BIOGRAPHICAL.

Otago Witness, Issue 1989, 10 April 1890, Page 39

BIOGRAPHICAL.

STORY OP WATTS PHILLIPS.

( Concluded.)

Details Concerning the Author of 11 The Dead Heart "—A Play that Took London by Stokm— Home Life of a Dramatist and Journalist Whose Lines Did Not Fall in the Most Pleasant P laoes.

At the time when Phillips was supposed to be at the height of his popularity, he was obliged to eke out his precarious income, by writing pot-boilers for the London Journal, at that time an institution much in vogue. The proprietor was aMr Stiff— the manager, Mark Lemon, through whose friendly offices Phillips was placed upon the staff. Amongst his colleagues were Sir John Gilbert, who did the illustrations, and oharie3 Reade, whose " White Lies," strange to say, proved to be the most disastrous "ventilator " the patriot ever had. Phillips' norn de plume on these occasions was Fairfax Balfour. In this species of work, " The Duchess," as he called Mrs Phillips, was an able assistant, and not infrequently contributed the material for an entire number. Upon calling one evening in Chelsea, I found them both actively engaged in the weekly instalment of a blood-curdling romance, entitled, "Nelly; or, the Companions of the Chain." Dinner was nearly ready, but the "devil" was waiting below for copy. The cares of country management on ; an extensive scale deterred me from meeting Phillips as often as I could wish, but we kept up a regular correspondence. While we acted in Liverpool in 1867-8, 1 received the following letter :— j Eton Villas, Haverstock Hill, January 11, 1868. My dear C , I perceive you are in the thick of your beastly pantomimes— pantomimes in Lancashire, in Yorkshire, and in the Land o' Cakes. I expect you are living in the night mail, aB usual. For all that, try to find time to help me over a stile. Of course, you are aware that " The Dead Heart" was stolen for the States, and, although acted in .every city of the Union, I never received as much as a single dollar conscience money from any of thieves. Imagine, then, if you can, my delight when I tell you that I have found an houest American manager, who has paid me, and paid me liberally, for the American rights of my new play " Amos Clark." But now, oh, my son, "read, mark, and inwardly digest." According to the iniquitous decision in the "Collfcen Bawn" case, if "Amos" ia acted first in the States, any thief or knave (and America doesn't retain a monoply them) may steal the piece here, and do it in my very teeth without paying me a red cent. . I am in negotiation for its production in town, but as yet have not settled where it will be produced. Now, '• to make assurance doubly sure," I want you to do the piece for me at me or other of your theatres. Never mind getting, it up, but shove it on at once, onty you must play Amos. He is a fellow after your own heart. If you can't do him in town, I dare say I can arrange it; that iB if yon don't open your mouth too widely. Anyhow, I can ensure you the provincial rights on equitable terms. Mind ! "If it were done, when 'tis done, then It were better that it were done quiokly." go allez dear boy, allez !— yours always, Watts. p S.—Herewith I forward scrip; for goodness' sake take better care of it than you did with " The Huguenot." "Eleven years have elapsed since this letter was written, and the poor author is atill robbed with impunity by .pirates on both Bides of the "pond." Is it too muoh to hope that the time is approaching when the collective wisdom of two great nations will combine to right this cruel wrong 1 It has been already stated that Phillips was an [admirable artist. He was also a grotesque humourist, and was apt upon the Ipur of the moment to call in the aid of his ttencU to emphasise his pen. ....... At length his reputation was established, 4 h\* work was everywhere in demand. * of ibbß miserable pittance hitherto Insteau £ c was approaching a posidoled out.. ,^ £ aye flUtimately enabled tion which vk * mn terms, when, alas 1 him to command . « no^srs his health at the full fruition oi .^ „<, buoyant and began to fail him. He *. • flow of elastic and had such a de. to realise animal spirits that it was diflicv K/>w that he was seriously ill. • veafs I suppose it must have been some 13 „ •-^ ago when I made a descent upon his pla^ at Chelsea. Miss Phillips, who had only just returned from France, did not know me. Holding the door on the chain, she intimated that papa was out of town. II You are sure of that ? " I inquired. «• Quite sure," she replied. "All right," said I, " when he returns, tell him that a friend from Scotland has called." The words were scarcely out of my mouth when a well-known voice rang out from the first landing : " Stop, dear boy, stop ! Rolande, unbar the door; unloose the chain. Come to this ■manly bosom ; glad to see you, old man, and >see I here is the Duchess and George Vining. 'We are going to feed, and you are just in •time I" He was then in very indifferent health, Ibut he persisted in coming out at 2 in the imorning to accompany Vining and myself to ttbe cabstand. "When shall we three meet again?" he Baughingly inquired as we parted. Alas I we never met again 1 He continued taovwrite at intervals ; but his letters became less ifrequent, and this, without date, is end«suEsadi " Last letter from poor Watts." 45 Redcliffe road, West Brompton. Alas ! «ay dear Coleman— my Robert Landry ! My future ©uke of Marlborough ! It is evident that among :the>ilds of Snaefell, in the lone Isle of Three Legs, much hath escaped thee -that has been going on here. I have been ill ! I am still very ill, and though I should have liked to have been with thee searching the red lightning in its lair, and calling the eagle and chamois my playmates, yet a cruel fate hath doomed it otherwise. Jesting apart, for many months now my health (since the conclusion of my dramal « Black Mail," and another work, an origin a comedy) has proved treacherous, and, likei a house long falling, caved in, the doors closng wXa crash. But for the great skill and cease£s attention of my friend, Dr Ord, of Brook itreet, mattera were likely to have gone badly

with me. He picked me out of the Slough of Despond, shot a ray of brightening hope through my despondency, and promises soon ' the shining city — whioh of course, means I Bright-on ! Six months without a stroke of work ! Under the strictest orders " not to write, not even to think more than possible " (" Well, that's easy enough," mucmara some d — d good-natured f ciend) ; to close for the time being the bank of th 3 brain, and jive, so to speak, in the circumference of a shilling ! I send this " Roundabout Paper " of myself in order to account for my apparent rudeness in not thanking you before this in your kind remembrance of us. Thanks, ten thousand thanks for the big brown jar and the hamper. The Spirit of Light and Life was most acceptable, and the kippers were " scrumptious." (You see I use the Duchess' handwriting to convey my thoughts, for I am still very weak ; and it will be a good month before the old horse shakos itself into harness again.) By the way, in the matter of the kippers the Duchess speaks her own thoughts as well as mine, for I verily believe, had I not prevented it, she would have incontinently devoured the denizens of the deep at one sitting, and have got regal after with the " nectar." (I wrib9 this down in duty bound, and deny it for the same reasons !— C.P.) Wishing you and Mrs Coleman health, wealth, and prosperity, with our united kind regards, yours very sincerely, Watts Phillips. THE END OF THE JOUKNEY. A few months afterwards he had reached the end of his journey. A cruel journey it had been — one of strife and storm and struggle— embittered by debt and difficulty and domestic trouble. Bad as it was, had it not been for a few devoted friends (two of whom will be known to the initiated by the initials of H. L. and G. A. S.) it might have been even worse. I was abroad when the end came, hence the sad news only reached me when all was over. When I returned to town, our mutual friend Cbatterton, the Drury Lane manager, who had been one of the faithful few during poor Phillips' illness, told me that Mrs Phillips wished to see me. Upon calling upon her she told me it was my poor friend's last requeßt that I should bring his daughter on the stage. When I came to town I transferred her engagement to my friend James Chute, of Bristol, and when a year later I went there to act, by a yet more remarkable coincidence, Miss Phillips played Cerisette with me, in her dead father's play. Stranger still, while actually writing these lines, I have received an Australian paper in which it is stated that she is now acting in a splendid revival of "Julius Csesar" at the Theatre Royal, Sydney. Besides the plays already named (" Dead Heart," "Joseph Chavigny," "The Poor Strollers," "Huguenot Captain," and "Marlboro' "), Phillips wrote " Paper Wings," for the Adelphi ; " A Story of the '45," for Drury Lane; "Camilla's Husband* (a charming play, which never attained the success it deserved), for the Olympic ; " Paul's Return " and " Barnaby Rudge," for Mrs Wood's return to the English stage at the Princess' ; "Not Guilty," "Black Mail," "Nobody's Child," " The Woman in Mauve," for Sothern at the Haymarket ; " Theodora "(a far better play, be it remarked en passant, than the much vaunted Sardou-Bernardb recentj|production), for Avonia Jones, at the Surrey ; "On the Jury," for Ohatteiton (in which Phelps and Webster acted together), at the Princess' ; " A Ticket of Leave," and novels, &q., without mention. Many of these dramas took she months of the author's life, not one of them occupied less than three months, yet his highest remuneration for a play was £300 1 The other night an Italian cantatrice got double that amount for singing three songs. In our convivial moments, Phillips was wont to say, " Gall me not fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune ! " The fickle jade never knocked at his door. Were he living now she would doubtless keep up a perpetual rap, tap, tap from morning to night ; but, alas 1 when the golden prize for which he had so long and so gallantly struggled was almost within his grasp, he died in sight of the promised land — yes, died prematurely, and it is to be feared of a broken heart. His children do not receive a shilling from any work he ever wrote.

Only recently a gentleman whose^ highest achievement in dramatic composition consisted jin adapting half a dozen comic operettas from our lovely neighbours on the other side the silver streak left behind him a modest fortune of £28,000. Jf, instead of being merely a man of venins, Watts Phillips had been something fe different— what a different record might farv. •^ ttwr itt en of a wasted life.— John have X (a tbe New Yo rk Herald. COLEMAN, . ______ __^