coats. Let us drop the curtain on Younge without a thought for petty bickerings, heart-burnings, or prosaic pettiWhat prettier scene on which to ring it down than that June night of 1776 when Garrick plays Lear for the last time. He has acted the old King with even more than the customary pathos, as though the part harmonized with his sadness of mood, and when the performance is over he solemnly leads Cordelia (Miss Younge) to the greenroom. The veteran knows that he has but one more appearance to make before bidding farewell to the theatre forever, and he says to his companion, with a sigh: "Oh, Bess! this is the last time of my being your father; you must now look out for some one else to adopt you." Cordelia falls on her knees with theatrical, yet real feeling, and falters, “Then, sir, pray give me a father's blessing." And as the mournful Roscius gently raises her, while the rest of the company look on silently at this never-to-be-forgotten epilogue, he cries, trembling and affectionately, God bless you- God bless you all!"- -and hur ries from the room. It is so characteristic, so like the emotional children of the stage, and withal so sincere; a charming picture into which, through all the tears, comes a glimpse of golden sunshine. A happy moment, is it not, for the lowering of the green baize on the many scenes depicted in these Echoes of The Playhouse? We can put out the lights, shut up the house, and go home, not in sadness, but hopefully, cheerfully. Betterton, Bracegirdle, Oldfield, Garrick, Woffington and the rest—they have all gone, but the Muse whom they ennobled lives on, richer in memories of the past and strong in promise for the future. Like some resplendant Cleopatra, "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale THE END. |