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Updated: May 28, 2025
The "Apologist" has been speaking of Oldfield's success in Leonora, and he goes on to say: "Upon this unexpected sally, then, of the power and disposition of so unforseen an actress, it was that I again took up the first two acts of the 'Careless Husband, which I had written the summer before, and had thrown aside in despair of having justice done to the character of Lady Betty Modish by any one woman then among us; Mrs.
An' there" Nicholas Oldfield's eyes burned like blue flame, and again he told the story of the Flat-iron Lot. "Indeed!" cried the parson. "What a truly remarkable circumstance! We might halt on that very spot, and offer prayer, before entering the church." "'Pears as if that would be about the rights on't," said Nicholas quietly. "That is, if anybody wanted to plan it out jest as 't was."
By this time Lady Oldfield's attention was drawn to what was passing between her husband and son. "Dear Frank," she said, "I shall not allow you to do anything so foolish as to drink water. James, hand the beer again to Master Frank." "Indeed, dear mamma," he urged, "I mean what I say; I really should rather have water." "Absurd!" exclaimed her ladyship angrily; "what folly has possessed you now?
Distorted roofs patched with mis-shapen tiles; chimneys leaning at various angles out of the perpendicular; walls vile with the smoke and grime of a generation; mortar that looked as though it never in its best days could have been white; shattered doors whose proper colour none could tell, and which, standing ajar, seemed to lead to nothing but darkness; weird women and gaunt children imparting a dismal life to the rows of ungainly dwellings; all these made up a picture of squalid woe such as might well have appalled a stouter heart than poor Lady Oldfield's.
In this charming society the hours glided, and the wedding-day drew close. So deeply and sincerely was Sir Charles in love that when Mr. Oldfield's letter came, appointing the day and hour to sign Miss Somerset's deed, he was unwilling to go, and wrote back to ask if the deed could not be sent to his house. Mr.
But it's time to turn in; we shan't sleep the less sound because we're not indebted to the grog for a nightcap." For some days after the captain had told his story, Frank Oldfield's manner was subdued and less buoyant than usual something like a misgiving about his own ability to resist temptation, mingled with sad memories of the past. But his spirits soon recovered their usual brightness.
As she went out, and wanted her clogs, she turned to me, and said, "I remember at the playhouse, they used to call Mrs. Oldfield's chair! Mrs. Barry's clogs! and Mrs. Bracegirdle's pattens!" I did, indeed, design the letter of this post for Mr.
They did not object much to it at the time; but I had not been at Miss Oldfield's more than a day or two, before they sent over my sister Grace to say that they would not give their consent to the match, and that if I insisted on being married to John Crossley, they would never look me in the face again.
Bassett all in black, and made a speech fifty times stronger than Oldfield's, and sobbed, and told them the rioters had frightened his wife so she had been prematurely confined, and the child was dead. Could they take bail for a riot, a dastardly attack by a mob of cowards on a poor defenseless woman, the gentlest and most inoffensive creature in England?
There was a manager of Oldfield's day who surely did not escape, and that was Christopher Rich, Esquire, one of the patentees of Drury Lane Theatre, and sole director, as a rule, in the affairs of that Thespian temple. Thespian temple, indeed! What cared Mr. Rich for Thespis or for art?
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