In addition to these “authors’ nights,” performances were occasionally given for the benefit of an author suffering from adverse circumstances.  Thus, in 1733, a performance was organised at the Haymarket Theatre for the benefit of Mr. Dennis, the critic and dramatist.  “The Provoked Husband” was represented, and Pope so far laid aside his resentment against his old antagonist as to supply a prologue for the occasion.  Nevertheless, it was noticed that the poet had not been able to resist the temptation of covertly sneering at the superannuated author, and certain of the lines in the prologue were found susceptible of a satirical application.  Happily, poor Dennis, protected by his vanity or the decay of his intelligence, perceived nothing of this.  Indeed, the poor old critic survived the benefit but twenty days, dying in the seventy-seventh year of his age.  Other benefit performances on behalf of distressed men of letters, or their families, have frequently been given, even in quite recent times; but these are not to be confounded with the “authors’ nights,” as they were originally understood.  “Authors’ nights,” strictly so called, have disappeared of late years.  Modern dramatists are content to make private arrangements in regard to their works with the managers, and do not now publicly advance their personal claims upon the general consideration.  They may profit by an “overplus,” or be paid by the length of a “run” of their plays, or may sell them out-right at once for a stipulated sum.  The public have no knowledge of, and no concern in, the conditions of their method of transacting business.  But from the old overplus system of the Elizabethan stage resulted those special performances called “benefits,” still known to the modern playgoer, though now connected in his mind almost altogether with actors, and in no degree with authors.  Nevertheless, it was for authors that benefits were originally instituted, in opposition, as we have seen, to their wishes, and solely to suit the convenience and forward the interests of managers such as Mr. Henslowe.

Certainly in Shakespeare’s time the actors knew nothing of benefits.  They obtained the best price they could for their services, and the risk of profit or loss upon the performance was wholly the affair of the manager.  Indeed, it was long after the time when the chance of an overplus had become systematised as a means of paying authors, that it occurred to anyone that actors might also be remunerated in a similar way.  In olden days the actor’s profession was not favourably regarded by the general public; his social position was particularly insecure; he was looked upon as of close kin to the rogue and the vagabond, and with degrading possibilities in connection with the stocks and whipping-post never wholly remote from his professional career.  An Elizabethan player, presuming to submit his personal claims and merits to the consideration of the audience, with a view to his own individual profit, apart from the