A DENSELY-CROWDED HOUSE
The old fiddler—a host in himself—was the orchestra. He knew about three tunes, and these he played o’er and o’er. I forgot to mention that we had not an appointed door-keeper, or cashier, so I undertook that superior office myself. “My word,” said some of the people as they came in, “just lewk at that monkey; it’s t’moast remarkable monkey et ivver wor knawn i’ Howarth; it’s soa mich sense woll it can tak t’brass at t’door.” Well, the house became so crowded that there was scarcely any room left for us to perform. The time for commencing arrived, and we appeared before the curtain, though we felt at a great loss to know how we were going to manage to perform in the space there was left; for it must be known that we did actually intend to give a performance. We had gone through a few “feats”—Spencer lifting and performing with 56lb. weights, and I doing a few tricks at tight-rope walking and dancing. Spencer was behind the curtain waiting his “turn,” and when I retired he said: “It’s no good; we cannot give satisfaction here.”