"Gaoler (interpreting the learned magistrate): What have you got? Why, you've got let off, and don't do it again. (Sotto voce to the boy) Hook it!
"And the little boy left the Court, under the impression that the magistrate had sentenced him to several years' penal servitude, but that the gaoler had kindly overlooked the offence and liberated him."
Of course, this sketch is caricatured in the same way that the portraits in Vanity Fair, are by "Ape" (Mr. Carlo Pelligrini) and "Spy" (Mr. Leslie Ward).
Sir James Taylor Ingham succeeded to the post of chief magistrate at Bow Street on the death of Sir Thomas Henry, and was (and still is) a kind and considerate gentleman. It was the custom of some magistrates to wear their hats in Court, but I never saw this at Bow Street. At other Courts I have seen magistrates wear their hats; and one in particular I have seen walk about the bench with his hat on and his hands in his pockets, and never even remove it when a respectably-dressed woman was making an application to, or giving evidence before, him. If it were compulsory to keep the head covered, as when the judge assumes the black cap, one could understand it. But it is not compulsory, and there is no excuse for it, any more than there is for the young masher swaggering up a public dining-room where ladies are seated around dining, without having the common decency to remove his hat.
In 1877, when I appeared at the Opera Comique, I retired from the work; but resumed it again in 1880, when my father died, having for my right-hand man Mr. Cleverley, whom my father had engaged to assist him. I retired eventually in favour of Mr. Cleverley, who is now The Times reporter; and if I possibly can help it, I will never give him a chance of "showing me up."
CHAPTER IV.
From Amateur to Professional.
"I once was a dab at Penny Readings."—Ruddygore.
"What first put it into your head to give entertainments?" is a question I have been asked hundreds of times, and my reply has always been, "I'm sure I do not know." Nor do I know to this day. I used to play the piano very well at the age of twelve. What was considered "very well" for a boy twenty-eight years ago, no doubt would be considered execrable in these days of Hoffmanns and Hegners. I remember, when I played, ladies used to say, "How odd it seems to see a boy playing." It was thought effeminate to play the piano.
Besides playing from music, I also played a good deal by ear, which was considered demoralising, and still is by those who know nothing about it. Playing correctly by ear is a gift that should be encouraged. I was delighted one afternoon recently, when calling upon Mrs. Kendal, the well-known actress, to see her little boy, of about ten or eleven, sit down at the grand piano and play off by ear, perfectly correctly, "Le revenant de la revue" and one of my own songs. It is a gift delightful to the one fortunately endowed with it; and it does not follow that one should not also play correctly from music.