‘Our next engagement was with a circus in Dublin, to which city we crossed from Liverpool. The company and stud of this concern were very different in strength and quality to Newsome’s, and they were doing very poor business. It is very seldom that a circus proprietor ventures upon the experiment of an Irish tour, which more rarely pays, both because of the poverty of the people, and the difficulty which all caterers for their amusement find in avoiding grounds for manifestations of national antipathies between English and Irish. Of this we had an instance on the first night of our engagement. I dare say you have heard Sam Collins or Harry Baker, or some other Irish comique, interlard a song with a spoken flourish about the Irish, something after this fashion:—“Who was it made the French run at Waterloo? The Irish! Who won all the battles in the Crimea? The Irish! Who put down the rebellion in India? The Irish! Who mans your men of war and recruits your army? The Irish! Who builds all your houses and churches? The Irish! Who builds your prisons and your workhouses? The Irish! And who fills them? The Irish!” In England this is laughed at, even by the Irish themselves; but in Ireland nothing of the kind is tolerated. One of the clowns delivered himself of this stuff in the ring, and was warmly applauded until the anticlimax was reached, when such a howl burst forth as I shouldn’t have thought the human voice could utter. The fellows in the gallery jumped up, and raved, stamped, gesticulated, as if they were Ojibbeways performing a war-dance; and everybody expected that the seats would be pulled up, and flung into the ring, as had been done in another circus, under something similar circumstances, some time before. But the storm was hushed as suddenly as it arose. It happened fortunately that our performance was next in the programme, and that, knowing how popular everything American was in Ireland, we had provided for its musical accompaniment a fantasia on American national airs, such as “Yankee Doodle,” “Hail, Columbia!” and “The star-spangled banner.” The band struck up this music as the offending clown ran out of the ring, expecting to have a bottle flung at his head, and the howlers in the gallery hearing it, and seeing pink stars on our white trunks, thought we were Yankees. The effect of our appearance, and of the music, was like pouring oil on the waves. The howling ceased, and harmony was restored as suddenly as it had been interrupted.
‘This was the time, you must know, when the Fenian plot was in everybody’s mouth, and when the wildest rumours were in circulation of an intended rising in Ireland, and the coming of Americans, or rather Americanized Irishmen, to support it. One day, while we were in Dublin, a superintendent of constabulary received an anonymous letter, informing him that a case of pikes had been buried at a spot near the Liffey, which was so particularly described that the men who were sent to search for it had no difficulty in finding it. When they had dug a pretty deep hole, they found a deal box, which was raised to the surface, and carted off to a police-station, with an escort of constabulary. It was opened in the presence of the superintendent, and there were the pikes!—not such as Slievenamon bristled with in ’48, but a couple of stale fishes.
‘Before leaving Dublin, we arranged for a twelve nights’ engagement at the Alexandra music-hall, at Ramsgate, which, as you perhaps know, is under the same management as the Raglan, in London. The Sisters Bullen, and Miss Lucette, and the Brothers Keeling were at the Alexandra at the same time; and, as music-hall professionals are, as a rule, disposed to fraternize with each other, we had a very pleasant time. From Ramsgate we went to Dover, for twelve nights at the Clarence music-hall, and then back to Ramsgate for another twelve nights at the Alexandra.
‘Among the professionals engaged for the following week at the Clarence was a versatile lady bearing the name of Cora Woski, and the town, during the second week of our engagement, was placarded with the inquiry, “Have you seen Cora?” This soon became a common question in the streets, and at all places of public resort; and one of the company, entering the Clarence on the day the bills appeared, without having seen one of them, was equally surprised and confused at being greeted with the inquiry, “Have you seen Cora?” He was only slightly acquainted with the querist, and it happened that he was engaged to marry the only lady of that rather uncommon name whom he knew.
‘“What do you know of Cora?” he demanded, his face reddening as he frowned upon the questioner.
‘“Why, she is coming here,” returned the amused querist, who saw at once the cause of the young fellow’s confusion.
‘“How do you know?” was the next question of the bewildered artiste.
‘“How do I know? Why, it’s all over the town,” was the reply.
‘A nudge from a friend drew the other’s attention from his tormentor for a moment, and, following the direction of his friend’s glance, he saw upon the wall one of the placards bearing the question with which he had been greeted on entering the bar.
‘Engagements now followed each other pretty close. Returning to London after our second engagement at Ramsgate, we were soon afterwards engaged for twelve nights at Macfarlane’s music-hall, Dundee, and six nights, to follow, at a similar place of amusement at Arbroath, under the same management. We found the Gregories there, with their performing dogs; and there was a ballet, in which the pretty illusion of Parkes’s silver rain was introduced. No other engagement awaited us in the north when we left Arbroath, and we returned to Dundee, and from thence to London.’