CURIOUS PEDESTRIANISM.
A very extraordinary wager was decided upon the road between Cambridge and Huntingdon. A gentleman of the former place, had betted a very considerable sum of money, that he would go, at a yard distance from the ground, upon stilts, the distance of twelve miles within the space of four hours and a half: no stoppage was to be allowed except merely the time taken up in exchanging one pair of stilts for another, and even then his feet were not to touch the ground. He started at the second milestone from Cambridge in the Huntingdon road to go six miles out and six in: the first he performed in one hour and fifty minutes, and did the distance back in two hours and three minutes, so that he went the whole in three hours and fifty-three minutes, having thirty-seven minutes to spare beyond the time allowed him. He appeared a good deal fatigued; and his hands we understand were much blistered from the continued pressure upon one part. This, we believe, is the first performance of the kind ever attempted; but as novelty appears to attract, as well as direct the manners of the age, stilting may become as fashionable in these, as tilting formerly was in better times.
Twenty-four gamesters contended manfully at Harrow-on-the-Hill for a prize of a hat and purse, at the right valiant game of backsword. Many a crown was cracked and many a heavy blow was given with right good will, and received with true humour. Much skill also in assault and defence in this game (the most lively picture of war) was evinced. Jack Martin of Harrow played the best stick among the Harrow lads—but the prize, alas was actually borne away by—a London tailor. Fourteen broken heads graced the ring.
On Monday the 19th inst. a large audience assembled at the theatre with the expectation of seeing the Foundling of the Forest performed for the benefit of Mr. Cone. Unfortunately, Mr. Wood, whose performance of De Valmont constitutes the principal attraction in the representation of that play, was suddenly seized with an indisposition so very severe as to demand medical assistance, and confine him to his room. It was then too late to issue new bills or advertisements, and nothing was left to Mr. Cone but to throw himself on the good nature of his audience, and to request their acceptance of another play: with some opposition on the part of a discontented few, “the Way to get Married” was accepted as a substitute for that which was promised.
Influenced by a laudable zeal for the discharge of his duty, Mr. Wood, though still very feeble, ventured to promise himself to the public for the character of De Valmont on Friday. As soon as his name appeared in the bills, a report was circulated through the city that he was to be assaulted: that is to say that he had so highly offended that high and mighty body of gentlemen apprentices and else who swagger in good broadcloth clothes and brass buttons in the theatre, by not leaving his bed of sickness for the amusement of their high mightinesses, that they had resolved to hiss and drive him off the stage. Those who were most prompt to condemn the insolence and indecency of the band alluded to, thought that such a design would be an outrage too unjust, too stupid even for such persons as their high mightinesses; and, therefore, refused to give it credit. In this, however, they very much underrated the modesty and good nature of their “high mightinesses,” since half the barbers in the city were amused with the threats uttered by those doughty champions of what they would do to Mr. Wood. The consequence was that that gentleman felt it necessary to humiliate himself with an apology, in order to escape the wrath of a set of obscure chaps, not one of whom perhaps could reasonably aspire to sit in his company.
The private character of Mr. Wood is almost as well known as his professional: by the most respectable part of the community he is highly valued for his personal worth. No one could suspect him of wilfully neglecting his duty, or acting the part of dishonour. Indeed, what motive could he have to injure Mr. Cone? He cannot, surely, look upon that gentleman as a rival. But, if he could harbour such a wish, his moral and intellectual character stands too high, to allow a suspicion of his employing such means—means so base and so bungling, that it may well be wondered at how even their high mightinesses could think of them. The truth is, no such thing was imagined—the whole had its root in causes which more deeply concern the public than Mr. Wood or Mr. Cone. A set of ignorant self-conceited young despots have erected themselves into a body of riot, for the purpose of controling the theatre, and bullying, not only the actors but the audience. Mr. Cone has really no more to do with it than Mr. Cooke or Mr. Kemble; but these fellows use him as drunken Irishmen in fairs are known to use their great coats. These champions of the real cudgel draw their great coats along with the skirts trailing on the ground, and keeping their eyes fixed upon them, cry, in order to kick up a riot, “Who dare tread upon my coat.”
It behoves the citizens in general to interfere in some way and prevent those shameful outrages upon their rights and feelings. Places of amusement ought to be resorts of good-humour and peace—not rendezvous for swaggering petulant bullies. The law ought to be called in to prevent a repetition of such offences. For certainly there are legal provisions to answer the purpose. If not, it were better to shut up the playhouse at once than have it open, a school of riot and impertinence.
If these men be really the friends of Mr. Cone, they certainly take the very worst way to show it. Mr. Cone’s own talents and the unbiassed judgment of the public are more substantial grounds for him to rely upon, than all that the whole body of Hectors could do for his support or advancement. They have long been the pest of the playhouse, and always the worst enemies of those whose cause they have officiously assumed to espouse. It is but justice to Mr. Cone to declare our firm persuasion that he has too much sense, and too much honour to wish for the interference of men whose pretended friendship cannot fail to subject any person who is its object to public odium and to the dislike and suspicion of every wise, honest and respectable gentleman in the community.
Mr. Lewis, the player, on his late retirement from the stage, reminded the public that he had been six and thirty years playing to them, and had never once received the slightest disapprobation. Had a fragment of the ignorant mob of London been permitted to rule the theatre he would have been hissed a thousand times, if it were for nothing else but his superior merit. This we can affirm, that Mr. Wood is at least as inoffensive as Mr. Lewis.