Miscellang. A THEATRICAL SELL.

Dunstan Times, Issue 991, 15 April 1881, Page 3

Miscellang. A THEATRICAL SELL.

Many years ago, whan I was not so woll known in the theatrical world as I am now, I was a party (writes Mr W. J. Florence to the Era) to what I am afraid was a sad hoax on my good friends the playgulog public of New York. The idea originated with the late Mr John Brougham, then manager of the Lyceum Theatre, where I was engaged as “ general utility.” A piece was produced called “ A Row at the Lyceum Theatre; or Greenroom Secrets,” each member of -the company assuming the part of himself or herself, Mr Brougham playing Mr Brougham ; Mrs Vernon, Mrs Vernon ; and so on. Each appeared in the ordinary dress of the street, and the scene was the green-room of the theatre. The performance was exceedingly realistic, and deeply interested the audience. Everything proceeded smoothly until the entrance of Miss Bugging, a debutante, who, after greeting her friends and looking over her “part,” objected to some of the “business” and laid claim to something “more tragic.” Thereupon a stout, middle-aged man, clothed in a Quakerish garb, who had hitherto quietly listened and laughed with the rest, rose in his place in the centra of the stalls, and, to the astonishment of the house, exclaimed : “That woman looks for all the world like Clementina. Her voice is very like : the form is the same.” After a pause he added, with great emphasis, “ It is, it is my wife,” following this up by leaving his seat in a state of excitement, rushing towards the footlights, and shouting at the top of his voice “ Come off the stage, thou miserable woman.” the utmost confusion quickly reigned in the theatre. The audience, at first amused at the interruption, soon saluted the quaker with cries of “Put him out!” “Sit down !” and “Police” and altogether quite a tumult arose. Up in the third tier, in a corner near the stage, and visible to all was a red-shirted fireman, who added greatly to the excitement by threatening to give “ Broadbrim ” a sound thiashing if he laid abandon the “young ’oman.” Saying, moreover, he would go down and do it at once, he rushed downstairs to carry his threat into execution. The uproar entirely stopped the performance. Ladies were endeavoring to leave the house, and were addressing the people and vainly striving to restore order. All this time the irate husband was struggling to reach his wife ; and he ultimately climbed over the orchestra, followed by the red-shirted defender of the “ young ’oman.” Finally both were seized by a couple of stout policemen and dragged upon the stage. When there they were made to face the house, and inmediately the regulation semicircle was formed, the epilogue was spoken, and the curtain dropped, almost before the audience had time to recognise in the redshirted fireman your humble servant, W. J. F. ; in the indignant husband, Mr Brougham himself ; in the recovered wife, Mrs Brougham, and to realise that they had been the victims of a stupendous “ sell.”