who one night in that year found himself listening to the debates.

...

Highly offensive language (says Mr. Tom Taylor) having been used on this occasion, and one of the members having resented it, the Speaker was called upon to interfere, when another honourable member, unwilling that the world without should hear of the unseemly squabble, moved that the gallery should be cleared. Strangers were ordered to withdraw, and the gallery emptied gradually. Sir Henry Bridgeman, member for Wenlock, rose and observed, "That the motion to clear the gallery had not been obeyed . . . that a stranger was still present that that stranger do withdraw." Mr. Burke on this rose and appealed to that assembly whether it would be consistent with decency and liberality to exclude from their debates a man to whom they were all obliged-one who was the first master of eloquence, in whose school they had all imbibed the art of speaking, and had been taught the elements of rhetoric. For his part, he was proud to own that he had been greatly indebted to that gentleman's instruction. This was eloquently amplified by all the resources of the rhetorician and illustrated with the fancy of a poet. When he had finished he was followed by a member even more remarkable in appearanceshort, with Herculean limbs, though overloaded with fat, a complexion at once swarthy and sanguine, bushy black eyebrows overhanging eyes of rare sweetness and fire, a double chin, black hair, dishevelled and scantily powdered, and a dress as remarkable for slovenliness as that of the last speaker for shabbiness. This was Mr. Fox. The voice of this orator was shrill and high pitched almost to discordance, and his utterance at first thick, hurried, and indistinct. It seemed at starting as if his ideas crowded to his tongue too fast for passage. His speech was a splendid variation on the same theme which the hearers might have thought had been exhausted by the preceding speaker. From this new mouth the same thoughts came with new turns of phrase and an original play of fancy; but there was a simplicity, directness, and apparent spontaneousness in the thoughts, that won upon the heart even more than the wonderful felicity of the language upon the ear. The House voted, almost by acclamation, that the stranger should remain.

VOL. II.

U

Garrick, naturally proud of the compliment, wrote a poem

on the occasion:

Squire Bridgeman rose with deep intent,
And certified to Parliament

That I-it was a shame and sin-
When others were shut out, got in;
Asserting, in his wise oration,
I gloried in my situation.

I own my features might betray
Peculiar joy I felt that day;
I glory when my mind is feasted
With dainties it has seldom tasted:
When reason chooses Fox's tongue
To be more rapid, clear, and strong:
When from her classic urns Burke pours
A copious stream through banks and flowers.
My glory farther still extends,

For most of those I call my friends;

But if, Squire Bridgeman, you were hurt
To see me, as you thought, so pert,

You ought to have punished my transgression,
And damped the ardour of expression.
A brute there is whose voice confounds,
And frights all other with strange sounds;
Had you, your matchless powers displaying,
Like him, Squire Bridgeman, set a-braying,
I should have lost all exultation,

Nor gloried in my situation.

CHAPTER IX.

GARRICK AND HIS ACTRESSES.

THE time was now arrived when this great performer and sagacious administrator was to retire from his government. Many reasons inclined him to this course-one, which might have surprised some of our recent veteran actors, was that he was just sixty. But he felt a weariness stealing on him; his figure was deteriorating, his face losing its expression from increase of flesh. These were sufficient and sound reasons; but the world found others in the fact that he had been persecuted to death by the rebellious tone of three at least of his actresses. Had it been his interest to do so, Mr. Garrick could have supported this trial as he had always done, when he found it necessary; but it seems more than likely that he forecasted the signs of failure and flagging attractions in the theatrical enterprise, and saw that the present was the time to sell. Of the perverse and harassing proceedings of the three Drury Lane actresses there could be no question. As displays of petulance they are amusing, as giving an idea of green-room troubles.

That there was a force of character and sense of duty and honour in the well-known "Kitty" has been shown. During the theatrical revolt before described she was one of those

figures that cannot be overlooked, like so many of this era. Says Tate Wilkinson:

I well remember, on the second night of the confederacy, Mrs. Clive called Miss Pope into the green-room, before her going on the stage as Corinna, and said to her: “My dear Pope" (a sweet appellation indeed from Clive), “ you played particularly well on Saturday night as a young actress. Now, take from me a piece of advice, which I would have every performer attend to: You acted with great and deserved approbation, but to-night you must endeavour to act better, and expect to receive less applause; therefore, take my advice for your proceeding on the stage. The violent thunder of applause last Saturday on your first appearance was not all deserved, it was only benevolently bestowed to give you the pleasing information that they were well delighted, and had their warmest wishes that you would hereafter merit the kindness they bestowed on you."

A sound and admirable piece of counsel, which gives a good idea of the actress's character.

The much-enduring Garrick had a vast deal to suffer at her hands, and her humours and insolence were for many years his plague. That there should have been a genuine friendship and mutual esteem under all this is creditable to both. Yet she did not spare the manager, and her free tongue would even ridicule him before his company. Thus once, "when he was entering the green-room, arrayed magnificently in a glittering silverspangled tissue shape, Mrs. Clive, instead of court adulation, cried out, 'Oh my God! room! room! make room for the royal lamplighter!' which rudeness disconcerted him much for the remaining part of the evening; and certainly it was too free, and not well timed, as he was trembling all over on the first night of a new part in a new play."

Mrs. Abington was not of such genuine metal. She plagued the manager more effectually, being of a less delicate temper. She had, indeed, risen from the very dregs, and the story of

her whole career is interesting, as showing how an actress rose in those days. Some of the gifted and clever creatures, members of Garrick's company, had come, as it were, from the gutters and sewers even; but under sound theatrical discipline had become worthy members of the profession. What a career was that of this lady, painted so deliciously by Sir Joshua, looking over the back of a chair, her dog beside her! Mr. Murphy recollected, when frequenting the taverns about Drury Lane, a clever little girl, named Barton, belonging to Vinegar Yard, who would offer to recite Shakespeare for the gentlemen. According to the same authority, the succeeding portion of her life had best not be scrutinised, being, as it were, in the "puddle." But she married a humble player in the orchestra, “a smartlooking little man, lively in his conversation, and apparently the object of attention to those who were near him." Such a companion was but an incumbrance to one of her tastes, and it was understood that he was allowed an annuity on condition of not troubling her. Her force of character is shown, that, as soon as she had a fair opportunity, she struggled to se ranger and take a lead in matters of taste though not of morals. Even in dress, ladies came to consult her. And at Cork there were Abington caps shown in the windows. She sought the company of clever personages, and had a readiness of speech, coarse and vigorous, which recommended her.

"In 1759, first engaged at Old Drury, and little appreciated, she had come over to the Dublin Theatre, after having played a few chance parts at Bath, and from the first she met a very good and gracious acceptance, but not having the London stamp of consequence was only spoken of as really a very clever woman. When the lively comedy of 'High Life Below Stairs,' then a novelty, was brought out, everyone was enchanted with the vivacity of Kitty. It was perpetually acted, and with never-failing success. In ten days after its