infusion of the latter ingredient, that was all. It is amazing how a little of the more or less makes a difference in these things. When you saw Bobby in the Duke's Servant, you said, what a pity such a pretty fellow was only a servant. When you saw Jack figuring in Captain Absolute, you thought you could trace his promotion to some lady of quality who fancied the handsome fellow in his top-knot, and had bought him a commission. Therefore Jack in Dick Amlet was insuperable. Jack had two voices, both plausible, hypocritical, and insinuating; but his secondary or supplemental voice still more decisively histrionic than his common one. It was reserved for the spectator, and the dramatis personce were supposed to know nothing at all about it. The lies of young Wilding, and the sentiments in Joseph Surface, were thus marked out in a sort of italics to the audience. This secret correspondence with the company before the curtain, which is the bane and death of tragedy, has an extremely happy effect in some kinds of comedy, in the more highly artificial comedy of Congreve or of Sheridan, especially where the absolute sense of reality so indispensable to scenes of interest is not required, or would rather interfere to diminish your pleasure. The fact is, you do not believe in such characters as Surfacethe villain of artificial comedy-even while you read or see them.

Munden. Can any man wonder like him? Can any man see ghosts like him? or fight with his own shadow-“ SESSA ”— as he does in that strangely-neglected thing, "The Cobbler of Preston," where his alternations from the Cobbler to the Magnifico, and from the Magnifico to the Cobbler, keep the brain of the spectator in as wild a ferment as if some Arabian Night were being acted before him? Who like him can throw, or even attempt to throw, a preternatural interest over the commonest daily-life objects? A table or a joint-stool, in his conception, rises into a dignity equivalent to Cassiopeia's chair. It is invested with constellatory importance. So the gusto of Munden antiquates and ennobles what it touches. A tub of butter, contemplated by him, mounts to a Platonic idea. He understands a leg of mutton in its quiddity.

Colman gives this pleasant sketch of Bensley:

Bensley, while on the stage, married by accident. He was travelling in a hack postchaise, which, on turning a sharp corner of the road near Bristol, came in violent contact with a lady on horseback. The fair one was thrown; the traveller leaped from his chaise to her assistance; in short, they became man and wife. His conjugal partner brought him 1500l. With this, and his income as an actor, they lived in frugal comfort, and in a select circle of acquaintance, distinct from his theatrical brethren, from whose society, it was occasionally remarked, he kept somewhat superciliously aloof, till he withdrew from his scenic labours in 1796. He was then appointed to the situation of a barrack master by his friend Mr. Wyndham, who was at that period Secretary at War. Some years before his death a large fortune was bequeathed to him. by his relative, Sir William Bensley, a baronet, and an East India director. Undazzled by riches, Bensley enjoyed his affluence with the liberal moderation of a perfect gentleman in the vale of existence, without children, and desirous only of a competent provision for his amiable and excellent wife. He declared that his superfluous wealth "came too late." His widow, who survived him some years, is now no more. In the earliest part of his theatrical life he lodged in the south-east Covent Garden Piazzas, which have been burnt down; and he there saved his life by jumping out of his bedroom window, on the first floor, during the conflagration. From the foregoing description of his starch manners, who would suppose that he was, in his youth, "an idle, flashy, young dog," and that Garrick had nicknamed him "Roaring Bob of the Garden!"

CHAPTER XI.

MRS. SIDDONS.

This was the first appearance
The incidents that led to this

AN event that should be noted marked the close of Garrick's connection with the theatre. of Mrs. Siddons in London. event were dramatic and interesting. Some aristocratic patrons had reported to Mr. Garrick that there was a clever young actress at Cheltenham, and he despatched Mr. King to report.

It would seem that he was not satisfied with the report of his agent King, but in the month of August, 1775, sent down a second emissary to make further observation.* This was the Rev. Mr. Bate, a clergyman of strong intelligence, vigorous style, and of a strength of muscle still more vigorous; for he could box and bruise and fight duels, write "slashing articles, and was, besides, well up in stage matters. His letters containing the report of his little expedition are to be found in the British Museum, and are singularly interesting and vivacious.

After travelling along "some of the cursedest cross-roads in the kingdom," the clergyman arrived at Worcester, and there saw "the theatrical heroine " for the first time, playing Rosalind. He stood at the side wings of the theatre, which he described as a sort of barn, the stage about three yards

*

I abridge this sketch from my "Lives of the Kembles."

wide. Yet under these disadvantages he was enchanted with her playing. She was, indeed, very close upon her confinement, but he pronounced that, making all allowance for her condition, she had ordinarily a very fine figure. "Her face was one of the most strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever beheld; but I shall surprise you more when I assure you that these are nothing to her action and stage deportment, which are remarkably pleasing and characteristic. At first it seemed to him that her voice was "rather dissonant," and "somewhat grating in the unimpassioned scenes," but this wore away. "She is a very good breeches figure. Nay, he should not be surprised if, from her ease of figure and manner, she made the proudest she of either house tremble in genteel comedy. Nay, beware yourself, great little man, for she plays Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire critics." He then wrote a note to her husband, whom he describes as a "damned rascally player but a civil fellow," intimating his business, for he had heard that some Covent Garden emissaries were hanging about, and it was necessary to strike at once. After the farce was over they both waited on him. He found them very humble, and willing "to leave all and everything to Mr. Garrick." She was diffident. She had been on the stage from her very cradle, "which, though it surprised me, gave me the highest opinion of her judgment she had contracted no strolling habits." The company was to return to Worcester for the race week, when he was to see her again.

Two days later, namely, on August 19th, the agent wrote again. The husband, Siddons, who seems to have been almost servile in his humility, only desired to be employed in any manner. He was more tolerable as an actor than Mr. Bate had thought at first. It was evident, in short, that he wished to be "thrown in " with his wife. "You can station him," says Mr. Bate, "so as to satisfy the man without burdening the property." But a suspicion of the negotiation had been whispered; the manager was surly at his players being decoyed away, and refused to let her appear; but Mr. Bate was determined to persevere.

When Mr. Bate saw the pair again, all was arranged; but they submitted to Mr. Garrick some very modest requests, which they hoped he would be gracious enough to grant.

1st. As they were ready to attend him at any moment, would he not be pleased "to allow them something to subsist upon when they came to London previous to their appearance. 2nd. Whether he had any objection to employ him in any situation where he is likely to be useful." Mr. Bate urged warmly that their requests should be granted, "for," he says, "it would be unjust not to remark one circumstance in favour of them both. I mean the universal good character they have possessed here for many years on account of their public as well as private conduct in life." They were anxious also to know "when it was his wish that they should attend him." "I beg you," urged their warm advocate, Mr. Bate, "to be very particular as to this, that they may arrange their little matters accordingly." She was also "the most extraordinary quick study imaginable."

Siddons appears through the transaction as a rather poor and obsequious creature. He writes piteously to Bate about the delay. He had considered the matter concluded, and had given the manager notice, "so that if anything had happened and we had not been engaged it would have proved a very unlucky circumstance. However, sir, your letter hath removed my apprehensions and set me right again. I am very agreeable that Mrs. Siddons should be brought to bed in the country" this delicate matter having figured much in the negotiation, for Mr. Garrick wished to open the season with his new actress. A month later her husband was able to write to Mr. Garrick himself the joyful news: "You will be surprised when I tell you she was brought to bed, having been taken ill unexpectedly when performing on the stage, and early next morning produced me a fine girl. Both are doing well." He begs to be allowed to stay a little while, "for Mrs. Siddons counting so much longer than he had expected, he had left some private little matter undone. Most gratefully does he acknowledge Mr. Garrick's goodness, for he had just seen Mr. Dunwoody and had made bold to take 201., which he hopes will meet his approbation." Unluckily, these delays prevented her appearance until the season had begun. The last letter in this interesting series is a dismal one. She had appeared at Drury Lane, and had failed. The news then spread of the change of proprietorship, and on February 9th, 1776,