancing, and balls were thence occasionally got up. This arrangement prospered: the landlord obtained additional ground and built a circular platform, with an orchestra in the centre, that there might be dancing every fine night. By and by the large room was converted into a theatre, in which the proprietor, Mr. Rouse, occupied a conspicuous place, seated in a private box upon a glass chair. He was provided with a tumbler of spirits, and with a clay pipe from which he inhaled the fragrant weed; and this was tacit permission to those wh® wished to do likewise during the performances. The motive for this proceeding was understood and appreciated by his audiences, mostly of the working-class, and they were so pleased with what he had done to contribute to their amusement that they gave him credit for everything that was done. Whatever commanded their approbation on the stage received their applause by cries addressed personally to him of “ Brayvo, Rouse!” This exclamation, repeated again night after night, made its way out of the house into the streets, and for a time nothing was heard all over London but “Brayvo, Rouse ! ” It was applied to all manner of fortunate circumstances, by even feminine lips in respectable circles, and was once greeted with shouts of laughter in the House of Commons, when uttered as a cheer to an orator of the Dundreary school. But Rouse has gone the way of all flesh, and the old establishment has passed into other hands. The successor, a popular comic actor, by name Conquest, pushed forward the place of old Rouse to its present development, which comprehends a large, handsomely decorated theatre, in which are performed dramas of all kinds, ballets and pantomimes.

This theatre is named “The Grecian,” for what consideration or by what parity of reasoning is not generally known. The gardens have been enlarged and beautified, extensive ballrooms added, and a large hotel has taken the place of the old one. The tavern retains the sign of the “ Eagle,” but its patrons in familiar parlance term it “ The Bird.” Mr. George Conquest, the son of the proprietor, is manager of the theatre, playwright, comic actor, and contortionist. He is indefatigable in his exertions, and the remarkable success which attends his large establishment is in great measure due to them. On Saturdays there is usually a great gathering of young Hebrew persons of both sexes. They divide their evenings mostly between the attractions of the theatre and the “ fust set ” on the platform.

More to the eastward are Hoxton, Shoreditch, and Whitechapel ; these are new and splendid theatres of great size, which have sprung up from the ashes of the lowest of their kind, namely, the Britannia at Hoxton, originally a drinking-saloon, the City of London, and the Standard in Shoreditch, the East London in Whitechapel, and the Oriental in Poplar. We may dismiss all these establishments but one with a few words. They were each of a poor description, appealing to the lower classes with entertainments of the worst school; now the buildings are commodious, lavishly decorated, and the performances, though still rather of the “terrific descent of the avalanche” order, are superior to what they were even a few years back.

But the minor theatre, which stands quite alone among its class, is the New National Standard, reared upon the charred ruins of a predecessor which boasted only one private box, — and such a box ! The new building faces the terminus of the Great Eastern Railway in Shoreditch, — a very densely populated, poor locality, where thousands upon thousands of toilers and workers in factories and dock-yards dwell. The working classes are decent and orderly enough, but mingled with them are roughs and Arabs of the vilest kinds. For the delectation of all these persons Mr. John Douglas has erected one of the most magnificent theatres, both for magnitude and decoration, in the kingdom. It surpasses the Châtelet in Paris, and equals the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, in all respects. The area it occupies is something considerable, for the auditorium alone can, without inconvenience, seat five thousand persons. It is of the horseshoe form ; each tier of boxes up to the gallery, which is something of a journey, slightly recedes from the lower, the balcony at the lowest part being the nearest to the stage. The pit is occupied with stalls as far as the balcony, but runs a long way under the boxes. The price of the pit stalls is one shilling (25 cents), the gallery fourpence (8 cents). The front of the boxes, of which a large number are private, is painted pearl-white, ornamented with rich emblazonings of gold scroll-work. The appointments are of crimson Utrecht velvet, and the private boxes are draped with crimson curtains. Notwithstanding the vast dimensions of this building, the stage can be seen from every part of the house. The voice in its lightest intonation can be distinctly heard in the back seat of the gallery, from whence the actors look mere pygmies. Withal, the ventilation is as near perfection as can be expected, — the heat on the most crowded nights not even approaching inconvenience. The most remarkable part of these desirable results is, that no architect was employed. Mr. Douglas and his sons arranged their plans as the building rose story by story, and yet, with all its comforts and luxuries, its noble corridors, saloons, staircases, — all fire-proof, — it might well serve as a model for the best theatre yet to be built. It is justly entitled to be considered one of the sights of London. The proprietor, as may be imagined, possesses a remarkable spirit of enterprise, for while one week he has favored his audiences with “ A Deed of Blood,” he has on the succeeding week introduced Sims Reeves to them. “ The Bride of Death ” has been followed by James Anderson and tragedy, or an opera company, Or some attraction supposed to be proper and pertinent to the West-End of London alone. It speaks well for the intellectual appreciation of the artisans and toilers, that the highest class of dramatic or musical representations draws them in thousands to the theatre. Mr. J. L. Toole, the versatile comedian, has recently concluded a very successful engagement at this theatre.

The theatres on the south of the Thames are few in number, but they have been long established ; they bear some remarkable associations, and have made, with one exception, but little change in their style of entertainments. They are named respectively the Surrey, the Victoria, and Astley’s Amphitheatre. The Surrey was originally built in 1782, under the superintendence of the celebrated national song-writer, Charles Dibdin. It was destroyed in 1805, and replaced by a new theatre, which was tenanted successively by Tom Dibdin (the son of Charles), Watkins Burroughs, Honeyman, and Elliston. Many noted and well-remembered actors have played in this theatre. T. P. Cooke, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Egerton, Buckstone, and others of the same reputation, played together in Tom Dibdin’s dramatizations of Sir Walter Scott’s novels. It was here that Robert William Elliston, “ the magnificent,” many years lessee of Drury Lane Theatre, played his last part in life, here Douglas Jerrold produced the ever-popular drama, “ BlackEyed Susan,” and here stubborn efforts have been made to reproduce Shakespeare, with Mr. Cresorick as its exponent. The theatre was again burnt down in 1865, and a handsome building has been reared in its place. Spectacular and sensational dramas are the entertainments now provided for its patrons.

Astley’s, or, as cockneys love to call it, “ Ashley,” was first erected near the foot of Westminster Bridge by Philip Astley, in 1782, for equestrian entertainments, but it went the way of all such buildings, — was destroyed by fire, rebuilt and burnt in 1794, rebuilt and burnt in 1803, rebuilt and burnt in 1841. It was rebuilt, and seven years back was taken to pieces by Dion Boucicault, who converted it into a theatre, minus the circus, it being previously an amphitheatre, or equestrian circus. In the building which perished in 1841 flourished the celebrated rider Ducrow, and it was in his time that the “ Battle of Waterloo ” with “ real soldiers ” was produced, and commanded an amazing long run. It had its “ real ” Napoleon, too, that is to say, one Mr. Gomersal, who dressed and looked the part so exactly like the well-known portraits of the great Emperor, that he used to receive nightly many rounds of applause when he came on the stage tapping a “ real ” snuff-box in which there was “real” snuff. Then there was the evergreen Widdicombe, father of Harry Widdicome, the excellent low comedian, now no more, who, for many years, attracted admiration and applause as master of the ring, or rather “monarch of the circle.” He was always attired as a Polish nobleman of supreme rank, and his make-up was so youthful that each succeeding year he seemed to grow younger. Many bets were made respecting his age; and Punch, when referring to the subject, declared the date to be a thing buried in the mist of ages ; all that could be determined was that he was well advanced in years when he came over to England in the train of William the Conqueror.

The Victorin Theatre stands in the Waterloo Road, about ten minutes’ walk from Waterloo Bridge. It was originally called the Coburg, but changed its name in 1833, and is now best known as “ The Vic ” ; at least it is, in a kind of petting way, so designated by its patrons and worshippers. It was first opened to the public in 1817 ; in those days it was regarded as a marvel of commodiousness and elegant decoration, and once boasted a magnificent glass curtain. Like most of its contemporaries, it changed hands many times, and submitted every variety of entertainment to the motley assemblages which nightly filled its auditorium. At one time a “ professor ” walked along the ceiling with his feet upwards and his head downwards ; and not long afterwards the young Irish Roscius, Master Brooke, afterwards well known as Gustavus Brooke, who unhappily perished in the “London” steamship on his way to Australia, made his first appearance before a British audience in one act of the play of Virginius. He spoke the words of the author with a strong Dublin brogue, but he was a clever, handsome boy, and was rapturously applauded. Warde, a celebrated tragedian, made an attempt at this house to occupy the place which Edmund Kean left vacant, but he succeeded only in making Kean’s loss to the stage more apparent.

But not by these events did the “ Vic ” establish its claims to be one of the sights of London. The neighborhood, owing to some hardly recognizable cause, took to declining in respectability. It not only became the residence of a very humble, but of a very disgraceful class. Thieves and disreputable women poured into it in droves ; in consequence the tone of the theatre changed with its audiences: prices of admission were reduced, and the house was crammed every night to witness pieces of the “ Jack Sheppard ” and “ Dick Turpin ” school. Crammed to suffocation, and by such an audience ! The denizen of a private box, — for private boxes, admission two shillings (50 c.) each person, were still retained,—on looking down on the people in the pit, could not but ask himself, If these be the quasi-respectable pitites, what in the name of anything by construction commonly decent can the gallery audience be composed of? He observed that the positively “great unwashed ” were beneath him, that soap and water must be unknown luxuries to them, and that even their shirt-sleeves — for coats as a rule were dispensed with — could never have come in contact with soap from the date of their manufacture,— a remote period. He would notice, too, that refection went on throughout the night in the form of a composition fearful to contemplate, called by the man who sold it and served it from a large tin can, “por’er”; also that it was varied by the gentlemen with rum, and by the ladies with gin, which they lovingly termed “ Jacky.” Bread and cheese, flavored with onions and ’am sandwiches, were freely partaken of. Often, by way of relish, these were supplemented by an article bearing the haughty name of “polony.” This, be it known, was a small, horrible-looking mahogany-colored sausage, composed but too often of horse-flesh and tainted pork, although it professed to be chopped beef and ham, flavored with herbs. About this time the astounded spectator would feel himself compelled to suspend his survey of the lower region ; for, the house being badly ventilated and the heat great, there would arise to his nostrils a steam bearing an odor — to parody a line of Shelley’s —

In the boxes he would see the free and independent Briton, if the evening happened to be oppressive, dispense, untrammelled by bashfulness, with coat and necktie, and display the manly shirt-bosom or the convenient “dicky,” free from fear or embarrassment. He would notice that baked potatoes cooked in their “jackets,” were among the fruits devoured by the box gentry. They were as cheap as oranges, were warm, seasoned with pepper and salt, and moistened with a butter of the “rank” of which there could be no doubt, and they gave an impression of supper. Turning his eyes upward, he would note also that the tenants of the gallery, who on full nights numbered over a thousand persons, were utterly regardless of dress, as on entering the theatre they strove to get rid of as much of it from the upper part of their dusky forms as they could ; that they were a turbulent and self-willed party, much given to practical joking; that they spent no inconsiderable portion of their evening in fights, sharp and short; if fatigued with this pleasure, that they would proceed to pelt their richer friends in the pit with anything dirty or hard which might be conveniently at hand, — a ginger-beer bottle not being objected to, if there happened to be a bald head visible in the pit. It was not an uncommon thing, also, to see a mother carrying a child; if she arrived late and discovered her friends in the first row, hand that child to a sympathizing neighbor, and then make a shoot in the “ sensation-header ” style over the heads of those before and beneath her. After much battling, thrusting, and shouting, she would land in the coveted seat, and then be heard to scream out to her friend, “Hand down the child.” It was a terrifying sight to see the poor baby tossed like a ball from hand to hand, the object of what was called a good “ ketch,” passing the horrors of the middle passage, until at last it reached its mother’s arms, more dead than alive. The noise arising from cat-calls, cries of recognition to friends in distant parts of the house, advice to parties to “throw him over,” when “ him ” objected to being hustled out of his seat by covetous persons who preferred his position to their own, peals of shrill whistling when approval of an actor’s “ bould speaking ” or of a gorgeous scenic effect was signified, is not to be described: it could only be realized by being heard.

For some years, under the management of Miss Vincent, this state of things obtained; but the theatre has, since her death, changed hands, and an improvement has been effected ; at least, whistling is banished and fighting is not tolerated. No encore is allowed if whistled for, and combatants are ejected from the theatre as soon after an action has commenced as can be managed. The class of entertainments given are sensational dramas of a broad class, accompanied by pieces of a lighter description, and at Christmas a very grand pantomime is the principal dish in the bill of fare.