arden, being transformed on the road from Sir Philip
back again to the weird sister. Again he left the patent theatre, and
reached the Haymarket in time to appear as Sir Philip, on the second
entrance of that character in the fifth act of the play. The actor
acquitted himself entirely to the satisfaction of his two audiences
(who were perhaps hardly aware of the extent of his labours), but
with very considerable strain upon his nervous system. For to add to
the difficulties of his task, his coachman, indifferent to the counsel
that the more haste often signifies the worse speed, turning a corner
too sharply, ran his forewheel against a post, and upset coach, actor,
dresser, candles, costumes, and all. This untimely accident
notwithstanding, the actor, with assistance freely rendered by a
friendly crowd, secured another vehicle, and succeeded in
accomplishing an exploit that can scarcely be paralleled in histrionic
records.

But if doubling was sometimes a matter of necessity, it has often been
the result of choice. Actors have been much inclined to undertake dual
duty with a view of manifesting their versatility, or of surprising
their admirers. Benefit-nights have been especially the occasions of
doubling of this kind. Thus, at a provincial theatre, then under his
management, Elliston once tried the strange experiment of sustaining
the characters of both Richard and Richmond in the same drama. The
entrance of Richmond does not occur until the fifth act of the
tragedy, when the scenes in which the king and the earl occupy the
stage become alternate. On making his exit as Richard, Elliston
dropped his hump from his shoulder, as though it had been a knapsack,
straightened his deformed limbs, slipped on certain pieces of
pasteboard armour, and, adorned with fresh head-gear, duly presented
himself as the Tudor prince. The heroic lines of Richmond delivered,
the actor hurried to the side-wings, to resume something of the
misshapen aspect of Richard, and then re-enter as that character. In
this way the play went on until the last scene, when the combatants
came face to face. How was their fight to be presented to the
spectators? This omission of so popular an incident as a broadsword
combat could not be thought of. The armour of Richmond was forthwith
shifted on to the shoulders of a supernumerary player, who was simply
enjoined to "hold his tongue, and fight like the devil." Richard
slain, Richmond departed. The body of the