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"answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy and wind"ings of language.—It raiseth admiration as signifying a "nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felicity of inven❝tion, a vivacity of spirit, and reach of wit more than vul"gar: it procureth delight by gratifying curiosity with its "rareness or semblance of difficulty: by diverting the mind "from its road of serious thoughts; by instilling gayety and "airiness of spirit; by provoking to such dispositions of "spirit in way of emulation or complaisance; and by sea"soning matters, otherwise distasteful or insipid, with an "unusual and thence grateful tang."-Second Sermon on Evil Speaking. Edition, 1678. p. 44.*

It is thus that one genis useus, and is entitled to use, the writings of another. It was thus, that Reynolds studied and resembled the great masters in painting of another age. I am happy in the present opportunity of comparing Sheridan with a mind fertile in every topic of wisdom, and flowing in all the felicities of neat and pointed expression. Barrow is the man whom Charles the Second called the most unfair of preachers, as he left, on all subjects, nothing for any other to

say.

I here put an end to what may be thought a rather distant excursion; but every admirer of the drama is interested to know whatever had a tendency to carry to perfection the brilliant powers of Sheridan.

• Here is an accidental parity also-the very PAGES are the same of the two passages.

CHAPTER IV.

Covent Garden.-Lewis.-Wroughton.--F. Aickin.--Quick. -Edwin.-Henderson.-His Analytic Power exemplified in Sterne, in Falstaff-Sportive Inventions in private. -Garrick and Dr. Johnson.-The Ode on Shakspeare.His Readings.-The Impression left upon the Author's Mind. The leading Actresses.-Miss Farren.-Delicacy her great Feature.-Miss Pope.-Mrs. Abington.--Her Enjouement on the stage.-Mrs. Mattocks.-Miss Younge.

I SHALL pass to the other theatre, to consider the actors who were there prominent about the time of Mr. Kemble's arrival in London. When the male talent has been thus estimated at both theatres, I shall endeavour to paint the less definable traits of the great actresses in both tragedy and comedy.

The youthful hero at Covent Garden Theatre was at this time sustained by Mr. Lewis, a name with which a croud of delightful impressions is associated. Lewis, the sprightly, the gay, the exhilarating, the genteel; the animating soul of modern, and of much of ancient comedy. The charm of this really fine actor, was in his animal spirits. As a speaker he totally failed. He had no distinctness, no measure in his utterance. He hurried as much of a sentence together as he could deliver in a breath, and stopped where the verbal connexion of what he said required him to go on. Sentiment therefore from him was often unintelligible; and all antithetical composition lost its balance and point.

In action he was redundant to a fault. He was the most restless of human beings. He kept up a perpetual flicker before the eye, and seemed to exact an almost exclusive attention. As our theatres became larger, this was rendered in some degree necessary--there was a great space to fill, and without infinite expression of the face, an actor who did not bustle was totally without effect. The tendency of Lewis, just mentioned, rendered him rather insensible to the great results of combination in the scene. The authors who wrote for him with most success found it their interest rather to send him on as a kind of comedy harlequin, whose

incessant activity was to fill the scene; and whose tricks of love, mistake, extravagance, or generosity, were to surprise or fascinate the senses, without the slightest appeal to the understanding.

But how am I to describe him in what they received for tragedy--when he curled his hair, wore gloves in his cap, "coursed his own shadow for a traitor, and five fiends "seemed to be in poor Tom at once." Here it was too, that the strange huddling of his words upon one another had a ludicrous or distressing effect, as the auditor's mind was disposed. The mimic will hardly ever lose the way in which he uttered the taunt of Percy to Douglas in the tragedy of Percy.

Hear this ye knights, companions-of his fortune!
That Douglas! the valiant-the renowned Douglas,
Fenc'd round with guards, and safe-in his own castle!
Surpris'd a knight—unarm’d—and bravely-slew him.

What there was to redeem these imperfections, was to be found in his genteel deportment and earnest manner-his attention to the business of the scene, and the fire he threw into some situations, suited to his abilities. If the action did not interest, it never hung with Lewis; and some way or other even the tragedy of this actor helped "to fill a pit, as "well as that of better men."

But it were a waste of time to expose this false and idle exhibition of tragedy. The good sense of the actor laid down the buskin, when, as the manager, he might still have retained it; and he confined himself to what nobody ever wished him to resign-to Mercutio and the Copper Captainto Ranger, to Belcour, and the long list of sparkling adventurers, in the airy comedies of O'Keefe, Reynolds, and Mor

ton.

Wroughton, with requisites entirely dissimilar, was the rival, or rather, the antagonist of Lewis in the scene. His person was ill made, his face round and swoln, his features small and inexpressive-his voice uncertain, hoarse, and disagreeable. However, a certain consequence invested his deportment. He was never vacant or idle. He never neglected himself or his audience. Always perfect, always where he should be, exciting no censure, and challenging but little applause, he yet kept a respectable station in tragedy, and I have seen him bold enough to touch, after Garrick, that hopeless part, King Lear.

There is in acting what may be called, a safe line. It is the doing common and traditional things in a common way

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without pretending to original conception, or any refinements of execution. If a great genius arise during such a leaden reign, to be sure he covers such vulgar stuff with confusion, and hands it over to speedy oblivion. I think Mr. Wroughton was even to be admired in the plain gentlemen of comedy, whether impassioned or considerate. There was good sense, good manners, and not the slightest affectation in his performances.

Mr. F. Aickin was a sensible speaker, firm, articulate, and impressive, without the tenderness of his brother James, and with little or no variety. His characters were all nearly of the same kind in tragedy, and he usually acted the tyrants, though his look was uniformly benevolent, and his deportment that of a staid and most reasonable personage. medy, where any father was exhibited, that was neither to be duped by the one sex, nor laughed at by the other, Aickin represented that rare character.

In co

I have often reflected with indignation upon the vicious taste of a public, that can bear this eternal outrage upon decency, the ridicule thrown in our comedies upon the parental character. But it is, I fear, the unavoidable result of plays constructed upon the tender passion; where the art and mystery of defeating caution, or betraying confidence, is taught in the highest perfection.

Quick had most generally the honour to sustain the testy old gullable personage just alluded to. I do not think there was much discrimination in the way he played such characters. There was the same constantly florid face-the same compression of the mouth and elevation of the eyebrows, the same shrill squeak in the utterance, and odd totter in the step; but his entrance was invariably the signal for honest hearty merriment.

To this general effect of Quick's acting, an important circumstance in his theatrical life most powerfully contributed. He was beyond all comparison, in comedy, the decided favourite of the late KING, a determined patron of the stage, whom for so many of my best years, it delighted me to see, with his family, enjoying himself in the midst of his people. There was a gay and hearty jocularity about the king, while sitting at a comedy, which a Cynic could hardly have resisted-a something so endearing to see greatness relaxing from its state, throwing off, and apparently glad to throw off, some of the trammels of royalty, and exhibiting, without the least restraint, a full sense of pleasure, at a liberal and enlightened amusement.

Quick's powers of entertainment were not confined to the

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stage-he told a story admirably. The late king sometimes had him in attendance at Buckingham house; and the little time he could spare from the various business that pressed upon him, he delighted to pass in listening to Quick's eccentricities. He frequently appointed to see him in the ridinghouse, and took his amusement and his exercise together.

Edwin, as a comedian, seemed born to give effect to the farces of O'Keefe. The Son-in-Law and Peeping Tom merit particular attention. His Bowkit, the dancing-master, was surely the most characteristic exhibition that could be imagined; it made the Son-in-Law one of the most attractive farces of modern times. Peeping Tom, however, had one scene more masterly than any thing I have seen in farce: 1 mean that of poor Tom's abstraction, while in his mind's eye, he sees the whole procession of Lady Godiva pass before him. This was a thing of pure fancy and infinitely productive. You would have sworn to the succeeding images of this procession-the distant view of the equitation of Godiva-her approach—“her unadorned charms" at last brought fully before his eye, and the burst of commentary, "Talk of a Coro"nation!" altogether produced a revelry of enjoyment, that used to convulse the spectators; and it is a precious recollection of the power of a true comedian.

I know nothing from Edwin, in pure comedy, that exceeded his Sir Hugh Evans-his study of the sword and the word--his ejaculations-his cholers and tremplings of mind--his music; his songs and psalms, neither and yet both, were among the greatest luxuries of the art. The Sir Andrew Aguecheek, though rich, I have already said wanted the perfect finish of Dodd.

Mr. Henderson was at this time, perhaps, the greatest master of the art; he resembled his illustrious predecessor in his versatility. His tragedy, however, was certainly inferior to his comedy. In the former he had comparatively fewer requisites. His understanding was of the highest order, and his feelings could be instantaneously excited; but his person was without either dignity or grace, and his eye, though well placed for expression, wanted colour, as his face, though rather handsome, was too fleshy to show all the muscular action, in which expression resides. He was neglectful too of such aids as might have been had to his figure. He paid not the slightest attention to costume, and was indifferent even as to the neatness or fitting of his dress. He affected to care nothing about it. He pleased himself that he could at length make you forget the want which needed not to have existed. All his excellences were perfectly con

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