There are several excellent inns here: one kept by an Englishman, a Mr. Thomas, in which I dined once or twice with friends, and which bears a high reputation; another, wherein I always resided on my several visits here, kept by Mr. Crutenden; and if henceforward any stranger who relishes good fare, loves Shakspeare, and would choose to make the acquaintance of a Transatlantic Falstaff, passes through Albany without calling at the Eagle, and cracking a bottle with "mine host," he will have missed one of those days he would not have failed to mark with a white stone.
Soberly, I do not remember ever to have met with a face and figure which, were I a painter, I would so readily adopt for a beau-idéal of the profligate son of mirth and mischief as those of mine host o' th' Eagle. He has a fellow feeling too with "lean Jack," is as well read in Shakspeare as most good men, quotes him fluently and happily, honours and loves him as he should be loved and honoured, and in himself possesses much of the humour, much of the native wit, but not a single trait of the less admirable portions of the fat knight's character.
Indebted to Mr. Crutenden for many pleasant hours, I will offer no excuse for making this indifferent sketch of him here, since it in no way trenches upon the rule I hold sacred of eschewing comment on private persons, or details of social intercourse, where indeed, men speak oftener from the heart than from the head. Mr. C. I look upon as a public character, and thus I am enabled to say how much I esteem him. Should he be wroth, I vow, if I ever should visit Albany again, never to make one at the "Feast of Shells." On the contrary, I'll fly the Eagle; forswear "the villanous company" of mine host; I'll disclaim him, renounce him, "and d—n me if ever I call him Jack again."
The theatre here is a handsome building, and well adapted to the purpose for which it was designed; but is, I believe, worse supported than any other on this continent. I had been advised not to visit the city professionally; but being strongly solicited by the worthy manager, "mischief lay in my way, and I found it."
I feel compelled in honesty to state the facts of this trip, though no way flattering to my powers of attraction: however, if there be anything unpleasant to relate, I ever find it better to tell of oneself, than leave it to the charity of good-natured friends. The only disagreement I ever had with an audience, in fact, occurred here, and roundly, thus it happened.
On the evening when I was advertised to make my début to an Albany audience, I at my usual hour walked to the house, dressed, and was ready; but when, half an hour after the time of beginning, I went on to the stage, there were not ten persons in the house. The stage-director and myself now held a consultation on the unpromising aspect of our affairs. He ascribed the unusually deserted condition of the salle to the sultry and threatening state of the atmosphere, which had deterred the neighbouring towns of Troy and Waterford from furnishing their quota,—those indeed being his chief dependencies. I was opposed, on policy, to throwing away our ammunition so unprofitably; and so after due deliberation, the manager agreed to state to the few persons in front, that "with their permission" the performances intended for this night would be postponed until the evening after the next following; as, in consequence of the exceeding smallness of the audience, it was to be feared the play would prove dull to them, as it must be irksome to the actors.
Nothing could be received with better feeling on the part of the persons assembled; not a breath of disapprobation was heard. They instantly went away; but soon after I reached home, I found, by the report of one or two gentlemen who had since been at the theatre seeking admittance, that a considerable excitement prevailed, and that at the public bars of the neighbourhood the affair was detailed in a way likely to produce unpleasant effects on my first appearance.
The appointed night came, the house was filled with men, and everything foreboded a violent outbreak; the manager appeared terrified out of his wits; but, as far as I can judge, behaved with infinite honesty; disavowed the truth of the imputations connected with the dismissal, and which it was sought to fasten upon me; and affirmed that he was fully prepared to place the facts simply before the audience, in the event of my suffering any interruption.
It was now found that an actor or two needed in the piece were absent. These worthies, the chief agitators in this affair, were, in fact, in front of the house to assist in the expected assault upon a stranger and one of their own profession. On this being explained to the manager, he said he was aware of it, and had threatened to discharge the individuals; but relying upon the affair terminating in my discomfiture, they did not fear being sustained by the same intelligence which they now directed against me.
On my appearance the din was mighty deafening; the volunteer champions of the public had come well prepared, and every invention for making the voice of humanity bestial was present and in full use. The boxes I observed to be occupied by well-dressed men, who generally either remained neutral, or by signs sought that I should be heard. This, however, was out of the question; and after long and patient abiding, "for patience is the badge of all our tribe," I made my bow and retired, when the manager, who had on the night in question dismissed the house, made his bow, and, after silence was obtained, begged that the audience would give me a hearing, assuring them on his own knowledge that I had not contemplated insulting them.