Making Up For It

My family never intended that I should follow the stage as a profession. They considered themselves above it, though for what reason I could not clearly understand, seeing that the position and comforts they enjoyed were derived from a fortune amassed by my father, who was himself an actor. He died when I was very young, but the talent which he possessed was supposed to have descended to me.

There is no doubt nature intended me for a “mummer.” The thousand impudent mocking antics of boyhood increased as I grew to man’s estate. I used to “take off,” as it is called, everybody and everything to perfection, from the popular tragedian of the day to Punch and Judy; not a novelty, from a street-cry to a new tenor, escaped me; and it was the generally-expressed opinion among my acquaintances that I was only fit for the stage, and should do no good at anything else.

Yet my elder brothers and sisters—great people in their own circle—would not hear of it; so I was eventually installed as a junior clerk in a Government office. Here, however, my propensities soon brought me to grief. Sundry overheard derisive imitations of my chiefs, mingled with impromptu war-dances with ruler-and-desk accompaniments, performed during office-hours, to the immense delight of my fellow-clerks of my own age, chiefly brought about this result. Reprimand followed reprimand, until finally it was politely intimated that my resignation would be acceptable. This was duly sent in, amidst a great storm in my family.

Now, from what I may call the first of my latch-key days, I had contracted many theatrical friendships to which my well-known name was a certain passport. I was free of nearly all the theatres, before and behind the scenes, and many a time, for the fun of the thing, assisted in a piece requiring a multitude for a row… Read More