a more spirited management, a fine company, and witty writers. For the management was in the hands of Colman, who had learned to be abstinent in the matter of his own writings; the company included Woodward, Bensley, Lee Lewes, Shuter, Quick, Lewis, the two Barrys, Mrs. Lessingham, the handsome Hartley, and Miss Macklin; and as for dramatists, there was the witty Sheridan, now fast mounting to eminence, with the admirable "Rivals" and his "Duenna." Such a competition would soon have become dangerous. Already the warning, lusisti satis, was in Garrick's ears. CHAPTER X. THE LAST SEASON.-1775-76. WE are now arrived at the commencement of the last season during which this incomparable actor played. It was to be the most remarkable in the annals of Drury Lane. Great as had been the enthusiasm of the old Goodman's Fields era, it was to be as nothing compared with the approaching excitement. In comparison with it, the unmeaning fureur, which it has been the fashion to expend on the retirement of later actors and actresses, seems feeble indeed, or prompted by good-nature. It is not too much to say that the whole kingdom prepared to take part in this ceremonial; not only the whole kingdom, but strangers from foreign countries-at a period, too, when the inconvenience and tediousness of travel quadrupled the importance of the compliment. People in remote corners of the country, who had been hearing of Garrick all their lives, now determined to go up to town, and not let this last and great chance go by. It was discovered, once more, that he was the finest, the most incomparable of actors. No one had ever approached him—his like would never be seen again. The welcome name of Roscius was again heard; the papers took up the old strain, and nothing was heard of but the approaching departure of Roscius. Perhaps to do honour to the festival that was approaching, before the new season began, he made some very important alterations in the theatre. These were so extensive and serious, that the outlay must have been considerable, and it was a spirited proceeding on Garrick's part, considering that he had made up his mind to retire. The brothers Adam, now architects of reputation, furnished the designs. The façade was fitted with pilasters, pediment, EE balcony, and colonnade, and crowned at the top with the singular device of a military trophy-a helmet and a coat of mail. At one corner was a lion, at the other a unicorn. Great improvements were made in the approaches to the boxes, and part of the "Rose Tavern," in Bridge Street, was taken to give more room.* The inside, too, was all remodelled. "It was noble," he said. The decorations were in the Italian style, then in fashion, overlaid with the garlands and vases which spread over the Adelphi houses, and even over the chimney-pieces we see in old mansions of this era. The theatre seems to have been wider than it is now, and more in the shape of a square; and the seats were disposed in galleries, rather than boxes. Every one could see and hear to the best advantage. He might, now, begin to feel a little nervous as to the profits from the theatre; which, most likely from the increased expenses of management, and not from decay of attraction, were falling steadily year by year. I find from a paper in the possession of Mr. Forster, that in the season 1769-70 the balance available, after all deductions, amounted to the handsome sum of £9,463. This left the partners nearly five thousand pounds each. But from that year of prosperity it began to grow less, and sank steadily, in the year 1776-7, to £4,500.† By a little account, too, for the season 1775-6, we can see what a handsome share Garrick had—£800 a year for acting, and £500 for management. Lacy besides owed him a large sum, for which Garrick held a mortgage on his 66 * At the north end of Cross Court, when Charles Lamb was taken to the play, there was a portal of some architectural pretensions, though_reduced to humble use, serving at present as an entrance to a printing office. This old doorway, if you are young, reader, you may know was the identical entrance to old Drury-Garrick's Drury-all of it that is left." This was written about 1820. It is now (1889) swept away. He was taken to the play in 1781, and heard the women in the pit crying-"'Chase some oranges-'chase some numparels-'chase a bill of the play!" Among Garrick's papers, was put away the following compliment: : "ON THE NEW FRONT OF DRURY LANE. "Garrick, ashamed to poke his nose Lloyd's Evening Post. The renters' renewal fines seemed to be equal to about £200 a-year ad ditional. share of the patent. Thus heavily engaged, he knew well how precarious was theatrical property, and rightly suspecting that the establishment would presently grow beyond the control of his sagacity, which was his real security, he chose, with wonderful tact, the right moment to withdraw. He showed his wisdom. Within an incredibly short time after his departure all was decay and ruin. He longed for an interval before the great curtain fell, which he might devote to "living as a gentleman." Sixty seemed a little premature, when we think of the many artists, singers as well as players, who have been so lost to their own dignity and self-respect as to linger ingloriously on the stage, which they totter across, mere wrecks and shadows, and whom audiences pity or tolerate with good-natured contempt. We may at least admire the wise self-restraint of Garrick, who determined to abstain in time, and carry away with him respect and admiration. With the usual eagerness to have a precise cause for everything, the gossiping world settled that he had been driven from the stage by the persecution of three of his actresses. This notion was ill-naturedly relished, and epigrams were duly made and repeated. One ran :— "Three thousand wives kill'd Orpheus in a rage; Three actresses drove Garrick from the stage." Another ran:— "I have no nerves,' says Y--e: 'I cannot act.' --n: 'tis fact.' -s screams, 'I've lost my voice, my throat's so sore'— Garrick declares he'll play the fool no more." The ladies alluded to were the vivacious Abington, Miss Younge, and Mrs. Yates-admirable actresses, and a trio whom it would be vain to think of matching at any theatre. Almost in the year of his departure from the stage, he had disputes with these petulant ladies, who were as froward as spoilt children; but more than two years before, he had formed his resolution, and was setting things in order for his retreat. It was not a sudden resolve, and many things combined to make it a natural one. In fact, the notion, as we have seen, had occurred to him often during his career. There was the weary burden of the theatre, with its discussions and responsibility, and his querulous partner. Its success as a speculative undertaking was precarious, and in a great measure depended on his own attraction; and when he lectured his contumacious actresses, he was quite warranted in reminding them that, with all their gifts, they were not sufficient lodestars to attract the town; but when the house grew thin, his appearance was necessary to fill the theatre. This was the simple truth. Management, therefore, and acting formed a double burden, and one too much for him. There were many symptoms of this want of discipline and growing decay; as when Weston would come drunk to rehearsal some morning, and be scarcely able to utter a word. Garrick was justly displeased; and still more so, when an officious amateur-Cradock-had the bad taste to interfere in favour of the actor. It was worse when the eye of the manager was turned away, and he himself was absent on some of his many visits. A friend looked in at the theatre to see the old and once popular "Zara," and told him very plainly what he thought of the way the play was brought forward. He could not find words for the "incomparable badness of the performance," nor could he decide which of the party were the most contemptible. "Such a miserable pack of strollers" he never saw. The worst was, the piece was cut down, and a ballet thrust in "head and shoulders." This sketch shows how weary, and even indifferent, he was growing. Abington, too, harassing him with attorney's letters, and altercations about her benefit night, after securing his promise that he would play for her, finally announced that she would retire from the stage. It was the last thing in the world she meant to do. Her waywardness and impracticability were such that they had to take counsel's opinion as to how they were to deal with her. The spite in this intention was apparent, which was to distract the attention of the town from the greater retirement now at hand. How bitterly he felt her behaviour may be conceived from his marginal remark: "The above is a true copy of the letter of that worst of bad women, Mrs. Abington, about her leaving the stage." There must have been something malignant in this strange creature's nature, for she seems to have been one of the very few to whom Garrick appears to have felt a settled resentment. Her persistently tedious behaviour seems to have sunk into his mind. "What you mean," he said to a friend, "by that black, but fair, defect,' except that most worthless creature, Abington, I do not know. She is below the thought of any honest man or woman: she is as silly as she is false and treacherous."* This was severe. Yet for the airs and caprices I find among his papers a little scrap of rhyme :— Alas! that you should think to gather fame, From one that's only Gentleman by name !"-HM MSS. of these women there was some extenuation. They had true genius; "they knew their business;" they had fought and won their way up the ranks. There was one more serious reason also, which admonished him to withdraw. It might be supposed that the rough, outspoken address of Williams, which uttered such cruel home truths, had come on him with a shock. It must have been a blow to be told suddenly, and for the first time, "You are getting old and getting stiff. It is a ludicrous exhibition to see you in young lovers' parts, like Ranger and Archer, where the spectacle of your trying to climb into balconies by rope ladders, and mimicking the agility of youth, is comic and humiliating. Rouge and powder cannot give back the bloom of youth. An old man, let him move ever so briskly, moves in straight lines, and turns almost at right angles.' There was no softness in his eyes; they had grown hard, and "wanted the fine bewitching liquid which passion sends to the eye of the young." "Your voice is growing hollow and hoarse; your dimples are furrows," &c. This was heartless. When a wager, not in the very best taste, was made about his age by Governor Penn and another gentleman, and the point discussed in the papers and all over the town, Garrick wrote to answer the appeal which was made to him in rather a wounded tone. The Governor had wagered he was sixty, and begged he would decide the point. But it is evident that Garrick, showing that he was four years younger, was thinking ruefully of the plain speaking in the pamphlet. "His Excellency must know," he said, "that persons on the stage, like ladies upon the town, must endeavour, by paint, dress, and candlelight, to set themselves off for what they are not. My age, thanks to your Excellency's proclamation of it, has been published with a proper certificate in all the papers, so that I am obliged to resign all the love-making and ravishing heroes. The ladies, who are very quick in these matters, sit now very quietly in the boxes, and think that Mrs. Sullen and Mrs. Strictland are in no great danger from Archer and Ranger, and that Jane Shore may easily escape from a Lord Hastings of FIFTY-SIX." This was all the more trying, as such a wager could not have been laid unless it had been seen by his looks and conversation "that he was quite grown an old man." However, it was a warning, "and as you have so kindly pulled off my mask, it is time for me to make my exit." This had an air of banter, but there was a mortification under the banter. It was a second hint, as rude and plain as the first. So far back as October, 1773, he had given a formal an |