EVANS’ MUSIC HALL.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1061, 30 June 1892, Page 10

EVANS’ MUSIC HALL.

A delightful place, Evans’, entered from one of the Covenfc Garden corridors. I recall its unique, if smoky, atmosphere with peculiar pleasure. Redolent of chops and steaks and foaming stout, hazy with tobacco smoke (through which wandered the soothing vocal strains of ‘ Who will o’er the Downs with me?’ or the patriotic refrain of ‘Men of Harlech’), Evans’ was a chop house, a concert room, and the best of night clubs. It had its bad beginnings, no doubt, and,its unhappy ending; but between these extremes there was a really pleasant, genial time. I hardly ever went there without seeing Sergeant Ballantyne, who pays high tribute to THE DEAR OLD PLACE in his book of Reminiscences. He reminds me that we only called Mr Greo:> ‘Paddy’ behind his back. Everyone respected the merry old man. He shook his head about Colonel Newcombe, and mentioned that the Cave of Harmony was at the Adelphi. Ballantyne was a great favourite with Mr Green, who always reserved a special chair for the famous advocate. Like other frequenters, he belonged to many clubs, but rarely missed an evening at Evans’. I have seen at his table in a corner of the old room there, Mr Montagu Williams, the present popular London magistrate, the late Mr Lav - son, of the great daily paper, and his successor, looking not more fresh and fit than he does to day. Before my time, Thackeray and Dickens were habituds, as were also Albert Smith and Douglas Jsrrold, I have eaten many a supper there

with Mark Lemon and Shirley Breoks and have met there both Benjamin Webster and Mr Buckstone, of the Hay market. And what potatoes the cook sent up to be squeezed upon one’s plate by

THE MOST ATTENTIVE OF WAITERS with the whitest of napkins. There wer« many and notable pictures on the walla. The music was supplied by a trained choir of men and boys, and consisted of the gems of Bishop, Purcell, Hatton, and other masters of the art of madrigal, glee, and chorus. ‘ Sir Patrick Spens,’ ‘ The Chough and Crow,’ and a score of kindred works were given during the evening, with an occasional solo. If you happened to be alone, it was easy enough to listen and be sentimental over both words and" music ; if you had company, the music made a soft and agreeable accompaniment to your conversation. It was not'aggressive music, it might have been one voice harmonised, so perfect was the method, so complete wa3 the conductor’s control. The place had its noisy times, its

ROWDY INCIDENTS, but they were not the vicious incidents that occasionally darken the splendours of the modern halls. Once a year the men of Oxford and Cambridge, coming up for the boat race, made Evans’ hum. They snng their own songs ; they danced on the furniture ; they fought with anything and anybody. And once a year the ordinary frequenters left the place to these sedate students of the universities, and nothing very serious came of their high spirits. Then one day it was all over. Paddy died. The pictures were sold. These succeeded a proprietary that had now ideas. The lady in her tiny brougham drew up, and was admitted. Champagne in cut glasses took the place of stout in pewter pots. Disturbance followed the innovation. . The police stepped in, and they who had loved the old place in its days of innocence dispersed to seek recreation iu other scenes. Whether the Great This, the Charming Serio comic That,

THE CHAIN : BREAKIN"G SAMPSON", and the rest, are an improvement on Herr Joel, the sentimental songster, or Evans’ trained choir, it is not my province to discuss ; whether the presence of Phryno and Circe is a distinct advance upon the old fashion dictated by Paddy Green and his snuff box is a question for editorial columns, and not for these Idler’s pages; but I will say without fear of contradiction that there is no supper now a days to be compared with the simple wholesome fare and the courteous attendance that men rejoiced in daring the palmy days of Evans’ Music Hall, under the urbano and genial management of Paddy Green. Joseph Hatton in the Idler.

The late Captain ‘Bay’ Middleton was extremely fond cf practical jokes, but occasionally he mot his match. He was once staying in a big country house, and one of the party, a hunting man, came down to dinner the first evening attired in a pink coat. Captain Middleton made a dead sot at him, and threatened him with fearful penalties if he dared to put on the conspicuous garment another evening. Nevertheless, the following night the pink coat reappeared, This time ‘Bay’ Middleton said straight out before everybody, ‘ I say, So and-so, if you put on that beastly coat again, I warn you I will take a knife ana slit it up the back from top to bottom.’ ‘ Oh,’ said the victim, imperturbably, and the third night he again appeared in pink. Thereupon Captain Middleton snatched a carving knife,went behind him, and deftly divided the coat in two from collar to tails. The man merely smiled and sat calmly eatiug, to everyone’s snrprise, At last the persecutor said, ‘ Why on earth don’t you swear, or do something ? ’ I don’t mind,’ was the calm reply, ‘ it’syour coat.’ Ho had gone to ‘ Bay ’ Middleton’s room, unpacked his coat, and put it on for the occasion.