University of Virginia Library

LETTER II.

There is no place of public amusement of
which I am so fond as the Theatre. To enjoy this
with the greater relish, I go but seldom; and I find
there is no play, however poor or ridiculous, from
which I cannot derive some entertainment.

I was very much taken with a play bill of last
week, announcing, in large capitals, “The Battle
of Hexham, or, Days of Old.” Here, said I to
myself, will be something grand—Days of old—my
fancy fired at the words. I pictured to myself all
the gallantry of chivalry. Here, thought I, will
be a display of court manners, and true politeness;
the play will, no doubt, be garnished with tilts
and tournaments; and as to those banditti, whose
names make such a formidable appearance on
the bills, they will be hung up, every mother's
son, for the edification of the gallery.

With such impressions, I took my seat in the
pit, and was so impatient that I could hardly attend
to the music, though I found it very good.

The curtain rose—out walked the Queen with
great majesty; she answered my ideas—she was

dressed well, she looked well, and she acted well.
The Queen was followed by a pretty gentleman,
who, from his winking and grinning, I took to
be the court fool; I soon found out my mistake.
He was a courtier “high in trust,” and either
general, colonel, or something of martial dignity.
They talked for some time, though I could not understand
the drift of their discourse, so I amused
myself with eating pea-nuts.

In one of the scenes I was diverted with the
stupidity of a corporal and his men, who sung a
dull song, and talked a great deal about nothing;
though I found by their laughing, there was a
great deal of fun in the corporal's remarks.
What this scene had to do with the rest of the
piece, I could not comprehend; I suspect it was
a part of some other play, thrust in here by accident.

I was then introduced to a cavern, where there
were several hard looking fellows, sitting around
a table carousing. They told the audience they
were banditti. They then sung a gallery song,
of which I could understand nothing but two lines:

Just as they had ended this elegant song, their
banquet was disturbed by the melodious sound of
a horn, and in marched a portly gentleman, who, I
found, was their captain. After this worthy gentleman
had fumed his hour out, after he had slapped
his breast and drawn his sword half a dozen
times, the act ended.

In the course of the play, I learnt that there
had been, or was, or would be, a battle; but how,
or when, or where, I could not understand. The
banditti once more made their appearance, and
frightened the wife of the portly gentleman, who
was dressed in man's clothes, and was seeking
her husband. I could not enough admire the dignity
of her deportment, the sweetness of her countenance,
and the unaffected gracefulness of her
action; but who the captain really was, or why he
ran away from his spouse, I could not understand.
However, they seemed very glad to find one another
again; and so at last the play ended, by the falling
of the curtain.

I wish the manager would use a drop scene at
the close of the acts; we might then always ascertain
the termination of the piece by the green curtain.
On this occasion, I was indebted to the polite
bows of the actors for this pleasing information.
I cannot say that I was entirely satisfied
with the play, but I promised myself ample entertainment

in the after-piece, which was called the
Tripolitan Prize. Now, thought I, we shall have
some sport for our money; we will, no doubt, see
a few of those Tripolitan scoundrels spitted like
turkeys, for our amusement. Well, sir, the curtain
rose—the trees waved in front of the stage,
and the sea rolled in the rear—all things looked
very pleasant and smiling. Presently I heard a
bustling behind the scenes—here, thought I, comes
a band of fierce Tripolitans, with whiskers as long
as my arm. No such thing—they were only a party
of village masters and misses, taking a walk for
exercise, and very pretty behaved young gentry
they were, I assure you; but it was cruel in the
manager to dress them in buckram, as it deprived
them entirely of the use of their limbs. They arranged
themselves very orderly on each side of
the stage, and sung something, doubtless very affecting,
for they all looked pitiful enough. By
and by came up a most tremendous storm; the
lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain
fell in torrents: however, our pretty rustics stood
gaping quietly at one another, until they must have
been wet to the skin. I was surprised at their torpidity,
till I found they were each one afraid to
move first, for fear of being laughed at for their
awkwardness. How they got off I do not recollect:
but I advise the manager, in a similar
case, to furnish every one with a trap-door, through
which to make his exit. Yet this would deprive
the audience of much amusement; for nothing
can be more laughable than to see a body of
guards with their spears, or courtiers with their
long robes, get across the stage at our theatre.

Scene passed after scene. In vain I strained
my eyes to catch a glimpse of a Mahometan phiz.
I once heard a great bellowing behind the scenes,
and expected to see a strapping Mussulman come
bouncing in; but was miserably disappointed, on
distinguishing his voice, to find out by his swearing
that he was only a Christian. In he came—
an American navy officer. Worsted stockings—
olive velvet small clothes—scarlet vest—pea-jacket,
and gold laced hat—dressed quite in character.
I soon found out, by his talk, that he was
an American prize master; that, returning through
the Mediterranean with his Tripolitan prize, he
was driven by a storm on the coast of England.
The honest gentleman seemed, from his actions,
to be rather intoxicated; which I could account
for in no other way than his having drank a great
deal of salt water, as he swam ashore.

Several following scenes were taken up with
hallooing and huzzaing, between the captain, his

crew, and the gallery, with several amusing tricks
of the captain and his son, a very funny, mischievous
little fellow. Then came the cream of
the joke: the captain wanted to put to sea, and
the young fellow, who had fallen desperately in
love, to stay ashore. Here was a contest between
love and honour—such piping of eyes, such blowing
of noses, such slapping of pocket holes! But
old Junk was inflexible—What! an American tar
desert his duty! (three cheers from the gallery,)
impossible! American tars for ever!! True blue
will never stain!! &c. &c. (a continual thundering
among the gods.) Here was a scene of distress—here
was bathos. The author seemed as
much puzzled to know how to dispose of the
young tar, as old Junk was. It would not do to
leave an American seaman on foreign ground, nor
would it do to separate him from his mistress.

Scene the last opened.—It seems that another
Tripolitan cruiser had bore down on the prize,
as she lay about a mile off shore. How a Barbary
corsair had got in this part of the world—
whether she had been driven there by the same
storm, or whether she was cruising to pick up a
few English first rates, I could not learn. However,
here she was. Again were we conducted
to the sea shore, where we found all the village

gentry, in their buckram suits, ready assembled
to be entertained with the rare show of an American
and Tripolitan engaged yard-arm and yard-arm.
The battle was conducted with proper decency
and decorum, and the Tripolitan very politely
gave in—as it would be indecent to conquer
in the face of an American audience.

After the engagement the crew came ashore,
joined with the captain and gallery in a few
more huzzas, and the curtain fell. How old Junk,
his son, and his son's sweetheart, settled it, I could
not discover.

I was somewhat puzzled to understand the
meaning and necessity of this engagement between
the ships, till an honest old countryman at
my elbow said, he supposed this was the Battle
of Hexham, as he recollected no fighting in the
first piece. With this explanation I was perfectly
satisfied.

My remarks upon the audience, I shall postpone
to another opportunity.