In vain Holland protested his innocence and
implored for mercy; his cries only stimulated the avenger's exertions,
and again and again the saturated mop did desperate execution over the
unhappy victim's finery.
Somewhat appeased at last, Dowton stayed his hand; but in the meantime
Holland was summoned to appear upon the stage. The play was
proceeding--what was to be done! All was confusion. It was not
possible for Holland to present himself before the audience in such a
plight as he had been reduced to. An apology was made "for the sudden
indisposition of Mr. Holland," and the public were informed that "Mr.
De Camp had kindly undertaken to go on for the part." Whether Dowton
ever discovered his real persecutors is not stated. The story, indeed,
may not be true, or it may be much rouged and burnt-corked, as are so
many theatrical anecdotes, to conceal its natural poverty and weakness
of constitution. But it is an amusing legend in any case.
The melodrama of "The Corsican Brothers," first produced in England at
the Princess's Theatre in 1852, and splendidly revived at the Lyceum
by Mr.
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