THE LATE E. L. BLANCHARD.

Press, Volume XLVI, Issue 7476, 25 November 1889, Page 2

THE LATE E. L. BLANCHARD.

Bγ Lukb Srabp. NoTl. Several times I begged Mr EL L. Blanehard to let mc tell In the columns of this journal some of the stories of hialifo which I had heard him relate. His invariable answer was: "Wait till I die, my boy, wait till I die." I pointed out to him once that if I waited till he died the stories that he told would therefore go unconnected, and that I would be certain to get things mixed up, and wouldprobably have them full of inaccuracies. He answered that he had too great a respect for fiction to wish to keep that element out of any anecdotes relating to him, and added, that he thought, perhaps, that the fiction part of it would be better than the original. In this, however, he was mistaken, because he was himself an inimitable story teller, and nothing could be more delightful than to sit and listen to him recount the many memorable events in which he took part. For the last thirty year* Mr Edward Lamaa Blanchard has written the Drury Lane pantomime. For a n equal length of time he has been dra ma tic critic on one of the great London dailies. Be has written stories, guide books, essays, dramas, newspaper articles, magazine articles, in fact, at one time or another, he basdabbledineverv form of literature. Has edited papers and editions of Shakspeare, and even taken a hand at publishing, and everything he did he did well. Ido not know whether he has left behind him or published during his life a volume of recollections,, but if he has done so there is no question but the book would be one of the most interesting works that ever was given to the public. liike so many men who have amounted Co something in a later day, he had a bard time of it in his youth. When he was a young man he engaged with a strolling mngic lantern, performer, and took tickets at the door, delivered lectures on the pictures and made himself generally useful. This show broke up for lack of general support at Bristol, I think it was, and young Blanchard had to tramp back to London. It was very delightful when hearing him tell of his experiences as a magic lantern exhibitor, to note the confidential tone with which he said, to us who were listening to him: *• By the way, if you have any tramping to do, I would advise you to put a little piece of soap in the heels of your boots. you have no idea how easy ie makes walkTwhen he got back to London he hadn't a penny in his pocket, but a friend who met him stood him a dinner, and what was better put him in the way of making a living. It seems that there was a wealthy butcher in London wno had literary aspirations, and so, had started a publication devoted to science and useful knowledge. *'Jfow," said Blanchard's friend to him, ".the editor of that publication which, • strangely enough, has been a success, has left in & huff. He can't stand the butcher's domineering way. If you don't mind that I think I can get you the situation." Blanchard said that he would be only too glad to take all the rebuffs the butcher would give him, if he only got enough to keephim alive. "Very well, then. Here is the address .Of the butcher. You go and see him. , Pretend that you are up on science and art and everything else that he asks you •bout. There is one thing that that butcher had seen printed somewhere, and he wffi very likely ask you the question. He bad seen it mentioned somewhere that January 21st has been for the last twenty- * five years, on an average, the coldest day - -at the year. Now, if he asks you any question about that, remember January

Sat< Young Blanchard called on the wealthy batcher and found him a very pretentious individual. "Well,young man," said the butcher, "you don't look as if you knew very much."

Blanchard admitted that appearances ware •gainst him, bat made a remark to - the effect that sometimes appearances were not all that might be asked for. - "Now, young man," said the butcher, "do you understand science." To this comprehensive question Blanehard modestly admitted that he understood all about it. . " Very well, I will test you," and with that the butcher frowned deeply and —erocd to throw his mind back into the misty realms of scientific lore. **<*n you tell mc," he said, slowly and impress&ivelv, " what day of the year on the average is the coldest ? " "Ah, that," said young Blanchard, "is * very searching question. It is a very onai question. It is a question that the famous authorities have differed upon. . Some hold that the day occurs in February. Borne in March; others again in December, but I believe that the very beat opinion of the scientific world coincides in saying • that January 21 is, on an average, the coldest day in the year." — "Kight you are," cried the butcher warmly," right you are, sir. You shall have the editorship of the publication." I.- ]ir Blanchard told some very amusing i Stories of the appalling scientific mistakes, fee made in editing this journal. Bat nevertheless, the paper was a success, •nd I can remember that extracts from -this scientific miscellany—extracts that Blanchard admitted were written by -his own pen on subjects of which 'h» knew absolutely nothing, except what he had gleaned from the encyclopedias—were taken by the government of panada and incorporated in the school books of that country for the education of children in science. Blanchard had ' written up dense ignorance in such a "taking way that he had deluded the pro- . feasors of science themselves. When I told Mr Blanchard of this *« triumph in being quoted as a scientific .authority he said that in that case his life ' had not been in vain, and he regarded the Sanction of the Dominion of Canada as 'toe proudest diadem in his crown. . ** It has always been my fate," said Mr .Blanchardonce, "tobe taken as a great ' authority on subjects of which I was *~ entirely ignorant. Now, no one," he cou- '. tinned. 'Knows less about a horse than I do, ana yet, strange as it may appear, by a lacky prediction I made once on a horse Caee, I gained a reputation as a great . authority on horseflesh, and-was one time offered the editorship of a big sporting . Journal for that reason alone." »- In fact, I think Mr Blanchard did edit the sportinsc column of a journal for some : nan. To tell the truth, it would be hard , CD assert that there was anything from BhaKespeare to a book on horses tnat " hei did not edit. His first experience with a horse was very comical. One day the batcher above referred to rode to the publication office of his . Journal on a very fine piece ol horseflesh. This butcher was apt to be a little domi, Bberins when be came around the office- : »"* he had the cheek to ask Blanchard to ride his horse to the stable. Blanchard r had never been on a horse in his life before and when he. got astride of this one he was in a worse plight even than John ; Qilpin. The horse wouldn't pay the least f attention to Blanchard's attempt to guide him, and trotted off with him to Bedford > Square, and around that square the two weot for about sixteen times, until the korse became tired of the neighbourhood, and then struck off for the west. Away they went up to Hammersmith and on through Turnham Green, and then, taking to the north, the horse came through Shepherd's Bash and all that part of London, Blanchard hanging on for dear life, and expecting every wfmifr* to be landed on the ground. At last, toward night, when Blanchard was ( nearly dead, the horse drew up at his own •tables and walked in. The man in charge, seeing at once the condition of the horse, •adTknowing that he had been ridden anifcty much all day, helped Blanchard down. The young man was hardly able to walk and it seemed as if his legs would never resume their natural position again. " Ah, you young rogue," said the horsekaeper, poking him jocosely in the ribs, ** you know asjood piece of 'orseflesh when you see it. You 'aye 'ad a good time, you aye. Well, I don't blame you. I've been ■ young myself, and knew what it was to get on a good 'one." "And ever since that," said Blanchard, IhaTe had the reputation of being a tegular dare-devil of a horseman."

Nα IL of a man's first book is g w event lv his career, but it SSSSS^^Jb O,I ' ever had such an .sasS£?fflK3fS3 or the end of each number bo ioternaKn., thaUheipetsoß it SKShSJ to bay the next. Blanchard thought he •raid fill this requirement, and so amwu Ing was arranged at a certain tavern. •. Author and publisher met there, and it earned out that the publisher was a

printer in a small way in Drury Lane. He was so liberal in the matter of terms to bejpald (after the book was published) that Blanehard thought he haa struck a bonanza although experience in alter life with publisher* would have made him suspicious. The terms were quickly agreed to, and Blanchard wrote the first number, which was pronounced excellent. It was agreed that no person could read that first number without having a yearning desire to see .the next, and Saturday night Blanchard went down to the printing establishment while the first instalment at a penny was being got out. The publisher was a very genial fellow, who did the printing down the cellar and lived in the upper rooms himself. He treated Blanchard to stout, and, while they were drinking, the young author could hear the click of the press down stairs, and it was music to his ears.' Finally a. trap door raised and the head of a man, who was evidently the worse for liquor, appeared through It. The click of the press had stopped, and the printer had struck. He wanted more beer, or else the work would stop. The publisher looked annoyed, and finally he said to Blanchard: " Have you got any money about you T Blanchard admitted that he had two and sixpence.

" Well, if you will lend mc that for tonight I will get him his beer and the work will goon.

Blanchard turned out the half-crown, the beer was bought, the head disappeared down the trap door and the click of the press was once more resumed. After a while it stopped again and the head reappeared through the door. " Paper's all gone," he said. " Dear mc," said the publisher, " I thought we had paper enough. Well, we'll have to get some more." So he sent out for a supply of paper and the messenger returned with the information that the paper would not be forthcoming unless the price was. It was evident that the publisher's credit was not very good in the neighborhood. " Dear mc," said the publisher, looking at Blanchard, but Blanchard shook his head ; he had no more money. "It wasn't of that I was thinking," he said. "Ithought that if you wouldn't mind to be put to a little inconvenience for an hour or so, everything would be all right. Now if you will let mc have your coat and waistcoat I will pawn them and get enough money for the paper. Then we vrill deliver the numbers to Vicker's tonight and will get the money and take the things out of pawn." " All right," said Blanchard, and with that he took off his coat and waistcoat.

The publisher went out with them while Blanchara sat there in his shirt sleeves drinking stout. After a while the publisher came back. He had pawned the coat and vest, but he had not yet raised enough money to get all the paper that was wanted.

"Now, my dear sir," he said to Blanchard, "it is getting late. You will be going to bed, anyhow. I can give you a room right here. Now, would you mind?" and he nodded towards Blanchard's trousers.

The young author thought this was going just a trifle too far, but there: apparently was no help for it, so he went to to bed and let the publisher takehis trousers to the'pawn shop, where the requisite amount of cash, was secured and the paper brought to the printer. But alas, by the time the printing and folding was completed a new difficulty arose. The wholesale newsdealer would accept the publication all right enough, but he would not pay any cash on it. He would take it on sale or return, and would account for all the copies sold and turn over the money then. Blanchard expressed some anxiety about his clothes that were in pawn, but the cheerful publisher told him it would be all right. He might have to lay in bed most of Sunday, out the publisher offered to lend htm his own clothes and to take to the bed himself, while Blanchard took an airing in Lincoln's Inn Fields nearby. This exchange of positions was made Sunday, but unfortunutely the publisher waea very much shorter and stouter man than Mr Blanchard, and when the author got on the publlser's clothes he presented the most ridiculous appearance that any man in London ever did. He went out, however, and walked around Lincoln's Inn fields to get a breath of fresh air. There he met Dickens and Cruikshank, who at that time roomed in a horrible little place overlooking an old, disused graveyard, which Dickens afterwards put into his book, "Bleak House." Dickens and Cruikehank nearly died laughing at the comical figure which Blanchard cut, and they accompanied him back to his lodgings, where they found the accommodating publisher still ia bed. Blanchard let him nave hid clothes, and neither Cruikshank nor Dickens having any money to help the young author out of his difficulty, they staid with him and told stories, and in some manner got enough porter to drink. We would -pay a large sum of money xxy day to have a shorthand report of that conversation. ,* ■ ' V 1 " That night." said Blanchard, "Cruikshank . took the candle and reached up with it to the ceiling and drew on the ceiling, which' you may understand was pretty low, a lot of cartoons with the soot and smoke of the-candle, and as Blanchard lay on his back in the bed, he saw those pictures grow on the ceiling to the most grotesque character of himself in the publisher's clothes walking around Lincoln's Inn field. "If I had that ceiling to-day," continued Blanchard, " I am sure I would get hundreds of pounds for it. The pictures were the funniest Cruikshank ever drew. v

Mr Blanchard used to tell many stories of his connection with the historical old Drury Lane theatre. At one time a law was passed closing up the public houses at a certain hour in the evening. This, although all right, perhaps, for the general public, was a great hardship on the actors, who used at that time to meet in the rooms of the public houses after the play was over and have their pint of porter or ale. It was at this time impossible to get a drop to drink after the theatre was out, for the law was very strictly administered, and there was no help for it. One night a lot of the actors, together with Mr Blanchard, were sitting in a certain room in Drury Lane Theatre, after the play Was over, and were.discussing the iniquity of the new law. One of the actors had a poker in his hand and was poking the fire. Finally he exclained : , . " Damn the law," and with this thrust the poker at the back of the fireplace, which to his astonishment gave way, and the poker went clear through into the the next house. Then there was a row. A man shouted to them frcm the other house, asking what in the they were about.

"Who are you?" cried Blanchard. " I am the landlord," was the answer. " of the BUnk '£ avern," naming a famous tavern that at that time was next to Drury Lane Theatre.

"Iβ your place closed up ?" cried Blanchard.

"Of course it is," answered the landlord.

" Has the poker gone through into your fireplace i" asked Blanchard. "Of course it has," answered the landlord.

" Oh, this is an interposition of Providence," cried Blanchard. " Say, can't you pass us through some ale and stout ? " The landlord hesitated about that, bat finally was persuaded to do it, and from that night until the time the law was repealed the actors of Drury Lane had all they wanted to drink passed to them through the broken fireplace. Mr Blanchard at one time edited a paper called " The Astrologer." The idea of the paper was his own, and it arose from a very strange circumstance that happened in the green room of Drury Lane Theatre. There was a sombre fellow who was connected in some way with the theatre who spent most of his time in silence and holding his head in his hands and made friends and acquaintances with nobody. One night when one of the actors was on the stage news came to him that a son had had been born to him. Iα order to surprise him one of the actors in the green room wrote on the wall with chalk:

" Youngest child of James Blank, born December 16, A.D. 18—."

When this had been done the sombre individual ime up and. took the chalk and, without a word, wrote under this sentence:

" And died February 21, A.D. 18—." All who were in the green room were Shocked at this piece of brutality, and Blanchard got a strip of paper and hurrying so as to get it finished before the actor came in, pasted the ends of the paper so that it covered the line underneath the first one. The actor was congratulated when he came off the stage and fortunately did not know anything of what had been written under the line which greeted him when he came into the green room. The subject was forgotten, when one winter night a messenger came for this actor, who was again taking part In the play. "What do yoii want him for!" asked Blanchard.

"His child has just died," said the messenger. Blanehard at once turned to the wall and tore down the strip of paper and found that the date there written by the sombre man was the exact date on which the child had died. This remarkable cou ttldenc6 struck him at the time and set

nim to thinking. He found that the queer individual seemed to have the gift of prediction, and he proposed to him that they would start a paper together, to be called The Astrologer. The man agreed, and the paper turned out to be a remarkable success. " We expected," said Blanchard, "that our most frequent inquiries would come from servant girls and that class. But we were astonished shortly after the paper was started to find predictions asked for by dukes and duchesses and lords and ladies in high rank of life." One day this sombre individual who had never become any particular friend with Blanchard, proposted that they take an excursion together. It was Saturday afternoon. " Where shall we gof said Blanchard.

"It doesn't matter," said the other. "Let's go to the first railway station we come to and take the first train that goes out and co as Car as it goes." "But, protested Blanchard, "it may take us to the north of Scotland."

" Very well, then, let us take a train that leaves the south of London. It cannot take us further than the channel."

So they went to the station and got on the' fires train and that took them to Dover, On Sunday the two climbed up to Shakespeare's Cliff and sat there in silence for some time looking over the channel. Suddenly, the sombre individual said:

" Blanchard, what a sensation it would make if I was to grasp you around the middle and jump with you oft* the cliff." Blanchard looked at the man and saw the light of insanity in his eyes. He quickly sprang back from the edge of the cliff, and said:

" I don't think I care just at present to be the central figure in such a sensation. Wβ will go down to the town if you don't mind."

The astrologer laughed and got up and followed Mr Blanchard down to Dover.

On Monday morning Blanchard found that his comrade had left for London on the first train. He followed him and when he got to the London office he found that the astrologer had gone to his room in the fourth-story and had locked himself in, with instructions that he was not to be disturbed. As he had frequently done this before; no attention was paid to the matter, but when lunch time passed and the -astrologer did not come out of his room, those in the office began to be alarmed. Finally the door was broken in, and they found the room empty. The door had been locked on the inside and the keys were still hanging there. The windows were closed and there was no chimney up which the man could have escaped. His hat and overcoat and cane were on the table, but not a trace of the astrologer could be found, and up to this day the mystery of his strange disappearance has been solved. This mysterious departure broke up the Astrologer, the paper that Blanchard and the strange man bad got out together.—Detroit Free Press.