two or three fiddlers; now, nine or ten of the best,” &c.  The orchestra of a strolling theatre has been known to consist of one fiddler only, and he has been required to combine with his musical exertions the discharge of secretarial duties, enlivened by occasional appearances on the stage to strengthen casts, or help fill up the scene.  The strollers’ band is often of uncertain strength.  For when the travelling company meets with misadventure, the orchestra are usually the first to prove unfaithful.  They are the Swiss of the troop.  The receipts fail, and the musicians desert.  They carry their gifts elsewhere, and seek independent markets.  The fairs, the racecourses, the country inn-doors, attract the fiddler, and he strolls on his own account, when the payment of salaries is suspended.  A veteran actor was wont to relate his experiences of fifty years ago as a member of the Stratford-upon-Avon company, when the orchestra consisted only of a fife and a tambourine, the instrumentalists performing, as they avowed, “not from notes but entirely by ear.”  Presently the company removed to Warwick for the race week.  But here the managerial difficulties increased—­no band whatever could be obtained!  This was the more distressing in that the performances were to be of an illegitimate character:  a “famous tight-rope dancer” had been engaged.  The dancer at once declared that his exhibition without music was not for a moment to be thought of.  One of the company thereupon obligingly offered his services.  He could play upon the violin:  four tunes only.  Now, provided an instrument could be borrowed for the occasion, and provided, moreover, the tight-rope artist could dance to the tune of “There’s Nae Luck,” or “Drink to Me Only,” or “Away with Melancholy,” or the “National Anthem,” here was a way out of the dilemma, and all might yet be well.  Unfortunately a violin was not forthcoming at any price, and the dancer declared himself quite unable to dance to the airs stated!  How was faith to be kept with the public?  At the last moment a barrel-organ was secured.  The organist was a man of resources.  In addition to turning the handle of his instrument, he contrived to play the triangle and the pan-pipes.  Here, then, was a full band.  The dancer still demurred.  He must be assisted by a “clown to the rope,” to chalk his soles, amuse the audience while he rested, and perform other useful duties.  Another obliging actor volunteered his help.  He would “by special desire and on this occasion only,” appear as clown.  So having played Pangloss in the “Heir at Law,” the first piece, he exchanged his doctorial costume for a suit of motley, and the performance “drew forth,” as subsequent playbills stated, “universal and reiterated bursts of applause from a crowded and elegant audience.”  The experiment of the barrel-organ orchestra was not often repeated.  The band of the Leamington Theatre was lent to the Warwick house, the distance between the establishments being only two miles.  The Leamington audience were provided with music at the commencement of the evening only; the Warwick playgoers dispensed with orchestral accompaniments until a later period in the performances.