Volume Ii Part 3 (1/2)

MY DEAR MRS. COMPTON,

We are going to play ”The Frozen Deep” (pursuant to requisition from town magnates, etc.) at Manchester, at the New Free Trade Hall, on the nights of Friday and Sat.u.r.day, the 21st and 22nd August.

The place is out of the question for my girls. Their action could not be seen, and their voices could not be heard. You and I have played, there and elsewhere, so sociably and happily, that I am emboldened to ask you whether you would play my sister-in-law Georgina's part (Compton and babies permitting).

We shall go down in the old pleasant way, and shall have the Art Treasures Exhibition to ourselves on the Sunday; when even ”he” (as Rogers always called every pretty woman's husband) might come and join us.

What do you say? What does he say? and what does baby say? When I use the term ”baby,” I use it in two tenses--present and future.

Answer me at this address, like the Juliet I saw at Drury Lane--when was it?--yesterday. And whatever your answer is, if you will say that you and Compton will meet us at the North Kent Station, London Bridge, next Sunday at a quarter before one, and will come down here for a breath of sweet air and stay all night, you will give your old friends great pleasure. Not least among them,

Yours faithfully.

[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, _Monday, Aug. 3rd, 1857._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I write to you in reference to your last note, as soon as I positively know our final movements in the Jerrold matter.

We are going to wind up by acting at Manchester (on solemn requisition) on the evenings of Friday and Sat.u.r.day, the 21st and 22nd (actresses subst.i.tuted for the girls, of course). We shall have to leave here on the morning of the 20th. You thought of coming on the 16th; can't you make it a day or two earlier, so as to be with us a whole week? Decide and p.r.o.nounce. Again, cannot you bring Katey with you? Decide and p.r.o.nounce thereupon, also.

I read at Manchester last Friday. As many thousand people were there as you like to name. The collection of pictures in the Exhibition is wonderful. And the power with which the modern English school a.s.serts itself is a very gratifying and delightful thing to behold. The care for the common people, in the provision made for their comfort and refreshment, is also admirable and worthy of all commendation. But they want more amus.e.m.e.nt, and particularly (as it strikes me) _something in motion_, though it were only a twisting fountain. The thing is too still after their lives of machinery, and art flies over their heads in consequence.

I hope you have seen my tussle with the ”Edinburgh.” I saw the chance last Friday week, as I was going down to read the ”Carol” in St.

Martin's Hall. Instantly turned to, then and there, and wrote half the article. Flew out of bed early next morning, and finished it by noon.

Went down to Gallery of Ill.u.s.tration (we acted that night), did the day's business, corrected the proofs in Polar costume in dressing-room, broke up two numbers of ”Household Words” to get it out directly, played in ”Frozen Deep” and ”Uncle John,” presided at supper of company, made no end of speeches, went home and gave in completely for four hours, then got sound asleep, and next day was as fresh as you used to be in the far-off days of your l.u.s.ty youth.

All here send kindest love to your dear good sister and all the house.

Ever and ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday Afternoon, Aug. 9th, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

Now here, without any preface, is a good, confounding, stunning question for you--would you like to play ”Uncle John” on the two nights at Manchester?

It is not a long part. You could have a full rehearsal on the Friday, and I could sit in the wing at night and pull you through all the business. Perhaps you might not object to being in the thing in your own native place, and the relief to me would be enormous.

This is what has come into my head lying in bed to-day (I have been in bed all day), and this is just my plain reason for writing to you.

It's a capital part, and you are a capital old man. You know the play as we play it, and the Manchester people don't. Say the word, and I'll send you my own book by return of post.