He at once turned his attention to the stage, and his merits quickly raised him to the head of his profession. As the manager of one of the principal London theatres for a long course of years, he banished from the stage many plays that had an immoral tendency; and his personal character gave a dignity and respectability to the profession of an actor. As an anthor he was more lively and various than vigorous or profound. He wrote some epigrams, and even ventured an ode or two; he succeeded in the composition of some dramatic pieces, and in the adaptation of others to the stage. His principal plays are, The Lying Valet and Miss in her Teens, both of which are still favorites with the public. But unquestionably his chief strength lay in those powers as an actor by which he gave a popularity and importance to the drama that it had not possessed since its palmy days in the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Garrick died on the twentieth of January, 1779, and Sheridan honored his memory with a florid sentimental monody, in which he invoked the 'gentle muse,' to 'guard his laurelled shrine'

And with soft sighs disperse the irreverent dust,
Which time may strew upon his sacred bust.

Fielding, Macklin, Townley, and Foote, are the remaining writers of this class that belong to the present period. Fielding's farces were numerous, but Tom Thumb is the only one that keeps possession of the stage. He threw off these light pieces to meet the demands of the town for amusement, and to satisfy his own clamorous necessities; and they generally indicated very hasty composition. Love-a-la-Mode, a humorous satire on the Scottish character, was produced by Charles Macklin, and was soon followed by his more sarcastic comedy The Man of the World, first performed in 1781. Macklin was an actor by profession, and so remarkable for his personation of Shylock, as to seem 'the very Jew that Shakspeare drew.' This character he performed successfully after he had passed the ninetieth year of his age. His death occurred on the eleventh of July, 1797, at the very unusual age of one hundred and seven years. The two dramas of Macklin are lively and entertaining, and are still popular on the stage.

The REV. MR. TOWNLEY, master of Merchant Tailors' School, was the author of High Life below Stairs, a happy burlesque on the extravagance and affectation of servants in aping the manners of their masters, and which had the effect, by a well-timed exposure, of correcting abuses in the domestic establishments of the opulent classes in England. From this unique farce we select the following scene:

[Enter Sir Harry's Servant.]

Sir H. Oh, ho! are you thereabouts, my lord duke! and-by. However, you'll never find me behind hand.

That may do very well by[Offers to kiss Kitty.]

Duke. Stand off: you are a commoner; nothing under nobility approaches Kitty.

Sir H. You are so devilish proud of your nobility. Now, I think we have more true nobility than you. Let me tell you, sir, a knight of the shire

Duke. A knight of the shire! Ha, ha, ha! a mighty honour, truly, to represent all the fools in the country.

Kit. O lud! this is charming to see two noblemen quarrel.

Sir H. Why, any fool may be born to a title, but only a wise man can make himself honourable.

Kit. Well said, Sir Harry, that is good morillity.

Duke. I hope you make some difference between hereditary honours and the huzzas of a mob.

Kit. Very smart, my lord; now, Sir Harry.

Sir H. If you make use of your hereditary honours to screen you from debtDuke. Zounds! sir, what do you mean by that?

Kit. Hold, hold! I shall have some fine old noble blood spilt here. Ha' done, Sir Harry.

Sir H. Not I; why, he is always valuing himself upon his upper house.
Duke. We have dignity.

[Slow.]

Sir H. But what becomes of your dignity, if we refuse the supplies. [Quick.] Kit. Peace, peace; here's Lady Bab.

Dear Lady Bab.

[Enter Lady Bab's Servant in a chair.]

Lady Bab. Mrs. Kitty, your servant: I was afraid of taking cold, and so ordered the chair down stairs. Well, and how do you do? My lord duke, your servant, and Sir Harry too, yours.

Duke. Your ladyship's devoted.

Lady B. I'm afraid I have trespassed in point of time. [Looks on her watch.] But I got into my favorite author.

Duke. Yes, I found her ladyship at her studies this morning; some wicked poem.

Lady B. Oh, you wretch! I never read but one book.

Kit. What is your ladyship so fond of?

Lady B. Shikspur. Did you never read Shikspur ?

Kit. Shikspur! Shikspur! Who wrote it? No, I never read Shikspur.

Lady B. Then you have an immense pleasure to come.

Kit. Well, then, I'll read it over one afternoon or other. Here's Lady Charlotte.

Dear Lady Charlotte.

[Enter Lady Charlotte's Maid in a chair.]

Lady C. Oh! Mrs. Kitty, I thought I never should have reached your house. Such a fit of the cholic seized me. Oh! Lady Bab, how long has your ladyship been here? My chairmen were such drones. My lord duke! the pink of all goodbreeding.

Lady C. And Sir Harry! Your servant, Sir Harry.

[Bowing.] [Formally.]

Sir H. Madam, your servant: I am sorry to hear your ladyship has been ill. Lady C. You must give me leave to doubt the sincerity of that sorrow, sir. Re

member the Park.

Sir H. The Park! I'll explain that affair, madam.

Lady C. I want none of your explanations.

Sir H. Dear Lady Charlotte!

[Scornfully.]

Lady C. No, sir; I have observed your coldness of late, and despise you. A trumpery baronet!

Sir H. I see how it is; nothing will satisfy you but nobility. That sly dog, the marquis

Lady C. None of your reflections, sir. The marquis is a person of honour, and above inquiring after a lady's fortune, as you meanly did.

Sir H. I-I, madam ?I scorn such a thing. I assure you, madam, I neverthat is to say-Egad, I am confounded. My lord duke, what shall I say to her? Pray help me out.

Duke. Ask her to show her legs. Ha, ha, ha!

[Enter Philip and Lovel, laden with bottles.]

[Aside.] [Aside.]

Phil. Here, my little peer, here is wine that will ennoble your blood! Both your ladyships' most humble servant.

Lov. [Affecting to be drunk.] Both your ladyships' most humble servant.

Kit. Why, Philip, you have made the boy drunk.

Phil. I have made him free of the cellar, ha, ha, ha!

Lov. Yes, I am free; I am very free.

Phil. He has had a smack of every sort of wine, from humble port to imperial tokay.

Lov. Yes, I have been drinking kokay.

Kit. Go, get you some sleep, child, that you may wait on his lordship byand-by.

Lov, Thank you, madam; I will certainly wait on their lordships and their ladyships too. [Aside and exit.]

Phil. Well, ladies, what say you to a dance? and then to supper.

[Enter Cook, Coachman, Kingston, and Cloe.]

Come here; where are all our people? I'll couple you. My lord duke will take Kitty; Lady Bab will do me the honour of her hand; Sir Harry and Lady Charlotte; coachman and cook; and the two devils will dance together: ha! ha! ha! Duke. With submission, the country dances by-and-by.

Lady C. Ay, ay; French dances before supper, and country dances after. I beg the duke and Mrs. Kitty may give us a minuet.

Duke. Dear Lady Charlotte, consider my poor gout. Sir Harry will oblige us. [Sir Harry bows.]

All. Minuet, Sir Harry; minuet, Sir Harry.

Kit. Marshal Thingumbob's minuet.

[A minuet by Sir Harry and Kitty; awkward and conceited.]

Phil. Come, now to supper. A gentleman and a lady. [They sit down.] Here is claret, burgundy, and champaign; and a bottle of tokay for the ladies. There are tickets on every bottle: if any gentleman chooses port

Duke. Port! 'Tis only fit for a dram.

Kit. Lady Bab, what shall I send you? Lady Charlotte, pray be free; the more free the more welcome, as they say in my country. The gentlemen will be as good as to take care of themselves.

Duke. Lady Charlotte, 'Hob or nob!'

Lady C. Done, my lord, in burgundy, if you please.

[A Pause.]

Duke. Here's your sweetheart and mine, and the friends of the company.

[They drink. A pause.]

Phil. Come, ladies and gentlemen, a bumper all round; I have a health for you. 'Here is to the amendment of our masters and mistresses.'

All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

[Loud laugh. A pause.]

Kit. Ladies, pray what is your opinion of a single gentleman's service?
Lady C. Do you mean an old single gentleman ?

All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

[Loud laugh.]

Phil. My lord duke, your toast.

Duke. Lady Betty.

Phil. Oh, no, a health and a sentiment.

Duke. Let us have a song. Sir Harry, your song.

Sir H. Would you hear it? Well, then, Mrs. Kitty, we must call upon you: will you honour my muse?

All. A song, a song; ay, ay, Sir Harry's song; Duke. A song to be sure, but first, preludio. put it about. [Kisses round.

Sir Harry's song.

[Kisses Kitty.] Pray, gentlemen, Kingston kisses Cloe heartily.]

Sir H. See how the devils kiss! Kit. I am really hoarse; but hem-I must clear up my pipes, hem! This is Sir Harry's song; being a new one, entitled and called the Fellow Servant, or All in a Livery.'

Phil. How do you like it, my lord duke?

Duke. It is a vile composition.

[Sings.]

Sir H. Scoundrel! You are a rascal; I'll pull you by the nose. [All rise.] Duke. Lookye, friend; don't give yourself airs, and make a disturbance among the ladies. If you are a gentleman, name your weapons.

Sir H. Weapons!-what you will-pistols.

Duke. Done, behind Montague House.

Sir H. Done, with seconds.

Phil. Oh, for shame, gentlemen. My lord duke! Sir Harry-the ladies!—fie! [Duke and Sir Harry affect to sing. ▲ violent knocking. Kitty faints.] What the devil can that be, Kitty?

Kit. Who can it possibly be?

Phil. Kingston, run up stairs and peep. [Exit Kingston.] It sounds like my master's rap; pray heaven it is not he!

SAMUEL FOOTE, by far the greatest of this class of authors, still remains to be noticed. Foote was born of a good family at Truro, in Cornwall, in 1721, and educated at Oxford; but squandering away his fortune, he was forced to become an actor and dramatic writer. In powers of mimicry, in wit, and in humor, he went so far beyond all the men of his own time, as to be commonly known as the English Aristophanes. Dr. Johnson, though he disliked the man for his easy morals and his burlesquing of private characters as a profession, was yet forced to admit the amazing powers and fascinations of his conversation. In 1747, Foote commenced a class of new entertainments in the Hay-market theatre, London, in which he was, himself, the sole stage figure, and which proved highly attractive by the many droll and whimsical portraits of character which they presented, many of these being transcripts or caricatures of persons well known. The Diversions of the Morning, The Auction of Pictures, and The Englishman in Paris, were the names of some of these pieces. Of the regular farces of Foote, The

Minor, a scurrilous attack upon the Methodists, was the most successful. This was followed by The Mayor of Garratt, a coarse but humorous sketch, including two characters, Major Sturgeon, the city militia officer, and Jerry Sneak, which can never become completely obsolete. Foote's plays are twenty in number, and he boasted, at the close of his life, that he had added sixteen decidedly new characters to the English stage. He died at Dover, when on his way to France, on the twentieth of October, 1777. From his 'Lame Lover' we select the following scene:

TUFT HUNTING.

[Charlotte and Serjeant Circuit.]

Char. Sir, I have other proofs of your hero's vanity not inferior to that I have mentioned.

Serjeant. Cite them.

Char. The paltry ambition of levying and following titles.

Serjeant. Titles! I don't understand you.

Char. I mean the poverty of fastening in public upon men of distinction, for no other reason but because of their rank; adhering to Sir John till the baronet is superseded by my lord; quitting the puny peer for an earl; and sacrificing all three to a duke.

Serj. Keeping good company!—a laudable ambition!

Char. True, sir, if the virtues that procured the father a peerage could with that be entailed on the son.

Serj. Have a care, hussy; there are severe laws against speaking evil of dignities. Char. Sir!

Serj. Scandalum magnatum is a statue must not be trifled with: why, you are not one of those vulgar sluts who think a man the worse for being a lord? Char. No, sir; I am contented with only not thinking him the better.

Serj. For all this, I believe, hussy, a right honourable proposal would soon make you alter your mind.

Char. Not unless the proposer had other qualities than what he possesses by patent. Besides, sir, you know Sir Luke is a devotee to the bottle.

Serj. Not a whit the less honest for that.

Char. It occasions one evil at least; that when under its influence he generally reveals all, sometimes more than he knows.

Serj. Proofs of an open temper, you baggage; but, come, come, all these are but trifling objections.

Char. You mean, sir, they prove the object a trifle.

Serj. Why, you pert jade, do you play on my words? I say Sir Luke is

Char. Nobody.

Serj. Nobody! how the deuce do you make that out? He is neither a person attainted or outlawed, may in any of his majesty's courts sue or be sued, appear by attorney or in propria persona, can acquire, buy, procure, purchase, possess, and inherit, not only personalities, such as goods and chattels, but even realities, as all lands, tenements, and hereditaments, whatsoever and wheresoever.

Char. But, sir

Serj. Nay, further, child, he may sell, give, bestow, bequeath, devise, demise, lease, or to farm let, ditto lands, or to any person whomsoever-and

Char. Without doubt, sir; but there are notwithstanding in this town a great number of nobodies, not described by Lord Coke.