OCTOGENARIAN REMINISCENCES.
In 1760, a Mr. Cross was prompter at Drury Lane Theatre, and a Mr. Saunders the principal machinist. Saunders laboured under an idea that he was qualified for a turf-man, and, like most who are afflicted with that disorder, suffered severely. The animals he kept, instead of being safe running horses for him, generally made him a safe stalking-horse for others. Upon one occasion he came to the theatre in great ill-humour, having just received the account of a race which he had lost. Cross was busily engaged in writing, and cross at the interruption he met with from Saunders’s repeated exclamations against his jockey; he at length looked up, and said impatiently, “His fault—his fault—how was it his fault?” “Why,” said Saunders, “the d—d rascal ran my horse against a wagon.” “Umph!” replied Cross, “I never knew a horse of yours that was fit to run against any thing else!”
A musician of the name of Goodall, who belonged to the orchestra of the Theatre Royal, Richmond, in 1767, was fonder of his, or any other man’s, bottle than his own bassoon. The natural consequence was, that he frequently failed in his attendances at the theatre. Upon one occasion, after an absence of a week, he returned in the middle of the performances for the evening. A piece was being acted called the “Intriguing Chambermaid,” in which there is a character of an old gentleman called Mr. Goodall, who comes on as from a journey, followed by a servant carrying his portmanteau. To him there enters a lady, Mrs. Highman, whose first exclamation is, “Bless my eyes, what do I see? Mr. Goodall returned?” At that precise moment Old Goodall happened to put his head into the orchestra, and fancying himself addressed, called out, “Lord bless you, ma’am, I’ve been here this half hour.”
Old Storace (the father of the celebrated composer) had lost nearly all his teeth at rather an early period of his life. This, to one who was decidedly a bon vivant, was a great annoyance. A dentist of eminence undertook to supply the defect: he drew the few teeth which, remained, and fitted the patient with an entire new set, which acted by means of springs, and were removable at pleasure. The operation was so skilfully performed, and the resemblance so good, that Storace flattered himself that no one could discover the deception. Being one day in company with Foster (a performer in the Drury Lane orchestra, and one celebrated among his companions for quaintness and humour), he said, “Now, Foster, I’ll surprise you— I’ll show you something you never could have guessed.” So saying, he took out the ivory teeth, and exclaimed with an air of triumph, “There, what do you think of that?” “Poh! nonsense! surprise me,” replied Foster, “I knew perfectly well they were false.” “How the devil could you know that?” said Storace. “Why,” rejoined Foster, “I never knew anything true come out of your mouth!“—Athenæum.
The King of Prussia, in his correspondence with Voltaire, relates the following anecdote of the Czar Peter, as illustrative of Russian despotism:—“I knew Printz, the great marshal of the court of Prussia, who had been ambassador to the Czar Peter, in the reign of the late king. The commission with which he was charged proving very acceptable, the prince was desirous of giving him conspicuous marks of his satisfaction, and for this purpose a sumptuous banquet was prepared, and to which Printz was invited. They drank brandy, as is customary with the Russians, and they drank it to a brutal excess. The Czar, who wished to give a particular grace to the entertainment, sent for twenty of the Strelitz Guards, who were confined in the prisons of Petersburgh, and for every large bumper which they drank, this hideous monster struck-off the head of one of these wretches. As a particular mark of respect, this unnatural prince was desirous of procuring the ambassador the pleasure (as he called it) of trying his skill upon these miserable creatures. The Czar was disposed to be angry at his refusal, and could not help betraying signs of his displeasure.”
W.G.C.