When the night came, Lord Forbes, Mr. Chaigneau, and all my friends went to encourage and support me, and engaged all they knew for the same purpose. The bill ran thus: After the PLAY Mr. FOOTE will give "TEA.” Mr. Puzzle (the instructor), Mr. FOOTE. (Who never appeared on any stage before.) By eight in the evening I was in full dress behind the scenes; I had never been there before; the company were all strangers to me. I not knowing how to enter into conversation with the performers, and being announced as a pupil of Mr. Foote's, I did not receive any civility from them. I, on reflection, soon grew weary of my solitary seat in the green-room; alone in a crowd; and between the play and farce looked through a hole in the curtain and beheld an awful pleasing sight—a crowded, splendid audience, such as might strike the boldest with dismay. The farce began, and Mr. Foote gained great applause, and roars of laughter succeeded. In the second act my time of trial drew near; in about ten minutes I was called. "Mr. Wilkinson! Mr. Wilkinson !" Had I obeyed a natural impulse, I was really so alarmed that I should have run away. But honour pricked me on; there was no alternative-my brain was a chaos; but on I went, and must have made a very sheepish, timid appearance, as from fear, late illness, and apprehension, I trembled like a frighted clown in a pantomime; which Foote perceiving, good-naturedly took me by the hand and led me forward. Foote, perceiving I was not fit for action, said to his two friends on the stage (seated like Smith and Johnson in the rehearsal): "This young gentleman has not yet been properly drilled. But come, my young friend, walk across the stage; breathe yourself, and show your figure." I did so; the walk encouraged me, and another loud applause succeeded. I felt a glow, which seemed to say: "What have you to fear? Now, or never. This is the night that either makes you or undoes you quite." And on the applause being repeated, I said to myself, “That is as loud as any I have heard given to Mr. Garrick.” I mustered up courage and began with Mr. Luke Sparks of London (brother to Isaac Sparks, then in Dublin), in the character of Capulet. Most of the gentlemen in the boxes knew all the London players. A gentleman cried out, “Sparks of London! Sparks of London!" The applause resounded, even to my astonishment; and the audience were equally amazed, as they found something where they in fact expected nothing. Next speech was their favourite Barry in "Alexander;" universally known, and as universally felt. I now found myself vastly elated and clever. Fear was vanished, and joy and pleasure succeeded; a proof what barometers we are! how soon elated, and how soon depressed! When quite at ease, I began with Mrs. Woffington in Lady Macbeth, and Barry in Macbeth. The laughter (which is the strongest applause on a comic occasion) was so loud and incessant that I could not proceed. This was a minute of luxury; I was then in the region of bliss; I was encored. A sudden thought occurred; I felt all hardy, all alert, all nerve, and immediately advanced six steps. My master, as he was called, sat on the stage at the same time; I repeated twelve or fourteen lines of the very prologue he had spoke that night (being called for) to the author, and he had almost every night repeated. I before Mr. Foote presented his other self; the audience from repetition were as perfect as I was; his manner, his voice, his oddities I so exactly hit, that the pleasure, the glee it gave may easily be conceived, to see and hear the mimic mimicked, and it really gave me a complete victory over Mr. Foote; for the suddenness of the action. tripped up his audacity so much, that he, with all his effrontery, sat foolish, wishing to appear equally pleased with the audience, but knew not how to play that difficult part: he was unprepared ; the surprise and satisfaction was such, that, without any conclusion, the curtain was obliged to drop with reiterated bursts of applause. They are remarkable in Dublin, when pleased, to continue applauding till the curtain falls, often not suffering the play to finish. When the farce, called "Tea," was concluded, I had great congratulations paid seriously and ironically. Mr. Foote affected to be vastly pleased; but, in truth, it was merely affectation, so differently do we feel for ourselves when ridicule is pointed at us; but he said it was perfectly well judged to make free with him, yet he did not think it very like himself, for it certainly was my worst imitation, but he rejoiced at my good fortune. The conversation the next day, particularly of all my eager partial friends, was an universal cry of "Foote outdone! Foote outdone! the pupil the master!" But ill-nature was never so fearfully and strangely chastised. The man who had taken off physical infirmities himself was maimed for life by a fall from his horse, and he who had made so many wretched by the terror of his ridicule, was at last sent to his grave by a terrible charge-untrue, no doubt, but the effect of which was the same as though it had been true. What a contrast between him and the amiable Goldsmith!* * Some of his frolics were amusing. "A baronet who was there, and had been crossed in love, became, from disappointment, such a hypochondriac, that at times he was a damper to their mirth, and all their fun had no effect to chase his melancholy. Every day complaining of some new bodily complaint, one night they hid a tailor in a large closet in his bedroom, and whilst he was asleep his waistcoat was considerably reduced in breadth; when, putting it on in the morning, he was so alarmed, expecting a speedy dropsy, that he lay in bed for three days afterwards; in the meantime his waistcoat was returned to its former size. On his recovery, the first night at supper, Foote had previously proposed to have the wax candles painted different colours, and to place before the disconsolate visitor a black one; at the same time the whole party, as well as the servants, were in the secret. At supper, fixing his eyes some time on it, he observed to those who sat next to him, 'The candles seem to have different colours.' 'Why, what colour should they have?' was the reply. For the present he took no further notice, but, calling to the servant for some wine, when he brought it (the black candle right before him) asked him the colour of the candle. White, to be sure, sir,' was his immediate reply. On the instant, he rose, exclaiming, 'This is too much,' and hurried out of the room. The next morning, at an early hour, he ordered his carriage and returned to town to consult his physician." CHAPTER V. "DOUGLAS." THE story of Home and his play is highly characteristic of the nature of the Scotch, who had persuaded themselves of the merits of his play, and by a fixed determination resolved that justice should be done to him, and the piece brought out. With characteristic energy the plan was carried through, even though it was found to involve a conflict with the Church, of which the author and his leading friends were ordained ministers. Persons in high places encouraged their promising countryman, so that under such auspices success for a good and poetical piece was assured; while it is likely that a piece of equal merit, but less befriended, might have failed. 66 It was thus that there was produced at Covent Garden one of the few noted plays which made a sensation, and for a long time belonged to the "stock list." This was the tragedy of 'Douglas," written by a Scotch clergyman. In the composition of this work the friends of the bard combined to aid him with critical lights and suggestions, including the amiable Sir Gilbert Elliot. When it was at last completed, it was twice offered to Garrick, and declined by him, and on the second occasion the author set out for London, accompanied by a number of admirers and "bottle-holders," strong believers in the play. This was in 1755, and Garrick, in declining, declared that it was totally unfit for the stage. Mr. Forster hints that this was owing to the prominent female character, which wakened the jealousy of Davy. The truth was, its rejection may be set down, not as a want of judgment, or as prompted by any invidious motive, but as one of those unlucky mistakes which nearly every manager has to repent, owing to weariness, or carelessness, or accident. The fact of its being presented by an obscure clergyman was sufficient warrant for the manager to decline its acceptance. But, indeed, the ministers of that day seemed, according to Dr. Carlyle's account, to have been a loose and disorderly class, and the Presbytery of Glasgow spoke in quaintly amusing style of "the melancholy fact that there should have been a tragedy written by a minister of the Church." There were more heinous offences that might have "exercised" them. However, some thirty years later, when Mrs. Siddons visited Edinburgh, it was found impossible to have a full meeting of the Assembly on the nights she performed. When the play was taken to London to Covent Garden, the hero was performed by Barry with extraordinary success. It long remained a stock-piece, while "My name is Norval" is firmly rooted in the school "speakers," and is a favourite "delivery" for schoolboys. The enthusiastic Scots of the day pronounced that it was superior to Shakespeare. Garrick, now repentant and eager, brought out other of his pieces, but they were failures—the reason of this lack of success being that, in the first case, he had written a play because he had a story to tell; in the second, he had contrived a story because he had to write a play. A Scotch parson, and a Scotch subject, could not have been recommendations. Much mortified, he returned home, and the piece was brought out at Edinburgh, where it had great success, though bringing much |