NOTES.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 654, 25 July 1876, Page 3

NOTES.

[By Nemesis.] Dunedin, July 17. “A Life on the Ocean Wave,” when Henry Russell was all the rage, used to sound very well in the Concert Halls in the old country to an audience generally composed of the most verdant of “ new chums,” whose experience in the “ wave” line lay all before them, like the troubles, of a certain animal immortalized in the adage, A worse experience of sea life may even happen, to a man than to travel by the Hawea, when piloted by our friend Wheeler. On my last jouniey by that vessel, I noticed the gallant captain was not so cheery in his manner, as is his wont. Whether it was because there was an absence of the usual choice spirits on that particular portion of the voyage on which I travelled, or whether he was thoughtfully concocting a new surprise for his friends, either in the shape of a toy trick or a hon mot, I don’t know. There is one peculiarity about this gentleman that I have for years vainly pondered over, for a solution, it is this : I have invariably noticed on his casting off at Onehunga a high state of geniality which lasts for many hours, and gradually increases in intensity until the vessel's arrival off the Boulder Bank at Nelson, when he becomes strangely impatient, and makes frantic haste to set his foot on terra jirma. It matters not what time of the day or night he arrives there, this] eccentric habit seems to take full possession of him, and I have been told that the rate of speed he can accomplish to “ do” Nelson from the port is a “caution,” and would place him in the front rank as a runner, if he should ever enrol himself as a professional “ ped. ” This peculiarity would not be perhaps so very noticeable if it were not for the strange change which seems to come over him on resuming his voyage. No longer does he tread the deck with the clastic step which had previously been so noticeable, and I have been informed, on very good authority, that, on his return trip, these identicalidiosyncracies again come into play. I suppose it is one of those cases which are inexplicable to common minds, and are only to be accounted for by ElectroBiologists or Mesmer’s disciples. Since my arrival here 1 have been the round of the “shows,” that is, the dramatic portion of them, the Princess’s and _ the Queen’s. The first-named structure is a great improvement on the old one, and seems complete in every respect. If the one now building in your city is to be anything like it, your playgoers will have something to be proud of. As you arc doubtless aware, acting men and women are my aversion, and that will explain the reason why I am unable to tell you anything about the inner recesses of the behind curtain part of the establishment. My delight is the “front,” and it was from an elevation in that part of the building X scanned the several merits of the structure. The Queen’s is making a desperate struggle to fight its strong opponent, but I fear their artillery is not heavy enough to make a winning running. An actor named Talbot is their “star,” and has been playing the “King Richard” of evil memory, “Hamlet,” and “Richelieu.” I saw him in the last-named piece, and must confess that his impersonation of the cha racter somewhat disappointed me. Of course he was better than the one who so frequently has essayed it in Christchurch, but it was immeasurably inferior to the rendering of Morton Tavares, who so often has delighted hie in it. The papers here are singularly indulgent to both this “star ” and the heterogeneous crowd which form the company, and I notice when a dozen or so of both paying visitors and dead heads are upstairs and four or five score in the lower regions, the attendance is the theme of unbounded gratulation, and the notices generally indulged in favorable remarks of the most superlative character. I must admit, however, that this sort of thing is not peculiar to Dunedin alone, for I have seen quite as much rotten adulation offered up in both your Press and Times . While doing” this show in my place in the stalls, I noticed several dirty looking little boys applauding with both hands and feet, that, reminded one very forcibly of the French system of la claque, I asked pne ruffianly*

looking youth next to me if he “ paid to come in,” and I received just the sort of answer my impertinent question deserved. I don’t wonder now at the “ crowded houses” one reads so much about, but sees so seldom in reality. The Lingards opened in “ Our Boys” at the Princess’s'last;,Saturday. This piece was written by Byron for James and Thorne, who have been playing it nightly at the Vaudeville in the Strand for the past year and a half. Of course, as may be expected, Lingard, although a capital actor, with considerable facial powers and excellent voice, comes very far short of the master actor James, as Middlewiok, the retired Butterman. He lacked the cockney dialect, and was not by any means at homo in bis “ make up.” The last scene was very inferior, and his attire was more like a cross between the holder of a ticket of leave, and an unanointed lay leader. The parts taken by the ladies were highly creditable to those engaged in the piece, Miss Liugard and Miss Colville both acting faultlessly. In fact the charming Florence gave such a finished rendering of her character, that one almost is inclined to think that she was spurred on to achieve excellence by feelings of keen emulation such as the sex both on and oil the stage arc known to be sometimes actuated by. Both ladies were gorgeously arrayed, but the newer attraction certainly beat her sister actress in the scantiness of her upper covering and the extreme length of her trailing train. The place was filled to overflowing, and the demonstrations of delight were loud, long, and frequent, and what is better than all, were evidently genuine.