We may wonder how the Fitzpatricks, and others of his professional slanderers, accounted for such behaviour,

Still the rude shock he had received had sunk deep into his mind. The mortification of that defeat, that public insult on his own boards, had gone home. The respect, the popularity of "the great Garrick" and "Roscius," seemed to have decayed. These numerous attacks-ever unflagging and venomouswere wounding and disgusting him. It was scarcely wonderful that he should recall Sterne's picture of the eagerness of French friends to welcome the great actor. He was actually thinking of final retirement, as he had done after the Festival Riot. His eyes were turning towards the Continent, and to quiet. Peace between France and England was now established. The Duke de Nivernois, the newly-arrived ambassador, had been most courteous, gave him a splendid entertainment, and, no doubt, promised introductions. Mrs. Garrick's health, too, was failing, and he himself wanted change and repose. So a tour seemed inviting.

The unpleasant season closed at the end of May. It brought not only mortification but loss. In the present century there were still living those who recalled the waning attraction of the great actor-the thin pit and empty boxes of Drury Lane Theatre. Sir Waller Pepys often described to Mr. Rogers this humiliating show, and it was even said that Garrick and Mrs. Cibber had sometimes played to a house of twenty pounds, and once actually to one of five. This, however, was the single "bad house" of his life. It was not surprising he should begin to think of escaping from such mortifications.

Now came a very warm letter from Chatsworth, pressing him to come and meet Quin, and see the Ascot Races. It shows us Quin in a very agreeable light, driving out "in his one-horse chaise to get his nag in wind," and receiving the present of an umbrella to defend himself from the sun and rain. Garrick wrote a hearty and delighted letter to him, written in that vein of gaiety which always sat so well on him: "If they had but a tithe of the pleasure they had in their last meeting, it will be well made." They were to exchange pictures-Garrick sitting to Hudson, Quin to Gainsborough. Garrick looked forward with great delight to their meeting. The Duke was eager to welcome his two friends. "Remember to come by Derby and Matlock. If you lie at Derby, you may with great ease be with me by dinner; it is all good road. Remember to come over Rowesley Bridge, so up my grounds, which shall be open." They had the most charming time, "all mirth, bagatelle, liberty, and a little drinking at times."

Garrick, one of whose charms was to try and have some little bonne bouche for his friends, or in some way make them sharers in his present happiness, took care to let Colman know that their host was often speaking of him, and had the greatest desire to know him personally. At this house he saw Churchill's attack on his friend Hogarth, which disturbed him much. He thought the description of Hogarth's age and infirmities "surely too shocking and barbarous." Soon the Duke of Cumberland was expected, and they had to leave.

They seem to have stayed about a week at Chatsworth, and met good company there. Mr. Garrick turned some pleasant verses on some ladies-the Duchess of Rutland and two others, who were always inseparable. After this pleasant excursion he came up to town, and began to prepare for his "Grand Tour," which, as then made, was one of the most agreeable incidents in the noble or wealthy Englishman's life. As this little defeat, and the subsequent temporary retirement, forms a sort of epoch in his life, we shall pause here for a short time, and enter on another department of his history.

BOOK THE FIFTH.

ACTOR AND TRAVELLER.

CHAPTER I.

A ROUND OF CHARACTERS.-1763.

THIS stage of the actor's career will, perhaps, be found the most convenient opportunity for taking a view, in detail, of those wonderful gifts, which made so deep an impression on the audiences of his day. Nothing is so difficult as to find some common standard of comparison between players and singers of a past generation, and those of the present. The judgment of the old, who may have heard both, is disturbed by the prejudices of their age, and coloured by the old and golden light of youth and enjoyment, now gone for ever. The favourite comparison of the old men of Garrick's day, was to put him beside Booth and Betterton-to whom, of course, they made him inferior. It is hard to make out exactly what Betterton's style was-for the well-known description, in The Tatler, dwells on his natural acting, his pathos and passion,

and, in parts, might be accepted as a description of Garrick. But he must have belonged to what has been considered the Old School of acting. The best test is, that Quin had not only studied with Betterton and Booth, but admired them, and was considered to be grounded on their style; and what Quin's style was has been shown. Quin himself, speaking to Selwyn of Garrick's early days, owned that Betterton would not go down then. Genius will pierce through all such heavy folds; and it may be, that Betterton made his splendid gifts apparent in company with such disabilities. Garrick himself had opportunities of judging. He had met Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Oldfield, and even Mrs. Bracegirdle, the heroine of Lord Mohun's tavern brawl. This was going back far enough. Yet he used to tell, how he had heard her once, in company, repeat some lines of Shakspeare in a way that convinced him, she could never have deserved her reputation. What Mrs. Porter thought of Garrick we have seen; and she seems to have approved what was opposed to all her experience, and traditions. The conclusion, therefore, we should draw is, that Garrick must have been a true reformer, and his style superior to all that had gone before.

/Few men had such natural advantages to lead them to the stage. The popular notion that he was "little was one of the vulgar topics of depreciation insisted on, to wound his nature, well known to be sensitive to such attacks. He had great and expressive play of feature; was "neatly" and elegantly made; handsome, with a French grace, which was yet combined with manliness. His frame had a surprising flexibility, and even elasticity, which put all his limbs under the most perfect control; there was an elegant freedom in every motion, regulated by the nicest propriety, answering every turn of his mind, as a ship might her helm. He was a gentleman by birth, and training-a useful accident for an actor. His features were wonderfully marked: the eyebrows well arched, ascending and descending, with rapid play; the mouth expressive and bold; and the wonderful eyes bright, intelligent, and darting fire. To these features, intellect and practice had given the same flexibility as to his figure. His mind travelled so quickly, that his look seemed in advance of his words, and the spectator read in his face the very sentiment he was about to utter. His voice was harmonious and pleasing, always distinct, and clear, though naturally weak. He was an elegant, fervent, elaborate, and overwhelming lover, though he wanted

* Cumberland.

the sweet and pleading tenderness of Barry, and the "profusion of softness" for which that actor was famed. But in the mixture, and whirl of passions, lay his real strength; when rage, terror, grief, and even madness followed each other, in gusts as it were, he was unapproachable. His fault, perhaps, was a certain restlessness; on the stage, he could never stand still. His enemy, Macklin, insisted that he never could act the gentleman's part, nor even dress with propriety.

"The part of crook'd-backed Richard," as it was called in the bill, was to be like a picture, which he touched and retouched. Friends remarked that every night he mended. Reference has been made to the extraordinary effect produced on the audience by so simple an action as his flinging away his prayer-book after the Lord Mayor had retired.* The idea seemed to be, as Mr. Taylor thought, that from that moment the old stagey manner was doomed. What struck all present was that before there had been only one broad conventional delineation of "the wicked tyrant," who was savage and furious, and nothing more, merely raging like a maniac. Even at his opening speech, something new and characteristic was presented; for instead of "chuckling" over his own deformity, and taking a pleasure in being so odious to his fellow-creatures, he showed himself pained and uneasy when he dwelt on these defects. He himself, in Richard, struck on a good emphasis:

"Have you seen Anne, my wife?"

'My lord, she is exceeding ill."

"Rich. Has MY physician seen her? She'll mend shortly."

In his love-making to Lady Anne, his ardour was so earnest and passionate that the audience for the moment forgot it was mere hypocrisy. Here, again, what a contrast to the mouthing, scornful advances of the older school, which ought to have made audiences wonder how a lady could receive, even with a show of favour, so unpleasing a suitor. The famous tent scene, which was much talked of, and which Hogarth painted, seems to have deserved all this admiration. When he started from his sleep, his face, attitude, everything was a picture of horror and terrors. He called out boldly, as if in the battle, "Give me another horse!" then paused, and, with dismay in his face, came forward, crying out in misery, "Bind up my wounds!" then dropping on his knee, prayed in the most piteously tender accent-

"Have mercy, Heaven!"

It was noted as an odd feature in the comedies of the time that ladies and gentlemen reading in their garden, and interrupted by a visitor, would throw away their book into the scenic ditch, pond, or grove.

When Catesby came in, his terror and relief, and his gradual restoration to confidence and bravado, were again points all new to the audience. When he said, in answer to Lady Anne's question, "What have I done?"

"To me the worst of crimes-outlived my liking!"

it was thought he should have changed his voice at the last words into an angry burst. But his reading was far more judicious-a slight pause, then speaking the words in the same key, but a little louder. This suppressed calm and concentrated spite was more effective.

In the battle scenes he was as loud, fierce, and furious as could be desired. When the news of Buckingham's being taken was brought in, he uttered Cibber's-not Shakspeare's -famous

"Off with his head! So much for Buckingham!"

with such enjoyment and heartfelt delight that the audience burst into perfect shouts of applause. Yet it was noticed that in some of these early performances he was often almost hoarse and "run out" by the end of the play from this fierce shouting and declamation. This was an honest ardour which made him reckless in the expenditure of his powers. Later, he learned to husband his lungs and strength with a judicious economy. The death scene, too, was a terrible spectacle.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan said "he thought his Richard was 'fine,' but not terrible enough." "God bless me," said the great actress, Siddons, "what could be more terrible!" She then told how, at rehearsal, he had bade her, as he drew Lady Anne from the sofa, follow him step by step, so that he should keep his face to the audience, as he acted much with his eyes. During the performance, she was so overcome by the fearful expression of his face that she forgot her instructions; but was recalled to herself by a look of reproof, which, she said, she could never think of without terror.

Garrick's Lear was, perhaps, the finest that has ever been seen on the stage. Sheridan, the actor's son, thought it the best of his whole round of characters. From the pictures by Wilson and Houston, there would seem a little too much of the conventional old man in his dress and "make-up," his hair being too white and woolly. The "curse" was the most tremendous bit in the play; and Foote, in his pamphlet on "The Suspicious Husband," gives us a picture of how this was done: "You fall precipitately on your knees, extend your arms, clench your hands, set your teeth, and with a savage distraction in your look, trembling in all your limbs, and your