The name of Phillips is a.s.sociated with another record of ingenuity; but in the second instance it was Harlequin Phillips--no relation whatever of the legal luminary, though from his apt.i.tude in taking advantage of an adversary he was worthy to be related, or at any rate his anecdote is.

This celebrated pantomimist, who was contemporaneous with Garrick, and was regarded as one of the cleverest men in his profession at that time, was not clever enough to keep himself out of debt and the spunging-house, though he proved himself equal to making his escape from custody by an admirably-conceived plan. After treating the bailiff very freely, he pretended that he had a dozen of particularly choice wine at home, already packed, which he begged permission to send for, to drink while he was detained, offering to pay sixpence a bottle for the privilege.

His custodian acceded to the request, and Phillips wrote a letter giving particulars of what he wanted, which letter was duly despatched to his residence. Some time after, a st.u.r.dy porter presented himself with the load, and the turnkey called to his master that a porter with a hamper for Mr. Phillips had come. "All right," replied the bailiff; "then let nothing but the porter and hamper out." The messenger, who was an actor thoroughly accustomed to "heavy business," came in, apparently loaded with a weighty hamper, and went out as lightly as if he were carrying an empty package, though in reality it contained Mr. Phillips inside.

This was indeed _carrying out the character of harlequin_ (who is always supposed to be invisible) "to the letter;" and shows that the pantomimist of the past was an inventive genius, in addition to being an agile acrobat, and more or less up to tricks. _A propos_ of tricks, the life of Philippe, the conjuror, introduces a legitimate ill.u.s.tration of a man poor in pocket, but rich in resource. Though he appeared at the St. James' and Strand Theatres in 1845, under the name of Philippe, his real cognomen was Talon-Philippe Talon.

Born at Alais, near Nismes, where he carried on the trade of confectioner, he came to London, and subsequently went to Aberdeen, in the hope of succeeding as a manufacturer of Scotch sweets; but found himself unable to compete with the native makers, and in possession at last of nothing but a quant.i.ty of unsaleable confectionery. In utter despair of being ever able to get rid of his stock, he bethought him of turning conjuror, having always had a great _penchant_ for sleight-of-hand performances, and being, he believed, equal to giving an exhibition in public. Certain apparatus, was, however, necessary, which, of course, in his insolvent condition, he was unable to purchase. He made a visit to the theatre, and found that--fortunately for him--the entertainment being given was anything but successful; the bill, theatrically speaking, was "a frost," and the manager consequently open to discuss any scheme for pulling up the business. In a moment Philippe saw his opportunity, and suggested that two or three special performances should be given, at which every person paying for admission should have with his check a packet of confectionery given to him, and a ticket ent.i.tling the holder to a chance in a prize of the value of 15. The suggestion was acted upon, the bait took, and the result was a succession of crowded houses, whereby Talon cleared off all his stock of sweets, netting a sufficient sum to enable him to purchase conjuring apparatus, which enabled him to give a series of entertainments with great success; the same that were subsequently represented with such profit in England, France, Austria, and elsewhere. Talon, or Philippe, as he was known to the entertaining public, was the first to perform with bare arms, and was one of the first to introduce the "globes of fish"

trick in this country.

Another of the "legitimate" description of examples is found connected with the theatrical experience of Mr. C. W. Montague, who for years was a very well-known circus-manager, having been connected at one time or another with the equestrian establishments of Messrs. Sanger, Bell, F.

Ginnetts, Myers, Newsome, and George Ginnett. Some years ago, when he joined the circus owned by the last-named at Greenwich, he found that business was in a most melancholy condition; the show, although a very good one, failed to fetch the people in, and the receipts, not sufficient to pay expenses, were getting worse and worse. This dismal state of things was most disheartening to Montague, who was at his wits' end to know what to do, when one day, while he was being shaved, the barber noticing some one who had just pa.s.sed the shop, said: "There goes poor Townsend." "And who might he be?" asked the manager; being told in reply that the gentleman referred to had originally represented Greenwich in Parliament, but owing to great pecuniary difficulties had been obliged to resign. It also transpired that the late M.P. was a most excellent actor, the barber having seen him enact Richard III. "quite as good as any right down reg'ler perfeshional." In addition, Mr. Townsend had been deservedly popular in the district, and especially in Deptford; for he had been the means, when in the House of Commons, of getting dockyard labourers' wages considerably advanced. These two facts, combined with the broken-down appearance of the gentleman spoken of, immediately presented themselves to Mr. Montague in a business light. What a capital idea it would be if he could manage to get the ex-M.P. to appear in the circus! So popular a man would be a tremendous draw! With this object in view, he waited upon Mr.

Townsend the next morning, and put the proposition to him, but without success. The unfortunate gentleman admitted that his circ.u.mstances were such that the prospect of making money by the venture was most tempting; but his pride would not admit of his accepting the offer. The idea of appearing as a paid performer in a circus in the very place where he had been regarded with such respect was repugnant to his feelings, and he felt that he could not consent to the sacrifice of dignity. Away from Greenwich he would not have minded; but this arrangement of course would have been no good to Mr. Montague. Nothing daunted by the refusal, the theatrical man of business determined not to give up the idea, but on several subsequent occasions pressed him hard, using such powerful arguments in favour of the scheme that at last Mr. Townsend consented to appear as Richard "for twelve nights only," on sharing terms. As soon as this was arranged, another and by no means unimportant difficulty presented itself.

With the exception of Mr. Ginnett and his manager, there was no one in the company capable of supporting the tragedian; but stimulated by the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Montague set to work, cut down the tragedy with unsparing energy, and so arranged a version that enabled Mr.

Ginnett and himself to double the parts of Richmond, Catesby, Norfolk, Ratcliffe, Stanley, and the ghosts. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the production (which would never have been thought of or undertaken but for the impecunious state of affairs) proved a palpable hit, Townsend's share being so considerable that he insisted on treating the company to a supper, shortly after which he went to America.

The mention of America, and connected with circus managing, naturally suggests to the mind the name of that arch-humbug, but most successful showman, P. T. Barnum, who was not always the wealthy caterer he now is.

On the contrary, his early life was a.s.sociated with such poverty-stricken surroundings, that the want of money had undoubtedly much to do with that smartness for which his name has become famous. His father died leaving the family very badly off, the mother being put to all sorts of straits to keep the home together; and when Barnum--who was first of all a farmer's boy--commenced his career, he, according to his own account, "began the world with nothing, and was barefooted at that." His first berth of any consequence was a clerkship in a general store, at which time he was "dreadfully poor;" but, says he, "I determined to have some money."

Consequently, impelled by impecuniosity, he speedily became ingenious. One day, when left in charge of the business, a pedlar called with a waggon full of common green gla.s.s bottles, varying in size from half a pint to half a gallon. The store was what was called a barter store. A number of hat manufacturers traded there, paying in hats, and giving store orders to many of their _employes_, and other firms did likewise, so that the business boasted an immense number of small customers. The pedlar was anxious to do business, and Barnum knew that his employers had a quant.i.ty of goods that were regarded as unsaleable stock. Upon these he put inordinately high prices, and then expressed his willingness to barter some goods for the whole lot of bottles. The pedlar was only too glad, never dreaming of disposing of all his load, and the exchange was effected. Shortly after, Mr. Keeler, one of the firm, returned, and, on beholding the place crowded with the bottles, asked in amazement, "What _have_ you been doing?" "Trading goods for bottles," replied Barnum; to which his employer made the unpalatable rejoinder, "You are a fool;"

adding, "You have bottles enough for twenty years."

Barnum took the reproof very meekly, only saying that he hoped to get rid of them in less than three months, and then explained what goods he had given in exchange. The master was very pleased when he found that his a.s.sistant had got rid of what was regarded as little better than lumber, but still was dubious as to how on earth he would be able to find customers for the gla.s.s, more especially as there was a quant.i.ty of old tinware, dirty and flyblown, about which Barnum was equally sanguine. In a few days the secret was out. His _modus operandi_ was this: a gigantic lottery--1000 tickets at 50 cents each. The highest prize 25 dollars, payable in goods; any that the customers desired to that amount. Fifty prizes of five dollars each, the goods to that amount being mentioned, and consisting as a rule of one pair cotton hose, one cotton handkerchief, two tin cups, four pint gla.s.s bottles, three tin skimmers, one quart gla.s.s bottle, six nutmeg graters, and eleven half-pint gla.s.s bottles. There were 100 prizes of one dollar each, and 100 prizes of fifty cents each, and 300 prizes of twenty-five cents each, gla.s.s and tinware forming the greater part of each prize. Headed in glaring capitals "Twenty-five dollars for fifty cents; over 500 prizes." The thousand tickets sold like wild-fire, the customers never stopping to consider the nature of the prizes.

Journeyman hatters, boss hatters, apprentice boys, hat-trimmers, people of every cla.s.s and kind bought chances in the lottery, and in less than ten days all the tickets were sold.

This was Barnum's first stroke of business, the success of it no doubt having much to do with his subsequent enterprises; and as, according to his own showing, the scheme was the result of needy circ.u.mstances, and a determination to have money, it is impossible to say how much his present prosperity is due to that early expedient.

To give a less modern instance of the power of impecuniosity to render people ingenious, there is an anecdote of this nature recorded of Captain William Winde, a celebrated architect, the dates of some of whose designs are 1663-1665. Amongst many other of his achievements is included Buckingham House, in St. James's Park, which he designed for the Duke of Buckingham, but the money for which he could not obtain. The edifice was nearly finished when the arrears of payment were so considerable that the architect felt he could not continue unless he obtained a settlement; but how to do it? That was the thing. Asking was perfectly useless, and writing to his grace was equally ineffectual. At last a brilliant idea occurred to him. He requested the duke to mount the leads, to behold the wonderful view that could be obtained therefrom, and when the n.o.ble owner complied, he locked the trap-door, and threw the key away.

"Now," said Winde, "I am a ruined man, and unless I have your word of honour that the debts shall be paid, I will instantly throw myself over."

"What is to become of me?" asked the duke.

"_You shall come along with me!_" replied Winde; whereat his grace immediately promised to pay, and the trap was opened at a given signal by a workman who was in the plot.

There is a similar kind of story told of Sir Richard Steele and a carpenter who had built a theatre for him, but who was unable to get his money. Finding all ordinary means of no avail, the carpenter took the opportunity when Sir Richard had some friends present, who had a.s.sembled for the purpose of testing the capabilities of the building, of going to the other end of the theatre; and when told to speak out something pretty loudly, to test the acoustic properties, roared as loud as ever he could that he wished to goodness Sir Richard Steele would settle his account.

This is the same individual who gave a splendid entertainment to all the leading people of the time, and had them waited upon by a number of liveried servants. After dinner Steele was asked how such an expensive retinue could be kept upon his fortune, when he replied he should be only too glad to dispense with his servants' services, but he found it impossible to get rid of them.

"Impossible to get rid of them?" asked his friends. "What do you mean?"

"Why, simply that these lordly retainers are bailiffs with an execution,"

replied Steele, adding that "he thought it but right that while they remained they should do him credit."

It is said that his friends were so amused by the humorous ingenuity displayed, that they paid the debt, which is not unlikely, considering how popular he was. As a literary man, Steele was always regarded with the highest esteem, and his personal merits were equally recognised, since his want of economy was considered his only sin, it having been said of him that "he was the most innocent rake that ever entered the rounds of dissipation."

The same could not be said of Sheridan unfortunately, whose ingenuity under monetary pressure (and when wasn't he pressed for money?) was remarkable. One of the least harmless of the many incidents recorded of this character is the circ.u.mstance of his obtaining a handsome watch from Harris the proprietor of Covent Garden Theatre. He had made innumerable appointments with Harris, none of which had ever been kept, and at last the manager sent word through a friend that if Sherry failed to be with him at one o'clock as arranged, he would positively have nothing more to do with him. Notwithstanding the importance of the interview, at three o'clock Sheridan was at Tregent's, a famous watchmaker's, and in course of conversation he told Tregent that he was on his way to see Harris.

"Ah!" said the watchmaker, "I was at the theatre a little while ago, and he was in a terrible rage with you--said he had been waiting for you since one."

"Indeed," said Sheridan; "and what took you to Covent Garden?"

"Harris is going to present Bate Dudley with a gold watch," was the reply; "and I took him a dozen to choose from."

Sheridan left on hearing this, and went straight to the theatre, where he found Harris exceedingly wroth at having, as he said "had to wait over two hours."

"My dear Harris," began the incorrigible one, "these things occur more from my misfortune than my faults, I a.s.sure you. I thought it was but one o'clock. It happens I have no watch, and am too poor to buy one. When I have one, I shall be as punctual as any one else."

"Well," replied the manager, "you shall not want one long. Here are half-a-dozen of Tregent's best--choose whichever you like."

Sheridan did not hesitate to avail himself of the offer; nor did he, as it will be understood, select the least expensive one of the number.

_A propos_ of watchmakers, there is the story of Theodore Hook dining with one with whom he was utterly unacquainted save by name, which ingenious plan was evolved through lack of funds. Driving out one afternoon with a friend in the neighbourhood of Uxbridge, Hook remembered that he had not the means wherewith to procure dinner, and turning to his companion said, "By the way, I suppose you have some money with you?" But he had reckoned without his host. "Not a sixpence--not a sou," was the reply, the last turnpike having taken his friend's last coin. Both were considerably crestfallen, for it was getting late, and the drive had made them remarkably hungry. What was to be done? Presently they pa.s.sed an exceedingly pretty residence. "Stay," said Hook, "do you see that house--pretty villa, isn't it? Cool and comfortable--lawn like a billiard-table. Suppose we dine there?" "Do you know the owner?" asked the friend. "Not the least in the world," laughed Hook. "I know his name. He is the celebrated chronometer-maker. The man who got 10,000 premium from Government, and then wound up his affairs and his watches." Without another word they drove up to the door, asked for the proprietor, and were ushered into the worthy tradesman's presence. "Oh, sir," said Hook, "happening to pa.s.s through your neighbourhood, I could not deny myself the pleasure and honour of paying my respects to you. I am conscious it may seem impertinent, but your celebrity overcame my regard for the common forms of society, and I, and my friend here, were resolved, come what might, to have it in our power to say that we had seen you, and enjoyed for a few minutes, the company of an individual famous throughout the civilised world." The old man blushed, shook hands, and after conversing for a few minutes, asked them if they would remain to dinner, and partake of his hospitality? Hook gravely consulted with his friend, and then replied that he feared it would be impossible for them to remain. This only increased the watchmaker's desire for their society, and made him invite them more pressingly, till, at length the pretended scruples were overcome, the pair sitting down to a most excellent repast, to which they both did more than justice.

On another occasion, when Hook was very much worried for money, he went as a _dernier ressort_ to a publisher who knew him, in the hope that he would help him; but unfortunately the man knew him "too well," and refused, unless he had something to show that he would get his money's worth, or at any rate a portion of it. Thereupon Hook went home, sat up all night, wrote an introduction to a novel "on a new plan," appended a hurried chapter, which he took the next day to the publisher, a.s.serting that he had had a most liberal offer for it elsewhere, and so persuaded the man to advance the required sum.

Amusing as are many of the anecdotes quoted, there is one which may be called "divinely" funny, being connected with a once well-known theologian--Dr. John Brown of Haddington. This famous Biblical commentator, who flourished from 1784 to 1858, was anything but rich in this world's goods; and so poor when staying at Dunse, that he went into a shop and asked to be accommodated with a halfpennyworth of cheese. The shopman, awfully disgusted with the meanness of the order, remarked haughtily, that "they did not make" such small quant.i.ties; upon which the doctor asked, "Then what's the least you can sell?" "A penn'orth," was the reply. On the divine saying "Very well," the man proceeded to weigh that quant.i.ty, and then placed it on the counter, antic.i.p.ating to be paid for it. "Now," said Dr. Brown, "I will show you how to sell a halfpennyworth of cheese;" upon which, in the coolest manner conceivable, he cut the modic.u.m into two pieces, and appropriating one half, put down his coin and departed.

Impecuniosity in addition to sharpening men's wits, by which expression is understood the sharpening of the inventive faculties, has also the power of making sharp man's wit, as instanced in the case of the beggar who accosted Marivaux, the well-known French writer of romance. This mendicant, who appears to have been what we were wont to call a "st.u.r.dy rogue," looked so unlike what one soliciting alms should, that the man of letters said to him, "My good friend, strong and stout as you are, it is a great shame that you do not go to work;" when he was met with the reply, "Ah, master, if you did but know how lazy I am!" for which amazing audacity, he was rewarded by Marivaux, who said, "Well, I see thou are an honest fellow. Here's a piece of money for you."

Though, perhaps not strictly witty, the man's remark was excessively comic, and for aught I know, it may have been his conduct that gave rise to the now well-known expression--"funny beggar."

For impromptu wit connected with impecuniosity, there is the case of Ben Jonson, who was invited to dinner at the Falcon Tavern, by a vintner, to whom he was much in debt, and then told that if he could give an immediate answer to four questions, his debt should be forgiven him. The interrogatories put to him by the vintner were these, "What is G.o.d best pleased with? What is the Devil best pleased with? What is the World best pleased with? and what am I best pleased with?" To which Ben replied:

"G.o.d is best pleased when men forsake their sin.

The devil is best pleased when they persist therein.

The world's best pleased when thou dost sell good wine, And thou'rt best pleased when I do pay for mine."

To return to the instances of ingenuity, the late Charles Mathews must be remembered; for he claims the credit of having been successful in extracting money from Jew bailiffs, which, incredible as it may seem at first, would really appear to have been the case. He says, "I might relate a thousand stories of my hair-breadth 'scapes and adventures, with a cla.s.s of persons wholly unknown, happily, to a large portion of the population, and whose names inspire terror to those who do not know them;--officers of the Jewish persuasion, who are supposed to represent the majesty of the law in its most forbidding aspect, but to whom I have been indebted for so many acts of kindness, that I have frequently blessed my stars that they were interposed between me and the tomahawking Christians by whom they were employed, and from whom no mercy could have been extracted. I have had two of those functionaries in adjacent rooms, and _have borrowed the money from one to pay out the other_, with many such like incidents."

There is no doubt that on the subject of bailiffs this most popular light comedian was an authority; for his experience of them was considerable, and it is therefore gratifying to find him bearing testimony to the good qualities of the much-maligned individual, who, as "the man in possession," is so often provocative of anger, malice, and all uncharitableness in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of those who have to entertain him. It would be unwise, however, for any one to be so led away by the eulogistic remarks of Charles Mathews as to expect to be able to go and do likewise, in the matter of borrowing money from them; for it must be remembered, that without exception he was the most entertaining man in existence, and blest with persuasive powers unparalleled. At the same time, it is perfectly true that they are nothing like as formidable as they are supposed to be (this is reliable--for a distant relation of mine once knew a person, who had a friend that was sold up--Ahem!), and if it were not for their partiality for wearing an extra number of coats and waistcoats, and invariably carrying a stout stick, which characteristics render them unmistakable to the practised eye, they would not be so objectionable, as they are by no means devoid of sympathy, and are always open to reason in the shape of gin and water.

Though not of so p.r.o.nounced a type as some that have been quoted, there is an anecdote ill.u.s.trative of ingenuity, recorded of Samuel Foote, who, in the days of his youth, and hard-upishness, wrote 'The Genuine Memoirs of the Life of Sir John Dinely Goodere, Bart., who was murdered by the contrivance of his own brother.' The author was nephew to the murdered man, and the a.s.sa.s.sin; but so poor was he, that on the day he took his MS.

to the publishers he was actually without stockings. On receiving his pay for the book (10), he stopped at a hosier's in Fleet Street, to replenish his wardrobe, but just as he issued from the shop, he met two old Oxford a.s.sociates, lately arrived in London for a frolic, and they bore him off to a dinner at the "Bedford:" where, as the wine began to take effect, his unclad condition began to be perceivable, and he was questioned as to "what the deuce had become of his stockings?" "Why," said Foote--the stockingless Foote--"I never wear any at this time of the year, till I am going to dress for the evening, and you see"--pulling his purchase out of his pocket, and silencing the laugh and suspicion of his friends--"I am always provided with a pair for the occasion."

Equally humorous is the story told of the Honourable George Talbot, the brother of the Earl of Shrewsbury, a man well known about town during the time of the Peninsular War. He was a reckless spendthrift, and in Paris, where he had spent thousands, he was reduced to absolute want. Though a man of decidedly bad principles, he was what is termed a good Roman Catholic; that is to say, a regular attendant at Ma.s.s, and when he found it impossible to raise money anywhere else he bethought him of the clergy, and repaired to confession. He revealed everything to the priest, at least with regard to his penniless condition, and after much interrogation, and deliberation, was told to "trust in Providence." Seemingly much struck by the advice, he said he would come again, and on his second visit, retold his story, with the addition that nothing at the time of the interview had turned up; when he was met with the same counsel as before, and enjoined to "trust in Providence." Somewhat chapfallen at the failure of his visit, he went away, but after a few days again presented himself to the abbe, whom he thanked effusively for his good advice on the two previous occasions, and then begged the pleasure of his company to dinner at a well-known fashionable restaurant. The invitation was accepted, and the two sat down to a most sumptuous repast, the delicacy of the viands being only surpa.s.sed by the choiceness of the wine. When the meal was concluded the bill was handed to Talbot, who said that his purse was quite empty, and had been so for a long time, but that he thought he could not do better than follow his confessor's advice and "trust in Providence." The Abbe Pecheron (the confessor) saw the joke, paid for the dinner, and so interested himself in Talbot's case, that he obtained from the spendthrift's friends in England sufficient to enable him to return to this country.

Not the least ingenious of the many instances to be met with, however, is one attributed to a widow, who, in the days of Whitecross Street and the Bench, was arrested for debt. This lady, who is described as of fair and dashing appearance, with great powers of fascination, soon began to pine for her liberty, and pet.i.tioned for leave "to live within the rules,"

which request was granted. She then took a house in Nelson Square, and became a reigning queen of pleasure, her Thursday evening _reunions_ being deemed so delightful, that invitations for them were most eagerly sought for. Her admirers were legion (that is of the male s.e.x), one at last being successful in obtaining her coveted hand, and the marriage took place in due course. When the happy pair returned to Nelson Square after the ceremony, the tipstaves, who had become acquainted with the affair, put in an appearance as the newly married couple were about to start on their honeymoon, informing the lady that they would arrest her, and take her to the Bench, if she attempted to leave "the rules." Nothing disconcerted by this apparent stopper to her happiness, she calmly, but majestically exclaimed, "Indeed! You forget there is no such person as the lady named in your warrant. I am no longer Mrs. A., but Mrs. B. There is my husband, and he is responsible for my debts."

"Then, sir," said the tipstaff, "I must arrest you."

The lady smiled sarcastically, saying, "I think it will be time enough to arrest my husband when you have served him with a writ. If you have one, produce it; if not, kindly stand aside, and allow us to enter the coach."

The officers could but comply, for they saw they had been outwitted, and were compelled to stand meekly by, while the clever widow, observing "Now, my love, let us be off," jumped into the carriage, and drove away with her husband.

CHAPTER VI.