W v 
 
 
 gk 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 u 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
M?- S o B B mB ARID) 
 
 London.. :PLob lis hj'A' hy Jlenry (u)tbijirrv ^MdwrdBenlMy. 1830 
 
RETROSPECTIONS 
 
 THE STAGE. 
 
 THE LATE JOHN BERNARD, 
 
 MANAGER OF THE AMERICAN THEATRES, 
 
 AND FORMERLY 
 
 SECRETARY TO THE BEEF-STEAK CLUB. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 voir. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1830. 
 
LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY SAAIUEL BENTLEY, 
 
 Dorset Stnet, Fleet Str«'ei. 
 

 THE EDITOR'S ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The late Mr. John Bernard, on his retire- 
 ment from the Stage and return to England, 
 in 1820, commenced the writing of his history^ 
 comprising a period of forty-six years' connec- 
 tion with theatricals in England, Ireland, and 
 America. This work was completed about a 
 year previously to his death, but in too volu- 
 minous a state for publication. Like all auto- 
 biographies, it was a narrative of the feelings 
 and opinions, as well as the events, of his 
 life; of which having passed the last five- 
 and-twenty years in America, he had in some 
 measure outlived his contemporary generation. 
 To an English reader, therefore, his biography 
 did not possess the nominal interest which has 
 recommended the recollections of so many of 
 
 475 
 
iv THE editor's 
 
 his professional brethren, and was pleasing 
 only in the proportion that it spoke of others 
 rather than himself. 
 
 Mr. Bernard was advised to meet this circum- 
 stance by a proper condensation of his pages, 
 rather than content himself with the soHtary 
 recompense he had received in the pleasure of 
 their composition. But this was a task he 
 had neither health nor spirits to undertake, — 
 and was averse to, from the value he natu- 
 rally placed upon those details even which w^ere 
 less interesting to others. At his death, the 
 MS. fell into my hands, to be consigned either 
 to the flames or the press. Convinced that it 
 contained a great body of theatrical anecdotes, 
 which had failed to float down the stream, I 
 did not consider it my duty to oppose the 
 Son to the Editor, and prevent their diff'usion 
 in an agreeable form among my own generation. 
 I have accordingly subtracted the same, with 
 no more personal detail than was absolutely 
 necessary to their historical connection, and 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. V 
 
 now present them as a series of views of dra- 
 matic life, as well as curious illustrations of 
 the eccentricities of character, which surround 
 the steps and engage the sympathies of the 
 Comedian. 
 
 In so doing, as the original MS. was traced by 
 the feeble finger of seventy, I may have com- 
 mitted some little inaccuracies as to names and 
 places, which the loss of my father prevented 
 my correcting at the time, and ray ignorance of 
 other authorities has closed my eyes to since. 
 The less pardonable fault of retaining in these 
 pages what has been recollected by others, or 
 venturing upon the distinct iteration of common- 
 places, I am less fearful of being charged with ; 
 and so that I succeed in providing my reader 
 with materials for a series of hearty laughs (in 
 this truly miserable era of the world), I con- 
 fess my faith in his good-humour to forgive me 
 for many sins of commission and omission inad- 
 vertently perpetrated. 
 
 W. BAILE BERNARD, 
 a 3 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1756. — Birth and Parentage — First eruption of the "Ca- 
 coethes hidendi." — Mr. Mattocks of Covent Garden, his 
 street and stage airs.— Boarding-school Play. — Hamlet re- 
 duced. — Alas, poor Ghost ! — Provincial Theatricals of fifty 
 years ago. — Manager Jackson and his Company, and House. 
 — Juvenile Amateurs. — The ** Distressed Mothers." — G. F. 
 Cooke in Richard, and an ambitious Tailor. — London, 1772. 
 — Mrs. Canning's d6but in Jane Shore. — Reddish, "the 
 greatest Villain on the Stage." — His engagement by Garrick. 
 — Barry in Othello — His great points . Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 1773. — The Comedian's Hegira — Bath. — Anecdote of Hen- 
 derson. — Bristol and Mr. Bensley. — Experimentalizing. — 
 Bensley's School. — Tale of his Wig — Chew Magna. — My 
 public debut. — Manager Thornton, the Provincial Eccen- 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 trie — Recollections of him : his Shirts. — Scotch dress. — 
 Histrionic Principle. — Anecdote. — " Richard 's himself 
 again!" . . . . .31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1773. — Commencement of my Peregrinations. — Kainsome. 
 — Booth — Glastonbury. — Tale of a Kite, the Glastonbury 
 
 Apparition. — Castle Cary. — Mrs. Kirby "When shall I 
 
 have rest?" — Westbury. — Mr. Butler and my Boots. — 
 Musical Persecution. — "Chard." — Reminiscence of Betty 
 Atkins ! — Beauty and Benevolence, an adventure. — The 
 Parson-looking Gentleman — Taunton. — Mrs, Skinne. — Fe- 
 male Amateur and Novelist. — Eccentricities of George 
 Parker, the Lecturer — The Five-and-Threepence. — Tale of 
 
 a Trunk, — Weymouth — Success My Mother. — Return 
 
 Home A lucky Transposition . . 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1774. — Amateur-play at Poole Another aberration. — 
 
 The value of threepence. — Walk to Shaftesbury. — The old 
 system, " flat, stale, and unprofitable."— Mrs. Skinne's tac- 
 tics. — Return to Portsmouth. — Ultimate consent of my 
 friends, and formal adoption of the Stage as my profession, 
 — London. — Macklin in Shylock. — Quin's criticism. — Visit 
 to Brentwood, — Zenith and nadir of theatricals. — Manager 
 Penchard and his wig. — Lesson on Economy — Performance 
 of "The Recruiting Officer."—" Double, double toil and 
 trouble." — Mrs, Penchard, " the breeches figure." — Manager 
 Thornton and Holcroft. — Mr. Penchard's procession. — Davy 
 Osbom and his wife. — Mr. Weeks and his ^'woe." — Miss 
 Macklin and her father. — Stowmarket. — Silent audience.— 
 The Old Maid's criticism — Dedham, a change. — An old gen- 
 tleman's criticism.— Termination to strolling . 77 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1774. — Norwich Green-room. — Mrs. Brown (prototype of 
 Mrs. Jordan). — Mrs. Ibbot (celebrated by Churchill). — 
 Stage pronunciation ninety years ago. — Mrs. Cooper.— Mr. 
 Griffiths. — Brunton. — Bob Bowles !— Definition of " Bora- 
 chio." — An Illustration of Shakspeare "Bury St. Ed- 
 munds." — Mrs. Baker's Booth. — Lewey Owen. — The Clown. 
 — Experiment upon a Silk JMercer. — Patience. — My first 
 Wife! — Norwich fishing-parties. — Eccentricities of Bob 
 Bowles Credulity of Mr. Griffiths. — " The Yarmouth her- 
 ring." — *< The wild duck." — Remarks upon the essentials to 
 form an Actor, and the " Science of the Stage." — Anec- 
 dotes of the Norwich people. — Misnomers. — Misapprehen- 
 sions. — The Alderman's toast. 
 
 1775. — London. — Strictures on the first performance of 
 " The Rivals." — Cause of the first night's failure. — The 
 acting, &c. — Plymouth Dock. — The gallant "Middy." — 
 Captain Crouch. — Stephen Kemble. — " Curse my coat ! 
 think of my feelings !" • . .115 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1776* — Journey to York Highway Adventure. — Jemmy 
 
 Whitely's Eccentricities. — The nodding Magistrate ; his Pro- 
 fessional dignity. — The Fish Admissions. — His " Chinese 
 Conjuror." — Macklin and his " Locke on the Understanding." 
 — A dramatic " Icarus." — A FUght at Nottingham. — Tate 
 Wilkinson. — Actors and Imitators Anecdotes of Tate's Ca- 
 reer Imitation of Foote in London. — Imitation of Peg 
 
 Woffington at Dublin. — Cummings, the York Favourite : his 
 Voice. — Gallery Criticism on John Kemble. — Singular Coin- 
 cidence in his Death. — Reminiscence of Dodd. — Wakefield. 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 — Cummings in *' Alexander," and the Critical Steed. — 
 Anecdote of Tate Wilkinson, as a man. — Exeter Engage- 
 ment at Bath — Portsmouth. — The Pleasures of Rest 151 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1777-8. — Bath Green-room.— Edwin's '' Life and Eccen- 
 tricities." — Edwin's merits. — Production of " The School for 
 Scandal." — Sheridan's particularity — Its success and "cast." 
 — Anecdotes of Quin — Sarcasm on Nobility. — Belief in Py- 
 thagoras. — Explanation of the superabundance of Women. — 
 Mode of expelling a Bore. — Definition of a Gamester. — Cato- 
 like complacency. — Reply to Ryan : his Siamese Soup. — 
 Richmond. — Bob Bowles from Norwich. — A Doctor's Bill. — 
 Fawcett and his Jokes. — Barry and the Barber.— Kitty Clive 
 and Mrs. Cibber, Garrick's persecutors. — King and his " Bar- 
 l)er's Pole." — Exeter. 
 
 1778-9.— Compilation of " The School for Scandal."— Pri- 
 vateer Speculation. — Does the " Fly" bite ? — Becky Wells. 
 — Dramatic Transitions — Exeter. 
 
 1779-80. — Doctor Jackson and his Pupils.— Anecdote of 
 Incledon. — Anecdote of Davy's (the Composer) Origin and 
 Musical Precocity. — Exeter. 
 
 1780-81-2— Ireland ... 183 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1782 — Visit to Ireland. — Cork Green-room Lee Digges, 
 
 the celebrated " Wolsey :" his professional Fate. — John Kem- 
 ble, Stephen Kemble, O'Reilly, Daly, Miss Younge, Mrs. 
 Crouch, Miss Barsanti, &c. — Bob Bowles again ! his disqua- 
 lifications. — The Pink Suits. — A Breach. — Miss Francis, 
 or Mrs. Jordan : Tate Wilkinson her Sponsor : origin of her 
 name — Another difference with Daly. — Kemble's Sympathy. 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 — Journey to Limerick. — Mallow. — Wild Irish Theatricals. 
 — The Manager. — Mr. Macfarlane, the one-eyed Cupid. — 
 
 Gallery and Orchestra Dialogue Public Control of Public 
 
 Amusements. — Mr. M^Shane, a high Tragedian. — Mr. 
 
 Waker, the low Comedian, and his nasal Appendages Motto 
 
 of a Sign, " Pay to-day and Trust to . — A Countryman's 
 
 Wit. — Irish travelling. — Limerick. — Exposition of a Fa- 
 mily Mystery. — Anecdote of John Kemble and Miss Phil- 
 lips — Bowles in his Element. — Irish Calculation. — The Anti- 
 Vermini^ts. — Butterfelt. — Story of a Skull . 221 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1782-3. — Cork. — Two skulls better than one. — Journey to 
 Dublin : humours of the carman. — A lame horse. — Whimsi- 
 cal adventure and hoax — Dublin. — Remarks on the three 
 Theatres : Daly's, Crawford's, and our own. — Mrs. Baddeley. 
 — Royal criticism. — Ryder : his merits. — Versatility, the dis- 
 tinction of Garrick. — Mrs. Crawford. — Unfair comparisons 
 between her and Mrs. Siddons. — Vandermere. — Crawford's 
 commencement. — Humours of a ^' Free Night." — Paddy 
 Barret in Glenalvon, and his critics. — Our commencement. — 
 Stephen Kemble's hit at a " Clapper." — Barry and Mossop. 
 — Anecdote of their management.— Daly's success. — Our suf- 
 fering. — A discovery among ourselves — Flight of our Mana- 
 gers. — Isaac Sparks, the humorist. — Story of him and a 
 Scotch Doctor. — Crawford next on the decline. — Hamlet play- 
 ing Paddy O'Rafferty ! — My engagement for Belfast.— Jack 
 Barnshaw's reading — Daly's generosity — Mrs. Gardner's de- 
 parture. — A grave joke . . . 262 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1783.— Irish travelling. — Belfast Green-room.— Atkins. 
 — Cherry. — Captain Garvey, the Irish Don Juan, and ori- 
 
xn CONTENTS. 
 
 ginal of " Paddy Carey.'^ — Miss Knipe. — Storj'^ of her Father, 
 — Another Whitely and Thornton. — Opening Play. — Gar- 
 vey in Careless : his singing, and female admirers. — Amyas 
 Griffith (the Belfast Critic) and his legs. — La Mash, the fop- 
 servant, and Kitty Frederick : his record of spousal grati- 
 tude. — Sir John O'Neil. — Mr. Rice, the old Irish Gentleman. 
 — M'Nat and his "■ Parkegits." — New Theatre proposed* — 
 My first management. — Attachment to Ireland. — Geoffry 
 Galway, a great little actor. — Story of him and Whitely. — 
 His blunders. — Londonderry. — Hard drinking : the " six- 
 bottle men." — An Irish invitation. — Sligo. — The Castle Inn. 
 — The Duelling Assembly-room. — Impromptu by Mr. Farren 
 (father of the actress). — Le Sieur Ray and his " Cockalorum.'* 
 — Sligo " Glee Club." — Retaliation, and an elegant challenge. 
 
 — Captain Garvey's gaieties, and impudence My illness. — 
 
 The two " Wat Tylers."— Restoration by lime-water — The 
 receipt. .... 306 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Sligo. — A Shebeen-house. — Irish sermon. — Original im- 
 promptu by Pope. — Ride to Derry.— A stoical quadruped 
 
 An Irishman's experiment — Derry. — The Earl of Bristol ; 
 Anecdote of him and his valet. — Irish circumlocution. — The 
 resuscitated horse-stealer. — Cherry in the Miser, and the 
 Drummer's wig. — Belfast. 
 
 1783-4. — Lady O'Neil's address. — Anthony Pasquin, a tra- 
 velling painter. — A brief remark. — Oflfers from Mr. Palmer 
 at Bath, and Vandermere. — Jemmy Fotterel, in Tragedy. — 
 " Pass the Box." — Kane's benefit, and Garvey's sentiment. 
 
 Irish travelling. — Joe Haynes' logic, in demonstrating the 
 
 connection between himself and a shabby coat — Vandermere, 
 a dramatic " Great Unknown."— Debut of Mrs. Billington at 
 Waterford, and subsequent success. — Farewell to Ireland 348 
 
RETROSPECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1756. — Birth and Parentage — First eruption of the " Ca- 
 coethes ludendi." — Mr. Mattocks of Covent Grarden, his 
 street and stage airs. — Boarding-school Play — Hamlet 
 reduced. — Alas, poor Ghost ! — Provincial Theatricals of 
 fifty years ago. — Manager Jackson and his Company, and 
 House. — Juvenile Amateurs. — The " Distressed Mothers." 
 — G. F. Cooke in Richard, and an ambitious Tailor. — 
 London, 1772. — Mrs. Canning's d^but in Jane Shore. — 
 Reddish, " the greatest Villain on the Stage." — His en- 
 gagement by Garrick. — Barry in Othello. — His great 
 points. 
 
 I WAS born at Portsmouth in 1756. My fa- 
 ther was a lieutenant in the Navy, related to 
 the governor Bernard, who figures in American 
 history. My mother was the daughter of a 
 
 VOL. 1. B 
 
2 " CACOETHES LUDENDI. 
 
 post-captain, of whose family I am altogether" 
 ignorant. Whether my father's ancestors came 
 from Germany, (and spelt their names Ber^- 
 nard, as in a modern opera,) or France, is per- 
 haps of as little consequence to my reader as 
 myself; but if he has any curiosity upon the 
 point, I must refer him to some hundreds of 
 better informed cousins scattered all over Ire- 
 land, and particularly abundant at Limerick. 
 
 At the early age of ten, I can distinctly re- 
 member the firat breaking out of my passion 
 for the stage. My mother was rather a serious 
 woman, and did not go to the theatres. " Play- 
 houses," she used to say, " always led to work- 
 houses."" My father however, being an Irish- 
 man, and a sailor, was not quite so particular ; 
 and whenever he was in port I could obtain 
 permission, once a fortnight or so, to take a 
 peep at the temple of Thespis erected in my 
 native town, and opened for the summer by 
 the handsome Mr. Mattocks, of Covent Garden, 
 with one or two of the fourth-rates of the royal 
 houses, and a qualifying mixture of provincial 
 experimentalists. 
 
MR. MATTOCKS. ^ 
 
 Mr. Mattocks, to my infant fancy, was the 
 beau ideal of a hero, and fine gentleman. I do 
 not know but what his appearance in pubUc 
 was as great a stimulant to ray inclinations as 
 his popularity on the boards. I can remember 
 very well how I used to stand staring at him 
 with a company of kiteflying urchins, as he 
 came sailing down the principal street of a 
 morning to rehearsal, arrayed in a gold-laced 
 suit of green and white, with a bag- wig, three 
 cornered cocked-hat, a silver-mounted cane, and 
 a silver-handled hanger. There was such a 
 swan-like dignity about him, such a fascinat- 
 ing glitter, and " stand-out-of-the-way" conse- 
 quence ; his feather floating, his skirts flying, 
 his sword dangling, and his stick thumping, as 
 he proceeded. At night, as may be supposed, 
 he increased the charm of the morning by airs 
 of a more popular order. He was a pretty 
 singer, and, with the exception of Vernon, the 
 best acting vocalist I ever saw. His Lord Aim- 
 worth would have been a creditable performance 
 in the hands of WilHam Smith. 
 
 In the Portsmouth Theatre, I therefore first 
 B a 
 
4 BOARDING-SCHOOL PLAY. 
 
 sought as an amusement what I afterwards 
 adopted as a profession. 
 
 My parents having sent me to a Latin gram- 
 mar academy near Chichester, the first active 
 exhibition of my feehngs took place on the eve 
 of our holidays, when our learned and indulgent 
 domine, Mr. Low, used invariably to fall into 
 that amiable faiUng so prevalent among peda- 
 gogues, of getting up a play. I had early dis- 
 tinguished myself at school as a good reader ! 
 Nature had favoured me with a pleasant voice 
 and an acute ear ; which is, in fact, the secret 
 of public reading or speaking ; and on every oc- 
 casion that a dramatic performance took place, 
 I acquitted myself with a spirit and propriety 
 which neither my companions could emulate, nor 
 the spectators account for. Mr. Low praised, 
 but did not suspect — the cause was, as yet, un- 
 revealed to myself ; these praises, however, af- 
 forded fuel to the flame. The last misde- 
 meanour of the sort that I was concerned in, is 
 worth remembering. 
 
 When it was known that I was going to leave 
 school (I was then about sixteen), it was deter- 
 
HAMLET REDUCED. 5 
 
 mined by the scholars that the play should be 
 selected in the ensuing holidays: with particular 
 reference to myself, Mr. Low decided on Ham- 
 let — I was to enact the Dane ! 
 
 The play, after undergoing an indictable de- 
 gree of '' cutting and maiming," to adapt it to 
 the capacity of our actors and theatre, (an ex- 
 periment very like Mr. Colman's fanciful illus- 
 tration of " crowding the Archbishop of Brob- 
 dignag into Tom Thumb's pantaloons,") was 
 put into rehearsal, and the parts given out. 
 Mine being the longest and most important, I 
 received a fortnight in advance. My com- 
 panions, I remember, had very little sleep for 
 that fortnight. It was my custom to read over 
 my part as often as I could during the day, and 
 to stamp and bellow it out all the night on the 
 boards of my bed-room. This was very incon- 
 venient to drowsy youngsters who had no ad- 
 miration for Shakspeare, or, what was more diffi- 
 cult, my conception of him — but mine was a 
 " privileged madness," — and " I'm studying my 
 part," was the only answer they could get, how- 
 ever tenderly they implored me to let them 
 
6 HAMLET REDUCED. 
 
 partake a little of the peace I so liberally dis- 
 pensed to the ghost. 
 
 Every body knows the way in which these 
 affairs used to be got up at schools; a good many 
 have partaken in them. The school-room was 
 the theatre — the forms became the boxes — each 
 boy was apportioned his peculiar modicum of 
 labour, according to his taste and ability — one 
 to paint scenes, another to erect the stage, an- 
 other to cut out clothes — our friends liberally 
 assisting us with the means for all. 
 
 At length the play was perfect. The theatre 
 completed, our friends (my mother excepted) 
 were duly notified, and the evening came. Two 
 amateurs commenced the entertainments with a 
 duet on the flute and fiddle, and then the cur- 
 tain rose. Thanks to Mr. Low, who was not 
 the worst manager I have met in my time, the 
 actors had been all pretty carefully drilled, and 
 we now stood at the wings, with our hearts 
 thumping up into our throats, anticipating the 
 delight we should give to our friends and our- 
 selves. 
 
 All went on and went off very smoothly, with 
 
ALAS, POOR GHOST ! T 
 
 the usual allowances, and the usual applause, 
 until the scene with the Ghost, — (which was as- 
 sumed by a knock-knee'd lathy stripling of my 
 own age,) — when a bungling rascal, whose post 
 for the night was to sit above on a beam, and 
 pull up the three baize table-cloths tacked to- 
 gether into a curtain, leaning forward to gain a 
 better view of what was going on below, caught 
 his breeches in the nail that sustained the end 
 of the curtain, and at the moment I pronounced 
 the words " Alas, poor Ghost !"" the roller be- 
 coming disengaged, descended with a swift 
 thwack upon the Royal Dane''s head, and pros- 
 trated him to the earth amidst an uproar of 
 laughter. 
 
 I, very luckily, standing a little in advance, 
 escaped the same fate ; the curtain was speedily 
 pulled up, but the scene could not proceed ; the 
 merriment of the audience had converted my 
 humbled companion's pain into rage, and with 
 the problem of his materiality sufficiently solved, 
 (for though some one jokingly remarked when 
 he came on, that he wanted life in the character, 
 he now proved he was a tolerable spirit,) he lay 
 
8 HAMLET REDUCED. 
 
 on the stage, and roared aloud like a town crier. 
 This served but to increase the laughter, and 
 my situation soon became as unpleasant as his. 
 I could neither go on, or go off; it was as diffi- 
 cult to retain my part as my countenance ; I 
 thought it would have been compromising my 
 dignity to have descended to the common-place 
 of helping him on his legs, and he seemed de- 
 termined not to rise without assistance. Mr. 
 Low, who prompted, then spoke at the wings — 
 " Charles, get up, sir ; rise, Charles, instantly ;" 
 but, alas ! he was no wizard on this occasion, — 
 he could not raise a ghost. The laughter now 
 swelled into comparative thunder, — Mr. Low 
 poked forward his head, stamped and shouted,— I 
 trembled and stared, — the boy roared and kicked ! 
 At length, Hamlet was compelled to stoop to his 
 assistance, and enable, in a dutiful manner, the 
 battered shadow of his sire to limp off to the 
 shades for refreshment ! 
 
 f On my return home, my inclination for the 
 stage began to ripen every hour^ into active 
 maturity : the applauses I had received in the 
 youthful Dane, (however qualified in their 
 
MANAGER JACKSON. 9 
 
 amount of pleasure by the accident just related,) 
 shot a fire into my heart that was never to be 
 extinguished ; and the theatre being open in 
 Portsmouth, afforded the means of its nourish- 
 ment. My time was for the present uncon- 
 trolled, as, my father being at sea, my mother 
 was incapable of determining upon my future 
 employments ; and the leisure which this interim 
 gave me, strengthened the heat of my feelings 
 till they became intolerable, and I sought out 
 some means of relief. This did not cost me 
 much time or trouble. In the neighbourhood of 
 Portsmouth are several villages, of which Farn- 
 ham was by no means the most important, either 
 in a geographical or intellectual point of view. 
 There, however, I was casually informed, that 
 a dramatic wanderer (well known in the West 
 of England), Manager Jackson by name, had 
 pitched his tent, and to the Red Cow, or the 
 Black Bull, or some other agricultural beast, I 
 bent my steps. I soon discovered him in the 
 village, by perceiving a flag flying from the up- 
 per windows of an inn, on which was inscribed 
 the words " Jackson''s Theatre," and which, I 
 b5 
 
Ho MANAGER JACKSON 
 
 afterwards learnt, performed the double office of 
 an advertisement by day, and the triumphal 
 banner of a king or hero at night. 
 - On the steps of the door I encountered the 
 old man, a silver-haired Adam Winterton ; and 
 well I remember the awe and veneration with 
 which I approached him. The peculiar feature 
 of this veteran's history (upon which he piqued 
 himself ) was, that in his youth he had been an 
 underling at Drury Lane, and ^dehvered mes- 
 sages upon the same boards, that Barton Booth 
 with his mathematical movements, had electrified 
 the Pit, Colley Gibber made mugs at the Gal- 
 lery, and the Mercurial Wilks stuck his arms 
 a-kimbo at the Boxes, and wagging his elbows 
 like a pair of wings, achieved the ne plus ultra 
 of antique dandyism. 
 
 I expressed my wishes in a very few words, 
 and he, as briefly, his willingness to gratify them. 
 I wanted to play George Barnwell, and promised 
 I would fill his house by way of remuneration. 
 He requested me to name the night, and first 
 rehearsal, then desired to show me over his 
 theatre, and introduce me to his company. 
 
AND HIS COMPANY. 11 
 
 His theatre — stop — he had engaged the ^ 
 largest room at the said Black Bull, suspended 
 a collection of green tatters along its middle 
 for a curtain, erected a pair of paper screens 
 right-hand and left for wings ; arranged four 
 candles in front of said wings, to divide the 
 stage from the orchestra, (the fiddlers' chairs 
 being the legitimate division of the orchestra 
 from the Pit,) and with all the spare benches of 
 the inn to form Boxes, and a hoop suspended 
 from the ceiling, (perforated with a dozen nails, 
 to receive as many tallow candles,) to suggest 
 the idea of a chandelier ; he had constructed and 
 embellished what he denominated a Theatre ! 
 The scenery consisted of two drops, simply and 
 comprehensively divisible into the inside of a 
 house, and the outside of a house. The former 
 (which was an original of about the same date 
 as the manager) was a bona fide representation 
 at bottom of a kitchen, with all the culinary 
 implements arranged about it ; but by the sim- 
 ple introduction of two chairs and a table, this 
 .was constituted a gentleman's parlour! and in 
 the further presence of a crimson-cushioned, 
 
12 MANAGER JACKSON 
 
 yellow-legged elbow chair, with a banner behind, 
 and a stool in front, was elevated into a royal 
 hall of audience ! This was clever stage ma- 
 naging. The other drop (which I have termed 
 outside of a house) was somewhat younger 
 than its companion, and very ingeniously pre- 
 sented on its surface two houses peeping in at 
 the sides, a hill, a wood, a stream, a bridge, 
 and a distant plain ; so that, from the general 
 indistinctness of the wMe, the eye of the spec- 
 tator might sfingle out a particular feature, and, 
 agreeably to the locality of the scene that was 
 passing, imagine himself in a street, a wood, by 
 a stream, &c. alternately. This was also a very 
 clever contrivance ; the manager, at least, dis- 
 encumbered Himself of four scenes by it, and 
 with the chair and table manoeuvring, did 
 without two. I can not remember now the con- 
 dition of his wardrobe, but I have some general 
 impression of its consistency with the above. 
 If Mr. Pope's idea of beauty applied as forcibly 
 to the Drama as it does to females, — "when 
 unadorned, it i^ adorned flie tnost," — -then Ma- 
 
AND HIS COMPANY. IS 
 
 nager Jackson's theatre displayed the goddess 
 in the full perfection of her charms. 
 
 The Company consisted of a heavy man, who 
 played the tyrants in tragedy, and the French 
 horn in the orchestra (not the first actor who 
 has blown his own trumpet); — Mr. Jackson, 
 prompter, money-taker, scene-painter, machi- 
 nist, and fiddle-player, who was a company in 
 himself, inasmuch as, being letter-perfect in 
 every stock-play, he could carry on all the me- 
 chanical duties of the house, and play ten parts 
 a-night with facility, behind the scenes, — this was 
 a general practice at that time ; — the " walking 
 gentleman" (a Romeo at night, but thfeapothe- 
 cary by day), who sung a little, did the lovers, 
 danced hornpipes, and played tricks ;-— a low 
 comedian — low enough, Heavfeh kiiOw^i — a fat 
 fusby little woman hiswif&V and Mts. Jackson, 
 who had the choice of every thing, but being 
 an old woman, naturally selected the young 
 ones. With this band of dramatic desperadoes. 
 Manager Jackson performed the witches' cere- 
 mony of " double, double toil and trouble," 
 
14 JUVENILE AMATEURS. 
 
 and three times a- week put William Shakspeare 
 on the rack, to the delight of the red-headed 
 bumpkins of Hampshire. 
 
 To proceed: — I rehearsed the character of 
 Barnwell with the above-mentioned worthies, 
 and was perfect. I then communicated my 
 design to every acquaintance I had in Ports- 
 mouth ; and, agreeably to my promise, on the 
 night of the performance the room was crowded 
 ^j " to an overflow ;'' my success was so flattering, 
 that two or three of my companions proposed 
 to join me in a second exhibition. " Venice 
 Preserved" was decided on as the play, and 
 half-a-dozen more volunteered to perform the 
 conspirators. These doings we carefully con- 
 cealed from our parents, and another crowded 
 room was in embryo for Manager Jackson. 
 
 By some infamous treachery or villanous 
 mischance, the secret got wind, and reached the 
 ears of our mothers, who, being mostly ac- 
 quainted, went round to each other, and held 
 a consultation upon the subject, as grave as that 
 of so many physicians. The result of this 
 " debate profound" was a resolution to obtain 
 
JUVENILE AMATEURS. 15 
 
 ocular evidence of the fact (so little inclined 
 were some of them to beheve it), but to shroud 
 from our knowledge meanwhile the slightest 
 suspicion of their design. Thus the night came, 
 and with it our loving mothers to Farnham, 
 cackling and worrying like so many hens when 
 they see a brood of gosUngs going into the 
 water. With great secrecy^ but some difficulty, ; 
 they obtained seats (on paying their sixpences) > 
 at the extremity of the room, in a situation 
 completely shrouded from the view of the stage, 
 and there sat down, a formidable phalanx, be- 
 hind cow-boys and town-boys, to witness their 
 naughty boys' conduct. I (being the Jaffier of 
 the evening) commenced the play with the 
 obdurate Priuli, and was rather startled to hear 
 my name pronounced aloud, in reply to my first 
 speech ; nevertheless, as my eye could not con- 
 firm the cowardly insinuations of my ear, I 
 proceeded without alarm ; each of my compa- 
 nions was greeted in the same manner on his 
 appearance, by his wonder-struck parent ; but 
 as the same feeling that forced out the exclama- 
 tion sealed up the lips that uttered it, the 
 
16 
 
 play received no interruption — we entertained 
 no fears — the applause was tumultuous — all 
 went on very smoothly : — this was a deceitful 
 calm. The bosoms of the venerated ladies all 
 this time were fermenting to an overflow : they 
 only waited for the opportunity, — they did not 
 want the will, — they were green and smiling 
 volcanoes on the eve of an explosion ; or, like 
 so many full-charged electrical machines, only 
 wanting a conductor to give us a shock. The 
 applause that stimulated us enraged them : 
 it had the appearance of encouraging our wick- 
 edness, and setting their wishes at defiance. 
 The more we stamped and strutted, the more 
 they winced and fidgeted, — thus an unexpected 
 climax was approaching. When the conspira- 
 tors' scene came on, our acting grew to be so 
 much like earnest, that at the instant each 
 clapped his hand upon his sword and Pierre 
 waved his weapon aloft, up they rose with a 
 simultaneous scream, in the full conviction we 
 were going to cut one another's throats, and 
 overturning all who sat before them, ploughmen 
 or gentlemen, darted towards the stage, calling 
 
THE " DISTRESSED MOTHERS." 17 
 
 out our names. An immediate rout among us 
 was the consequence, and a general uproar in 
 the assembly. But an explanation soon ensued, 
 and flight or resistance was impossible. The 
 room had no doors at the extremity of the 
 stage, and it would have cost us our necks 
 had we jumped from the windows. Singled 
 out by the sharp eye of maternal tenderness, 
 in an instant we were seized with an adamantine 
 security. Lightning could not have been more 
 expeditious than their movements, or, as re- 
 spected ourselves, more paralyzing in its effects. 
 In the eyes of the audience were we then 
 compelled (as far as decency permitted) to 
 strip off our borrowed plumes, and with the 
 paint on our faces (absorbed in the redder glow 
 of our shame) had we to penetrate the screech- 
 ing crowd, which, but a few minutes previously, 
 had given us the hearty tokens of their admira- 
 tion. But this was not all : from the inn room, 
 the affair communicated below, and flew round 
 the village before we had descended the stairs. 
 Then each, grasped by the relentless fingers of 
 his dam, was obliged to run the gauntlet of the 
 
18 G. F COOKE AND 
 
 mob, walked publicly back to Portsmouth, fol- 
 lowed by the whoopings of half a hundred 
 urchins, and subjected to the horse-laugh of 
 every bumpkin we passed. 
 
 In order to wean me from my newly dis- 
 ; covered propensity for acting, my mother wisely 
 resolved to remove me from the scene of its in- 
 dulgence, and accordingly took me with her on 
 a visit to some relatives at Maidstone, where 
 she proposed remaining till my father arrived 
 in port, from its proximity to his destination, 
 Sheerness. His return had been long expected, 
 and his opinion was to decide my fate. In pass- 
 ing through Chichester, by a very agreeable 
 mischance, the wheel of our chaise broke down, 
 and as it could not be repaired until the ensuing 
 morning, I obtained an evening's leisure and re- 
 lease from my mother's side. In walking down 
 the town, the first thing I looked for was a play- 
 bill ; and the first thing I observed, on discover- 
 ing one, was an announcement of Richard the 
 Third, by a Mr. G. F. Cooke, then a young 
 man of about two-and-twenty, evidently new to 
 his profession, and perfectly unknown. This 
 
AN AMBITIOUS TAILOR. 19 
 
 was the man who slumbered away the morning 
 and noon of his existence in theatres of the 
 above description, and came to London (the 
 only fit arena of his talents) to exhibit but the 
 radiance of a setting-sun. Being the first tra- 
 gedian I ever saw, whatever I might say in his 
 praise on this occasion, I am afraid, would be 
 set down to the score of first impressions ; and 
 to enter into an investigation of his maturer me- 
 rits, would indeed be a trite affair for the pre- 
 sent generation. Forty years after this period, 
 when I encountered him in America for the first 
 time, I observed that what he had lost in pas- 
 sion, he had made up in judgment. The re- 
 collection of Cooke in this character brings a 
 circumstance to my mind that my reader may 
 be disposed to smile at. 
 
 In some country town where the tragedian 
 was performing, he got a suit of clothes from 
 a tailor, which he promised to pay for on his 
 benefit night. The tailor, much to the annoy- 
 ance of his family and customers, was bit with 
 a dramatic madness, and proposed to Cook that, 
 instead of receiving money for his goods, the 
 
20 G: F. COOKE AND 
 
 former should give him permission to play 
 Catesby to his Richard, that being the charac- 
 ter fixed on for the evening. Cooke was over- 
 joyed at so easy a mode of discharging the 
 debt, and undertook to instruct him in the 
 stage business. The tailor had a tolerable 
 voice, and, with some exertion, prepared him- 
 self for the experiment, to Mr. Cooke*'s satisfac- 
 tion. When the awful hour rolled on, all the 
 taste and intellect of the town was assembled to 
 witness the important debut. The tailor, fiery 
 as his own goose, and stiiF as a piece of buck- 
 ram, appeared and disappeared, and spouted 
 and stamped, agreeably to the most orthodox 
 rules, amongst amateurs, of satirizing nature. 
 He gained applause however, and that in cle- 
 verer people has too often been a test of merit ; 
 — but the critical moment was to come. For 
 the tent scene, Catesby, as well as Richard, had 
 screwed up all his energies to make a decisive 
 hit ; and when Richard started from his knees, 
 (at the conclusion of his comments on the 
 dream,) exclaiming, "Who's there ?*' the lord of 
 the scissars and thimble rushed on, intending to 
 
AN AMBITIOUS TAILOR. 21 
 
 overwhelm him with the startling intelligence of 
 his manner. Cooke, on the contrary, threw 
 such lightning into his glance, that the cabbage- 
 loving amateur was overpowered himself, and 
 stammering out the beginning of his answer, 
 abruptly concluded it in the middle, — " 'Tis I, 
 
 my Lord ; the early village-cock " 
 
 The whimsical sense of the sentence obtained 
 from the audience an appropriate shout, whilst 
 the poor tailor stood rooted to the spot, trem- 
 bling and speechless ! Cooke surveyed the stul- 
 tified aspect of his officer several seconds, with a 
 sardonic grin, as though enjoying his agony, — 
 and at length growled out, in a tone very audi- 
 ble at the wings, " Why the devil don't you 
 crow, then ?*" 
 
 My father's ship (the Renown) arriving at 
 Sheerness soon after our arrival at Maidstone, 
 we went over to meet him, and proceeded to 
 London, to pass there the interim of his remain- 
 ing in port, as it would enable him to kill two 
 birds with one stone — enjoy the company of his 
 family, and try his interest for me at the Ad- 
 miralty ; it being his wish that I should make 
 
2S MRS. canning's dj&but. 
 
 the sea my profession. In this object (very 
 ^^much to my satisfaction) he failed, and ulti- 
 mately decided with my mother that I should 
 go down to Portsmouth and be articled to a 
 respectable attorney-at-law of that place. 
 
 During my stay in the metropolis, I went 
 frequently to the theatres. At Drury Lane I 
 remember seeing " Jane Shore,'' on the evening 
 that a Mrs. Canning, the widow of an eminent 
 counsellor, made her dtbut in the heroine. 
 She was patronised by numerous persons of dis- 
 tinction, and the house was very favourable to- 
 wards her. But, independently of the personal 
 interest which attended her attempt, Mrs. Can- 
 ning put forth claims upon the approbation of 
 the critical. One thing, however, must be ad- 
 mitted ; she was wonderfully well supported : 
 Garrick was the Hastings, and Reddish (her fu- 
 ture husband) the Dumont. I little thought, as 
 I sat in the pit that night, an ardent boy of six- 
 teen, that I then beheld the lady who was des- 
 tined, at some fifteen years' distance, to become 
 the leading feature in a company of my own ; 
 nor that, in the Glos'ter of the night, (admirably 
 
REDDISH. 23 
 
 acted by Jefferson,) I beheld my partner in that 
 management — Plymouth. 
 
 I should puzzle myself to little purpose if I 
 were to attempt, in this place, to say any thing 
 that was new or amusing upon Mr. Garrick's 
 merits ; for since their character became the 
 property of history, every writer seems to have 
 made his memory a kind of " intellectual tu- 
 muli," and thrown his own " stone*" on it to 
 enlarge its dimensions ; but I should wish to be 
 permitted a word in regard to Reddish, (upon 
 whose first wife, being a very masculine woman, 
 Foote made the ungallant pun of " horse-ra- 
 dish,*") for the reason that he was one among 
 many of Garrick's contemporaries, who founder- 
 ing in the stream of time, instead of going down 
 with it, deserves to be " lightered "" up to the 
 surface. 
 
 Reddish had, altogether, the greatest genius 
 for the "Villains of the Stage" the stage, in my 
 humble opinion, ever possessed. I have seen 
 other actors equal to him in particular charac- 
 ters, but none that exhibited (in this peculiar 
 department) his general excellence. Cooke in 
 
^4 REDDISH : 
 
 the satiric and jovial villain ; Macklin in the 
 ferocious apd revengeful ; Mossop in the haugh- 
 ty and dignified ; Palmer in the specious and 
 insinuating; and Henderson in the reasoning 
 and theorizing, were equally admirable ; but 
 Reddish had conception and powers to embody 
 them all, and, had he but lived, would have 
 manifested this fact to posterity. The early 
 deaths both of Reddish, Powel, and Henderson, 
 are no doubt the reason of the little acquaintance 
 which people in the present day have with their 
 merits : — they had arrived at the maturity of 
 theiC;. powers, but not of their fame. Hender- 
 son's- fe>a particular case: he departed at the 
 very instant he was emerging from the shade 
 into which the memory of Garrick threw him. 
 It was the one orb rising where the other set, 
 and the twilight of the one obscuring the 
 spreading beam of the other. Henderson was 
 the legitimate successor to his throne, — the only 
 attendant genius that could wear his mantle. 
 Though it is difficult to compare the others, 
 owing to the peculiarity of their paths, Powel 
 was best in the Romans and fathers, Holland in 
 
HIS ENGAGEMENT BY GARRICK. ^5 
 
 the ardent spirits of lovers and champions, the 
 Hotspurs and Chamonts, and Jeiferson in the 
 kings and tyrants. Of the four, Powel and 
 Reddish were the cleverest. But Reddish was 
 differently situated ; he lived in Garrick's time, 
 and was one of the many stars in that Augustan 
 era of acting, whose radiance was absorbed in 
 the great luminaries. Powel, Holland, and Jef- 
 ferson were all in the same predicament ; Mos- 
 sop, Barry, and Sheridan, were the only ones 
 who rose into notice from a collision with the 
 Roscius ; but even their memories are fading. 
 
 Jefferson told me a story of Reddish's en- 
 gagement by Garrick, which exhibits, in a strik- 
 ing manner, the acuteness of " little David's" 
 perceptions. Garrick was in want of a " walk- 
 ing gentleman ;"*' and Frank Aikin enjoyed the 
 fame of being the best out of London. Frank 
 was playing in a company at some distance from 
 town, and Garrick, wanting to ramble some- 
 where for the summer, thought he would kill 
 two birds with a stone, and go down to see him. 
 Arrived at the place in q[uestion, Garrick, as 
 usual, encountered acquaintances, and received 
 
 VOL. li C 
 
26 BARRY 
 
 invitations. Aikin, having a note from him ex- 
 plaining his design, got himself put in for Sir 
 John Melville, in the " Clandestine Marriage," 
 which is about the best " walking gentleman" 
 in the drama; at night Garrick came with a 
 party, and took possession of a box; during 
 the scene between Fanny and the Maid, which 
 was rather badly acted, the manager kept 
 thumping his stick, fidgeting in his seat, and 
 turning round to talk; but when Reddish (who 
 played Lovewell) called out, behind the scenes, 
 *' William ! William f Garrick involuntarily 
 dropped his stick, and exclaimed, " That man's 
 an actor !" so true a conductor was his ear to 
 his feelings of the touch of nature. The con- 
 clusion of this circumstance was about as re- 
 markable as its commencement. Aikin, whom 
 he came to engage, Garrick neglected ; and 
 Reddish, whom he had never heard of before, 
 he engaged, at a liberal salary, to play PowePs 
 business, then about to leave him. 
 
 I went also, one evening, to see Barry in 
 Othello. It would certainly be rather dull, in 
 the present day, to revive the question of com- 
 
IN OTHELLO. ^7 
 
 parison between him and Garrick ; but, deep as 
 is my devotion to the fame of the " gieat Eng- 
 lish actor," I must admit that his partizans fell 
 upon their own weapons, in the indiscriminate 
 fury with which they assailed his opponent. 
 These persons were in the habit of allowing 
 Barry every physical, and denying him every 
 mental qualification. They sneered at him as 
 the silver-toned lover, the elegant automaton, 
 &c. and yet were sagacious enough to admit, 
 that he played Othello very well ; not consider- 
 ing that Othello, containing in itself all the 
 highest and most opposite elements of tragic 
 character, requires greater abilities to do it 
 justice, than any or all of Shakspeare's other 
 conceptions : to say, therefore, that a man plays 
 Othello well, is to pronounce the very highest 
 eulbgium ; it is to affirm, that he achieves the 
 loftiest flight of Shakspeare's genius, and bodies 
 forth the chef-d'oeuvre of the British Stage. 
 
 Howe^^er, I shall attempt no detail of this 
 great actor's performance of so great an under- 
 taking. He was now at an advanced age, but 
 was not deficient in the most excusable respects, 
 c 2 
 
28 BARRY IN OTHELLO: 
 
 either power or spirit. It will be more amusing, 
 if I select one or two points in his performance, 
 which my memory has never relinquished, and, 
 presenting them to my reader, pass on to other 
 matters. 
 
 His gradual preparation for the volcanic burst 
 of — " I '11 tear her all to pieces," and the burst 
 itself, in its exquisite agony, as well as power, 
 surpassed the grandest of the effects which the 
 Stage in those days saw so frequently. You 
 could observe the muscles stiffening, the veins 
 distending, and the red blood boiling through 
 his dark skin — a mighty flood of passion ac- 
 cumulating for several minutes — and at length 
 bearing down its barriers, and sweeping onward 
 in thunder, love, reason, mercy, all before 
 it. The females, at this point, used inva- 
 riably to shriek, whilst those with stouter nerves 
 grew uproarious in admiration ; for my own 
 part, I remember that the thrill it gave me 
 took away my sleep the entire night The very 
 antithesis of this, was the manner in which he 
 gave the words, " Oh, Desdemona — away — 
 away — away !"" Instead of blustering them out. 
 
HIS GREAT POINTS. 29 
 
 as I have mostly seen done by a gentleman with 
 a bosom of adamant and lungs of leather, he 
 looked a few seconds in Desdemona's face, as if 
 to read her feelings and disprove his suspicions ; 
 then, turning away, as the adverse conviction 
 gathered in his heart, he spoke them falter- 
 ingly, and gushed into tears. 
 
 I believe it to be a subtle reverse of the 
 fact, in the couplet that compared Garrick and 
 Barry's King Lear, which ended with — 
 
 " To Barry they gave loud huzzas. 
 To Garrick only tears." 
 
 Barry's pathos was much superior in effect to 
 Garrick's; and this was owing to the advan- 
 tages of his voice. If the flash came but dimly 
 from his eye, you were always charmed with the 
 report. 
 
 The following anecdote records the greatest 
 compliment, I conceive, which that genuine cri- 
 terion of nature, sympathy, ever paid to public 
 genius. 
 
 When Barry had finished his address to the 
 senators, three rounds of applause spoke the 
 feelings of the house ; and when the Duke, in 
 
30 AN ANECDOTE. 
 
 comment on his apology, observed, " I think 
 this tale would win my daughter too?" the 
 audience sympathized so truly with the feelings 
 of the speaker, that their hands, by a spontane- 
 ous effect, came again together, as their hearts 
 had done before, and the applause went round a 
 fourth time, in echo of his sentiment. 
 
" ACTING MAD." 31 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1773. — The Comedian's Hegira — Bath. — Anecdote of Hen- 
 derson. — Bristol and Mr. Bensley. — Experimentalizing. — 
 Bensley's School. — Tale of his Wig. — Chew Magna.— My 
 public debut. — Manager Thornton, the Provincial Ec- 
 centric- B^collections of him : his Shirts — Scotch dress. 
 — Histrionic Principle. — Anecdote. — " Richard 's himself 
 
 On my return home to Portsmouth, the 
 wishes of my family were carried into effect, 
 and I was established with a solicitor upon very 
 advantageous terms. But a short period elapsed, 
 however, before the current, thus attempted to 
 be stemmed or diverted, (having gained strength 
 by my amusements in London,) broke down its 
 barriers, and swept away all the prospects my 
 poor parents had so fondly contemplated. 
 
 I was now, in a very literal sense of the word, 
 " acting mad." I had witnessed the efforts of 
 
32 
 
 the greatest masters of the art, and, with the 
 permissible vanity of a boy, conceiving myself 
 possessed of a portion of their genius, I cal- 
 culated upon a share of their good fortune. I 
 was not long therefore in coming to a decision. 
 My parents' consent I knew it was impossible 
 to obtain ; my father would have thundered at 
 the bare suspicion of my wishes, louder than a 
 thirty-six pounder. He was by no means a 
 classical man, and could draw no distinction be- 
 tween a stage and a booth. Luckily, he was at 
 this time at sea ; and as he would not approve, 
 he could not obstruct my intention. My mo- 
 ther would have objected to such an employ- 
 ment as acting, if merely on account of its itine- 
 rancy. I was her favourite son, and she was 
 never happy but when I was in her presence. 
 
 My only course was, therefore, to dispense with 
 what I could not obtain, and go about my bu- 
 siness in a quiet and resolute manner. I ac- 
 cordingly wrote letters to my mother and my 
 employer, expressive both of my regret and 
 my intentions ; and on the 5th of May 1773, 
 about five o'clock in the morning, I have to 
 
THE comedian's hegira. 33 
 
 date the " Hegira" of a country Comedian, 
 from his paternal roof, in search of an en- 
 gagement. 
 
 On this occasion, I attired myself in my best 
 blue suit of clothes ; had a watch in my fob, 
 about five pounds in my pocket, (the accumula- 
 tion of my weekly allowance,) two shirts and 
 two pair of stockings in a bundle, with a light 
 heart, a burning brain, a slim, genteel figure, 
 and a weak, ladylike voice. 
 
 My chamber-window looking into the street, 
 I had no difficulty in descending upon a rope- 
 ladder, (which by the contrivance of a counter- 
 string was pulled up again,) without giving an 
 alarm either to our house-dog or the servants. 
 I then took to my heels, and ran along the 
 Southampton road, till overtaken by the night- 
 coach from London, when I jumped up and 
 proceeded in safety. 
 
 My intention was to go to Bristol, where the 
 Theatre had been opened for the summer by 
 Mr. Bensley of Covent Garden ; having heard 
 of this gentleman such a favourable character, 
 that I conceived it was merely necessary I 
 c5 
 
34 BATH. 
 
 should acquaint him with my wishes, to obtain 
 their immediate gratification. 
 
 Arriving at Bath, I delayed my journey to 
 visit the Theatre, which boasted at this time 
 the best company out of London, — Henderson, 
 Edwin, Dimond, Diddear, Blisset, &c. The 
 Bath audience had long maintained the charac- 
 ter of being the most elegant and judicious in 
 the kingdom ; and the " School," which gra- 
 dually famed under their influence and the 
 exertions of Mr. Palmer, obtained the preemi- 
 nence in the eyes of the Dramatic tyro and the 
 London critic. It is well known that, for many 
 years, the very name of Bath was a guarantee 
 for a man's good taste in his profession ; whilst, 
 on the score of genius, it is acknowledged to 
 have contributed more largely to the metro- 
 politan boards, than Dublin and York put 
 together. 
 
 The play was " Much Ado about Nothing."' 
 Henderson was the Benedict— Edwin the Dog- 
 berry — Garrick and Parsons were the only 
 persons in the world who would have grown se- 
 rious at such a performance. Of Edwin, as we 
 
ANECDOTE OF HENDERSON. 35 
 
 were afterwards associated in Bath, I shall defer 
 speaking ; and perhaps the most agreeable 
 mention I can make of Henderson, will be the 
 record of his humour on an evening shortly 
 previous to that in question. 
 
 During the preceding winter, Count Rice 
 and Mr. Du Barry, two broken-down men of 
 fortune and fashion, had come to Bath to es- 
 tablish a gambling-house on the high scale of 
 luxury and refinement which distinguishes 
 those man-traps in Paris : their manners were 
 a passport into the society they sought ; and as 
 Bath abounded both with money and ennui, the 
 speculation succeeded. They lived under the 
 same roof, and Count Rice was married to an 
 exceedingly beautiful woman. Some circum- 
 stance very improperly filled his head with a 
 suspicion that one of his partners had taken an 
 undue liking for the other, and an intercepted 
 but misinterpreted letter stamped the fact with 
 confirmation. In a few minutes, he was con- 
 vinced that he and his partners represented the 
 precise figure of a triangle. Burning with re- 
 venge and indignation, he provided pistols and 
 
S6 BRISTOL 
 
 a postchaise, and hastily summoning Du Barry 
 from an evening party, compelled him to accom- 
 pany him a short distance out of town, where 
 he produced the letter, and demanded imme- 
 diate satisfaction. Du Barry was so astonished 
 at the charge, that he could offer no explanation ; 
 which Rice interpreting as an evidence of his 
 guilt, designated his conduct by such terms, 
 that the former grew as furious as himself — 
 seized a pistol — they fired together, and Rice 
 was killed. Du Barry instantly returned to 
 Bath, and surrendered himself to justice; an 
 investigation took place, and he was acquitted. 
 The duel occurred on a Tuesday, and Hender- 
 son on the Friday following, (as it was never 
 before, and never has been since,) played Fal- 
 staff; and when he came to the soliloquy on 
 " Honour,'* and inquired " Who hath it?" he 
 cleverly introduced—" He that died on Tues- 
 day last ;" — the house received it with an uproar 
 of approbation. 
 ^^ The next morning I proceeded to Bristol ; 
 and when I had arranged my appearance at the 
 inn, went to the Theatre with a note for Mr. 
 
AND MR. BENSLEY. 37 
 
 Bedsley, requesting the favour of an interview. 
 Luckily, no rehearsal prevented the celebrated 
 " stock dignitary" attending to my wishes. I 
 was shown into the manager's room, lumbered 
 with books, banners, helmets, playbills, and 
 pictures, and in a few minutes Mr. Bensley 
 stalked in, with all the solemn ponderosity for 
 which, in Wolsey, he had so often drawn down 
 the Olympian thunders of Covent Garden. Af- 
 ter the usual preliminaries of nose and thorax, 
 head, hat, and handkerchief, I disclosed the ob- 
 ject of my visit, but it was with much circum- 
 locution, and a terrible impediment in my speech, 
 owing to the eagle glance and awe-inspiring 
 dignity of the personage I stood before. The 
 point I arrived at was this—that I was a young 
 gentleman who wished to make the stage my 
 profession — and thought I could play Hamlet. 
 Mr. Bensley requested a speech. I accordingly 
 got up, with my heart thumping in my throat, 
 resorted to my nose as a mode of collecting my 
 senses, rolled my eyes about *' in a fine frenzy," 
 threw myself in an attitude, and began, " To be 
 or not to be." Notwithstanding I had roused 
 
38 EXPERIMENTALIZING. 
 
 all ray energies for this attempt, the searching 
 scrutiny of the manager begat a confusion that 
 surrounded their fire with an impervious smoke, 
 and my over- excitement defeated the effect it 
 was intended to produce. When I had reached 
 the query of " to die — to sleep ? — no more," it 
 was evident my ideas were illustrating the posi- 
 tion ; and on dozing on a little farther, Hamlet 
 and I stuck together at the " rub," though 
 from different causes. 
 
 Mr. Bensley, who had been sitting in judg- 
 ment on my efforts, with the stern, stonelike 
 attention of a Roman Consul, or (with less 
 poetry and more truth) in the sad silence of a 
 sympathizing butcher, who watches the last 
 convulsions of a desperate calf, now rose up 
 with very friendly decision, and with one or 
 two strokes of his too-dreaded tongue, put me 
 out of my agony. 
 
 He conceived that my enterprise was not to 
 be approved of ; that I was wrong to leave a 
 home and settled employments, for the precari- 
 ous subsistence of the stage ; that only men 
 of extraordinary merit were known to succeed ; 
 
bensley's school. 39 
 
 that even he was not as well off as he ought to 
 have been ; and that I did not appear to present 
 any pretensions whatever to warrant the sacri- 
 fices I should be compelled to make. He ac- 
 cordingly recommended my immediate return 
 home, and offered me an order, if I should like 
 to visit the theatre that night. 
 
 The candour and good-feeling of the above 
 remarks I fully admitted even then, when most 
 inclined to deny their justice ; and considering 
 the exhibition he must have witnessed, I do not 
 wish the subsequent events of my life to throw 
 any slur upon the depth of Mr. Bensley's pene- 
 tration. 
 
 Bensley, as an actor, was one of the most 
 genuine perpetuations of that school which 
 Garrick succeeded in subverting. Nature had 
 favoured him with a good person, but denied 
 him as great a requisite in his voice ; it was a 
 low inflexible growl, which was by no means 
 improved, if relieved, by the falsetto snuffle of his 
 upper note. The system to which he belonged 
 considered dignity to consist a good deal in 
 cutting the stage at right angles, with the head 
 
40 bensley's wig. 
 
 up and brows down ; a coldly correct enun- 
 ciation, and a full flowing-wig ! Cherry once 
 told me a story of him, when playing in Ireland, 
 that is amusing ; it illustrates how rigidly he 
 regarded the proprieties of the stage. 
 
 When he came on one evening for his first 
 soliloquy in Richard, a nail at the wing caught 
 the tail of his majestic wig, and dismounting his 
 hat, suspended the former in the air. An Irish 
 gallery know how to laugh, even in a tragedy. 
 Bensley caught his hat as it fell by a feather, 
 and replacing it on his nob, " shorn of its 
 beams," advanced to the front, and commenced 
 his soliloquy, amidst a volley of importunities 
 to resume his wig. — (" Mr. Bensley, my darling, 
 put on your jasey — bad luck to your politicks — 
 will you suff'er a whig to be hung ?" &c.) — The 
 tragedian, however, considering that such an 
 act would have compromised, in some measure, 
 his dukely dignity, continued his meditations 
 in despite of their advice, and stalked off* at the 
 conclusion, as he had stalked on. An underling 
 then made his appearance, and released his 
 captured hair, with which he exited in pursuit 
 
CHEW MAGNA. 41 
 
 of Richard, to as loud a demonstration of ap- 
 proval as Richard himself. 
 
 The disappointment of my views with Mr. 
 Bensley had stunned, but not paralyzed me. 
 On the contrary, my situation in an unknown 
 city, a hundred miles from home, stimulated 
 me to exertion. I accordingly took a reason- ^ 
 able lodging in the city, and began to inquire ( 
 into the nature of theatricals in its vicinity. A 
 Mr. Thornton, who governed a band of drama-/ 
 tic desperadoes at the village of Chew Magna, 
 I discovered, was the nearest manager, and to 
 him I determined to apply. It was my fortune, 
 however, to encounter at my residence a very 
 facetious fellow, who belonged to a " spouting 
 club ;**' and this person informed me, that the 
 manager had promised to attend its next meet- 
 ing (being in want of recruits), where he would 
 introduce me, and enable Mr. Thornton to form 
 an opinion of my merits. A more favourable 
 means towards the end I had in view, could not 
 have been offered. My friend and I accord- 
 ingly studied a scene from " Venice Preserved," 
 and delivered the same on the evening in ques- 
 
42 MY PUBLIC D^BUT. 
 
 tion to a very full attendance of enthusiastic 
 shop-boys and melancholy milliners. To my 
 very great delight, Mr. Thornton was so fa- 
 vourably impressed, that he courted the inter- 
 view I was aiming to obtain : a very few words 
 led the way to a communication of my wishes, 
 and an agreeable proposition on his part, viz. 
 that I should try my abilities on his boards 
 the ensuing week : — the minor arrangements 
 were speedily dispatched. 
 
 Some evening in May 1773, I accordingly 
 made my public debut, in the village of Chew 
 Magna, and in the character of Jaffier. The 
 Theatre was fitted up in the interior of a malt- 
 house, and certainly on a much superior scale 
 to Manager Jackson*'s. Here was a tolerable 
 wardrobe, and one or two scenes, not so old as 
 myself. My friends of the club supported my 
 appearance with that frolic sort of enthusiasm 
 which boys only feel ; and the receipts amounted 
 to the unprecedented sum of nine pounds ! 
 The exhilaration both of manager and com- 
 pany attested that the money had not come 
 before it was wanted. The performance was 
 
MANAGER THORNTON. 43 
 
 announced for repetition : I was immediately 
 engaged to sustain the ''juvenile tragedy" and 
 " genteel comedy," and ray name was inserted 
 in the bills, with all due distinctness, as " Mr. 
 Budd, a young gentleman only seventeen years 
 of age, — his first appearance on any stage." 
 
 On the second night of my appearance, the 
 manager followed me to my lodging, to present 
 me with a share of the receipts, viz. eight ^ 
 shillings of the King's current coin, and three 
 tallow-candles of Bristol manufacture. These 
 shillings and candles being my first earnings in 
 the profession, I determined to keep as sacred 
 mementos ; but a stern necessity soon compelled 
 me to consume both. 
 
 The person under whose auspices I com- 
 menced my seven-and-forty years' acquaintance 
 with the Drama, was destined, in a later day, to 
 become one of the most notable eccentrics that 
 ever clung round the skirts of Thalia and 
 Melpomene. He was at this time a man of 
 about five-and-twenty, very gentlemanly in his 
 manners, and tolerably well-informed. He pos- 
 sessed some little property of his own, and 
 
44 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 being fond of theatricals, purchased a wardrobe 
 and some scenery, which enabled him to couple 
 pleasure with profit, by organizing a " sharing 
 scheme," over which he exercised an undivided 
 control. Subsequently, he became dependent 
 on the " profession ;" and innumerable are the 
 stories in circulation of his whim and ingenuity : 
 — a habit of forgetfulness in his latter days, 
 augmented his oddity. He was the person who 
 originated the joke of a man going a journey, 
 and putting on six shirts ; so that when he 
 wanted a clean one, he took one off. He had 
 a favourite Scotch dress given to him by Lee 
 Digges, which he was in the habit of wearing 
 on all occasions, and once introduced in Sted- 
 fast in the " Heir at Law,'* compelling Henry 
 Moreland to say that they had been wrecked 
 on the coast of Scotland, instead of America, 
 where his old friend lost his own, and was 
 forced to assume the national habiliments. 
 
 His system of acting was not founded upon 
 the principle of suiting the word to the action, 
 but the action to the word. In Macheath, 
 (which he invariably played for his benefit,) he 
 
ANECDOTE. 45 
 
 accordingly gave the lines — " Some men are 
 killed by rope," (mimicking the Newgate cere- 
 mony,) "or gun," (levelling his aim like a mus- 
 ket,) " and others by the doctor's pill," (rolling 
 the little ball in the palm of his hand, and pre- 
 tending to swallow it.) The following will 
 illustrate how skilfully he combined the duties 
 of actor and manager. It was his general prac- 
 tice to take the money at the pit-door, another 
 actor officiating at the boxes. One evening, 
 when committing a dramatic homicide on Ri- 
 chard, the half-price was coming in. Never, in 
 the sublimest of his histrionic illusions, was he 
 altogether so enveloped in Shakspeare that he 
 forgot himself; his vigilant right eye was cocked 
 upon the pit entrance, to see that his substitute 
 fulfilled his duty, or that the unprincipled 
 bumpkins of the village did not confound their 
 individuality, and pass in in a group. He had 
 concluded the soliloquy in the tent-scene, and, 
 rousing at the words of Catesby, had repeated 
 the line — " Shadows, avaunt ! you threaten here 
 in vain !" — when he suddenly espied a malefac- 
 tor stealing in unobserved ; the interest of Ri- 
 
46 RICHARD'S HIMSELF AGAIN.' 
 
 chard's situation was instantly forgotten in his 
 own : — substance as well as shadows departed ; 
 and, with a distinguishing gesticulation, he ex- 
 claimed, " That man in the grey coat came in 
 without paying !" He then subjoined, with a 
 burst of truly rational triumph, " Richard 's 
 himself again !" 
 
PEREGRINATIONS COxMMENCE. 47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1773. — Commencement of my Peregrinations. — Kainsome.— > 
 Booth. — Glastonbury. — Tale of a Kite, the Glastonbury 
 Apparition. — Castle Cary — Mrs. Kirby. — " When shall I 
 
 have rest ?" — Westbury Mr. Butler and my Boots. — 
 
 Musical Persecution. — *^ Chard." — Reminiscence of Betty 
 Atkins ! — Beauty and Benevolence, an adventure. —The 
 Parson-looking Gentleman. — Taunton. — Mrs. Skinne. — 
 Female Amateur and Novelist. — Eccentricities of George 
 
 Parker, the Lecturer. — The Five-and-Threepence Tale 
 
 of a Trunk. — Weymouth — Success. — My Mother. — Re- 
 turn Home. — A lucky Transposition. 
 
 At Chew, when our short-lived season of 
 four weeks concluded, my peregrinations com- 
 menced. Kainsome was the next town : scene- 
 ry, wardrobe, and manager, to proceed thither 
 by waggon ; company, conformably to the mo- 
 del of our great archetype, Thespis, on foot. 
 Before this, I had communicated with my mo- 
 
48 TALE OF A KITE. 
 
 ther ; and telling her a very great story, name- 
 ly, that I had repented of my folly, and wished 
 to return home, desired she would send me the 
 means. This the good creature did with as 
 much joy fulness as I received it. A ten-pound 
 note ! Oh, tender, too-doting mother ! how 
 little did you suspect the atrocity of your son ! 
 This sum was a little fortune to me then ; and 
 I proceeded to Kainsome in great exhilaration. 
 All that I can remember of this place is, that 
 being fair-time, we were opposed by a panto- 
 mime company in a booth, which carried away 
 the public favour from the '* legitimate " drama, 
 because we did not exhibit, like them, in dra- 
 matic array, on a platform before the Theatre. 
 
 Glastonbury was our next destination, where 
 we were patronised by a great eccentric, of the 
 name of Shroud. The business becoming very 
 bad, we were driven to all kinds of expedients 
 to recruit it ; and this gentleman hit upon one 
 that proved successful. As a mere frolic, he 
 proposed to myself and some others of the com- 
 pany, who were supping with him, to fly a kite 
 some dark and windy night, from the Torr-hill, 
 
 i 
 
TALE OF A KITE. 49 
 
 when the wind set in the direction of the town. 
 This kite was to be of extraordinary dimen- 
 sions, and to have a large tom-cat and a stable- 
 lantern appended to its tail. As we could 
 contemplate no evil results from such a joke, 
 we agreed. The kite was accordingly con- 
 structed. A suitable evening came, windy and 
 tenebrious ; and being an " off-night," we re- 
 paired to the hill with the captain, and our ma- 
 terials in a cart. Arrived at a convenient spot, 
 the cat and lantern were securely swathed to 
 the tail, and the kite was raised. It was six 
 feet in height, and required nearly six men to 
 hold it. Sweeping over the town, it performed 
 various curious evolutions, owing to the gusty, 
 unsteady nature of the wind (very favourable, 
 by-the-by, to our design) ; and the feline aero- 
 naut, beginning to exert his lungs, surpassed the 
 finest strains of a modern professor. As the 
 body of the kite was painted black, the light 
 only was visible, and a very supernatural aspect 
 it had, resembling nothing so much as the gam- 
 bols of some aerial demon. The first effect that 
 we noticed was the rushing up of all the cats of 
 
 VOL. 1. D 
 
50 THE GLASTONBURY 
 
 Glastonbury to the house-tops, who, sympa- 
 thizing with their friend, lifted up their tails 
 and voices, and yelled together loud enough to 
 have scared all the devils in Milton's Pandemo- 
 nium. Next came out all the old women and 
 young children, who, grouped at the corners of 
 the street, silently contemplated, like so many 
 statues, the inexplicable phenomenon above 
 them. When we had amused ourselves in this 
 way about two hours, the kite was taken in ; 
 and confiding it to the care of the captain's ser- 
 vant, we descended to the town to enjoy (though 
 rather wickedly) the alarm we had given rise 
 to. It would have filled a pretty thick volume 
 (and not unamu singly) could I have penned 
 down the explanations we received of the " ap- 
 parition in the air," each of which varying with 
 the grade and intellect of the object, was equal- 
 ly distant from a suspicion of the truth. The 
 panic lasted throughout the night, and on the 
 morrow communicated to the surrounding vil- 
 lages. People flocked in from all quarters, 
 and the town was quite full. The captain's 
 sagacious head had foreseen this result, and 
 
APPARITION. 51 
 
 perceived in it an opportunity of retrieving our 
 affairs. He accordingly proposed to write a 
 play on the subject, to be called " The Fiend 
 in the Air, or the Glastonbury Apparition V 
 which we should get a house-painter in the 
 town to illustrate with a view of the Torr-hill, 
 &c. This was agreed to ; and an imaginary 
 likeness of the " fiend" was constructed by the 
 company, to be worked by wires, composed of 
 pasteboard and red flannel, with an illumed 
 head, and a cracker at his tail. The piece was 
 written — rehearsed and acted ; each one had a 
 part. Two gentlemen of the town gave imi- 
 tations at the wings of the congregated cats ; 
 whilst the captain, positioned above, manoeu- 
 vred and yelled for the fiend individually. This 
 experiment succeeded so well with the country- 
 people, who had not witnessed the phenomenon, 
 but came to the theatre (as people always 
 should) to be instructed, that we performed it 
 four nights, and the receipts were sufiicient to 
 take us out of town with respectability. The 
 memory of Shroud deserves therefore to be em- 
 balmed in the comedian^s memorandums. 
 D 2 
 
52 MRS. KIRBY AND THE GROCER. 
 
 My situation in this company, however, had 
 latterly become unpleasant, from the accession 
 of a gentleman who " divided the business" with 
 me, as it is termed ; and being indignant that 
 the Manager should stint me in the only thing 
 he ever gave me — parts ! I walked over to Castle 
 Gary, where a Mr. Taylor was exhibiting the 
 glories of Shakspeare to " fit audiences, though 
 few," and ascertained that there was an opening 
 for my services. I accordingly returned to take 
 leave of Mr. Thornton and my companions ; and 
 beheld myself advertised with a kind of bull- 
 frog importance, for the character of Hamlet. 
 
 Of Castle Gary, Manager Taylor, or his 
 Company, I have retained no traces, either in 
 my brain or my papers, worth transplanting to 
 these pages ; more than that, our principal 
 actress, a Mrs. Kirby, playing " Lady Anne" 
 one evening, and inquiring very piteously, " Oh, 
 when shall I have rest .?" a ruthless grocer started 
 up in the pit and shouted out, " Not till you have 
 paid me my one pound one and tenpence, Ma'am." 
 Westbury under the Plain was Mr. Taylor's 
 next removal, another village, which you could 
 
of playing six weeks for my amusement, and 
 taking a benefit at the end for the remuneration 
 of my butcher and baker. This mode of living 
 upon a six or eight weeks' credit, and receiving 
 a surplus of coppers on a particular night, (suf- 
 ficient to purchase the owner a pint of ale in 
 the next town he came to,) seemed to me a 
 curious peculiarity about the Country Come- 
 dian. Yet it was pretty generally the case in 
 all sharing companies, from the inadequacy of 
 the receipts to meet more than the " ordinary 
 expenses," viz. Manager, (inclusive of scenery, 
 dresses, &c.) room, lights, bills, fiddler, and scene- 
 shifter. The inconvenience of this system my 
 mother's ten pounds had hitherto protected me 
 from experiencing; but, owing to the trifling 
 wants of one friend and another, that had fallen 
 some time into a galloping consumption, and was 
 now very near the hour of its departure. Still 
 the prospect did not dishearten me ; but at 
 seventeen, with great animal spirits, and the 
 abundant gratification of my passion, it would 
 indeed have been a difficult matter for care or 
 
54 MR. BUTLER 
 
 privation to steal in and blight the young bud 
 of enjoyment. 
 
 At Westbury we were joined by a Mr. 
 Butler, an itinerant son of song, and one of 
 " Apollo's apprentices,"*' as George Stevens used 
 to call the scientific operators of horse-hair on 
 cat-gut. His advent was considered of peculiar 
 importance, and we got up various musical per- 
 formances (designated " Operas'" by the Ma- 
 nager) on his account. He failed to attract 
 however, and made a very mysterious exit the 
 morning after his benefit. 
 
 This gentleman was located, not only in the 
 same house with myself, but the same room, 
 which being double-bedded, the landlord thought 
 he would be meeting our mutual wishes by 
 putting us together. Mr. Butler, however, had 
 one peculiarity, which rendered his society any 
 thing but pleasant — Nature had denied him a 
 voice ; but having advertised himself as a singer, 
 he thought it was his duty to procure one by 
 practising. To this end he devoted all the 
 leisure of the day, and infringed upon the 
 sacred silence of the night : a series of runs. 
 
AND MY BOOTS. 55 
 
 shakes, quavers, and ornamental undulations, 
 would he embark in, as soon as he had slipped 
 between the blankets, till, exhausted with his 
 exertions, he sunk into the arms of Morpheus, 
 like the swan, who is reported to die singing, — 
 not that he bore any other resemblance either 
 to the bird or her melody. I was very soon 
 desirous, as my reader may suppose, that this 
 gentleman might catch a severe cold, or burst a 
 blood-vessel. I was punished, however, for my 
 want of charity. On his benefit night, having 
 to perform Lionel in BickerstafF's Opera, he 
 borrowed my best pair of boots, which fitted 
 him so well, and looked so handsome in relief 
 to his yellow pantaloons, that the ensuing morn- 
 ing, when he should have waited upon the Ma- 
 nager, to receive the amount of cash above the 
 charges, he rose early, attired himself silently, 
 and with his fiddle-case under his arm, and my 
 boots on his legs, strode out of the village 
 before any one was up, not even bidding the 
 landlord good-b"'ye, upon whose beef and beer he 
 had been breeding his voice. 
 
 In a very short time the business of this 
 
56 BEAUTY AND 
 
 place assumed such a miserable aspect, that I 
 determined to make a timely retreat before any 
 serious difficulties accumulated. My mother's 
 money was now gone, and I was entirely de- 
 pendent on my profession. I accordingly wrote 
 to my old Manager, Mr. Thornton, (who was 
 now playing at Chard, in Somersetshire,) and 
 informed him of my situation. He very kindly 
 invited me to join him, and sent me the means 
 of allaying my creditors' cravings. I spent the 
 money to a shilling, and was obliged to leave 
 my box behind me; thus illustrating the say- 
 ing, " Three removes are as bad as a fire." 
 
 Mr. Thornton received me with open arms, 
 and my situation in every public respect was ren- 
 dered as comfortable as I could wish ; I cannot 
 say as much for my domestic condition. There 
 was an unfortunate family likeness running 
 through all these towns, and I was now destined 
 to be acquainted with one of the peculiar virtues 
 of an actor — abstinence ! I occasionally went 
 without a dinner, arid devoted the gastronomic 
 hour of two, to filling my head instead of my 
 stomach : this occupation, however, was not 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 57 
 
 more novel than unpleasant ; and though I had 
 too much pride to complain, I winced at swal- 
 lowing even Shakspeare, instead of beef or 
 mutton. Chard is thus signalized in my me- 
 mory by the name of Betty Atkins, — a cook- 
 maid at the inn where I resided, as benevolent 
 as she was beautiful, who seeing what little 
 nourishment I took in the day, provided me 
 with a supper for nearly three weeks, without 
 permitting me to discover whence it came from. 
 Beautiful Betty ! kind as thou wert considerate ! 
 who so practically proved the proverb, '' that 
 a friend in need is a friend indeed :" whilst the 
 generality of life-writers and narrators find their 
 only delight in dwelling on the high-born, the 
 accomplished, and tlie clever, mine be the hum- 
 bler but not less grateful duty to revive the 
 memory of a generous domestic (aged about 
 five-and-twenty, with glossy dark hair, hazel 
 eyes, and a mouth that one loved to look at when 
 she spoke), and your pardon, courteous reader, 
 if, in penning this tribute to her virtues, the 
 narrator momentarily forgets himself in the man ! 
 Whilst at Chard, I frequently went over to 
 d5 
 
58 A LAUGHABLE 
 
 Taunton with one or two of my brethren, to 
 visit the company which was playing there, — 
 Charles and Snelling Powel were among its 
 members ; the former of whom was afterwards 
 an actor of some repute at Covent Garden, the 
 latter my much esteemed partner in the Boston 
 theatre. During one of these rambles, I met 
 with an adventure. 
 
 About half-way between the towns was an 
 inn, where I purposed to stop and refresh my- 
 self. A short distance before I reached it, I 
 passed a gentleman on foot, of a very comfort- 
 able and clerical appearance. He was dressed 
 in black, with a broad-brimmed hat and a 
 silver-headed cane. Having honoured my per- 
 son with a particular scrutiny as he passed, 
 he halted at a little distance to look back at me. 
 This notice, and a tolerably empty stomach, 
 induced me to indulge in various pleasing spe- 
 culations as respected his character and motives. 
 He is the parson of the parish, thought I, and, 
 interested by my young and hungry appearance, 
 he feels half-inclined to ask me to his house and 
 satisfy my wants. Fancy needed but little sti- 
 
ADVENTURE. 59 
 
 mulus to carry me to the worthy man's table, 
 and conjure up the apparatus of a gastronomic 
 performance. The sudden disappearance of 
 their object, however, dissipated my day-dream ; 
 and pushing on to the inn, I entered the public 
 room, and rang a hand-bell : my first summons 
 was not attended to ; at my second, the door 
 was slightly opened, and a red, round, full- 
 moon sort of countenance intruded, with a 
 mouth like a horizon, dividing the head into 
 upper and lower hemisphere, and tresses suffi- 
 ciently golden, to have procured the owner 
 from a poet the name of ^' Apollo." 
 
 " Landlord,*" said I, ^' I haye had a long 
 walk, and want something to eat." 
 
 The sounds had scarcely passed my lips, 
 before the rustic's jaws, opening like the gates 
 of a subterranean abyss, sent forth a roar of 
 laughter. Naturally surprised at such an an- 
 swer, I requested an explanation ; but his wife 
 coming up at that instant (a small, unsymmetrical 
 bundle of fat), he repeated my words to her, 
 and they instantly got up a duet to the same 
 tune, laughed till they were tired of standing, 
 
60 A LAUGHABLE 
 
 and then sat down to prolong their merriment. 
 Mortified and indignant at what I could only 
 interpret as a piece of bumpkin impertinence, 
 I snatched up my hat, and was about to leave 
 the house, when the landlord recovered his 
 breath, and begged to explain himself. 
 
 It appeared that, about half an hour previ- 
 ously, a parson-looking gentleman, as he de- 
 scribed him, (who corresponded with the person 
 I had passed an the road,) had come into his 
 parlour, and pretending that it was too early to 
 dine, yet too long to wait for dinner, inquired 
 what would be the charge for a shght snack of 
 cold meat and bread. The honest farmer, 
 wishing to be moderate as well as to cultivate 
 his custom, replied, " Sixpence," and that he had 
 got in the house a cold round of beef. " Very 
 well," exclaimed the parson-looking gentleman, 
 " bring it in, and with it a pint of your best ale." 
 
 The meat was brought, his customer sat 
 down to it, and giving his knife a good edge, 
 took the entire circuit of the beef, in a slice 
 which must have weighed a pound. The far- 
 mer stared at this, in the conviction that he 
 
ADVENTURE. 
 
 61 
 
 should get but small profit from his sixpence. 
 The gastronome was not long in putting this 
 slice away, and its duplicate layer was taken 
 from the round. The farmer was petrified. 
 This was a shilling's worth of beef at the lowest 
 reckoning. He contented himself, however, 
 with the reflection, " that a bargain is a bar- 
 gain," and perhaps the gentleman would be his 
 customer another time. AVith the stillness and 
 stiffness of a statue, he now regarded the cle- 
 rical cormorant convey into his mouth, bit by 
 bit, every vestige of the second pound. He 
 now expected him to rise, when lo! the fatal 
 weapon was again laid to the beef, and his un- 
 appeaseable customer exclaimed, " Landlord, 
 now bring me the ale — I always drink when I 
 have half done !" At these words, and their 
 accompanying illustrative gesture, the farmer's 
 delicacy was overwhelmed by his interest ; he 
 sprang towards the table, seized the dish, and 
 reiterating the words, *' haalf done, noa, dem 
 it, Measter,*" said he, " if thee have any more 
 of thic dish for thy little zixpence ; do thee 
 get along, or I '11 zet Towzer at thee. I don't 
 
62 GEORGE PARKER — 
 
 want thy money; but only do thee moind, 
 never to gome here agin for a zixpenny znack !" 
 
 The gentleman in black, it appeared, very 
 indignantly took up his hat and departed ; and 
 on my entering the room shortly after, and 
 making a similar request, namely, that having 
 come a long walk, I wanted something to eat, 
 it was very pardonable that the good-humoured 
 host should have indulged in his merriment. 
 I could not now restrain my response to it, and 
 we all laughed together. The landlord, having 
 paid for his joke, was certainly entitled to 
 laugh, and, in so doing, seemed to me to be a 
 more eminent philosopher than your Senecas 
 and Platos, who merely smiled at their mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 The hero of the above relation, the parson- 
 looking gentleman, was none other, as I after- 
 wards discovered, than the well-known and ec- 
 centric George Parker, the Lecturer; a man 
 who, in every respect, was fitted to form a tri- 
 umvirate with Stevens and Saville Carey ; for, 
 if he had not the public talents of the one, or 
 the polished manner of the other, in the pure 
 
TAUNTON. 63 
 
 element of humour he far surpassed them both. 
 His dress was indeed the only grave habit he 
 possessed, and his adoption of that was per- 
 haps the strongest indication of his character — 
 a love of contradictions and absurdity. 
 
 From Chard Mr. Thornton proceeded to 
 Taunton, (notwithstanding a company had just 
 quitted it,) and my benefit at the first was so 
 successful, that I not only discharged all my 
 own obligations, but assisted various of my com- 
 panions. Such was the friendly treatment we 
 had received from the inhabitants of this little 
 town, (poverty only denying us their public sup- 
 port,) that we fully experienced the truth of the 
 old song at parting, 
 
 " 'Tis sorrow to go, but 'tis death to remain." 
 
 Yet never, under all the inflictions of empty 
 pockets and empty bellies, were a merrier, more 
 care-despising group than that which, under the 
 public domination of Manager Thornton, pro- 
 ceeded, on a certain morning in summer, like 
 legitimate " peripatetics," to the good town of 
 Taunton. Never did a body of people exist in 
 
64 FEMALE AMATEUR. 
 
 better humour with the world or themselves; 
 or who illustrated more happily the ingenious 
 paradox, of the man who could " spend half-a- 
 crown out of sixpence a-day." Here was true 
 philosophy, after all, — resignation to fate, and a 
 determination to make the most of a chequered 
 existence. 
 
 The first circumstance that distinguished our 
 career at Taunton was the advent of a female 
 amateur, in the person of a Mrs. Skinne, the 
 divorced wife of an eminent counsellor, and 
 authoress of various novels, (the Hermit, the 
 Old Maid, &c.) which in that day, though that 's 
 a good while ago, obtained a degree of popu- 
 larity. She was an exceedingly beautiful wo- 
 man, but as whimsical as George Parker him- 
 self. This accounted for her mode of travel- 
 ling, her dramatic predilections, and the cha- 
 racter she assumed, pretending to be " the wife 
 of the Persian Ambassador !" The style in 
 which she entered Taunton, and her Oriental 
 distinction, created a sensation that was highly 
 favourable to the theatre. She agreed to play 
 Violante, in " The Wonder," (being advertised 
 
MRS. SKINNE. 65 
 
 as '* a Lady of high rank from Persia,) when 
 lo ! a greater wonder ensued, — the house was 
 crowded at first prices, and so many went away, 
 that both company and public importuned her 
 to repeat the performance ; she complied, and 
 met with equal success (for she was an actress 
 of no mean abilities) ; and when we had resolved 
 to wait upon her in a body and tender her our 
 thanks, it was discovered that some sudden 
 resolution had seized her over-night, and she 
 had precipitately left the town at daybreak, in 
 a chaise. \Vhether this was from a refinement 
 of feeling, that disliked the pleasure of being 
 thanked, or from the fear that we were going to 
 ask her to play again, I cannot say ; but the 
 unaccountableness of her movements was in 
 character with such an " eccentric body." We 
 afterwards learnt, that she was going the circuit 
 of England, on a kind of benevolent crusade 
 against the wants of poor actors, playing for 
 and patronizing them, in large towns and small, 
 and penetrating every obscure village she passed, 
 to discover whether it possessed any dramatic 
 propensities. 
 
66 PARKER'S 
 
 At a dinner given at the principal inn in 
 Taunton, I encountered George Parker, and 
 perceived that my suspicions were well founded 
 in regard to the consumer of the landlord's beef. 
 
 Parker had, in common with many others, 
 besides Stevens and Carey, who considered act- 
 ing their ." profession," (and all other employ- 
 ments as mere modes of getting their bread,) 
 the curious peculiarity of being clever at any 
 thing but acting. I must say that he did as httle 
 honour to the sock as any man I ever saw ; nor 
 did he seem to be comfortable in any part but 
 that of Father Paul, where his aldermanic ro- 
 tundity complied so precisely with its physical 
 requisitions. This was because he had not the 
 spirit of imitation ; his humour and manner 
 were entirely his own ; he could not copy, he 
 originated ; in fact, he was a great comedian in 
 private life. This definition will not be unintel- 
 ligible to those who have known any thing of 
 theatricals. 
 
 We sat next each other at table, and, in the 
 midst of one of his best stories, a gentleman 
 whispered his friend, " George is a devilish 
 
FIVE-AND-THREEPENCES. 67 
 
 clever fellow, isn't he ?" — " Yes."—" Pity he 
 should ever want money. I lent him five-and- 
 threepence yesterday." — " So did I," replied 
 the other. — " You r — " Yes !'' They men- 
 tioned it to a third ; he had been a donor to the 
 same amount : — a fourth — a fifth — a sixth ; they 
 all acknowledged having lent him a " five-and- 
 threepence." The smothered laughter which 
 had circulated the table, now exploded in a si- 
 multaneous shout ; and Parker was by no means 
 disconcerted, for he whispered in my ear, the 
 minute after, " How do you think I mean to 
 pay 'em all .?" — " I can't say." — " Present them 
 with a box-ticket a-piece at my benefit !" 
 
 Now I am on the subject, I may as well 
 relate the mode of his departure from Taunton. 
 
 Parker belonged to the company which had 
 preceded us in the town ; and never receiving any 
 support from the public through the purse of 
 his manager, had quartered himself upon them 
 at large, till an opening presented itself in an- 
 other community of Thespians, which promised 
 more substantially the " three graces" of an 
 actor — eating, drinking, and dressing. All this 
 
68 TALE OF A TRUNK. 
 
 time he had necessarily been deepening in the 
 account of his landlady, whom he paid with the 
 only coin an actor too frequently has at com- 
 mand — pretty words. Mrs. Brown, though em- 
 bued with much of her sex's weakness at heart, 
 had notwithstanding a very mathematical head, 
 and a more cautious, calculating specimen of the 
 landlady-race it had never been the fate of 
 George Parker to encounter. Parker had a 
 trunk containing the airy phantoms of a shirt 
 and cravat, with a better suit of black, which 
 he always put on on entering a town, (till the 
 tradespeople had got accustomed to his shabby 
 habits,) with other habilimentary etceteras; and 
 this trunk Mrs. Brown very naturally detained 
 as a hostage for his honour, till the bandage 
 being removed from Fortune's eyes, that other 
 lady would be enabled to look upon his merits. 
 It was indispensable, however, that this trunk 
 should accompany him, and that Mrs. Brown 
 should possess no other pledge than his honour 
 for the payment of her bill. He accordingly 
 entered her little parlour one morning in a very 
 
TA.LE OF A TRUNK. 69 
 
 agitated manner, and pacing .the floor with 
 hasty steps, muttered in a low but distinct tone, 
 " Shame, shame — ungrateful, deceitful woman T"* 
 Mrs. Brown v/as sitting down to her needle, 
 but her ear was very quick, and she inquired 
 what was the matter. " What 's the matter ?'''' he 
 responded, with an exquisite assumption of 
 mingled sadness and indignation — " you are 
 the matter. Madam : I must say, and with the 
 utmost charity, you are a very ill-used wo- 
 man !" — Me, Mr. Parker! me?" — "Man can 
 defend himself," he ejaculated ; " but lovely — 
 lovely — unprotected woman I"-^" About me, 
 Mr. Parker V his landlady started on her legs, 
 as though under the impulse of electricity — 
 (it is necessary to mention here that Mrs. Brown 
 a good deal resembled in her composition that 
 of a salad, oil and vinegar, with mustard in 
 abundance,) — " How is it ? — ^what is it .?— who 
 is itijthat has said any thing, Mr. Parker?" 
 
 Parker perceived in the thermometer of her 
 countenance that the quicksilver was rising to 
 fever heat, and taking that as his cue, he replied, 
 
70 TALE OF A TRUNK. 
 
 ^-" Mrs. Peters, Madam, — your friend, as she 
 calls herself — Mrs. Peters is a very double- 
 faced woman — a very scandalous woman — Mrs. 
 Peters ! — HavVt I seen her,'' he continued, with 
 a tone and attitude a la Sterne, '' drinking 
 your bohea tea, and swallowing your well-but- 
 tered toast ! and now to report such things 
 behind your back !" 
 
 Mrs. Brown's agitation had worked up to an 
 overflow. " Mr. Parker — my dear Mr. Parker, 
 for the love of heaven, tell me, or I shall go into 
 fits ! I have been that woman's best friend — her 
 only friend !"— " Here 's ingratitude !'' he ex- 
 claimed, keeping her off as long as possible from 
 the point. " Well, if there ^s any one crime in 
 the world greater than another, it is ingratitude." 
 — " For God's sake, Mr. Parker !"—" Well 
 then, Mrs. Brown, as I was coming through 
 the market, I passed Mrs. Peters' stall, and 
 found her surrounded by a dozen of the most 
 scandalous old women in Taunton, holding 
 forth very shamefully to your disadvantage." — 
 " But what did she say, Mr. Parker ?" — 
 " Why, I'm half ashamed to tell you. Madam ; 
 
TALE OF A TRUNK. 71 
 
 but since it is proper you should know, she 
 averred most distinctly, in my presence, that she 
 knew you to be a female monster !"— " A what !" 
 — " A female monster — she said you were born 
 with but one breast !" 
 
 At this charge, Mrs. Brown stared in Parker's 
 face like a petrifaction, and he in hers with a 
 kind of wondering sympathy. Regaining her 
 breath — " One — one breast !" she exclaimed : 
 " Oh the wretch ! Where's my bonnet ? — I '11 let 
 her know! One breast! — Look, Mr. Parker," 
 and, carried away by the torrent of her fury, 
 she snatched aside her handkerchief, and unbo- 
 somed before him. — " A wretch indeed!" re- 
 sponded Parker, gazing very composedly upon 
 this extraordinary exhibition — " she deserves to 
 be put in the pillory."— " Put in the pillory ! 
 — I'll put her into the puddle!" — and grasp- 
 ing her bonnet, away she darted into the 
 street, flew over to the market-place, and 
 without giving Mrs. Peters any intimation 
 of her design, seized a corner of her table 
 - -(a large board upon tressels,) — turned it 
 aslant, and away went the whole magazine of 
 
72 TALE OF A TRUNK. 
 
 niceties into the gutter •— oranges, apples, and 
 sugar plums — a lamentable commingling of 
 dirt and dainties. Before Mrs. Peters had 
 recovered from the paralysis of this event, as a 
 hungry lioness would have made up to an inno- 
 cent lamb, did Mrs. Brown dart upon her un- 
 offending victim, tear off her cap, and disfigure 
 her countenance, till it was^ out of the power of 
 her nearest relation to swear to her. Mrs. 
 Peters however, being an able-bodied woman, 
 and not lacking spirit, at length turned on her 
 assailant, and, inflamed by the ruin that lay 
 around her, dealt out a terrible reprisal. The 
 market was now in an uproar : people flocked 
 to the spot, constables were called in, and busi- 
 ness was at a stand-still : it is hardly necessary 
 to add, that the whole accusation was unfound- 
 ed, or that Mr. Parker had a countryman in 
 waiting near the door, who took Mrs. Brown's 
 sallying out as the signal for his sallying in — 
 when the long watched and much valued ob» 
 ject of this stratagem was seized and shouldered, 
 and, in five minutes after, pushed into the tail 
 of a fly -waggon about to leave the town. 
 
A PRACTICAL LESSON. 73 
 
 Sixteen weeks did we continue in Taunton, 
 dunng which my income amounted to about 
 tv/o shillings and sixpence per se^inight. The 
 season having at length died of a lingering de- 
 cline, it left me in a situation that was open 
 but to one mode of relief — an application to my 
 mother. She was now aware of my pursuits, 
 and though rigidly opposed to them, she could 
 not close her ears to the appeal of my neces- 
 sities. The consequence was, that in reply to 
 a letter full of the usual lamentations and pro- 
 testations, my mother enclosed me another ten 
 pounds, on the understanding that I was to 
 return home immediately. This supply was 
 another diving-bell to my sunken reputation, 
 it brought it again up to the surface of public 
 opinion. Four months of semi-starvation had ^ 
 taught me a very practical lesson. My duty \ 
 now appeared to me the best policy ; and I was 
 making my mind up to comply with my mother^s 
 wish, in gratitude for her compliance with 
 mine, when Satan again tempted me, in the per- 
 son of a Mr. Hill, a singer, who called to see 
 me on his way to Weymouth, and who pro- 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 A SEDUCER. 
 
 posed, if I would accompany him, to use his 
 influence in procuring me an admission to the 
 " Corps Dramatique," which he knew was there, 
 and in want of my services. The words were 
 no sooner spoken, than the frenzy had again 
 seized me. I grasped his hand, and agreed. 
 We made arrangements for our trunks to pro- 
 ceed by waggon, and set off to walk the eight- 
 and-forty miles, — I with but eighteen-pence 
 remaining of my ten pounds, and he with 
 no more of dirty coppers than, collectively 
 estimated, amounted to half-a-crown. We had 
 young legs however, and though hght pockets, 
 light hearts, and lighter bundles. 
 
 At Farmer Hudson's (George Parker's vic- 
 tim) we stopped to breakfast, who set before 
 us a sufficiency of substantial, to supersede the 
 necessity of another meal till bed-time (the 
 farmer standing by, and contenting himself with 
 his moderate charge in the enjoyment of his 
 joke) ; " yeat what ye like, zur, only be kind 
 enoof to let I know when ye ha' half done !" 
 And at Dorchester, Hill had an acquaintance, 
 who very kindly provided us with beds and 
 
PROSPECTS BLIGHTED. 75 
 
 refreshment. The next morning we reached 
 Weymouth, and Mr. Williams the manager, to 
 my unspeakable delight, was willing to receive 
 me. I was accordingly announced for Dick in 
 " The Miller of Mansfield," and my success 
 obtained me an engagement at one guinea per 
 week. I now thought that the important cor- 
 ner was turned, and that fame, fortune, and 
 luxury, were about to flow in on me, when a 
 note from a magistrate was laid the next morn- 
 ing on my table, which dissipated my illusions, 
 like the snapping of a scene-cord in the midst 
 of a pantomime : — it informed me that my 
 mother was in Weymouth, and had seen me at 
 the theatre the previous evening — that she had 
 applied to the Worshipful gentleman for his 
 interference — and that if I did not choose, like 
 a dutiful and repentant son, to go home with 
 her, I could not be permitted to continue in 
 Weymouth in my present capacity. A very 
 short reflection convinced me of the necessity 
 of my compliance : my manager's interest, and 
 my mother's happiness, it involved : — there was 
 no alternative. 1 walked to the inn where my 
 e2 
 
^6 A LUCKY BLUNDER, 
 
 parent was staying — saw her — embraced her — 
 blubbered — begged her pardon — promised to be 
 a good boy in future, and swore I would never 
 do so again. I then returned, took leave of 
 manager, company, my bewitching mistress 
 — the Stage, and jumping into a chaise, tra- 
 velled back to Portsmouth and my employer. 
 
 My friend Hill was very sorry to lose me ; 
 and as I regard his memory, I wish to give him 
 a chance of immortality, by affording him ad- 
 mission to these pages. Hill was no comedian ; 
 but, from the thin state of the Company on our 
 opening night, was obliged to double Frederick 
 and Don Pedro in " The Wonder." His acting 
 was very dull, till he came to the line, " Fie, 
 Don Felix ! draw your naked sword upon a 
 lady ?*" when by an unlucky, or rather a lucky 
 transposition, he said, '* Fie, Don Felix ! draw 
 a naked lady on your sword !" This blunder 
 immediately put the audience in good humour, 
 and contributed more to the end he had in view, 
 than all his sensible attempts for the night. 
 
AMATEUR PLAY. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1774. — Amateur-play at Poole. — Another aberration. — The 
 value of threepence. — Walk to Shaftesbury. — The old sys- 
 tem, " flat, stale, and unprofitable." — Mrs. Skinne's 
 tactics. — Return to Portsmouth. — Ultimate consent of 
 my friends, and formal adoption of the Stage as my pro- 
 fession. — London — Macklin in Shylock. — Quin's criticism. 
 
 — Visit to Brentwood.. — Zenith and nadir of theatricals 
 
 Manager Penchard and his wig I^esson on economy.— Per- 
 formance of " The Recruiting Officer." — " Double, double 
 toil and trouble." — Mrs. Penchard, " the breeches figure." 
 — Manager Thornton and Holcroft. — Mr. Penchard's pro- 
 cession. — Davy Osborn and his wife. — Mr. Weeks and his 
 " woe." — Miss Macklin and her father. — Stow Market. — 
 Silent audience.— The Old Maid's criticism. — Dedham, a 
 change. — An old gentleman's criticism. — Termination to 
 strolling. 
 
 I HAD been home but three weeks, complete- 
 ly reconciled to my old employer and employ- 
 ments, when my schoolfellow, Mr. Hare, (who 
 was designed for the Church, but entertained 
 similar views with myself,) called on my mother. 
 
78 CHARITY AND ACTING. 
 
 ostensibly to congratulate her on my return, but 
 really to request her permission for me to join 
 a party of ladies and gentlemen, who were go- 
 ing to get up an amateur play at Poole, in aid 
 of a charitable institution. To me, this com- 
 munication was like a blacksmith applying his 
 bellows to a smothered coal ; — the flame was sub- 
 dued, but not extinct, and easily invigorated. 
 To my mother it had a startling and disagree- 
 able effect ; she began to hate the theatre on 
 my account, with all the fervour of a purblind 
 puritan ; but on mentioning the word charity, 
 (be it spoken to her praise !) she relaxed : cha- 
 rity covereth a multitude of sins ; and, in her 
 estimation, it was sufficiently extensive to cover 
 
 ( that of acting. She accordingly gave her con- 
 sent, (on condition that I returned within a 
 week,) and obtaining that of my employer, a 
 
 {' truly good-natured man, equipped me with a 
 watch and five guineas for the trip. 
 
 Arrived at Poole, I was introduced to my 
 confederates: the play of " The Jealous Wife" 
 was rehearsed, and I was allotted Major Oakly : 
 the sum of thirty-five pounds was collected from 
 
ANOTHER ABERRATION. 79 
 
 our efforts, and a second performance was pro- 
 posed, the profits of which were to be appro- 
 priated to a ball and dinner: — a principal lady 
 seceding, I was obliged to double Lady Free- 
 love, with the Major, in the second night, which 
 I did without detaining the audience, as an 
 actor in petticoats had done before me, " by 
 not being shaved !" 
 
 When these amusements were over, the week 
 and my five guineas were at an end, and honour 
 and necessity alike began to confer with my 
 conscience upon the point of my returning 
 home ; but my success on the above occasion 
 had unexpectedly overthrown all my dutiful 
 resolutions, — the madness had again seized me,— 
 and hearing that my old manager, Mr. Taylor, 
 was playing at Shaftesbury, I actually deter- 
 mined to join him, in defiance alike of the pri- 
 vations I should encounter, without a shilling in 
 ray pocket, and the obligations which bound me 
 to keep my word to my parent. The necessity 
 for my withholding my intention from my friend 
 (who my mother considered a guarantee for my 
 return), prevented my obtaining any assistance ; 
 
80 A DILEMMA. 
 
 and though, on discharging my bill at the inn, 
 I found that all the coppers I could command 
 in the world did not amount to above six, 1 
 nevertheless persisted in proceeding to Shaftes- 
 bury, a distance of thirty-six miles. 
 
 Entrusting my trunk to a waggon, I rose 
 early, eat my breakfast, tied all my clean linen 
 in a bundle, scribbled a note to Hare, contain- 
 ing an apology to my mother, and took my 
 path across the fields to the high road, in order 
 that my companions might not witness my mode 
 of quitting a town in which I had maintained 
 such a dashing appearance. 
 
 When I had proceeded but a few miles, I re- 
 jMember, hearing a coach coming up, and fearing it 
 might contain some of the amateurs, I jumped 
 over a hedge to conceal myself, and, in so doing, 
 ahghted in a ditch, and sank up to my knees. 
 On extricating my legs, I left behind me a shoe, 
 and was compelled to take oiGF my coat, roll up 
 my shirt sleeve, and thrust my arm down the 
 deep aperture to recover it: meanwiiile, it was 
 necessary that I should support myself by plant- 
 ing one foot against the hedge, and grasping the 
 
THE VALUE OF THREEPENCE. 81 
 
 ■% 
 
 roots of a holly-bush, when my hold giving 
 way at the most critical moment, I was precipi- 
 tated headlong into the mire. The consequence 
 was, that I had to delay my journey nearly 
 two hours on the sunny side of a hay-rick, to 
 put my apparel in order. 
 
 On arriving at Blandford, (about half-way) 
 fear and fatigue had combined to exhaust me, 
 and I considered in what way I could most effi- 
 ciently lay out my solitary threepence. I de- 
 termined on a glass of brandy, and entering *an 
 inn, called for the first that ever passed my 
 lips. When I had thrown down my coppers, 
 and was about to depart, the landlady informed 
 me that two of them were bad. A feather 
 might have felled me at the sound : I had nei- 
 ther sense nor motion — the brandy positively 
 congealed within me: the landlady looked in 
 my face, and perceiving my agitation, surmised, 
 I suspect, the cause, for she very goodnaturedly 
 told me not to mind it, but if ever I came that 
 way again, to remember her. About twenty 
 years after, I did so. On a summer excursion 
 with Incledon, we put up at the identical house. 
 e5 
 
82 THE " system" again. 
 
 I told him the circumstance, and he very gene- 
 rously assisted me to run up our bill in five 
 days to about twenty pounds. 
 
 On the strength of this supply I proceeded, 
 and, notwithstanding a shower of rain brimmed 
 the measure of my difficulties, accomplished the 
 thirty-six miles by eight o'clock. I immedi- 
 ately proceeded to the theatre, and encountering 
 Mr. Taylor, was welcomed very kindly upon 
 the terms of our previous engagement. On the 
 stage I perceived my old friend Charles Powel, 
 and the eccentric Mrs. Skinne, the amateur: 
 the former took me home to his lodgings for the 
 night, and on the morrow I was comfortably 
 established in rooms of my own. Thus was I 
 once more embarked in the life I had so se- 
 riously renounced. 
 
 The '' business" at this town was on a par with 
 that of Taunton — " stale, flat, and unprofitable.*" 
 Treading the boards to the usual empty benches, 
 and measuring the pavement with the usual 
 empty pockets— the old system of marking out 
 the attorney who made good punch, — chum- 
 ming with the miller who gave good dinners — 
 
MRS. skinne's tactics. 83 
 
 (i. e. substantial ones,) and quartering at home 
 upon some avaricious grocer, who dispensed to 
 our necessities sandy sugar, sloe-leaf tea, bone- 
 flour bread, and rusty bacon. As our stay was 
 not long, my benefit extricated me from the in- 
 volvements that ensued, and I very prudently 
 expended my last shilling in paying for a ride 
 back to Portsmouth. I may as well relate with 
 my own the mode of Mrs. Skinne's departure 
 from the town, who had now become dependent 
 on the profession, and was reduced to many of 
 its manoeuvres. 
 
 The landlord of her house was a tyrannical 
 West-country butcher, who, on account of some 
 arrear in rent, took occasion to be very impu- 
 dent one day; and Mrs. S , finding that 
 
 neither threats nor entreaties could induce him 
 to quit her room, very quietly went to a drawer 
 and took out a stage-pistol, which she presented 
 at his head, in the manner of Estifania (a key 
 would have had the same effect) ; the cowardly 
 ruffian staggered back to the door, and his heel 
 catching in its ledge, he made a sort of somerset 
 backwards, and descended to the bottom of the 
 
84 MRS. skinne's triumph. 
 
 stairs, in the full conviction he had an ounce of 
 lead in his brains. When he regained his legs 
 and senses, he hurried away to a magistrate, 
 and obtained a warrant and a constable to take 
 the lady into custody. On returning, he found 
 the door barricadoed and the windows closed, 
 with every symptom of determined resistance. 
 As he did not like to injure his own property by 
 taking the citadel by storm, he coolly sat down 
 before it with the design of starving the garri- 
 son into submission. This plan, no doubt, 
 would have succeeded with half the women in 
 Shaftesbury, but Mrs. Skinne was too able a 
 general to be defeated by such common-place 
 means. All day she was heard pacing her room 
 up and down, disdaining to make any reply to 
 her beleaguerer's demands, yet expected every 
 moment to unbar the door and admit him. 
 With the first shade of evening, a chaise-and- 
 four drove up to the house ; and whilst four 
 gentlemen ran up-stairs and secured hogs-flesh 
 and his companion, two others rescued the lady 
 from her confinement, and triumphantly carried 
 her off* in full gallop through Shaftesbury. The 
 
RETURN TO PORTSMOUTH. 85 
 
 butcher's bill was subsequently paid by her 
 husband, and her luggage released. The last 
 I heard of this extraordinary woman was, that 
 she died at Margate in the humble capacity of 
 a schoolmistress. 
 
 In returning to Portsmouth, I entertained 
 various conjectures as to the reception I should 
 meet with ; but I went home with the resolution 
 of candidly asking my mother's consent to make 
 the Stage my profession, having given sufficient 
 proofs that it was a waste of time and money to 
 continue me in any other. Very agreeably was 
 I deceived to find (after the first gust of ma- 
 ternal tenderness had blown over) that her 
 mind was half made up to meet my wishes (my 
 employer having torn up my articles), and that 
 she only awaited my father's return (then daily 
 expected) to decide her. At Portsmouth I 
 also encountered my friend Hare, who, after 
 rating me for my want of confidence in the 
 ' manner I quitted him, informed me that he had 
 made up his mind to go on the stage, and if I 
 obtained my friends' consent, we would meet in 
 London, and commence our dramatic career 
 
86 THE comedian's wisdom. 
 
 together. In a few days my father came into 
 port, and having listened to the sad story of my 
 repeated dereliction from duty, rapped out an 
 extraordinary oath at my " infatuation," and 
 sealed the whole affair in a trice, to my perfect 
 satisfaction. 
 
 It was thus, gentle reader, at the age of eigh- 
 teen, that the comedian, eschewing the pains- 
 taking, peace-loving track of his forefathers, 
 betook himself to the wild and diversified paths 
 of the Drama. Thousands having done so be- 
 fore him, he is not required to offer any parti- 
 cular justification of his conduct ; and the only 
 question which can interest the public must be, 
 whether, in his selected or rejected pursuits, 
 he was able to pass his days most agreeably 
 to himself, and render their recollection most 
 amusing to those who came after him. The 
 contents of these pages is the argument he must 
 offer for the wisdom of his choice. 
 
 To proceed : — Having taken a formal farewell 
 of business and duty, and a tender one of my 
 parents and friends, my mother equipped me 
 with a wardrobe, both abundant and elegant. 
 
LONDON.— MACKLIN'S SHYLOCK. 87 
 
 and twenty pounds in money, as a capital to ) 
 begin with. My luggage was then consigned ( 
 to a carrier, and my person to a London coach. ■ 
 I reached the capital in safety, and soon found 
 myself installed in very comfortable lodgings in 
 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, being adja- 
 cent to the Rainbow Coffee-house, which was 
 the appointed rendezvous with my companion. 
 In a day or two, I received a letter from him, 
 stating his intention to join me in a week, and I 
 filled up the interim very pleasantly in going to 
 the theatres, then presenting the greatest galaxy 
 of talent our metropolitan boards ever sustained. 
 " Garrick, Macklin, Smith, Powel, Reddish, 
 Palmer, Clarke, Jefferson, King, Yates, Dodd, 
 Parsons, Shuter, Woodward, Weston, Foote, 
 Mrs. Abington, Miss Pope, Miss Young, Mrs. 
 Yates," &c. 
 
 The performance that I was most impressed 
 with was Macklin's Shylock. I consider it to 
 have been a chef-d'ce.uvre^ that must be classed 
 with the Lear of Garrick, the Falstaff of Hen- 
 derson, the Sir Pertinax of Cooke, and the Co- 
 riolanus of John Kemble. I have seen many 
 
88 KEY TO MACKLIN'S SUCCESS. 
 
 actors (and one in modern times) who surpassed 
 him in passages, but none that sustained the 
 character throughout, and presented on the 
 whole such a bold and original portrait of the 
 Jew. His success, however, is generally re- 
 ferred to his having been the original on its 
 revival ; — this is partly true : but in any age he 
 must have produced the same effect; for he 
 possessed by nature certain physical advantages, 
 which qualified him to embody Shylock, and 
 which, combined with his peculiar genius, con- 
 stituted a performance which was never imi- 
 tated in his own day, and cannot be described 
 in this. If the truth could be ascertained, I 
 believe that the key to the success of all actors 
 in particular characters, would be found to con- 
 sist in certain complexional resemblances be- 
 tween the two, independent of all genius, which 
 enabled a more ready and perfect identity to 
 take place; not that the man who plays a vil- 
 lain well must be a villain, or a hero a hero, 
 but each must possess some natural adaption to 
 assume the one with more ease and felicity than 
 the other. Cook and Kemble are cases in point : 
 
quin's criticism. 89 
 
 equally excellent in their peculiar spheres, they 
 could not pass into each other's characters with- 
 out mutual disadvantage. 
 
 Macklin's genius in bringing Shakspeare to 
 light, and stamping that with a high tragic 
 import, which in the hands of Tony Leigh and 
 Underhill had been made the vehicle for the 
 most disgraceful buffoonery, must nevertheless 
 stand on record among the most brilliant anec- 
 dotes of our Drama ; and the two lines of Pope 
 are sufficient to link the actor on to the skirts of 
 the poet's immortality. Quin's criticism on the 
 lines alluded to has always amused me very 
 much, since, though not very delicate, it is so 
 highly illustrative of the man's character. Mack- 
 lin and he were never very friendly ; they were 
 cast too much in the same mould, equally rough 
 and masculine in frame, and in intellect they 
 were alike opinionated and sarcastical ; whilst 
 their difference consisted in habits and desires 
 which led them to entertain a contempt for each 
 other. Quin loved good living, and to rub 
 shoulders with the aristocracy. Macklin's attach- 
 ment was literature, and the flattery of persons 
 
90 A TRANSITION. 
 
 who were beneath him. When the celebrated 
 
 lines therefore were repeated to the former — 
 
 " This is the Jew- 
 That Shakspeare drew,*' 
 
 Quin curled up his lip, and responded — 
 
 " Spew, reader, spew !** 
 
 On the 21st of the month, instead of seeing 
 my friend, I received a letter from him saying 
 that he was prevented joining me for another 
 week ; and the same evening, sitting in the pit 
 of Drury Lane to see " Rule a Wife and have 
 a Wife," I encountered my old Taunton asso- 
 ciate, John Scott, who informed me that he was 
 going down to Brentwood in Essex the next 
 day, to play Serjeant Kite, and if I would ac- 
 company him, he would introduce me to the 
 manager, who was a great character. I con- 
 sented ; and on the following morning, after 
 breakfasting together, we mounted the Nor- 
 wich coach, which passed through the village. 
 
 The great pleasure I experienced from this 
 visit arose from the contrast it afforded me — 
 twenty-four hours and a stage-coach having 
 carried me from the zenith to the very nadir of 
 
MANAGER PENCHARD. 91 
 
 theatricals. The evening before, I had sat in 
 Drury Lane and seen Garrick. I was now in- 
 troduced to a room fitted up in an inn, and 
 Manager Penchard. Of the latter I shall speak 
 presently, and of the theatre briefly reraark, 
 that it was characterised by a simplicity which 
 rivalled Manager Jackson's ; illustrious in the 
 Comedian's memorandums as the, arena of his 
 virgin essay. Here was the old system of paper 
 wings, hoop chandelier, superannuated scenery — 
 fiddler, property-man, and lamplighter identi- 
 cal, with a company five in number, the first 
 and worst of whom was the manager himself. 
 
 Mr. Penchard had been a manager fifty 
 years, and, for that reason, continued to play all 
 the juvenile characters. He was very tall, but 
 stooped through infirmity. The gout was in 
 both his legs, Shakspeare in his head, and mo- 
 ney in his heart. He was a determined miser, 
 and an actor by confederacy, that is, with the 
 assistance of a remarkable peruke, which had 
 been worn, as he averred, by Colley Gibber in 
 the '' Fops." It was such a wig as would now 
 grace the head of a Lord Qhief Justice ; and in 
 
92 PENCHARD AND HIS WIG. 
 
 this, I was informed, he played the whole round 
 of his characters, — Hamlet, Don Felix, Lord 
 Townley, and Zanga ; so that he had obtained 
 the familiar title throughout England of " Pen- 
 chard and his Wig."" On our way to his lodg- 
 ings we were met by a member of the Company, 
 who knew Scott, and begged to join us, as he 
 had a favour to ask of his superior, which 
 might not otherwise be granted. 
 
 On reaching the house, we were shown up- 
 stairs into a dark, dingy, narrow, little room, 
 with a bed in one corner and an immense chest 
 in the other. We found the manager seated in 
 an elbow-chair, muffled in a morning-gown, 
 which looked like an adaptation of a Venetian 
 tunic, by the side of a three-legged table at 
 which he was eating his breakfast. This meal 
 consisted of a halfpenny roll and a halfpenny- 
 worth of milk. He resembled a conj unction of 
 Shakspeare^s seventh age, " the lean and shp- 
 pered pantaloon," and the apothecary in " Ro- 
 meo and, Juliet," " so meagre and very pallid 
 were his looks." At our entrance, the becoming 
 dignity of the manager in the man was very 
 
.AN INTRODUCTION. 93 
 
 perceptible. He slightly inclined his head, with 
 a " Good morning, Gentlemen," and continued 
 his meal, leaving us upon our legs — but I for- 
 get, there were no more chairs in the room. 
 Mr. Scott then introduced me to him ; and the 
 manager commenced a conversation by giving 
 me some valuable advice as to the life I was 
 about to embrace. In the intervals of his ca- 
 tarrh and lumbago, he at length grew facetious ; 
 and the person who accompanied us, thinking 
 this to be a good opportunity, stepped up to 
 his table, and said, with some hesitation, he had 
 a trifling favour to ask. The manager's face 
 elongated in an instant, and every wrinkle dis- 
 appeared like a sudden calm at sea — a very 
 great change, for his visage had so many fur- 
 rows when he smiled, that it bore no small re- 
 semblance to some part of the map of Europe, 
 — " A favour, Mr. Singer," he mumbled ; " a 
 trifling favour, eh ! You are always asking 
 trifling favours, Sir, and such as are enough to 
 ruin me. What is it you want this time ?" — 
 " The loan of a shilling, if it's not inconveni- 
 ent."— "A what .f^"— "A shilling. Sir !"— " What 
 
94 A LESSON IN ECONOMY. 
 
 can you do with your money ?" — Then taking 
 another mouthful of his cup, he hesitated a mo- 
 ment; but perceiving we were all looking at 
 him stedfastly, he at length reluctantly drew a 
 leathern pouch from his side, and untying its 
 orifice, selected a shilling from the silver it con- 
 tained, which holding an instant between his 
 finger and thumb, he remarked with some as- 
 perity — " You will remember, Mr. Singer, it 
 was but last Saturday you shared three-and-six- 
 pence, and this is Wednesday !" 
 
 After Mr. Singer had made a proper acknow- 
 ledgment and retired, the old gentleman de- 
 tailed to us his system of living, as a comment 
 upon what he termed the ruinous extravagance 
 of the age. Threepence a-day, we were in- 
 formed, supplied him with subsistence. In the 
 morning, his roll and milk, as we observed ; at 
 dinner, a rasher of bacon and an egg ; his tea, 
 an encore to his breakfast ; all of which was 
 attainable for the above small sum. This was 
 the severest lesson upon economy I ever re- 
 ceived. But with penuriousness so palpable, I 
 could not help thinking there was a considerable 
 
"the recruiting officer.*^ 95 
 
 mixture of eccentricity ; for he was known to 
 have accumulated by his labours above a thou- 
 sand pounds.—" Ah, Gentlemen," he continued, 
 " times are strangely altered since I was a 
 young man ; then, indeed, any man of talent 
 and temperance could live by the profession, 
 and lay by ; now, that is impossible, such are 
 the extravagant habits people run into. There 
 is my wife and daughter as bad as any of them, 
 always wanting to waste time and money, if 
 permitted ; always dunning me for a shilling — 
 a shilling : but I allow them two shillings and 
 sixpence a-week a-piece, and make them keep 
 separate establishments !" 
 
 In the evening, I seated myself on a front 
 bench in the pit, to witness the performance. 
 The play was " The Recruiting Officer ;"" and 
 the young and gallant Plume was supported by 
 the manager. When the curtain drew up, he 
 was discovered in his elbow-chair; one leg, 
 swathed in flannel, resting on a stool. He was 
 dressed in a Queen Anne suit of regimentals, 
 crowned with his inseparable companion — the 
 wig ! which was surmounted by a peculiarly 
 
96 MRS. PENCHARD. 
 
 commanding cocked-hat, such as may some- 
 times be seen in the sign-board representation 
 of the Marquess of Granby. His performance 
 of Plume was precisely that of Lord Ogleby ; 
 and all the business of the character consisted in 
 his taking snuff, and producing and putting away 
 a dirty pocket-handkerchief. As he could nei- 
 ther exit nor enter, when his scene was over, 
 the curtain was lowered, and he was wheeled off 
 till the next occurred. With the exception of 
 my friend Scott in Kite, and Miss Penchard in 
 Rose, the rest of the acting preserved a beau- 
 tiful correspondence to the manager's. The 
 company being as destitute of numbers as ta- 
 lent, Mrs. Penchard doubled Silvia and Cap- 
 tain Brazen ; and Mr. Singer, Mr. Worthy, 
 Costar Pearman, and Justice Balance, &c. This 
 was illustrating the mystic words of the Weird 
 Sisters very felicitously, " double, double toil— - 
 and trouble." 
 
 Mrs. Penchard, the wife, from a certain slim- 
 ness of figure and volatility of spirit, (though 
 turned sixty,) had retained many characters in 
 genteel comedy, which were too bustling for 
 
THE " BREECHES FIGURE.'" 97 
 
 her husband to perform, and thus became what 
 was styled the " Breeches figure" of the com- 
 pany. The " gallant gay Lothario" had but 
 lately and reluctantly been given up to her by 
 her husband ; and during its performance one 
 evening, when falling in the combat, part of 
 her dress became discomposed, at which tlie 
 gallery portion of the audience set up a loud 
 clapping and shouting : this the old lady un- 
 fortunately mistook for approbation ; and when 
 her daughter, at the wing, repeatedly requested 
 her to come off, " I won't— I won't," she replied, 
 loud enough to be heard by the spectators. 
 " Crack your jealous heart, you don't want any 
 one to get applause but yourself!" 
 
 Promising my friend Scott to come down the 
 ensuing week and play for his benefit, I re- 
 turned to town to await the arrival of my Py- 
 lades, Mr. Hare : he failed, however, to make 
 his appearance, and I proceeded to Brentwood 
 to make mine. There I encountered mv old 
 Manager, Mr. Thornton, (who was also to assist 
 in the entertainment) dressed in the very height 
 of buckism — a scarlet coat, laced hat, embroi- 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 HOLCROFT*S LETTER. 
 
 dered waistcoat, buckskin breeches, and top- 
 boots ! He was a great contrast to his brother 
 Manager, Mr. Penchard, and must have been 
 one of the persons whom the latter considered 
 a disgrace to the profession. The next morn- 
 ing, I met him as he was going to the Post- 
 office, and he informed me that " he was about 
 to embark in a speculation in Essex, and had 
 advertised for people;" that " he had room for 
 my services, and should be happy to receive 
 me." I frankly told him of the engagement that 
 subsisted between me and my friend, which 
 fettered my wishes till he arrived. 
 
 Amongst other communications at the Post- 
 office, he received one from Holcroft, the au- 
 thor, who applied for an engagement, embracing 
 ev^&r^, good part in the cast-book, from Alex- 
 andei-^the Great down to Scrub. Strange as it 
 may appear, this letter was so deficient in ortho- 
 graphy and etymology, that the manager sent 
 back the brief reply, that " he would treat with 
 no person to become a member of his Company 
 who could neither read nor write !" 
 
 As Mr. Holcroft has left behind him works 
 
MR PENCHARD'S procession. 99 
 
 which attest his powers not only as a man of 
 genius, but a critic, it is by no means an absurd 
 conjecture to attribute to the very letter in 
 question some portion of the stimulus which 
 was necessary to have drawn those powers forth. 
 Scorn or ridicule has, in more than one instance, 
 driven a man of proud spirit into the discovery 
 of a hidden talent, when seeking either for the 
 means of retaliation, or to obtain an armour 
 against its shafts. 
 
 On our return, we encountered Manager 
 Penchard and his company going out of town. 
 This was a picture ! 
 
 First came Mr. Singer and Mrs. Penchard, 
 arm-in-arm ; then old Joe, the stage- keeper, 
 leading a Neddy, (the property and old com- 
 panion of Mr. Penchard in his wanderings,) 
 which supported two panniers containing the 
 scenery and wardrobe ; and above them, with a 
 leg resting on each, Mr. Penchard himself, 
 dressed in his " Ranger" suit of " brown and 
 gold," with his distinguishing wig, and a little 
 three-cornered hat cocked on one side, giving 
 the septuagenarian an air of gaiety that well 
 F 2 
 
100 DAVY OSBORN 
 
 accorded with his known attachment for the 
 rakes and lovers of the Drama : one hand was 
 knuckled in his side, (his favourite position,) 
 and the other raised a pinch of snufF to his nose ; 
 and as he passed along he nodded and bowed 
 to all about him, and seemed greatly pleased 
 with the attention he excited. His daughter and 
 two other persons brought up the rear. 
 
 On my return to London, I found a letter from 
 ray friend, acquainting me that circumstances 
 had occurred, which, for the present, would 
 frustrate our intention of joining: he advised 
 me, therefore, to delay no longer on his account, 
 but accept what offers were open to me ; and 
 simply leave at the " Rainbow**' a clue to 
 where he might find me when he came to town. 
 Being thus set at liberty, though with some 
 regret, I bent my steps to the " Black Lion,'' 
 a theatrical house of call in Bow Street, (which 
 has long since disappeared,) and there met a 
 dapper little fellow, of the name of Osborn, 
 (familiarly called " little Davy," of which ap- 
 pellation he was not a little proud, it being the 
 subnomen of Garrick;) who was about to com- 
 
AND HIS WIFE. 101 
 
 mence management at Braintree, a village at no 
 great distance from Brentwood. The terms he 
 offered me to accompany him were so favour- 
 able, that I did not hesitate to accept them, 
 though I must confess that my experience had 
 sufficiently sickened me with " strolling ; ■"* and 
 the system I had witnessed in London had filled 
 my heart with an ambition for something more 
 reputable and less precarious. It must be re- 
 membered, however, that I was still a mere boy^ 
 and totally unknown either in or out of my pro- 
 fession ; an introduction to the managers of 
 Dublin, Bath, or York, was as far off as their 
 theatres; and so much of my twenty pounds 
 had run away, that an immediate exertion v/as 
 necessary. As the result of my reflections, I found 
 myself, in two days afterwards, in the village 
 of Braintree, installed in the Caesarship of 
 Mr. Osborn's corps, which, upon the whole, was 
 somewhat superior to that of Mr. Thornton. 
 
 My manager was an oddity himself; but he 
 was rendered more remarkable in the possession 
 of a lively little wife, pretty, ignorant, and ill- 
 tempered, who, with himself, held out a very 
 
102 STORMS AND CALMS. 
 
 singular specimen of connubial felicity. Each 
 morning of their lives was sure to commence 
 with a storm, which in the fervour of noon be- 
 came gradually dissipated, and under the mild 
 influence of evening was altogether forgotten. 
 As our numbers were few, and our business very 
 goodj I advised Mr. Osborn to engage my friend 
 Scott, who was delivering an entertainment at a 
 neighbouring village. He accordingly hired a 
 chaise, and with his wife and myself drove over 
 to see him. Entering the hamlet, we met our 
 object, employing himself in the responsible 
 office of delivering the bills, arrayed in a suit 
 of " blue and gold," with a gold-laced hat and 
 a gold-headed cane; in fact, he had gold in 
 every part of him, except his pocket. He 
 gladly accepted our invitation ; and on our way 
 home, the manager and his wife beginning to 
 discuss the propriety of this arrangement, an 
 argument arose, which proved a prolific parent 
 of epithets, which again were speedily converted 
 into something like a clawing on the one hand, 
 and a cuffing of ears on the other. I having 
 vainly endeavoured to allay the dissension, found 
 I 
 
MATRIMONIAL RECIPES. 103 
 
 my situation vastly unpleasant : at length, as we 
 were about to enter Braintree, " little Davy"' 
 gave me a wink to jump out, and the minute after 
 turned his insurgent spouse into the bosom of a 
 capacious ditch, drenching the little pepper- 
 castor of a woman into immediate obedience. I 
 made it my business to extricate her, whilst he 
 righted the vehicle. After a little arrangement 
 of her clothes, they got in again, and went for- 
 ward, I following (by preference) on foot. They 
 lodged in the same house with myself; and, as 
 I retired to rest, I perceived that he had been 
 shocked by another matrimonial tornado, as I 
 could overhear him rehearsing the part of Job- 
 son with his Nell, in the strapping-scene. 1 
 went to bed reflecting seriously on the lottery 
 of wedlock ; but in the morning the storm had 
 blown over, and they were as happy and fond as 
 two turtle-doves on St. Valentine's Day. He 
 had been out with her to purchase some new 
 apparel, and she was lavishing on him her ma- 
 gazine of sweetmeats ; love, duck, and " dear 
 Davy !" besides ogles, sighs, squeezes, and kisses, 
 ad infinitum. 
 
104 ROMEO AND JULIET.^^ 
 
 The same day I was given Romeo to study, 
 to Mrs. Osborn's Juliet. This lady had that 
 kind of originality in her style, which not mere- 
 ly disdained a resemblance to any other persons, 
 but was altogether unlike any thing else in hu- 
 man nature. In the performance of the play, 
 owing to the limited number of our corps, we 
 were reduced to many shifts— the most hu- 
 morous of wliich was Romeo's having to toll 
 the bell, and Juliet the dead to sing her own 
 dirge. To consummate the effects of the even- 
 ing, an old gentleman in the company, by the 
 name of Weeks, who played the Friar, (and 
 whose body seemed to resemble a Norwegian 
 deal, never fit for use till it had had a good 
 soaking,) on arriving at the concluding speech, 
 which as it contained a moral was never omit- 
 ted in the country — 
 
 - " From such sad feuds, what dire misfortunes flow," 
 
 —-espied ^ carpenter behind the scenes very 
 cautiously, but decidedly, approaching a tankard 
 of ale, with which he had been solacing himself 
 during the evening, in order, as he used to say, 
 
MR. WEEKS AND HIS " WOE !" 105 
 
 " to get mellow in the character/' The tankard 
 was placed in a convenient niche, with a good 
 draught at its bottom ; and whenever he was 
 on, his eye would glance off, to watch over its 
 safety. Being a httle tipsied, he was somewhat 
 stupified att he treachery of the varlet ; and fix- 
 ing his eyes, cat-a-mountain like, on him, mo- 
 mentarily forgot his audience in himself, who 
 interpreting this as a piece of deep acting, be- 
 gan to applaud. The carpenter was now within 
 a step of the tankard, and Weeks slowly arti- 
 culated— 
 
 " Whate'er the cause — 
 (Here the fellow raised his hand) 
 
 " the sure effect is — 
 
 The knight of the hammer had clenched the 
 pewter, — Weeks at the same instant stag- 
 gered off, wrenching the jeopardized liquid 
 from his grasp, — the friar tucked it under his 
 arm, and popping his head on at the wing, 
 with a significant nod, shouted the last word — 
 " woe V — at which the curtain fell, amidst a 
 roar of laughter, — a termination very rarely con- 
 templated to the " Tragedy of Tragedies." 
 f5 
 
106 SILENT AUDIENCE. 
 
 At our next town. Stow Market, we were des- 
 tined to encounter an audience so extremely 
 taciturn, that we knew not whether to give them 
 credit for wisdom or stupidity. At last we dis- 
 covered the cause : so powerful was their illu- 
 sion, so entire their absorption in the interest 
 of the play, that they forgot the means by 
 which they were excited, and forbore to express 
 their feelings, from an idea of its impropriety : 
 they absolutely conceived that any notice would 
 have annoyed us. Never, in the subsequent 
 course of my career, do I remember a paral- 
 lel to this — it was the perfection of praise; 
 and yet, such is the curious composition of 
 actors, when the thing was explained to us, 
 we did not feel properly grateful, but were 
 more inclined to admire than like our treat- 
 ment. But every one knows what applause is 
 to an actor: it is what the medal is to an artist 
 — an assurance that his efforts have been fa- 
 vourably received, therefore a constant en- 
 couragement to improve them. It may be 
 called the sunshine of the Stage, as nothing will 
 grow there without it. The truth is, that it 
 
THE PERFECTION OF PRAISE. 107 
 
 supplies that excitement to the actor, which is 
 necessary to perfect his union with the charac- 
 ter. It is therefore at all times to be desired, 
 if never warrantably to be sought for; since, 
 owing to the preponderance of pit and gallery 
 over boxes, it must also be considered a ques- 
 tionable criterion of merit. However, our au- 
 dience were at length aroused, and owing to 
 the following circumstance : — 
 
 Mr. Scott, my fellow-hero in the company, 
 being a Mason, was in the habit of delivering 
 an entertainment of " Readings and Recitations," 
 whenever he stumbled upon a village that con- 
 tained a lodge. On the Monday we were to 
 perform the " Bold Stroke for a Wife," in which 
 he did the Colonel. He had quitted us on S?^ 
 turday, to take a survey of the country, with 
 the promise of returning to rehearsal on the 
 " play day." He did not keep his word ; but 
 as we knew him to be " dead perfect," (having 
 played the piece before,) and he was proverbial 
 for punctuality, this gave us no concern ; his 
 part was read About three o''clock, however, 
 a rough-headed, red-faced ragamuffin of a 
 
108 A DILEMMA. 
 
 plough-boy arrived with a note from an adja- 
 cent village, where it appeared the whole com- 
 munity had risen up to detain him among them 
 that evening, for the gratification of attending his 
 " Readings,'' — such a particular case, he hoped, 
 would plead his excuse, and he therefore sent 
 us timely notice, in order that we might change 
 the play. As we had no leisure at this period 
 to discuss the question of Mr. Scott's genero- 
 sity in this conduct, a general council of the 
 company ensued, to act upon his advice, and 
 decide what performance should be substituted. 
 After canvassing the merits and peculiarities of 
 twenty pieces, " The Orphan" appeared to be 
 the least difficult, and we fixed upon it. Two 
 other queries were now to be considered, whe- 
 ther, and how, we should acquaint the public 
 with a change. Mr. Osborne remarked, that as 
 we expected a full house to the Comedy, — (the 
 title, as well as that of " A Bold Stroke for a 
 Husband," being very attractive in small coun- 
 try towns, where there are a great many un- 
 married young people) — ^he feared that the an- 
 nouncement of a Tragedy would turn money 
 
A CHANGE. 109 
 
 from the doors ; and as that event was less 
 desirable to the company than the public 
 enlightenment, it was decided on nem, con. that 
 " The Orphan" should be represented instead of 
 the " Bold Stroke,'' but without any promul- 
 gation ; thus leaving it to the critical acumen 
 of our audience to distinguish between Thalia 
 and Melpomene ! 
 
 The night came — the house filled — the cur- 
 tain went up— 'the play went on — moreover, it 
 went down : not a whisper was breathed — not a 
 fan agitated — not a hand struck its fellow : one 
 would have thought not a heart beat — all was 
 observation and quiescence as usual — " dead 
 and deep,'* — the spectators gazing upon us as 
 though we were certain unearthly appearances, 
 or more exactly like the people of a city in 
 the " Arabian Nights," who were suddenly con- 
 verted into stone : the same raising of the brow, 
 dropping of the jaw, propping of the chin, 
 and settling of the eye, continuing from the 
 commencement to the close of the act. On this 
 occasion, however, we were not inclined to mur- 
 mur at their silence, fearing, on the contrary, 
 
110 THE OLD maid's CRITICISM. 
 
 that the first exclamation would be to our de- 
 tection, and, consequently, the rousing of the 
 sleeping lion to our disgrace. But fate willed 
 it otherwise. The play proceeded — the actors 
 went on and off — and nothing occurred to dis- 
 turb either the looks or positions of the au- 
 dience, till in the midst of the fourth act, 
 when I, (as Castalio,) addressing Monimia's 
 maid, exclaimed in reply to her refusal to 
 admit me — 
 
 " By heaven ! I '11 scale the window, and get in by force, 
 Let the glad consequence be what it may ;" 
 
 at which an old maiden lady, in a high-crowned 
 critical cap, with spectacles on her nose, and her 
 peaked chin propped on an ivory-headed cane 
 (who had sat as mute and motionless all the 
 evening as the rest) suddenly relaxed her fix- 
 idity, and exclaimed, giving three emphatic 
 taps with her staff — " Bravo, young man — 
 bravo — that 's a ' bold stroke for a wife,' in- 
 deed!" — Whether it was the example of so 
 respectable a person, or a general concurrence 
 in the justice of her criticism, I know not — 
 but the impulse was electrical — the train was 
 
MISS MACKLIN. Ill 
 
 fired ; tongues, hands, and heels, were loosened 
 to their welcome office, and a universal explosion 
 of approbation took place. Castalio was at length 
 obliged to rise from his supplications to Mo- 
 nimia, and return thanks to the public : thus 
 eminently consoled in the extraordinary warmth 
 of one mistress, for the extraordinary aversion 
 of the other. 
 
 At Needham, our next remove, I became 
 acquainted with Miss Macklin, the actress, who 
 had retreated to this little haven from the 
 troubled element of pubhc life, to live upon the 
 income she had accrued by her professional la- 
 bours. She was an admirable reader, (with a 
 true Shakspearian attachment,) and her voice 
 and figure led me to perceive some of the 
 grounds upon which she had founded her po- 
 pularity : she was not at this time upon good 
 terms with her father, which was owing to a 
 domestic occurrence; but their original dis- 
 agreement, as she informed me, grew out of a 
 reading in Portia — she always said that " mercy 
 was mightiest in the mightiest^'' but he main- 
 taining it " was mightiest in the mightiest," 
 
11^ MESSRS. GAY AND DAY. 
 
 showed her no mercy, but instantly renounced 
 her. 
 
 At Dedham, my strolling career came to a 
 conclusion. During my performance of Belcour 
 one evening, fate sent two gentlemen into the 
 front, who were aldermen of the city of Norwich, 
 and part-proprietors of the theatre — Messrs. 
 Gay and Day — a pair of beings as harmonious 
 in their dispositions as they were in their names, 
 and as round in their dimensions as the strictest 
 forms of their order could require. When my 
 labours were ended, their servant came round 
 to me with a note, requesting my company to 
 sup at the inn. I attended their invitation, and 
 was informed that they were pleased with my 
 acting, and as some accessions were required to 
 the Norwich company for its ensuing season at 
 Ipswich, were willing to give me a note of re- 
 commendation to Mr. Griffiths, the manager, 
 which they had no doubt would procure me 
 an engagement. Half wild with this intelli- 
 gence, I poured forth a profusion of acknow- 
 ledgments, received their billet, and ran home 
 to pen an appropriate epistle as its covering. 
 
AN OLD gentleman's CRITICISM. 113 
 
 The result was, that in three days time I re- 
 ceived an answer from Mr. Griffiths, containing 
 an engagement to play the fops and light co- 
 medy, at a salary of thirty shillings a-week, in 
 the theatre which ranked next to Bath, out of 
 the metropolis. 
 
 If my reader cannot' enter into my feelings 
 at this sudden change and unexpected elevation, 
 from the lowest to within one of the highest 
 rounds in the dramatic ladder, it is useless 
 for me to describe them. Dedham, which is 
 thus signalized in my journal as the point 
 where my rise in the profession commenced, is 
 noted for nothing else save a criticism which an 
 elderly gentleman in black one evening passed 
 on our performance. 
 
 The stage-struck son of a neighbouring far- 
 mer, who had lately joined the company, and 
 received for his services permission to put on 
 stage clothes, was entrusted (through neces- 
 sity) with the part of Catesby in " Jane Shore ;" 
 and at the scene where he suddenly appears to 
 arrest the unfortunate woman and her friend, 
 instead of saying, " Seize on them both as trai- 
 
114 A NEW READING. 
 
 tors to the state !*' he turned the last word into 
 " stage," at which the solitary occupant of 
 our boxes responded in a very audible tone, 
 " Bravo, that 's the best reading I have heard 
 to-night !'' 
 
COMGRATULATIONS, 115 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1774. — Norwich Green-room. — Mrs. Brown (prototype of 
 Mrs. Jordan). — Mrs. Ibbot (celebrated by Churchill).— 
 Stage pronunciation ninety years ago. — Mrs. Cooper. — 
 Mr. Griffiths. — Brunton. — Bob Bowles ! — Definition of 
 
 " Borachio." — An Illustration of Shakspeare " Bury 
 
 St. Edmunds." — Mrs. Baker's Booth. — Lewey Owen. — 
 The Clown. — Experiment upon a Silk Mercer. — Patience. 
 — My first Wife ! — Norwich fishing parties. — Eccentrici- 
 ties of Bob Bowles Credulity of Mr. Griffiths " The 
 
 Yarmouth herring." — '* The wild duck.*' — Remarks upon 
 the essentials to form an Actor, and the " Science of the 
 Stage." — Anecdotes of the Norwich people. — Misnomers. — 
 Misapprehensions — The Alderman's toast. 
 
 1775. — London. — Strictures onthe first performance of " The 
 Rivals." — Cause of the first night's failure. — The acting, 
 
 &c — Plymouth Dock The gallant " Middy."— Captain 
 
 Crouch. —Stephen Kemble — " Curse my coat !— Think of 
 my feelings !" 
 
 The news of my engagement, it will be sup- 
 posed, created some stir in the company ; it did 
 also in the town. Messrs. Gay and Day, who 
 
116 FAREWELL TO STROLLING. 
 
 had come to Dedham on business, were driven 
 away by the flood of applications. When I 
 mentioned the matter to Mrs. Osborne, she sneer- 
 ingly remarked, that " it was a pity some peo- 
 ple did not know when they were well off* !" On 
 mentioning it to another (who had played Stock- 
 well to my Belcour), he called the worthy Al- 
 dermen " worsted-headed weavers without any 
 judgment f but Scott and Osborne shook me 
 warmly by the hand, and congratulated me on 
 my good fortune. 
 
 I then bade a thankful farewell to strolHng, 
 to which, however, I must acknowledge myself 
 indebted for two things that principally contri- 
 buted to my subsequent prosperity : — an energy 
 acquired in the daily practice of overcoming 
 difficulties, and discretion in the control of 
 money, from the privations I had been obliged 
 to submit to. So completely, however, had my 
 experience kept me in the dark in regard to the 
 " Stage,"" or my own abilities, that, on entering 
 a regular theatre, I found I was as ignorant of 
 the mechanism of the one, as the extent of the 
 other. Nevertheless, I possessed these advan- 
 
MRS. BROWN. 117 
 
 tages to start with, — a good figure, a good 
 study, and a good stock of confidence ; and 
 having collected most of the materials for suc- 
 cess, from this hour, under an established sys- 
 tem, began to put them together. 
 
 The " Norwich Green-room," at this time, 
 contained three or four individuals it may be 
 worth while to notice. 
 
 Mrs. Ross (afterwards Mrs. Brown), a come- 
 dian whose merit will be sufficiently attested 
 by the fact, that she was the acknowledged pro- 
 totype of Mrs. Jordan ; the latter lady having 
 imbibed the idea, that she could play comedy 
 from seeing the former perform a hoyden at 
 York. w'^ia ...'Vivj 
 
 Pasquin, in his well-known work, " The 
 Children of Thespis," either alludes to this cir- 
 cumstance, or pays a proper tribute to her 
 talents, and explains the cause of her metropo- 
 litan failure. 
 
 When she appeared at Covent Garden, (in 
 Miss Prue, I believe,) the audience were de- 
 lighted, but the critics in the pit exclaimed, 
 " It's a pity she imitates Mrs. Jordan !"" which 
 
118 SHUTER AND THE MERCER. 
 
 reminds me of the story of a silk-mercer, who 
 had associated with Shuter till he caught not 
 only all his best jokes and ditties, but the very 
 manner in which they were given. The latter, 
 hearing this, determined to visit a club one 
 evening, which this gentleman frequented, and 
 see what would be the effect of his good things 
 at first hand, which had told so well at second. 
 He did so ; but soon lost both humour and 
 temper, at hearing the worthy cits, whenever 
 he attempted to be funny, respond with min- 
 gled wonder and delight, " How like Tom 
 Bennet !" 
 
 Whatever may be the question as to the 
 talent of Mrs. Brown, (the victim of a fate so 
 peculiar,) one thing has on all hands been ad- 
 mitted, that she possessed feelings and princi- 
 ples which would have dignified her in the 
 most exalted station. This is a tribute to de- 
 parted worth, which it is the duty of every 
 man to pay, and of the actor particularly, who 
 would turn aside the shaft that is so often 
 winged at the moral character of his profession. 
 
 About four years ago (1823), Mrs. Brown 
 
MRS. IBBOT. 119 
 
 was residing in the suburbs of London, and I 
 paid her a visit. Having met in the morning 
 of our days, it was mutually pleasant to shake 
 hands as the shades of evening were falling 
 around us, and cast a brief glance over the diver- 
 sified track we had respectively passed since 
 we parted. 
 
 Mrs. Ibbot, our tragedian, was a lady upon 
 the verge of fifty, who some years before had 
 accepted an engagement from Rich of Coven t 
 Garden, come up to town, made a successful 
 debut, and would no doubt have become a fa- 
 vourite, but experiencing a slight neglect from 
 the manager (one of his usual eccentricities), 
 took the coach back to Norwich the following 
 morning, and there continued for the rest of 
 her days. Churchill, in his Rosciad, speaks of 
 her great effort, Queen Ehzabeth in " The Earl 
 of Essex,"*' and eulogizes the intelligence she 
 threw into the interrogation to Lady Russell 
 (the confidant between her and the Earl, who, 
 being in the interest of his enemies, withholds 
 
 the means of his deliverance) " No ring V 
 
 This was a point which must have resembled 
 
ISO STAGE ENUNCIATION IN 1740. 
 
 the heart-gushing shriek of that unequalled 
 actress Mrs. Barry, in Lady Randolph, — " Does 
 he live i^" The way in which Mrs. Siddons gave 
 those words, convinced me of the difference 
 between simple art and simple nature. 
 
 Mrs. Ibbot used to relate to me many whim- 
 sical illustrations of dramatic life, and among 
 others, once said, that about the period of her 
 entering the profession (1740), she was present 
 at the performance of an old Roman play, in a 
 gentleman's barn in Norfolk, when the principal 
 actor came forward to deliver the Prologue 
 (which then in the countrj^ used generally to 
 be an epitome of the plot), and having to say, 
 " When Hannibal and Scipio first waged war, 
 they took a circumference to Africa," he enun- 
 ciated — " When Han-ni-bawl and Ski-pi-o first 
 wag-ged war, they took a kirk-kum-ference round 
 to Afri-ca." 
 
 Mrs. Cooper was a lady who claims a share 
 of my reader's attention, it being her destiny to 
 become the first Mrs. Bernard. To do her jus- 
 tice, she was one of the most versatile women 
 out of London — a kind of Garrick in petticoats 
 
MR. GRIFFITHS. 1^ 
 
 — having played in the course of one season 
 Lady Macbeth, Juliet, Violante, Nell, (in the 
 " Devil to pay,") Macheath and Mandane, and 
 all with a degree of merit, which is not inva- 
 riably witnessed in the metropolis. 
 
 Mr. Griffiths, our manager, was a perfect 
 beau of the old school, a Sir Philip Modelove 
 in real life ; an elderly gentleman with youth- 
 ful manners and propensities, tolerably edu- 
 cated, and tolerably clever in the business of 
 the Stage ; but a mere child in the knowledge 
 of the world. His well-known integrity, how- 
 ever, had obtained him his present situation, 
 and he had abundance of good humour to atone 
 for his vanity. 
 
 Mr. Brunton (afterwards of Covent Garden) 
 was our leading tragedian, and one of the best 
 Shy locks, after the three best, (Macklin, Cooke, 
 and Henderson,) I have ever seen ; and a Mr. 
 Bowles was our principal singer, who was about 
 the most legitimate descendant of that worthy 
 god, "Momus," the eighteenth century pro- 
 duced. I will commence my illustrations of 
 this important fact here. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 ECCENTRICITIES 
 
 Bowles was a great favourite with the ma- 
 nager; his jokes and whimsicalities were a sure 
 antidote to the hyp, and a grateful relief to the 
 mechanical duties of the Stage. Bowles, on the 
 other hand, consulted his interest by being con- 
 stantly with his superior. He not only secured 
 his situation thereby, but a capital dinner three 
 times a-week. In doing this, however, he could 
 not blind his eyes to the perception of the ma- 
 nager's weak points, or divert the bent of his 
 own disposition. On the contrary, he was con- 
 tinually '* drawing him out,"** to the amusement 
 of the company, by indulging in some practical 
 satire, which, whenever discovered, (such was 
 the influence he had obtained,) was attended 
 with the sure result of the manager's forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 Bowles was very fond of fishing, and never 
 wore gloves, which rendered his hands on a cold 
 day very like two pieces of raw beef. Griffiths 
 was extremely particular in this respect, and 
 always quizzed Bowles upon their vulgar ap- 
 pearance. The manager, among other of his 
 peculiarities, was in the habit of bringing a 
 
OF BOB BOWLES. 123 
 
 volume of " Shakspeare'" to rehearsal, (whenever 
 one of his plays was performed,) very elegantly 
 bound and embellished, and enriched with mar- 
 ginal notes from his own pen, but which were, 
 more generally, directions as to the stage-busi- 
 ness, and style of dressing and playing the cha- 
 racters, than critical annotations upon the text. 
 These volumes Mr. Griffiths prized very high- 
 ly, seldom spared from his library, and on the 
 stage, never trusted out of his hand. 
 
 " Much ado about Nothing" being " called" 
 one morning, the manager, as usual, brought 
 his volume under his arm ; but before the re- 
 hearsal concluded, a proprietor requiring his 
 presence in the committee-room, (I should have 
 related this at Norwich,) he laid it down on the 
 prompter''s table, Bowles had long watched 
 this precious book, and immediately took it up. 
 Reading in the margin, that " Benedict" (which 
 Griffiths played) " should look at least five-and- 
 thirty — should be manly, and even elegant, 
 but not volatile or flippant ;" — that " Claudio 
 should be youthful and spirited, and wear a 
 brown wig, if 'Pedro' wore a black one;" — 
 
 G 2 
 
124 ELUCIDATION OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 that "'Dogberry' should not be over-acted, 
 nor played to the galleries ;" and that " ' Verges'* 
 should be this and that ; and so-and-so, and so- 
 and-so:"" — Bowles exclaimed, " Why, Mr. Grif- 
 fiths has never noticed Borachio !" (Bowles's 
 part, and one of the worst in the piece !) Upon 
 which, he took up a pen and scribbled, in a 
 scraggy hand — *' Borachio should be a lean, 
 long-backed fellow, with sandy hair, and red 
 hands, fond of nothing but fishing !" (his exact 
 counterpart.) 
 
 My reader must imagine the manner in which 
 Mr. Griffiths read this note, and the expressions 
 of those who listened to him. 
 
 Colchester was the next town in the circuit, 
 to reach which the company chose their own 
 modes of conveyance. I being very attached 
 to the society of Mrs. Cooper, as also to that of 
 Mrs. Ibbot, (who had kindly undertaken to 
 read " Shakspeare*" to me,) proposed to join 
 them in a chaise, which was agreed to. Mrs. 
 Cooper was my superior, alike in merit and in 
 years, but was possessed of some personal 
 beauty, and a certain fascination in manner, to 
 
MRS. baker's booth. 125 
 
 which my young heart (consider, nineteen, gentle 
 reader) was not proof. Yet, as this is a subject 
 (however interesting to myself) in which I can- 
 not expect my reader to sympathize, I willingly 
 pass it over, and with it the town above-men- 
 tioned ; the only thing of which I can remember 
 being a circumstance that struck me at the 
 time as somewhat remarkable, namely, that I 
 could never get an oyster at Colchester without 
 paying twice as much for it as I did in London. 
 Bury St. Edmund's was our next destination ; 
 and as we opened in the " fair week," Mr. 
 Griffiths anticipated a harvest. We were des- 
 tined, however, to encounter a formidable anta- 
 gonist in " Mrs. Baker's booth," whose public 
 bill of fare put forth a greater variety, and 
 more piquant dishes, than ours, which adver- 
 tised but the simple, though substantial, cook- 
 ery of the Shakspearian roast-beef, the Otway 
 mutton, and the Farquhar fowl. Mrs. Baker 
 moreover had a host in the person of Lewey 
 Owen, the clown, (the most noted out of Lon- 
 don,) who performed a part on the platform of 
 her theatre, to take people in, which we could 
 
126 LEWEY OWEN'S 
 
 not presume to imitate. Mr. Griffiths used to 
 get very philosophical upon this subject, (and 
 our empty gallery was a nightly memento,) de- 
 nominating Mrs. Baker a quack, and ourselves 
 the legitimate moral practitioners, who adopted 
 Aristotle's maxim, and " purged the (public) 
 mind with pity and terror/' " No wonder," he 
 used to say, " that thefts and drunkenness, and 
 distress, so abound, when people go to booths 
 instead of theatres, and prefer seeing a mounte- 
 bank stand on his head, to an able tragedian in 
 the character of Hamlet !" 
 
 Owen, the hero of our rival establishment, 
 was a great favourite in Bury, privately as well 
 as publicly, since, in one respect particularly, 
 he eclipsed all the "day-light actors" of his 
 time. He * could put off his vulgarity with his 
 stage-clothes, and retain all his humour. There 
 was a silk mercer, who had frequented Bury 
 fair many years, and was remarkable for his 
 imperturbable complacency. His patience was 
 of a rival fame to Job's. It obtained him a 
 continual reference. Some wags on this occa- 
 sion determined to put his vaunted virtue to 
 
EXPERIMENT ON A SILK-MERCER. 127 
 
 the test, and procured Owen for their instru- 
 ment, by laying a wager with him that he could 
 not ruffle the worthy dealer^'s temper. Lewey 
 immediately walked to the booth, (every fea- 
 ture of his public appearance having disappear- 
 ed in his plain clothes,) and inquired for a par- 
 ticular silk. It did not suit him when shown, 
 and he desired to see another ; which was ac- 
 cordingly taken down and unrolled. That was 
 nearer the colour, but wanted a shade of it. — A 
 third. That was the colour, but of too fine a 
 texture. — A fourth. That was too coarse ; a 
 medium texture would, precisely suit. — A fifth 
 — no: — A sixth — no. A seventh, an eighth, 
 were taken down, rolled out, inspected and re- 
 jected. Still the mercer's patience was as inex- 
 haustible as his stock, — consequently Lewey 
 was not satisfied. After looking over nearly 
 every piece in the booth, and heaping the coun- 
 ter, the chairs, and other goods, with their con- 
 tents — papers, strings, and rollers lying about 
 in confusion, Lewey at length espied one piece, 
 (purposely overlooked till now,) which he de- 
 sired to have a sight of. The obliging mercer 
 
128 THE DEATH OF PATIENCE. 
 
 mounted a ladder, and with infinite difficulty 
 obtained it ; naturally expecting, from the parti- 
 cularity of his customer, that he intended to 
 purchase the entire piece. Having placed it 
 before him, Lewey unrolled it to the very end ; 
 and disengaging the roller, took it in his right- 
 hand like a truncheon, and flourishing it grave- 
 ly about his head, stuck it in his side, with 
 these words— " Come, that will do; that will 
 do! We've got it at last!" — "What will 
 do ?" exclaimed the mercer, with a stare of pro- 
 found astonishment. — " Why, you must know, 
 Sir," replied Lewey, " that I 'm the principal 
 tragedian in Mr. Griffith's company, and hav- 
 ing to perform 'Richard the Third' to-night, 
 which, you must be aware, can never be played 
 without a good truncheon, I didn't see one in 
 the stock to suit me, and have come out to buy 
 one. — Pray what 's the price of this .?" 
 
 The mercer's virtue was of no longer being ; 
 he positively foamed with rage, and jumping 
 over the counter, it is probable would have bro- 
 ken the roller over Owen's head, had not the 
 projectors of the plot, who had watched the 
 
MY FIRST WIFE ! IM 
 
 whole scene from the door, run in to his assist- 
 ance, and given an ample explanation. The 
 name of Owen was in itself no small excuse ; 
 but when his companions invited the mercer to 
 a supper, and offered their assistance to put his 
 goods again into order, the extraordinary flash 
 of fire subsided to another Icfng sleep, — ^like a 
 volcanic eruption, — harmony was completely 
 restored, and Lewey won his wager. 
 
 In the interim of the Norwich Theatre under- ' 
 going some repairs, a leisure week ensued, in 
 which Mrs. Cooper and myself were united. ) 
 With this accession to my domestic comfort, 
 the enjoyment of my profession kept pace. 
 Playing an extensive round of business, my 
 benefits in each town attested my rising favour 
 with the public; and at Norwich (where we 
 wintered) I became a marked object of appro- 
 bation with the proprietors. Fame and fortune 
 were thus flowing in upon me, who seven months 
 before had struggled for shillings, and " strutted 
 and fretted" on the flooring of barns :— when 
 I reflected on the change, I could hardly credit 
 it myself. 
 
 g5 
 
130 FISHING-PARTIES. 
 
 Our favourite amusements at " Norwich" 
 were our *' fishing parties/' which were inva- 
 riably conducted under the direction of Mr. 
 Griffiths. A very moderate subscription defray- 
 ed the expense of refreshment, and Mr. G. 
 provided the vehicles which conveyed us to the 
 spot. On these Occasions, Bob Bowles was the 
 manager's constant attendant ; who, being a 
 little short-sighted, and extremely nice in his 
 hands and clothes, required continual assistance, 
 both to observe his float and put on fresh bait ; 
 this latter, ridiculous as it may appear, being 
 what he termed a piece of dirty drudgery. He 
 was a picture, at such a time, resembling some 
 of the more whimsical but truly probable con- 
 ceptions of Shakspeare (Justice Shallow, for in- 
 stance), standing for hours together on the 
 brink of the stream, holding in his white-gloved 
 hand his taper dozen-jointed rod, in a variety 
 of elegant attitudes, but seeing nothing of the 
 float, in order to convince us, that though as 
 fond of the diversion as Iza'ak Walton, he could 
 only enjoy it in a genteel way. One day, every 
 one had caught something but the manager. 
 
BOWLF.S AND GRIFFITHS. 131 
 
 who waited nevertheless, and took snufF from 
 his brilliant box, with exemplary patience (fish- 
 ing is certainly a school for this virtue). Bowles 
 at length advised him to take some refreshment, 
 and he would hold his rod. Mr. Griffith con- 
 sented, and retired to a basket containing cold 
 fowl and punch. His back was no sooner 
 turned, than the wag drew up the line unob- 
 served, and taking from his pocket a large Yar- 
 mouth herring which he had purposely brought 
 with him, thrust the hook and bait down its 
 throat, and threw it into the stream. When 
 Mr. Griffiths resumed his rod, Bowles repaired 
 to one or two of his chums, and told them what 
 he had done ; upon which one of them strolled 
 up to the manager, and inquired after his sport. 
 Griffiths had a hesitation, or rather iteration, in 
 his speech, like Garrick. " Sport, sport," said 
 he ; " why, why, not so bad — plenty of fun, 
 plenty of fun — good bait, you see, good ba\t ; 
 Bobby minds that — shady spot — deep hole there 
 — all quiet, all quiet — had a hundred offers 
 from the small fry, but wouldn't take 'em — 
 plenty of bites, but caught nothing." You 
 
132 ^«THE YARMOUTH HERRING." 
 
 have either lost your float, or you have got a 
 bite now, rejoined the other conspirator. Grif- 
 fiths, who couldn't tell whether this was the 
 fact or no, immediately jerked his rod, and 
 called for assistance : " Eh, eh, eh, — what — here, 
 Bob, Bob — float, float — got a bite, got a bite !" 
 Bowles ran up to him with great alacrity, fol- 
 lowed by a group who were in the secret ; and as 
 the manager drew the herring out of the water, 
 he drew a shout from their lips ; this was con- 
 strued into an expression of applause. Bowles 
 then disengaged the fish from the hook, and 
 handing it round to the company, asked if they 
 had ever seen a finer mullet. Mullet, he was 
 aware, was Mr. Griffith's favourite fish, and the 
 announcement of the name threw the latter into 
 transports. He repeatedly questioned Bowles 
 if he was correct ; and Bowles, appealing to the 
 bystanders, was borne out by a dozen affirma- 
 tives. He then put on his spectacles, took the 
 fish in his own hands (divesting them previously 
 of his gloves), surveyed it minutely, and con- 
 curred in the opinion. It was accordingly car- 
 ried home to be dressed for supper ; and on the 
 
" THE WILD-DUCK." 133 
 
 following morning, when asked how he liked the 
 mullet, he declared " he had never partaken of 
 a finer !" 
 
 This passed before my own eyes ; but Bowles ' 
 gave me an illustration of the manager's cre- 
 dulity, even more whimsical if possible, which 
 occurred the year before I joined them. 
 
 Mr. Griffiths, Bowles, and two gentlemen of 
 Norwich, were out shooting in the neighbour- 
 hood ; and, in the course of their sport, two 
 ducks flying over, the manager aimed and fired ; 
 a barn was close at hand, beyond which the 
 birds disappeared. Bowles swore that Griffiths 
 had hittone or both, and that they had fallen in 
 the farm-yard. The hint was sufficient : away 
 bounded the manager ; Bowles and his compa- 
 nions, who were in the conspiracy, following. 
 Jumping over the gate, they ran into the yard ; 
 and just then, an old weather-beaten, broken- 
 backed, bandy-legged duck, a true devotee to 
 mud and water, came limping by among some 
 other fowls. " That 's it, that 's it !" said Bowles ; 
 " you Ve hit it ; I knew you did."—" Eh, eh, eh, 
 where, Bob, where .?" — " There." Catching a 
 
134 " THE WILD DUCK." 
 
 view of him, the manager commenced a chase 
 through mud and slush, and tried to knock down 
 his crippled victim with the butt end of his gun. 
 Two or three times they ran round the yard 
 like a hunt at Astley's, Bob and the others 
 whooping and laughing, and giving the " view 
 holloa." The noise soon brought the farmer 
 and his family from the house, and half-a-dozen 
 thrashers from the barn, the latter of whom 
 evinced a desire of verifying their names, by 
 considering the bodies of our sportsmen so 
 many trusses of straw. Mr. Griffiths, however, 
 addressed the farmer, and an altercation ensued 
 as to the identity of the duck ; — the formtr main- 
 taining that he had hit the bird when flying 
 over the barn, and that it had just fallen in the 
 yard ; and the latter calling all his people to 
 witness that the said duck had been a patriarch 
 in his puddles these six years, and hadn^t wing 
 enough to fly over a turnip. The gentlemen at 
 length interfered, and taking the farmer aside, 
 explained the joke to him, and slipped a crown 
 into his hand ; at which Bowles exclaimed, " Oh, 
 it 's very right. Sir ; the farmer only meant to 
 
SCIENCE OF THE STAGE. 135 
 
 say that he had a duck which greatly resem- 
 bled this one." — " Ay, ay, knew so, Bobby ; you 
 all saw me hit it." The wink was now tipped to 
 the flail-swingers, and a pursuit recommenced, 
 when the duck was at length knocked down, 
 pounced upon by Bowles, and popped into the 
 bag. Griffiths now shouldered his gun, and 
 marched ofF in triumph ; Bowles walked be- 
 hind, putting his finger to his nose ; and the 
 countrymen, unable any longer to restrain their 
 gratification, clapped their hands to their sides, 
 opened theircapacious jaws, and lowed out their 
 laughter like so many oxen. 
 
 I had been now about ten months in the 
 Norwich company (having performed the cir- 
 cuit), and, as an actor, was worth about fifty per 
 cent, more than when I entered it. Under a 
 regular and judicious system, the various bad 
 habits and ideas I had contracted in my eight 
 months' itinerancy speedily disappeared. Find- 
 ing me not only phant but grateful for instruc- 
 tion, Mr. Griffiths exerted himself in that pecu- 
 liar element in which he had ability, the opening 
 to me a knowledge of the mechanism of my pro- 
 
136 SCIENCE OF THE STAGE. 
 
 fession, as the means of my attaining a good 
 style ; whilst my wife and Mrs. Ibbot nearly 
 as efficiently devoted my domestic hours to the 
 same end. Such was my enthusiasm for acting 
 then, that it constituted not only my means of 
 subsistence, but my sole source of enjoyment, — 
 a peculiarity of the profession, which accounts 
 for the general indifference an actor manifests 
 to the topics and objects which are interesting 
 to the world, and also his willingness to encoun- 
 ter any privations that may attend the exercise 
 of his art. 
 
 Every one knows that, to become a good 
 actor, a man requires two essentials, — genius 
 and judgment : his genius must be twofold, — the 
 power of conceiving, and the power of identify- 
 ing with character ; his judgment simply con- 
 sists in expressing it. Thus, it has always ap- 
 peared to me that, in one respect, the actor's 
 genius is identical with the poet's ; since every 
 author, when he sits down to write a play, must 
 act it in his mind, and fully embody every cha- 
 racter he delineates, otherwise there would be 
 nothing life-like in his language, — nothing of 
 
THE AUTHOR — ACTOR — AND SPECTATOR. 137 
 
 what is truly meant by the term " dramatic." 
 His genius is compounded of the power of in- 
 vention, and the capability of embodying what 
 he invents (the want of which capability has 
 decided, in most cases, the fate of the closet 
 play, and deciphers the mystery of so many 
 plays' failure). If then that which constitutes 
 at once the difference and superiority of the 
 author to the actor be the " power of inven- 
 tion," in what consists the actor's superiority to 
 the mere reader or spectator ? I answer, his 
 superior power of sympathy (or identification) : 
 an equally just conception of the author's mean- 
 ing may be entertained by the latter, who, if a 
 man of taste and j udgment, would analyse most 
 likely what he saw or read, acquaint himself 
 with its elements and proportions, and refer the 
 whole to a standard of poetic propriety; but 
 he would still be as unable to embody Lear or 
 Hamlet, as he would have been to invent them. 
 But supposing this person to be possessed of 
 the actor's genius, or this power of sympathy, 
 (and that there have been thousands of actors 
 in the world who never trod a stage, I am 
 
138 STRICTURES ON THE 
 
 assured, since in my own sphere of observation^ 
 I can remember a hundred, and these not pro- 
 fessed amateurs,) in what does the actor still 
 maintain superiority ? — in his power of expres- 
 sion ! It is the combination of science and 
 genius which denotes him ; without the one he 
 is but upon a level with the reader; without 
 the other, infinitely below him. 
 
 If my reader is fatigued with these defini- 
 tions, I have a joke at the next page for him ; 
 if not, a very fe\V words more will illustrate the 
 views with which a young comedian commenced 
 his studies. 
 
 To the improvement of my judgment, my 
 good friends in the Norwich Company directed 
 their efforts (for if I had not possessed genius, 
 it was not in their power to confer it) ; and as I 
 was to learn a science, I naturally inquired 
 what was its origin, or upon what was it based. 
 
 The professed (and Heaven forfend it should 
 ever fail in being the practical !) object of the 
 Stage is to instruct ; but people would not go 
 to a theatre to receive a lesson in the same 
 manner they enter a church. In the former 
 
"SCIENCE OF THK STAGE." 139 
 
 they require the pill to be gilded ; the heart is 
 to be approached, yet not through the judg- 
 ment but the fancy : an illusion is therefore ne- 
 cessary ; and the Stage, to attain it, is elevated 
 one step above the truth. This one step pre- 
 cisely measures, in its altitude, the difference of 
 sympathy in the bosom of the actor and spec- 
 tator: Genius exalts him to his sphere ; but when 
 there, Science must uphold him. A system, 
 and a system only, can enable him to tread 
 midway in air between the heaven of fancy and 
 the earth of fact. He there requires judgment 
 to shape his conceptions into a conformity with 
 the appearances of life, and yet preserve them 
 from the exact resemblance which would destroy 
 his elevation. He holds the spectator's illusion in 
 his grasp, but which, like glass, is so delicate and 
 brittle, that it is sure to shatter if he lets it fall. 
 But the perfection of his skill is not, as I appre- 
 hend, merely to work the wires and conceal the 
 hand, or, in other words, to make Art appear 
 Nature; it is something more, — it is to make 
 Nature appear Nature. It is to cause the na- 
 ture which burns in his own bosom, to cor- 
 
140 ANECDOTES. 
 
 respond with that in the spectator's, by raising 
 the latter up to the level of his own high excite- 
 ment, and to open to the general sympathies 
 of a crowd the confined and peculiar feelings 
 of the poet. 
 
 As the Norwich season was drawing to a 
 close, I received a letter from Mr. Hughes, the 
 Exeter manager, conveying a very favourable 
 proposal for myself and wife to join him at 
 Weymouth in the ensuing spring, upon a two 
 years' article. I had but little to complain of 
 in my present situation, and much to be at- 
 tached to ; but the idea of visiting the early 
 scene of my exertions was in itself so alluring, 
 that I could not resist his oiFers ; and, in addi- 
 tion, my wife was desirous of being introduced 
 to my family. Our course was thus decided, 
 and we bade a grateful farewell to Norwich, with 
 about eighty pounds in store; a sum that at 
 one time I did not think was possessable by an 
 entire company. 
 
 The character of the good people who reside 
 in this part of the world, whilst laying claim to 
 as great a portion of integrity and generosity as 
 
THE NORWICH PEOPLE. 141 
 
 any others in Christendom, is (or was) never- 
 theless distinguished for a peculiar simplicity. 
 It was quite common for a servant, who would 
 come to the box-office to learn what was the 
 play, and being informed " The Beaux Stra- 
 tagem" and " The Virgin Unmasked," to go 
 home and say we intended to do " The Boar 
 Strangled" and " The Virgin Mary !" A gra- 
 zier who had got into the theatre and seen 
 Griffiths play Richard, on one occasion waited 
 upon the manager the next morning, to say, 
 that if the gentleman who wanted a horse on 
 the previous evening held his mind, he had got 
 an abundance of cattle in his meadows, and 
 should be happy to deal with him. 
 
 Bowles took me to a club one evening, where 
 the subject of public speaking being debated, a 
 gentleman asked his friend, what he thought of 
 Mr. Hopkins' style ; who repHed, that he con- 
 sidered it to be very troublesome, and wished it 
 was broken down ; as he had to get over it every 
 morning in going to his farm, at the hazard of 
 dislocating his hip. 
 
 I believe the joke is pretty well known of 
 
142 FIRST REPRESENTATION 
 
 the Norwich alderman, who being called on at 
 a public dinner, when the cloth was removed, 
 to give a toast, said he would propose one, 
 which he had had the honour of hearing Sir 
 Edward Afflick deliver at the breaking up of a 
 party — " Here 's Bon repos. Gentlemen !" But 
 one infinitely more whimsical than this occurred, 
 during my stay at a dinner given by the " body 
 corporate" to Sir Thomas Jerningham, the 
 member. One of that illustrious number being 
 asked (at a late hour in the evening) to name 
 as a toast the finest demirep in Norwich ! filled 
 his glass, and, rising with formal politeness, 
 replied, " Here's Sir Thomas Jerningham, 
 Gentlemen !" 
 
 In passing through London, we delayed our 
 journey a few days, and visited Covent Garden, 
 to see the first representation of " The Rivals." 
 It was so intolerably long, and so decidedly op- 
 posed in its composition to the taste of the day, 
 as to draw down a degree of censure, which con- 
 vinced me, on quitting the house, that it would 
 never succeed. It must be remembered that 
 this was the English " age of sentiment," and 
 
OF "THE RIVALS." 143 
 
 that Hugh Kelly and Cumberland had flooded 
 the Stage with moral poems under the title of 
 Comedies, which took their views of life from 
 the drawing-room exclusively, and coloured 
 their characters with a nauseous French affec- 
 tation. *' The Rivals,*" in my opinion, was a 
 decided attempt to overthrow this taste, and to 
 follow up the blow which Goldsmith had given 
 in " She Stoops to Conquer."" My recollection 
 of the manner in which the former was received, 
 bears me out in the supposition. The audience 
 on this occasion were composed of two parties — 
 those who supported the prevailing taste, and 
 those who were indifferent to it and liked na- 
 ture. On the first night of a new play, it was 
 very natural that the former should predomi- 
 nate ; — and what was the consequence ? why, 
 that Faulkland and Julia (which Sheridan had 
 obviously introduced to conciliate the senti- 
 mentalists, but which in the present day are 
 considered heavy incumbrances,) were the cha- 
 racters which were most favourably received ; 
 whilst Sir Anthony Acres and Lydia, those 
 faithful and diversified pictures of life, were 
 
144 PARTIAL FAILURE OF " THE RIVALS." 
 
 barely tolerated; and Mrs. Malaprop (as she 
 deserved to be) was singled out for peculiar 
 vengeance. To this character alone must be 
 attributed the partial failure of the play.-— 
 Sheridan intended it perhaps as a burlesque 
 upon the life which Faulkland and Julia repre- 
 sented—but he did it so grossly, as to defeat 
 the end proposed. His want of judgment, in 
 this respect, was as remarkable as his want of 
 policy. That was a time in which there was 
 not a greater straining for the proprieties of 
 
 language, than the proprieties of character the 
 
 error of that taste was the considering the Stage 
 an arena only for the exhibition of high and 
 refined characters. But Mrs. Malaprop was 
 denounced as a rank offence against all proba- 
 bility (which in dramatic life is possibility) — as 
 a thing without a parallel in society — a mon- 
 strous absurdity which had originated with the 
 author. Thus Sheridan's weapon was effectually 
 turned against himself. The critics desired no 
 better handle than he afforded them ; and, in my 
 humble opinion, their censure was highly judi- 
 cious. In the present day, when the taste and 
 
STRICTURES ON " THE RIVALS." 145 
 
 the feeling of that alluded to, has long been for- 
 gotten, what sensible mind is there that does not 
 acknowledge, either in reading or seeing " The 
 Rivals," that Mrs. Malaprop is a most vulgar 
 intrusion, as far below the level of her compa- 
 nions in the comedy, as she would have been in 
 real life ? — Who can imagine for a moment that 
 a lady residing at Bath, the emporium of fa- 
 shion and good taste, visited by, and about to 
 be connected with the family of a baronet, 
 could have displayed an ignorance of language 
 which would not have been tolerated in the 
 most ridiculous milliner that supplied her with 
 caps ? Again, nothing can be more unfounded 
 than the reason which is commonly assigned for 
 the first night's failure of the play; namely, 
 the acting of a Mr. Lee in Sir Lucius O'Trig- 
 ger. I remember his acting very well ; it was 
 very indifferent, particularly to the audience, 
 who cared as little about Sir Lucius as did 
 Lydia; it was his juxta-position with Mrs. 
 Malaprop that brought him into notice-^ her 
 disease was infectious, and contaminated all 
 that came into her society. The other charac- 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 STRICTURES ON "THE RIVALS." 
 
 ters were better drawn than his, and had the 
 advantage of being supported by established 
 favourites; but under any other circumstances, I 
 will be bold to say, Mr. Lee's acting would 
 have passed muster. It was therefore not less 
 false than ungenerous in Sheridan (who ori- 
 ginated this excuse) to transfer to the back of 
 an unfortunate actor, a fault which was inhe- 
 rent to his own composition. 
 
 Of the acting of the night (seen under so 
 much disadvantage), that which made the great- 
 est impression on me was Shuter'*s in " Sir 
 Anthony,*" — the character fitted him like his 
 clothes ; all the others I have seen better per- 
 formed since. Lewis was not at home in Faulk- 
 land ; a serious sentiment was never upon friendly 
 terms with his lips. Woodward would have 
 played Acres better than the Captain, though 
 not better than Quick : John Bannister's has 
 been the best of any; but Shuter was inimitable 
 in the full and racy humour which so pecu- 
 liarly charactersied the acting of the " Old 
 School f he was perpetuated only in my friend 
 Joseph Munden; and in the touching simplicity 
 
PLYMOUTH DOCK. 147 
 
 of his conceptions, has no resemblance at pre- 
 sent but in the truth of Mr. Dowton. 
 
 From London we proceeded to Portsmouth \ 
 direct, where my wife and self were received ; 
 with the utmost cordiality by my mother and 
 family ; and there we remained until the open- 
 ing of the Weymouth Theatre. 
 
 Of the latter place I have nothing to remark, 
 more than that Mr. Palmer, the Bath paten- 
 tee, came over to see my wife perform, and 
 offered us both engagements, which we were 
 compelled to decline in consequence of our ar- 
 ticle to Mr. Hughes. 
 
 After proceeding to Barnstaple, we wintered 
 at Plymouth Dock, which was exceedingly live- 
 ly, owing to the detention of an outward-bound 
 fleet by bad winds, and the arrival of a squa- 
 dron from the Straits, under the command of a 
 great patron of theatricals. Sir Edward Afflick. 
 Our pit and boxes thus nightly presented a 
 " uniform" aspect of " true blue." 
 
 Mrs. Bernard on her benefit-night received 
 an unexpected compliment. We were playing 
 " The Chances," in which my wife enacted the 
 H 2 
 
148 THE GALLANT " MIDDY." 
 
 " Second Constantia ;"" and when repeating the 
 soliloquy upon her escape from Antonio, she 
 exclaimed, " Well ! I 'm glad I \e got rid of 
 that old fellow, however ; and now, if any hand- 
 some young man would take a fancy to me, and 
 make me an honest woman, I 'd make him the 
 best wife in the universe !"" A middy in the 
 slips, who had never seen a play before, and 
 took a deep interest in the scene, immediately 
 started up, and leaning over the box, in a man- 
 ner which made him conspicuous to the whole 
 house, clapped his hands, and cried out, " I '11 
 have you, ma'am ; I 11 have you ; d — n my 
 eyes, if I don't. I have three years' pay to re- 
 ceive, besides prize-money !" 
 
 The tumultuous shout which this reply eli- 
 cited from the " Jacks," and the concentrated 
 stare of the house, threw the young tar back 
 into his seat in a state of some confusion. At 
 Plymouth Dock I numbered among my ac- 
 quaintance a Mr. Crouch, a young shipwright, 
 (to whom I used to give orders for the play,) 
 afterwards the well-known Captain Crouch, hus- 
 band to the songstress ; and Stephen Kemble, 
 
STEPHEN KEMBLE. 149 
 
 one of my earliest and firmest friends. We 
 were boys together then, I about twenty, he a 
 year or two older, full of enterprise and sympa- 
 thy, j ust entering upon life, and beginning to 
 enjoy it. -We lived in the same house, fre- 
 quented the same clubs, cracked the same 
 jokes, and sang the same songs ; and many 
 were the scenes dramatic and actual we went 
 through together. 
 
 From Plymouth we removed for a short sea- ^] 
 son to the early scene of my starving itinerancy, (, 
 Taunton. If my reader can remember the 
 manner in which I quitted this town, he may 
 easily conceive my feelings on returning to it. 
 The good people were nearly as much pleased 
 at the change in my affairs as myself. Whilst 
 here, my wife and self received an invitation 
 from Tate Wilkinson, at York, to spend with 
 him six weeks of the ensuing summer ; for 
 which he ensured us sixty guineas, he taking 
 our benefits. This was an advantageous offer, 
 and we accepted it. Whilst here also, Stephen 
 Kemble came to rehearsal one morning, without 
 his coat. Mr. Hughes, who was rather parti- 
 
150 " THINK OF MY FEELINGS f 
 
 cular, inquired the cause. " Sir,'' said he, 
 " the landlord of the house where I was reading 
 the London paper, charged me double for my 
 ale. I told him he had cheated me, and would 
 not pay him. He seized me, and pulled off my 
 coat ; so, rather than submit to his extortion, I 
 came away without it." — " But, Mr. Kemble," 
 said the manager, " walk through the streets 
 without your coat !*" — "But, Mr. Hughes," said 
 Stephen, " pay sixpence for my ale !" — " But 
 your coat, Mr. Kemble !" — " Curse my coat, 
 Sir ; think of my feelings !" 
 
 Hughes sent and released his coat ; but Ste- 
 phen was quizzed a good deal for this indepen- 
 dency ; his last words, indeed, became a saying 
 in the West of England, where, whenever a 
 man determined to set appearances at nought, 
 he would invariably exclaim, " Oh, curse my 
 coat, think of my feelings !" The reader will 
 smile at this, but I hope he may also be in- 
 duced to give some credit to Stephen's charac- 
 ter, since the above affords one of the strongest 
 indications of that manly and independent spi- 
 rit which pervaded him from childhood. 
 
TRIP TO THE NORTH. 151 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1776. — Journey to York. — Highway Adventure.— Jemmy 
 Whitely's Eccentricities. — The nodding Magistrate : his 
 Professional Dignity. — The Fish Admissions.— His " Chi- 
 nese Conjuror." — Macklin and his " Locke on the Under- 
 standing." — A dramatic " Icarus." — A Flight at Notting- 
 ham. — Tate Wilkinson. — Actors and Imitators — Anec- 
 dotes of Tate's Career. — Imitation of Foote in London. — 
 Imitation of Peg Woffington at Dublin. — Cummings, the 
 York Favourite : his Voice. — Gallery Criticism on John 
 Kemble. — Singular Coincidence in his Death. — Remini- 
 scence of Dodd. — Wakefield. — Cummings in *' Alexander" 
 and the Critical Steed. — Anecdote of Tate Wilkinson, as 
 a man. — Exeter Engagement at Bath. — Portsmouth. — 
 The Pleasures of Rest. 
 
 Independent of all pecuniary or profes- 
 sional advantages in my proposed trip to the 
 North, I had a personal desire to see Tate Wil- 
 kinson, of whom every actor was talking and 
 knew something but myself. Tate was the 
 
152 JOURNEY TO YORK. 
 
 accredited magazine for all the jokes, whims, 
 and peculiarities which distinguished his great 
 master, Foote, — and was considered as a sort of 
 short-cut to the acquaintance of Garrick, Barry, 
 Macklin, and a dozen more, of whom he gave 
 imitations, both in and out of character; so 
 that you had the originals before you in the 
 full strength of their visible distinctions, with 
 the permission of laughing at them if you 
 pleased. 
 
 To pass over our journey more rapidly on 
 the paper than it was performed in the coach ; 
 on reaching London, my wife and self paid a 
 visit one evening to the Haymarket, to see 
 Mr. Lee Digges make his debut in Wol- 
 sey, (of whom more hereafter,) and started the 
 next morning in a high-flyer coach, from the 
 " Swan-with-two-Necks," having two necks of 
 our own, which we earnestly desired might be 
 safe and unimpaired at the end of the journey. 
 Disliking my place in the inside, which com- 
 pelled me to ride with my back to the horses, 
 I borrowed a great-coat from the box, and ex- 
 changed seats with a female who was posted on 
 
HIGHWAY ADVENTURE. 15S 
 
 the roof. We travelled all night ; and in the 
 morning, as we were quietly ascending a hill, a 
 man on horseback rode up from a by-lane and 
 called upon our Jehu to stop, having a few 
 words to address to his passengers. What 
 could be the nature of this stranger's communi- 
 cation caused a general sensation of curiosity,— 
 but we on the outside surmised it, from a cer- 
 tain "argument"" in his hand, rather noted for 
 its penetrating effect — a pistol. He proved to 
 be one of those " travelling collectors of coins"; 
 so abundant about the highways of England at 
 this period, but more particularly indigenous 
 to large uncultivated masses of land such as 
 Hounslow and Finchley. There, indeed, these 
 horse-pads sprang up as thickly as mushrooms, 
 though not always of a night. I had sufficient 
 presence of mind, in catching the first glimpse 
 of him, to slip my watch into my boot and 
 my pocket-book down my bosom ; he there- 
 fore deprived me but of a few shillings, 
 though many of my companions contributed 
 all they had; passing his hat round to each 
 of us, like a poor-box at a charity sermon. 
 h5 
 
154 HIGHWAY ADVENTURE. 
 
 Our Jehu had no arms, and looked as if he was 
 much more inclined to use legs ; yet, in the 
 midst of such a scene of distress, I could not 
 but be amused at the humour of the rascaFs 
 manner, who addressed us with the utmost 
 pleasantness, inquiring of one person how was 
 the wind that morning ! (his object being to 
 raise it ;) of another, and a farmer-looking fel- 
 low, what prospects of the harvest ! and my- 
 self (assuming, from my appearance, that I was 
 of a gayer order than the rest), whether London 
 or Bath was full just then ? I could only remem- 
 ber that I was. To the females (who were all 
 inside) he was a perfect Beau Nash upon horse- 
 back, begging, as he put his hat into the window, 
 they would not be alarmed ; apologizing for 
 disturbing their slumbers ; and stating that, as 
 he came out that morning for the pleasure of 
 forming their acquaintance, he hoped they 
 would permit him to carry away with him some 
 trifling remembrance. His pistol, like a hiero- 
 glyphic, speaking a sentence in its own character, 
 supplied a key to his meaning ; and jewels, rings, 
 money, and watches, were rapidly dropped into 
 
JEMMY WHITELY. 155 
 
 his hat from every one present, not excepting 
 Mrs. Bernard. He then wished us all a very 
 pleasant journey, and, putting spurs to his horse, 
 galloped up the hill. 
 
 We arrived at Nottingham towards evening, 
 and Mrs. B. feeling fatigued, I made an ar- 
 rangement with the coachman to proceed by 
 another conveyance on the following morning. 
 
 On strolling about the town, I perceived a 
 playbill, and at the head of it the name of that 
 celebrated itinerant, James Whitely, or Jemmy 
 VVhitely as he was familiarly called, a son of 
 Green Erin, and a worthy associate of those 
 already recorded eccentrics, Thornton, Par- 
 ker, and Bowles. The name and fame of this 
 person pervaded the three kingdoms, and a 
 hundred recollections of his personal and mana- 
 gerial peculiarities are now thronging my head ; 
 but most of which, as their effect depends upon 
 a certain dramatic illustration, I regret are un- 
 transferable to paper. Perhaps this is fortu- 
 nate, for were the case otherwise, I might write 
 ten volumes of recollections instead of two. I 
 will however select a few which are treatable, 
 
156 JEMMY WHITELY AND 
 
 and the first to exemplify what I have just 
 said. 
 
 Whitely, in the course of his itinerancies, 
 once came to a village where the magistrate 
 was distinguished for two things, — an infirmity 
 of nodding his head, and a genuine Jeremy- 
 Collier-distaste to plays and players. Jemmy, 
 nevertheless, determined to wait upon him : — 
 the magistrate was a butter merchant by trade ; 
 and Jemmy found him behind the counter, in- 
 dustriously attending to the wants of a dozen 
 customers. 
 
 " Plase, Sir," said Jemmy, taking off his hat, 
 and bowing very low, '' My name's Mr. Whitely 
 the manager, well known in the North of Eng- 
 land and Ireland, and all the three kingdoms, 
 for my respectability of karakter !" The ma- 
 gistrate stared, nodded his head, and said 
 nothing : " and I have come to ax your permis- 
 sion (nod again), in passing through the town, 
 (nod) — (there are no villages in dramatic geogra- 
 phy,) — to favour the inhabitants (nod), of whose 
 liberal and enlightened karakter I have often 
 
THE NODDING MAGISTRATE. 157 
 
 heard (nod, nod), with a few evenings' entertain- 
 ments" (nod, nod, nod). 
 
 The magistrate''s horror at the request had 
 sealed his lips ; but Jemmy interpreted the nod- 
 ding of his head as a tacit consent, and a hint 
 that he wished such consent to be kept secret 
 from those who were about him. '' O, oh !" he 
 continued, " I understand your Worship (nod), 
 — very well. Sir (nod), — mum, thank you. Sir 
 (nod, nod), — your Worship and your family will 
 come for nothing (nod, nod) ; good morning to 
 you, Sir ; I 'm much obliged to you. Sir ; St. 
 Patrick and the Saints keep you and your but- 
 ter!" (nod, nod, nod). 
 
 Jemmy then hastened to his myrmidons; a 
 room was engaged, the Theatre fitted up, and 
 the play announced. The magistrate in the 
 mean time was informed of their design, and 
 ordered his constables to attend and take the 
 company into custody. His indignation at what 
 appeared to him an open defiante of his autho- 
 rity, suggested this secret and severer mode of 
 proceeding. As the curtain drew up, a pack 
 
158 THE NODDING MAGISTRATE. 
 
 of " dogs in office*" accordingly leaped on the 
 stage, surrounded their victims, and though 
 they did not " worry thena to death," they car- 
 ried them off in their stage clothes and embel- 
 lishments to the house of the magistrate, leav- 
 ing the audience (who had paid their money) 
 in as great a quandary as themselves. The 
 magistrate had put on an important wig and 
 demeanour to receive the culprits, and demand- 
 ed of Whitely, with an accent like that of Mos- 
 sop in Mahomet, " Had he dared attempt to 
 contaminate the inn and the village with a pro- 
 fane stage- play without his authority .^" Whitely 
 civilly replied, that he had received it. " What ! 
 do you mean to assert that I gave you permis- 
 sion ?" said the magistrate. " No, Sir ; but I 
 mean to say that you nodded your head when 
 I axed you ; and was not that maning that you 
 gave your consent, but didn'^t want the Cal- 
 vinistical bog-trotters who were buying your 
 butter, to know any thing about it ?'''* 
 
 A long altercation ensued, which terminated 
 in the release of the Thespians, on condition 
 that they instantly quitted the " town." 
 
JEMMY WHITELY'S ECCENTRICITIES. 159 
 
 Jemmy, whenever he entered a place of im- 
 portance, in which he could pitch his tent, in- 
 variably dressed himself in his Don Felix suit 
 (pink silk and white satin, spangled and slashed), 
 with an enormously long feather and rapier, 
 and, accompanied by a boy with a bell, pro- 
 ceeded to the market-place, where he announced 
 his intended performances (this was in 1776). 
 He then waited upon the principal inhabitants 
 respectively, to obtain their patronage. On 
 one occasion, he entered the house of a retired 
 tradesman, as vulgar as he was wealthy. Jemmy 
 was shown into a room, where, in Oriental mag- 
 nificence, the owner was reposing upon a couch. 
 No sooner had the former disclosed the object 
 of his visit, than the lordly adulterator of tea 
 and sugar, eyeing him with an air of aristocra- 
 tic contempt, exclaimed, " Oh ! you are what 
 they call a strolling player, eh !" Jemmy's 
 back stiffened in an instant from its rainbow 
 inclination to an exact perpendicular, and 
 laying his hand upon his breast he replied, 
 " Sir, whenever I 'm blackguarded, 1 don't 
 condescend to reply ; '' he then turned away, 
 and walked out of the house. 
 
160 THE FISH ADMISSIONS. 
 
 Jemmy was not particular, in poor commu- 
 nities, as to whether he received the public sup- 
 port in money or in " kind." He would take 
 meat, fowl, vegetables, &c. value them by 
 scales, &c. and pass in the owner and friends 
 for as many admissions as they amounted to. 
 Thus his treasury very often, on a Saturday, 
 resembled a butcher's warehouse rather than a 
 banker's. At a village on the coast, the inha- 
 bitants brought him nothing but fish ; but as the 
 company could not subsist without its concomi- 
 tants of bread, potatoes, and spirits, a general 
 appeal was made to his stomach and sympathies, 
 and some alteration in the terms of admission 
 required. Jemmy accordingly, after admitting 
 nineteen persons one evening for a shad a-piece, 
 stopped the twentieth, and said, " I beg your 
 pardon, my darling I am extramely sorry to 
 refuse you ; but if we ate any more fish, by the 
 powers, we shall all be turned into mermaids !" 
 
 One of his expedients to invigorate the busi- 
 ness when it was getting into a " decline," was 
 to advertise what he called his " Chinese Con- 
 juror," the phenomenon of a figure, which, by 
 
THE " CHINESE CONJUROR.'^ 161 
 
 internal machinery, would not only walk, move, 
 and look like a man, but speak also — being ca- 
 pable of answering any question that was put 
 to it, upon two minutes' consideration. The 
 figure was made of pasteboard, with very am- 
 ple habiliments, rather exceeding in dimensions 
 the human form, and was managed upon the 
 following system. After taking off its head, 
 pulling aside its garments, and opening its 
 breast, to show that it contained no human be- 
 ing, it was placed over a trap, up which an actor 
 ascended, and took possession of its interior, un- 
 observed. It then moved about, to the astonish- 
 ment of the spectators, and sat down to be 
 questioned. Meanwhile, the company having 
 studied a series of questions and answers with 
 the unseen confederate, had disguised them- 
 selves in their plain clothes, and dispersed about 
 the front. By the variety and frequency of 
 their inquiries, the mouths of the audience were 
 sealed ; and as each one, before he made an in- 
 terrogation, took care to inform those about him 
 of its nature, the truth of the replies involved 
 the assembly in a sentiment of profound asto- 
 
162 THE " CHINESE CONJUROR.'' 
 
 nishment. This took very well at first ; but if 
 the voice of the machine, or the persons of the 
 confederates, did not betray the artifice, on a 
 succeeding evening some infernal York shireman 
 found his way into the pit, which answered the 
 same end. On one occasion, a countryman, who 
 happened to be suspicious, hearing a good deal 
 of " Troy, and Rome, and Greece, and the 
 Muses, and the kings of England, and Shak- 
 speare" asked after and answered, suddenly got 
 up and inquired of the figure what was his mo- 
 therms grandmother's name ! — Whitely, who offi- 
 ciated on the stage during this, was not con- 
 founded at the fellow's subtlety, but whispered 
 the image, which immediately howled out in 
 Irish, " Ohil one Gruish kin agrany /" — " There, 
 my darling," said the manager — ^" there 's your 
 grandmother's foldediddle for you." — All eyes 
 were bent upon Tyke, who shook his head and 
 replied — " Na, it beant — ma moother's graun- 
 moother''s neam be Debora Dykes !" — " Well, 
 you bogtrotter !" replied Jemmy, " and isn't 
 ' Ohil one Gruish kin agrany,' the Chinese for 
 Deborah Dykes .? and if you hadn't interrupted 
 
JEMMY WHITELY AND MACKLIN. 163 
 
 the jontleraan, wouldn't he have come to the 
 dirty English of it presently V 
 
 Here is another, to conclude. — When Mack- 
 lin produced his comedy of " The Man of the 
 World," Whitely, by some means, procured a 
 copy of it before it was published, and an- 
 nounced it in a town where he was playing. 
 Macklin happened to be passing through this 
 place, on his way to Ireland, and observed the 
 bill. Knowing that the play must have been 
 obtained unfairly, a sense of his own reputation 
 and rights carried him immediately to the 
 manager, to demand an explanation. Whitely, 
 however, not only evaded the charge by the 
 coolness and comicality of his replies, but com- 
 pelled the author to take refuge in his usual 
 resource, when he would obtain a triumph over 
 his professional brethren, — his intellectual at- 
 tainments ! 
 
 " Puh, Sir !" said Macklin, " you can't argue 
 at all ; you are a man of no information." — 
 " What, Sir !'' exclaimed Jemmy ; " a man of 
 no information ! Prove your words, Mr. Mack- 
 lin,— prove your words." — '' Well, then," said 
 
164 A FLIGHT AT NOTTINGHAM. 
 
 Macklin, taking cool aim at his antagonist's 
 pericranium, with a question which he expected 
 would crush him into nothingness,—" did you 
 ever read 'Locke on the Understanding?'^' 
 Mackhn at this time had very little hair, but 
 cherished a particular curl, which crowned the 
 apex of his skull like a small ridge of snow. 
 Whitely raised his hand to this tuft, and twink- 
 ling his eye with infinite sarcasm, replied, "And 
 do you call this, Locke on the Understanding, 
 Mr. Macklin ?" 
 
 To proceed to the events of the night.— The 
 performance was for the benefit of a person 
 who, among other wonders to decoy the multi- 
 tude, announced that between the play and farce 
 he would fly over the stage from one balcony to 
 the other ! I had often heard of flighty people 
 in the profession, but the design of this drama- 
 tic Icarus was new to me. By means of a cord 
 suspended from the rafters of the roof, and 
 attached to a belt which passed under his shoul- 
 ders, he had planned the mode of his attempt, 
 the proscenium being sufiiciently lowered to 
 conceal the artifice. I think 1 see the hero at 
 
165 
 
 this moment before me. He was a large raw- 
 boned fellow, with fiery red hair, which, as a ma- 
 thematician would say, stood individually on 
 the perpendicular. He was dressed like a Cupid, 
 in flesh-coloured arms and leggings, with a 
 linen garment about his middle, that somewhat 
 resembled an abbreviated shirt divested of its 
 frill ; a wreath of roses circled his brow ; a 
 spangled belt his body ; and a pair of infants 
 wings fluttered at his back, as the ostensible in- 
 struments of his intention. His appearance, 
 however, when he came on to make his bo^w 
 before ascending to the pigeon-hole, created a 
 favourable impression, and I heard some such 
 colloquy as the following ensue between two 
 farmers, who sat directly under me in the pit. 
 *' I zay, neighbor Jahn, be ye zhure thic be a 
 mon ? What be them things he ha' got on a 
 shaulders ?'''' — " Why daun't ye knaw, them be 
 the wings he be gwaing to vly with." — " But I 
 zay, Jahn, why do he wear 'em shirt ouver 'em 
 clauthes T"* This was a puzzler : at length John 
 responded, " He do zeem as thau he'd no 
 clauthes to kiver !" The fiddlers by this time 
 
166 A DRAMATIC *« ICARUS." 
 
 had given the " note of preparation," and Icarus 
 put his head out of the P. S. pigeon-hole : ex- 
 pectation now stood upon tiptoe, and grasped 
 each spectator by the throat, so as to occasion 
 a great difficulty in breathing: all was in 
 fact hushed to the profoundest calm, and at a 
 sudden signal the fowl-man darted away from 
 his perch, and passing under the skirts of the 
 proscenium, gained the opposite side. A shout 
 was rising in the spectators'* throats, to announce 
 the accomplishment of his task, when, either from 
 nervousness, want of rehearsal, or a miscalcu- 
 lation, he unluckily missed his landing-place, 
 and going against the first wing with a force 
 which nearly drove it in, he rebounded from the 
 shock hke a tennis-ball ; the impetus carried him 
 back to the other side, where he was too confused 
 to regain his hold : again he swang over to his 
 original destination, touched his feet instead of 
 his hands, again rebounded, and so continued 
 to swing from side to side, like a shuttlecock be- 
 tween two battledores, or the pendulum of a 
 clock. 
 
 The failure of the attempt immediately be- 
 
THE ENRAGED MANAGER. 167 
 
 trayed the artifice : the first expression of the 
 audience was a common stare of astonishment at 
 their own credulity ; the next, a hot flushing 
 of indignation at their disappointment and the 
 actor's impudence ; the third I expected to be 
 the simultaneous burst of a theatrical tornado ; 
 but the punishment which the criminal had in- 
 flicted on himself by the capers and contortions 
 he was cutting to disengage himself from the 
 rope, turned hissing and outcries into a hearty 
 roar of laughter, which, after all, was the se- 
 verest mode of expressing their malice. 
 
 The manager, during this, was in his dressing- 
 room, preparing for Don Diego in " The Pad- 
 lock,"" and hearing the uproar, (which was now 
 augmented by thumping of benches and clap- 
 ping of hands,) ran out upon the stairs, and be- 
 held the unfortunate " high-flyer" suspended, 
 like Mahomet's coffin, between heaven and earth. 
 He was but half dressed, and but half made up, 
 {i. c eyebrows corked, and one cheek painted,) 
 yet the sight disarmed him of every generous or 
 delicate feeling, and he sprang down upon the 
 stage, without coat, wig, or waistcoat, and with 
 
168 RECEPTION AT YORK. 
 
 a countenance that would have defied Lavater 
 to have defined its particular genus or expres- 
 sion. First, he attempted to apologize to the 
 audience, but rage choaking his utterance, he 
 turned round to blackguard the actor: this 
 being a more easy and familiar duty, his speech 
 came freely, and the scene attained its highest 
 effect. Never were a body of people more jus- 
 tified in laughing at the expense of a fellow- 
 creature's feelings than on the present occasion, 
 since I, who sympathized with the object, could 
 not refrain ; nay, I am assured, that if the The- 
 atre had been the school of the cynics, and the 
 audience its scholars, the same effect must have 
 resulted. Cynics ! — indeed, if they had been 
 Pythagoreans, with the seal of a five years'* 
 silence on their lips, it is a question whether they 
 would not have rendered themselves worthy 
 of ejectment. The curtain, however, speedily 
 dropped, and I made my retreat. 
 
 With an account of this affair I amused Mrs. 
 B. till our arrival in York, where we were most 
 cordially received by Wilkinson and his family. 
 Tate had a chatty and rather personable woman 
 
TATE WILKINSON. 169 
 
 for a wife, and a son, John, who had been tole- 
 rably educated, and was used to enunciate 
 criticisms in the Green-room for the instruc- 
 tion of the actors. " Mr. Cummings," said he 
 one day at dinner, " reads Shakspeare better 
 than any man in England I" — " The present 
 company excepted, Jacky,'"* responded Tate, 
 with a mixture of personal pique and paternal 
 fondness. 
 
 Wilkinson is certainly one of the most well- 
 known characters which the dramatic world in 
 the past century produced, partly because he 
 was the pupil and associate of Foote, partly on 
 account of his talents and eccentricities, and 
 partly in regard to his managerial importance. 
 As a mimic or man possessing the power of 
 readily discovering and adopting all the exter- 
 nal peculiarities of character, perhaps he is the 
 greatest upon record. The name of " Imitator*" 
 is so familiar to the ears of the present gene- 
 ration, that 1 should fear any explanation of 
 its meaning would be deemed too gratuitous; 
 but as there are a good many people in the 
 world who draw no distinctions, perhaps my 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 ACTORS AND IMITAlORS. 
 
 reader will permit me to remark, that though 
 acting is founded on imitation, it by no 
 means follows that an actor and an imitator 
 are one and the same thing. Acting is com- 
 posed of two things, — imitation and identifi- 
 cation. The actor must giv^ the mind with 
 the manner, — he is a creature of S3'mpathy ; the 
 imitator is merely one of discernment. There 
 is another kind of imitation, which relates to 
 animals and mechanical sounds, and this no 
 doubt requires its pecuHar faculty ; but whether 
 the faculty of the actor and the imitator be 
 identical or distinct, it being evident that the 
 means of the latter are the physical requisites 
 of the former possessed in a higher degree, 
 namely, flexibility of voice and features ! I 
 think that the mimic is entitled to a modicum 
 of praise, and that Tate Wilkinson, as the 
 most higiily gifted of mimics, should receive 
 the utmost. 
 
 It is an old theatrical remark, that your sound 
 actor is generally but as indifferent a mimic, as 
 your clever mimic is a superficial actor ; — that 
 the one cannot confine himself to the surface of 
 
ANECDOTES OP TATE*S CAREER. 171 
 
 character, nor the other go below it. Estcourt 
 is the first instance upon record of a man who 
 combined the abilities of both. Foote is the 
 most splendid, and Matthews may be termed 
 " the last one of his race.'' Estcourt is cele- 
 brated in having Colley Gibber for his his- 
 torian, Foote for his various other and original 
 qualities. Matthews, perhaps, stands more im- 
 mediately upon the base of his own merits, and 
 the public have long since determined their 
 value. These are actors and mimics. Wilkin- 
 son was no actor ; but of his talents as a mimic 
 I will give a few illustrations. 
 
 Dodd and Mrs. Bulkley were now at York 
 starring it; and Tate, Dodd, and I, dined toge- 
 ther daily. When the bottle had mellowed the 
 eccentric into good humour and memory, he 
 would one day give us Shakspeare's " Seven 
 Ages,'' distinguishing each age with the respec- 
 tive peculiarity of seven popular actors who 
 played Jaques ; at another time he would invent 
 a game of whist between Macklin, Mrs. Clive, 
 Shuter, and Mrs. Pritchard ; again he would fix 
 on a particular person, Garrick for instance, 
 1 S 
 
172 IMITATIONS OF FOOTE IN LONDON, 
 
 and describe a scene between him and a sexage- 
 narian washerwoman, who had brought home 
 Mrs. Garrick's things instead of his, and was 
 reading the bill to him. But the most amusing 
 matter of his table-talk was his personal anec- 
 dotes, which, as they are not generally known, 
 will answer my double object, by being trans- 
 ferred to these pages. 
 
 When Foote first discovered Tate's ability, 
 he determined to make his introduction to the 
 pubhc a source of amusement to himself. Be- 
 ing advertised for a popular character, he re- 
 hearsed Wilkinson in it, not merely with the 
 view of the latter's playing it instead, but in 
 imitation of himself. This design was kept pro- 
 foundly secret. At night the house was full ; 
 Wilkinson was dressed ; and Foote retreated to 
 his box, to lie in ambush, and watch the result. 
 The great attraction was Foote, and expectation 
 was in pangs for his appearance. Tate at length 
 entered, and walked, talked, shuffled, snuffed, 
 hitched, and fidgeted so like the real Simon 
 Pure, that the hoax completely succeeded, and 
 " Bravo, Foote ! what fine spirits Sam's in to- 
 
AND OP PEG WOFFINGTON AT DUBLIN. 17.^ 
 
 night !" were the general exclamations. Foote 
 at that time experienced some enmity from the 
 press, and the critics, as usual, lashed him for 
 his performance ; but on the same morning he 
 divulged the joke, and at night led Wilkinson 
 on the stage to introduce him to the public, 
 saying, that " as they had received his Foote 
 so favourably, he hoped they would now take 
 him by the hand." Thus Tate rose immediately 
 into notice, and Sam raised a laugh against his 
 judges. 
 
 One of the peculiarities of Tate's voice was 
 its sweetness. On his first visit to Dublin with 
 Foote, they were engaged by Barry and Mos- 
 sop, to give their entertainment on the alternate 
 nights, with Peg Woffington"'s performance. 
 Foote considered that it would be an attractive 
 feature in the bill, if he announced an imitation 
 of the above lady by Wilkinson ; but the design 
 coming to her ears, she sent Sam an abusive 
 note, acquainting him, that if he attempted to 
 take her off, she had some friends in Dublin 
 who would oblige him to take himself off. Foote 
 showed the epistle to his companion, who, 
 
174 IMITATIONS OF FOOTE IN LONDON, 
 
 nothing daunted, proposed, that instead of an 
 '^ imitation,"''' they should give a scene from 
 Alexander the Great, in character, — Foote 
 mimicking Barry in the hero, and Wilkinson 
 Mrs. W. as Roxana. Preparations were accord- 
 ingly made, and their bills pubhshed : — what 
 gave a greater zest to the announcement was, that 
 Alexander the Great had been played the night 
 before. Among the flood of spectators came 
 Peg in person, and seated herself in the stage- 
 box, not only to enlist the audience in her 
 favour, and silence Foote by her appearance, 
 (which was truly beautiful,) but if any thing 
 occurred, to give the wink to a party of young 
 Irish in the pit, who would rise up to execute 
 immediate vengeance on the mimics. Sam and 
 Tate were thus treading on the surface of a 
 secret mine. 
 
 . When Foote appeared, as he could present 
 no resemblance to Barry but in manner and 
 accent, the surprise was necessarily transferred 
 to the entrance of his companion, a tall and 
 dignified female, something like the original in 
 face, but so like in figure and deportment, that 
 
AND OF PEG WOFFINGTON AT DUBLIN. 175 
 
 the spectators glanced their eyes from box to 
 stage, and stage to box, to convince themselves 
 of Mrs. W/s identity. Peg herself was not 
 the least astonished, and her myrmidons below 
 were uncertain how to act. 
 
 Foote commenced the scene sufficiently like 
 Barry to have procured applause, had not Tate 
 thrown himself into one of Peg's favourite at- 
 titudes meanwhile, and diverted the attention. 
 Eye and ear were now directed to the latter, 
 and the first tone of his voice drew a thunder- 
 ing response from the lips of his auditors. As 
 he proceeded, the effect increased ; the house 
 was electrified ; his enemies were overpowered, 
 and Peg herself set the seal to his talents, hy 
 beating her fan to pieces on the beading of the 
 boxes. 
 
 Tate acknowledged this to be the greatest 
 triumph of his life, and I can fully subscribe to 
 its truth, since, in imitating that angel-toned 
 woman Mrs. Barry, he needed but a veil over 
 his face to have convinced me of her presence. 
 
 In this company I became acquainted with 
 that northern star of the dramatic hemisphere, 
 
176 CUMMINGS THE YORK FAVOURITE: 
 
 Cummings, who so long, in the opinion of the 
 York audience, maintained a pre-eminence over 
 his tragic contemporaries. This must have been 
 about the time of his dtbut in the profession, 
 and however he may have improved or decHned 
 since, he was an actor then of marked origina- 
 lity in characters like Hotspur, Alexander, and 
 Chamont, and possessed a genius for the bold, 
 the rugged, and romantic, which one would 
 have thought had been inhaled from the woods 
 and rocks he had been born and bred among. 
 If his fame, however, extended beyond the 
 sphere of his exertions, it led to no material 
 results, as he concluded his career where he 
 commenced it, and his name is only recognized 
 now by his great natural qualification — his 
 voice ; this v/as indeed a " most miraculous 
 organ." Barry's had more sweetness and flexi- 
 bility, but Cummings' the greater compass and 
 strength. My reader from this will infer his 
 great fault — the power he possessed seduced 
 him into a habit of ranting, which the public 
 being pleased with, confirmed him in. Thus, 
 when John Kenable visited York, he was told 
 
HIS DEATH. 177 
 
 by the gallery, he " cud na shoot oot laik 
 Coomens." 
 
 The death of this gentleman was another of 
 those singular coincidences of which John Pal- 
 mer's is a well-known instance. 
 
 He was playing Dumont in " Jane Shore*" 
 at a town in the York circuit, and in the last 
 scene with his wife, when he had repeated the 
 words — 
 
 " Be witness for me, ye celestial hosts, 
 Such mercy and such pardon as my soul 
 Accords to thee, and begs of Heaven to show thee, 
 3Iay such befall me at my latest hour !" — 
 
 he tottered an instant, sunk down, and expired. 
 The audience, mistaking this for an intended 
 " point," rewarded him in the usual way ; but, 
 alas ! he was for ever insensible to their notice ! 
 real and mimic life were essentially mingled 
 into a departed shadow, and the actor was now 
 upon a level with the monarchs and heroes it 
 had been his highest ambition to imitate. 
 
 I have one word to say of a comedian whose 
 name is not sufficiently remembered — Dodd. He 
 was " starring" it, as I have said, at York, in 
 I 5 
 
178 REMINISCENCE OF DODD. 
 
 his best characters. Dodd was the royal last one 
 of the line of Fops whose dynasty commenced 
 with Colley Gibber. He was a worthy asso- 
 ciate of King, Yates, and Parsons ; four such 
 comedians, in my humble opinion, never having 
 played together in any other country, or at any 
 other time. Dodd is forgotten, because the 
 characters in which he was eminent have ceased 
 to interest on the stage, the originals that sug- 
 gested them having long since disappeared from 
 society ; but, notwithstanding their memories 
 are embalmed in " The School for Scandal," his 
 compeers have not been more fortunate in es- 
 caping an unmerited oblivion, which is the fate 
 of the actor who lives only in the memory of 
 those who behold him ; and, unless he has tact 
 enough like Garrick or Foote to attach himself 
 to the literary or fashionable history of the day, 
 can claim no acquaintance with the generations 
 that follow. 
 
 From York we proceeded to Halifax, where, 
 the Theatre undergoing repair, an immense loft 
 had been fitted up ad interim^ under which was 
 a livery stable. Here we had an amusing proof 
 
CUMMINGS IN ALEXANDER. 179 
 
 of the power of Mr. Cummings* tones. Our 
 opening play was Alexander the Great ; in the 
 mad scene of which, when our hero sprang on* 
 the table and addressed his war-horse — 
 
 " Bear me, Bucephalus, among the billows," — 
 
 his voice swelled and reverberated to that degree, 
 that the steeds below, identifying themselves 
 with that noble animal, sent up a simultaneous 
 response, and neighed their approbation for 
 nearly ten minutes together. This unlooked- 
 for compliment had an injurious effect upon the 
 sensibilities of the audience. 
 
 At Wakefield our trip terminated. A week 
 had scarcely elapsed in this delightful town, 
 before I received a letter from Mr. Hughes, 
 acquainting me that he intended opening the 
 Exeter season a fortnight earlier than I had 
 been apprized ; — my services were therefore 
 immediately required. But five weeks of my 
 engagement to Tate having elapsed, I was in 
 some uncertainty how to act ; however, I took 
 the advice of my wife, and carried the epistle to 
 my manager. When he had looked over it, he 
 returned it with a smile, and said, " Well, it 's 
 
180 ANECDOTE OP TATE WILKINSON. 
 
 rather hard ; but if you are bound to go, Mr. 
 Bernard, you mustn't lose " the immediate 
 jewel of your sour on my account — your good 
 name. Send off your boxes by the waggon to- 
 night, and take your places in the morning 
 coach, and settle matters before you start." 
 
 I have hitherto spoken of Wilkinson as a 
 mimic, — I would wish to record a line to his 
 memory as a man. We followed his advice in 
 regard to our luggage and places, and break- 
 fasted on the morrow at the inn, where we 
 awaited his arrival. He came within five mi- 
 nutes of the vehicle's departure, bade us a cor- 
 dial farewell, and slipping a rouleau into my 
 hand, which he told me to look over on the road, 
 hinted some engagement, and hurried away. 
 
 I have told my reader that our engagement 
 was sixty guineas for six weeks, the manager 
 receiving our benefits. We had played but five 
 weeks, and a benefit in Wakefield was to come ; 
 consequently I conjectured that he would have 
 deducted at least a third of the sum. On open- 
 ing the parcel, I found the sixty guineas. 
 
 I take greater pleasure iu recording this in- 
 
EXETER ENGAGEMENT AT BATH. 181 
 
 stance of an actor's generosity, than in penning 
 any eulogium to his talents: the latter, as I 
 have said before, can only be appreciated by 
 the few who remember him ; the former, thank 
 Heaven ! is a common object of value with all 
 persons and ages whatever. 
 
 Proceeding southwardly, we reached and 
 rested in the metropolis a day, and joined Mr. 
 Hughes at Exeter on the morning of his open- 
 ing performance. 
 
 The ensuing winter was spent not less to 
 my pleasure than my profit ; but as nothing 
 occurred which would enliven these pages if 
 transferred to them, I pass over the period with 
 the simple mention of what is necessary to its 
 historical connection. 
 
 Mr. Palmer, from Bath, paid my wife and 
 self another visit, and secured our services for 
 the succeeding season. 
 
 As the spring advanced, Mrs. Bernard's health 
 appeared to have suffered from her professional 
 exertions. I was accordingly induced to decline 
 an offer from Tate Wilkinson to renew my ac- 
 quaintance with the North, and accepted an 
 
182 THE PLEASURES OF REST ! 
 
 vitation from my mother to pass the summer at 
 Portsmouth. 
 
 There, in the bosom of domestic comfort, one 
 of the happiest portions of my life fled away. 
 Mrs. B.'s health was invigorated. My appetite 
 for acting abated, and it was not without a pang 
 of regret that we received Mr. Palmer's sum- 
 i;nons, as defining the limit to our little term of 
 enjoyment. So delightful is rest and relaxa- 
 tion, even to those whose being has been de- 
 scribed as a fever, and whose history but one 
 long wandering ! 
 
BATH. 183 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1777-8. — Bath, Green-room. — Edwin's " Life and Eccentri- 
 cities." — Edwin's merits. — Production of " The School for 
 Scandal.*' — Sheridan's particularity. — Its success and "cast/' 
 — Anecdotes of Quin. — Sarcasm on NobiUty. — Belief in Py- 
 thagoras. — Explanation of the superabundance of Women. 
 — Mode of expelling a Bore. — Definition of a Gamester. — 
 Cato-Uke complacency — Reply to Ryan — His Siamese 
 Soup. — Richmond. — Bob Bowles from Norwich — A Doc- 
 tor's Bill Fawcettand his Jokes. — Barry and the Barber. 
 
 — Kitty CHve and Mrs. Gibber, Garrick's persecutors. — 
 King and his " Barber's Pole.'* — Exeter. 
 
 1778-9.— CompUation of " The School for Scandal."— Pri- 
 
 vateer Speculation Does the " Fly" bite ? — Becky Wells. 
 
 — Dramatic transitions. — Exeter. 
 
 1779-80 — Doctor Jackson and his Pupils. — Anecdote of In- 
 cledon. — Anecdote of Davy*s (the Composer) Origin and 
 Musical Precocity. — Exeter. 
 
 1780-81-2.— Ireland. 
 
 . It was in the winter of 1777-8 that Mrs. 
 Bernard and myself made our first appearance 
 on the Bath boards, (in Portia and Gratiano, to 
 Mr. Henderson's Shylock,) and were favourably 
 received. 
 
184 BA.TH. 
 
 Of the character of the Bath audience I have 
 already made mention (perhaps unnecessarily) ; 
 and every particular relating to the life, public 
 or private, of Mr. Palmer, the patentee, is so 
 well known, that I shall forbear putting my 
 reader's patience to the test by any repetitions. 
 It will be sufficient if I simply add my little 
 mite to the solid store of a reputation, estimable 
 as it was admirable, which, so long as the Ame- 
 rican war is remembered, must be linked to it 
 by the subscription of nearly a million sterling, 
 which that gentleman set on foot and collected 
 in Bath, in aid of the public operations. 
 
 That the emporium of fashion, the spot which 
 at that time concentrated all the rank, wealth, 
 and luxury of the kingdom, should have been 
 most adapted to the promotion of theatricals, 
 can be no wonder. The proportion of those 
 who went therefor pleasure, always exceeded the 
 body who were seeking for health ; and as our 
 visitors were mostly birds of passage, the Thea- 
 tre was a converging point, where strangers 
 could obtain a view of the " beauty and fashion," 
 without the trouble of an introduction. Our 
 
GREEN-ROOM. 185 
 
 boxes, indeed, did not much exceed in dimen- 
 sions a large drawing-room, — with this difference, 
 that a splendid party could always be enter- 
 tained there without a crush. This was a for- 
 tunate state of things for Mr. Palmer, and he 
 never had a more successful season than the 
 present. 
 
 The principal members of our Green-room 
 were Edwin, Dimond, Diddear, Blisset, and 
 Rowbotham (Henderson was now engaged at 
 Covent Garden). Most of these persons were 
 men of ability and worth (Mr. Dimond in parti- 
 cular) ; but neither in their lives or characters 
 presented any features which my reader would 
 be gratified in knowing ; whilst Edwin, with 
 whom I was most intimate, and of whom my 
 reader might expect some recollections, is a 
 sealed book to me, I having assisted a gentle- 
 man, by the name of Anthony Pasquin, some 
 five-and-thirty years ago, to write the " Life 
 and Eccentricities'" of the above peculiar human 
 being and comedian. And now finding myself 
 forestalled in the anecdotes of our companion- 
 ship at Bath, which would have otherwise graced 
 
186 EDWIN'S LIFE AND ECCENTRICITIES. 
 
 these pages, I therefore pass on to other mat- 
 ters, with this little memorial to his merits. 
 • Edwin was the greatest genius which, in my 
 eight-and-forty years' acquaintance with the 
 Stage, and some thousand miles' acquaintance 
 with the surface of the earth, I have encoun- 
 tered. He was a natural comedian, or a man 
 not so much distinguished for his insight into 
 other character, as his absorption in his own : 
 he had but one character, and was made up 
 of but one ingredient — humour, which, like an 
 inexhaustible spring, poured forth perpetually, 
 colouring his public and private life with the 
 same tincture. He required no theatre to give 
 him excitement or exercise ; lamplight and day- 
 light had an identical influence ; the street and 
 the stage to him were synonymous terms; — in 
 fact, he very happily confounded the distinction 
 of the verbs, for " to act" with him was " to 
 be." One characteristic of his acting may be 
 inferred from this, — want of variety. He was 
 always himself, — he could not imitate: unin- 
 structed by judgment, unsupported by rule, 
 he did every thing from predisposition and 
 
" THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL." 187 
 
 impulse : no artist, like King or Yates, or even 
 Shuter, he was simple Nature overflowing its 
 reservoir; — like Weston or Parsons, but in a 
 greater degree. 
 
 The first and greatest novelty of the season 
 was the production of "The School for Scandal ;" 
 to superintend the rehearsals of which, the au- 
 thor came down in person. This was no slight 
 compliment to the judgment of the Bath audi- 
 ence, who were to confiriai or cavil at the verdict 
 passed upon the merits of his composition in 
 London. We were certainly not a body of 
 clumsy or ignorant people in the Bath Theatre ; 
 but such was Sheridan's particularity, that he 
 took a fortnight to get up the play, and drilled 
 all the servants and underlings himself : nothing, 
 however, could be more pleasant or polite than 
 his manner of doing so. In his sensitiveness as 
 an author, he never lost sight of his propriety 
 as a gentleman. The person that gave him the 
 most trouble was Edwin, who was continually 
 forgetting his business, making wrong exits, 
 entrances, and crossings. Sheridan, with the 
 utmost good humour, put him right every 
 
188 " THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.'' 
 
 morning. On the play-day, it was expected 
 every gentleman would be as aufait to the me- 
 chanism of his character as the words; — every 
 one was but John, who had been out to supper 
 the previous evening, and spunged away, with 
 the punch he had drunk, nearly all the remarks 
 upon the " book and volume of his brain"*"* She- 
 ridan had made. The latter could not now re- 
 strain his feelings, but at the first lapsus shout- 
 ed out, " Good God ! Mr. Edwin, there you go 
 again ! — you 've lost your situation. Sir !" Mr. 
 Palmer was on the stage, and Edwin, cocking 
 his eye on him, replied, " I hope I 'm not 
 discharged I'"* 
 
 The success of this comedy's production am- 
 ply compensated for the trouble thus bestowed. 
 The hit was even greater here than in town ; on 
 two accounts — the superiority of talent in its 
 original performance, and the higher ordeal it 
 was submitted to, being played before what is 
 termed an exclusive box-audience. Sheridan had 
 thus the gratification of meeting the full accom- 
 plishment of his ambition. I forget now how 
 many nights it ran, but the cast was as follows : 
 
ANECDOTES OF QUIN. 
 
 189 
 
 Sir Peter . 
 Sir Oliver . 
 Joseph , . 
 Charles . . 
 Sir Benjamin 
 Crabtree 
 
 Lady Teazle 
 Mrs. Candour 
 
 Mr. Keasberry, our acting manager at Bath, 
 
 Edwin. 
 
 Blisset. 
 
 Dimond. 
 
 Diddear. 
 
 Bernard. 
 
 Egan. 
 
 Mrs. Diddear. 
 Mrs. Bernard. 
 
 e Theatre, and a man 
 information. He was 
 
 was an old standard in th 
 of very great professional 
 our Green-room story-book ; and whenever his 
 duty was suspended on the stage, would assume 
 an equally pleasant one off. Of all his recollec- 
 tions, those which related to Quin (who retired 
 to Bath on quitting London) were to me the 
 most grateful. 
 
 The mere mention of Quin's name, I expect, 
 has caused an erection of my reader's ears : he 
 and Foote are considered by the public as a 
 kind of " general dealers'"* in laughable commo- 
 dities, infixhaustible springs of good humour, 
 or amaranthine flowers of sentiment always 
 
190 ANECDOTES OF QUIN. 
 
 blossoming. The persons who have contrived 
 this illusion are the editors of " Punster's 
 Pocket Books," and the " Wif s Vade-Mecum,"' 
 who not only rake and scrape the ashes of the 
 past, to find their objects " gold and silver," 
 but yearly affihate upon those gentlemen a num- 
 ber of their own and other people's bantlings. 
 If, therefore, (to carry on the image,) I intro- 
 duce any of Quin's neglected offspring to my 
 reader, I do it chiefly on the ground of their 
 being legitimate. 
 
 An actor has certainly one thing to boast of — 
 that the four greatest wits (i. e. most frequently 
 quoted) of the past century were members of 
 his profession : — to commence with that very 
 reverend gentleman, Mr. Joseph Miller ; Foote, 
 Quin, and Charles Bannister; Sheridan even, 
 who may be thought by many to claim pre- 
 eminence, was the son of an actor, and the 
 manager of a theatre. I pass over the question 
 which would seem to grow out of this fact, 
 (whether there be not something in the atmo- 
 sphere of a playhouse conducive to the above 
 ability,) to observe that, of these persons, Quin 
 
SARCASM ON NOBILITY. 191 
 
 and Foote associated with the best company, 
 and that Quin, Hke Foote, was distinguished 
 for . a certain contempt for a portion of the 
 society he courted, namely, the more noble but 
 less intelligent. 
 
 Dining one day at a party in Bath, Quin 
 uttered something which caused a general mur- 
 mur of delight. A nobleman present, who was 
 not illustrious for the brilliancy of his ideas, 
 exclaimed, " What a pity "'tis, Quin, my boy, 
 that a clever fellow like you should be a 
 player !""* Quin fixed and flashed his eye upon 
 the person, with this reply, " What would your 
 Lordship have me be ? — a Lord !" 
 
 Quin was also distinguished for his attach- 
 ment to the society of females ; though the ac- 
 counts which have been handed down of his 
 rugged habits and propensities may have led 
 my reader to the contrary supposition. Where 
 ladies were present one evening, the subject of 
 conversation was the doctrine of Pythagoras. 
 Quin remained silent. One of the party (re- 
 markable for the whiteness of her neck) asked 
 Quin his opinion, — "Do you believe in the trans- 
 
192 BELIEF IN PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 migration of souls, Mr. Quin ?" — "Oh, yes, 
 Madam !" — " And pray may I inquire, what 
 creature's form you would prefer hereafter to 
 inhabit ?"— " A fly's. Madam." — " A fly !"— 
 " Yes, that I might have the pleasure, at some 
 future day, of resting on your Ladyship's neck."' 
 
 There was infinite delicacy in the following : 
 Being asked by a lady why it was reported that 
 there were more women in the world than men, 
 he replied, " It is in conformity with the ar- 
 rangements of nature. Madam : we always see 
 more of heaven than earth !" 
 
 The measure of his devotion to the fair could 
 only be equalled by his detestation for those 
 creatures of his own sex, who mimicked the 
 former's accent and daintiness. Taking his 
 soup one day at a coff*ee-house in Bath, two 
 gentlemen came in and blockaded the fireplace, 
 one of whom appeared to be a walking com- 
 pound of wig, lace, ruffles, rose-water, and the 
 Bath Directory. The room was rather full, 
 and, for this reason, the latter person com- 
 menced a detail of his fashionable connections 
 and advantages. Quin immediately desisted 
 
EXPELLING A BORE. 193 
 
 from eating, looked up, and made wry faces. 
 The sprig of jessamine was pleased, however, 
 with the notice he excited, and continued in an 
 effeminate tone sufficiently audible to disturb 
 and disgust all around him, whose expressions 
 he construed as the tokens of wonder or envy. 
 Quin rose up and walked about the room ; the 
 lady-like creature paid no attention to this, but 
 entered into a list of his weekly engagements, 
 and numbered the peers who would be of the 
 parties. Quin could contain himself no longer, 
 and rang the bell furiously. " Waiter," said he, 
 " bring me a bason." — "A bason. Sir !" — "Aba- 
 son ; I'm going to be sick." Away flew the waiter; 
 and Quin, stepping up to the obnoxious person, 
 begged he would delay his conversation a few 
 minutes. The object stared as though thunder- 
 struck, but was silent. The eyes of the company 
 were now directed to Quin, in inquisitive sur- 
 prise : the waiter returned ; Quin took the bason 
 and placed it on the table near his soup; he 
 then unbuttoned his coat, loosened his cravat, 
 and, leaning his head over the utensil, exclaimed, 
 " Now, Sir, proceed when you like ; I 'm ready !" 
 VOL. J. K 
 
194 quin's complacency. 
 
 His design and action convulsed the room in 
 an instantaneous roar of laughter, which answer- 
 ed the desired end ; for the " young gentleman," 
 becoming incensed, uttered a loud " demm^" 
 and made a speedy retreat. 
 
 There was some wit in his definition of a 
 gamester, (one Major Townsend, a celebrated 
 elbow-shaker of those times,) whom he com- 
 pared to the sun, because he always set at night, 
 and rose in the morning. 
 
 Quin played Cato very well, which I attri- 
 bute to some constitutional resemblance between 
 the two. He was generally " as cool (to use a 
 vulgarism) as a cucumber." Some person whom 
 he had offended, met him one day in the street, 
 and stopped him. ** Mr. Quin," said he, " I — I 
 -r-I understand. Sir, you have been taking away 
 my name!" — "What have I said. Sir.?" — 
 "You — you — you called me a scoundrel, 
 Sir !" — " Keep your name," replied Quin, and 
 walked on. 
 
 Quin in his old age, every one knows, became 
 a great gourmand, and, among other things, 
 invented a composition, which he called his 
 
HIS " SIAMESE SOUP.'^ 195 
 
 " Siamese soup,'" pretending that its ingredients 
 were principally from the "East." The pecu- 
 liarity of its flavour became the topic of the 
 day. The " rage" at Bath was Mr. Quin's 
 soup ; but as he would not part with the recipe, 
 this state of notice was highly inconvenient ; 
 every person of taste was endeavouring to dine 
 with him ; every dinner he was at, an apology 
 was made for the absence of the " Siamese 
 soup.**"* His female friends Quin was forced to 
 put off with promises; the males received a 
 respectful but manly denial. A conspiracy was 
 accordingly projected by a dozen bon vivants 
 of Bath, against his peace and comfort. At 
 home he was flooded with anonymous letters ; 
 abroad, beset with applications under every form. 
 The possession of this secret was made a canker 
 to all his enjoyments. At length he discovered 
 the design, and determined on revenge. Collect- 
 ing the names of the principal confederates, he 
 invited them to dinner, promising to give them 
 the recipe before they departed — an invita- 
 tion, as my reader will suppose, which was 
 joyfully accepted. Quin then gave a pair 
 k2 
 
196 RECIPE FOR 
 
 of hm old boots to the housemaid to scour 
 and soak, and when sufficiently seasoned, to 
 chop up into fine particles, like minced meat. 
 On the appointed day, he took these particles, 
 and pouring them into a copper pot, with sage, 
 onions, spice, ham, wine, water, and other ingre- 
 dients, composed a mixture of about two gal- 
 lons, which was served up at his table as his 
 " Siamese soup." The company were in trans- 
 ports at its flavour ; but Quin, pleading a cold, 
 did not taste it. A pleasant evening was spent, 
 and when the hour of departure arrived, each 
 person pulled out his tablets to write down the 
 recipe. Quin now pretended that he had forgot 
 making the promise ; but his guests were not to 
 be put off; and closing the door, they told him 
 in plain terms, that neither he nor they should 
 quit the room till his pledge had been redeem- 
 ed. Quin stammered and evaded, and kept them 
 from the point as long as possible ; but when 
 their patience was bearing down all bounds, his 
 reluctance gave way. 
 
 " Well, then, Gentlemen," said he, " in the 
 first place,take an old pair of boots — !" — "What ! 
 
197 
 
 an old pair of boots !" — " The older the better ;" 
 — (they stared at each other)—" cut off their tops 
 and soles, and soak them in a tub of water" — 
 (they hesitated) — "chop them into fine particles, 
 and pour them into a pot with two gallons and 
 a half of water."—" Why, d— n it, Quin," they 
 simultaneously exclaimed, " you don't mean to 
 say that the soup we've been drinking was 
 made of old boots!" — " I do, Gentlemen," he 
 replied, by " G — d ! my cook will assure you 
 she chopped them up." They required no such 
 attestation ; his cool, inflexible expression was 
 sufficient : in an instant, horror and despair were 
 depicted on each countenance, in the full convic- 
 tion they were individually poisoned. Quin, 
 observing this, begged them not to be alarmed, 
 since he could contemplate no dangerous results 
 from their dinner ; but if they thought it would 
 sit uneasy on their stomachs, there was an apo- 
 thecary's shop in the next street. The hint 
 was taken : an idea of personal safety subdued 
 the rising throbs of indignation. Seizing their 
 hats, away flew the whole bevy down the stairs, 
 and along the street to the place advised, where 
 
198 BOB BOWLES. 
 
 ipecacuanha and other provocatives were speedily 
 procured, and the " Siamese soup" (and all its 
 concomitants) was speedily disgorged. 
 
 Mr. Keasberry engaged the Richmond Thea- 
 tre for the ensuing summer, and made proposals 
 to myself and wife to join him, which were 
 accepted. 
 
 Richmond had an agreeable sound in my ears, 
 on two accounts : it was adjacent to London, 
 where I might run in occasionally and see an 
 old friend ; and it had advantages for fishing, a 
 sport to which I was as much addicted as Bob 
 Bowles. 
 
 Bob Bowles, by the by, was a member of the 
 company. He had at length been detected in 
 some gross trick upon his manager, and lost his 
 Norwich situation. He had brought his wife 
 with him, who was extremely ill, and thus de- 
 prived of her professional services ; his own 
 salary afforded but a meagre pittance for their 
 support. The doctor, however, who attended 
 Mrs. Bowles, contracted a great liking for her 
 husband's society ; and the latter, who was my 
 invariable partner in a fishing excursion, would 
 
A doctor's bill. 199 
 
 send the " Son of JEsculapius" a brace of perch, 
 or some other piscatory dainty, as a judicious 
 mode of conciliating his temper against the day 
 of reckoning. 
 
 At the end of the season, Bowles, not having 
 a sufficiency of coppers to carry him out of the 
 town, addressed a very lachrymose letter to the 
 physician, entreating his patience till enabled, 
 at some future day, to answer his demand. 
 The humane man returned him a note to this 
 effect: — 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 u With my sincere sympathy in your pre- 
 sent situation, and best wishes for your future 
 good fortune, I beg to enclose you the sum of 
 one guinea, being the balance due to you as 
 per bill annexed.'' 
 
 The bill was as follows : — 
 
 
 
 £ 
 Mr. Bowles to Doctor . . 6 
 
 s. 
 1 
 
 d. 
 
 
 By perch at sundry times . 7 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 Balance due to Mr. Bowles 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 
200 FAWCETT AND HIS JOKES. 
 
 Another member of our corps at Richmond 
 was a Mr. Fawcett, (father of the present come- 
 dian,) an understrapper at Drury Lane, who 
 went on for such characters as a conspirator in 
 " Venice Preserved ;" worthy old servants who 
 look intelligent, but say nothing; or dignified 
 dukes, whose nobility consists in wearing ermine 
 robes, and sitting at the top of a table. Faw- 
 cett, though a wretched actor, was a very plea- 
 sant fellow in company ; he was another of that 
 numerous class of persons on the stage, who are 
 capital comedians in private life. Fawcett and 
 Bowles were our Green-room battledores, keeping 
 the laugh up between them with equal adroit- 
 ness; but of all the things Fawcett repeated, 
 (and his head was the repository of not a few,) 
 those told the best which told against himself.. • 
 
 I will give my reader an example. He was 
 a member of a club in the City, where his songs 
 and jokes, and professional character, rendered 
 him a man of note. One of his companions was 
 a peaceable pains-taking barber, who always en- 
 cored his effusions, in return for which Fawcett 
 
BARRY AND THE BARBER. 201 
 
 gave him an order for a wig, and desired the 
 knight of the curling-tongs to bring it to the 
 Theatre on a particular night, and fit it on him- 
 self, when the actor had to perform a particular 
 character, which depended more on its ap- 
 pearance, than its language. The barber, who 
 knew nothing more of a theatre than its outside 
 presented, supposed that Fawcett must be as 
 great a man there as he was at the Club : punc- 
 tual to his time, he accordingly strutted up to 
 the stage-door, with no small importance, and 
 was conducted to Fawcett's room. The wig 
 fitted to a hair, and he received, with his cus- 
 tomer'*s thanks, a direction to find his way down- 
 stairs. Making a wrong turning, he descended 
 some steps which led to the back of the stage, 
 and, meeting with no obstacle, strolled down to 
 the second wing, O. P. 
 
 This happened to be the first night of Barry's 
 performance, who was engaged for a limited 
 period ; and had stipulated in his article, that 
 the same order and attention which was ob- 
 served on Garrick's nights, should be main- 
 K 5 
 
202 BARRY AND THE BARBER. 
 
 tained during his. Not a sound was to be 
 heard behind the scenes, nor a figure to be seen, 
 save the prompter at his particular post. 
 
 The Barber made his appearance at the wing, 
 in the midst of Othello's address, and protruded 
 his body so far as to become visible to half the 
 house. The sudden glare of hghts and human 
 faces at first astounded, and then transported 
 him, and there being no one in the way to re- 
 move him, he soon excited the risibility of the 
 pit by his gestures and grimaces. 
 
 The Moor was not of a more fiery tempera- 
 ment than Barry, who attributed this intrusion 
 to design, particularly when flashing his full 
 eye upon the fellow, and interlarding his ora- 
 tion with side speeches, they, instead of effecting 
 his removal, served only to stupify and root 
 him more firmly to the spot Part of Barry's 
 speech accordingly ran thus : — 
 
 " For little of this great world can I speak" — 
 (Who are you.? What do you do here.?) — "more, 
 than pertains to feats of broil and battle;" — (PU 
 break every bone in your skin.) — " and therefore 
 
BARRY AND THE BARBER. 203 
 
 little shall I grace my cause" (Will you be gone, 
 Sir? — "by speaking of myself" — (An infernal 
 rascal.) 
 
 To these several pointed addresses, the Bar- 
 ber yielded no other response than " Go to the 
 devil ! " which was loud enough, however, to 
 be heard in the first row of the pit. Barry 
 now concluded this to be a scheme on the 
 part of Garrick, to ruffle and insult him ; and 
 when he quitted the stage, rushed on the un^ 
 conscious criminal with all the fury of a hungry 
 hyena, grasped him by the throat, shook him 
 most unmercifully, and would no doubt have 
 proceeded to determine how far the Barber's 
 head resembled one of his own blocks, when the 
 actors interposed, and set the man at hberty. 
 Growling, and shaking himself like a tousled 
 cur, he looked at Barry an instant with a smile 
 of ineffable contempt, and then exclaimed, 
 " Never mind, Master Sambo, — never mind, — 
 I '11 do your business for you, depend on it !" — 
 " Do my business, you villain !" shouted Barry, 
 " what do you mean ?'' — " Why, you black 
 
204 KITTY CLIVE 
 
 rascal !" said the Barber, (evidently mistaking 
 Othello for a bona fide Moor,) '' 1 '11 speak to 
 Mr. Fawcett, and have you discharged !" 
 
 The merriment that Fawcett's name occa- 
 sioned, neither suited Barry nor the Barber. — 
 Garrick and Fawcett were summoned ; and the 
 latter, perceiving in an instant the truth of the 
 case, explained his friend's ignorance and mis- 
 apprehension. He was at length permitted to 
 conduct the bewildered Barber to the door, re- 
 ceiving himself a broadside from the manager, 
 as a means of conciliating Barry. 
 
 Whilst at Richmond, Mr. Keasberry one 
 morning took me to pay a visit to Kitty Clive 
 (an old acquaintance of his), who had retired to 
 this neighbourhood to enjoy the fruits of her pro- 
 fessional labours, like Miss Mackh'n. This lady 
 and Mrs. Gibber were Garrick's perpetual perse- 
 cutors ; — one, with her sweet looks and silver 
 tones, importuning him to patronize some poor 
 actor, — the other, with her tavern-room clap- 
 per, dunning him for orders. Garrick very 
 poetically used to compare the former to one of 
 Milton"'s faithful angels, and the latter to the 
 
AND MRS. GIBBER. 205 
 
 impersonation of all the fallen ones. Kitty, 
 whenever offended, would drive him about the 
 " house,'' like a terrier after a rat, and abuse 
 him to his face, till he was completely dumb- 
 founded. One day he lost his patience, and 
 exclaimed, " I tell you what, Mrs. Clive, I — 
 I — I tell you what, Ma'am, — if you — if you 
 repeat such language to me — me — David Gar- 
 rick, who am your manager, I — I — I'll in- 
 stantly discharge you." — " You dare not !" 
 she replied. " I daren't ?" — " No, — ^you know, 
 if I was to walk out of your doors, you'd run 
 to my house in a shower of rain, with your coat 
 off, to bring me back again !" 
 
 Considering all the hurricane peculiarities I 
 had heard of this lady, I was rather surprised 
 to find her a very mild and agreeable woman, 
 even in her own house, and under no excita- 
 tion. She and Keasberry galloped over the 
 track of past times with eminent fun and frolic. 
 Of all people in the world, those of the " pro- 
 fession" are most fond of recounting their lives, 
 and their's perhaps are the most amusing that 
 can be recounted. So many thousand conver- 
 
206 THE barber's pole. 
 
 sations of this sort however have I heard, that 
 I can remember nothing of the one in question, 
 but a story which Mrs. C. told of King, who 
 had been brought up a barber, and on his thea- 
 trical success not only disowned his early occu- 
 pation, but was keenly sensitive of any allusions 
 to it. 
 
 In playing a particular character one even- 
 ing, which required a stick. King mislaid his 
 own, and seized another at the wings, which 
 was too large and clumsy. Garrick met him as 
 he was going on, and observed it. — " Eh, eh, 
 Tom, what's that.'^ that won't do— cudgel, Irish 
 shilelagh ; — ^you're a man in high life — ought to 
 have a gold-headed cane." King was conscious 
 of its impropriety, and Garrick's observation 
 nettled him ; he therefore answered rather 
 testily, that *' he had lost his own, and must 
 use that, or go without one." — "Curse it, 
 Tom !" said the manager, " the people will say 
 you're going back to your old business, and 
 have brought your pole with you." The allusion 
 was sufficient, — King threw down the stick, and 
 ran about for another. 
 
EXETER. 207 
 
 At Richmond I accepted an offer from my 
 old manager, Mr. Hughes, to join him (with 
 Mrs. Bernard) at Weymouth, and from thence 
 proceed to Exeter, and I had sufficient influ- 
 ence to get my friend Bowles an engagement, 
 his wife returning to her family till his circum- 
 stances renovated. 
 
 I pass over this intermediate spot to our win- 
 ter destination, where I was welcomed by many 
 old acquaintance, and found that a sufficient 
 field was open to my exertions, the company of 
 the preceding season having left an unfavour- 
 able impression. 
 
 Mr. Hughes, aware of this, proposed, as a 
 means of bringing up his reputation, that we 
 should come forward as soon as possible with 
 some powerful novelty. *' The School for Scan- 
 dal" was then the general theme of conversa- 
 tion : it was the one topic in dramatic circles, 
 and its appearance formed a sort of epoch in 
 dramatic history. Its success at Bath had dis- 
 persed its fame about the West of England, 
 and it was highly probable that, if the play were 
 produced at Exeter, it would run a number of 
 
208 COMPILATION OF 
 
 nights to full houses. But the comedy was not 
 yet published, and the managers, who had 
 copies of it, had obtained them on condition 
 that they did not permit the same to become 
 the parents of others. This was a precaution of 
 Sheridan^s, not with any view of emolument, 
 but in order to preserve his language from mu- 
 tilation, and prevent the play being produced 
 at any theatre where the proper attention 
 could not be paid to its " getting up." 
 
 Under these circumstances, I offered to at- 
 tempt a compilation of the comedy, if Mr. 
 Hughes would give me his word that the ma- 
 nuscript should be destroyed at the end of the 
 season. This was agreed to, and I set about 
 my task in the following manner : — I had play- 
 ed Sir Benjamin at Bath, and Charles at Rich- 
 mond, and went on for Sir Peter one or two 
 evenings when Edwin was indisposed ; — thus I 
 had three parts in my possession. Dimond and 
 Blisset (Joseph and Sir Oliver) transmitted 
 their's by post, on conveying the assurance to 
 them which Mr. Hughes had to me. Old 
 Rowley was in the company, and my wife 
 
" THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL." 209 
 
 had played both Lady Teazle and Mrs. Can- 
 dour. With these materials for a groundwork, 
 my general knowledge of the play, collected in 
 rehearsing and performing in it above forty 
 times, enabled me in a week to construct a 
 comedy in five acts, called, in imitation of the 
 original, " The School for Scandal." 
 
 This comedy Mr. Hughes introduced to the 
 public, (without any explanation of the above,) 
 and it drew us crowded houses twice a-week, to 
 the end of the season. By this experiment I 
 added ten shillings a-week to my salary, and 
 reduced my benefit charges to a nominal 
 amount; but I derived little benefit myself 
 from the circumstance, owing to another, which 
 it may not be unamusing to relate. 
 
 About this time, war had broken out with^ 
 Holland, and light-armed boats would run 
 from Topsham and other ports to tow vari- 
 ous lumbering, heavy laden Dutchmen into 
 harbour, whose captains, knowing of the cir- 
 cumstance, had civilly invited the "Ainglesh- 
 men" on board his ship to take some grog and 
 sourcrout. I belonged at this time to a musi- 
 
210 PRIVATEER SPECULATION. 
 
 cal club in Exeter, the members of which, see- 
 ing what money was to be made by these ad- 
 ventures, subscribed among themselves to fit 
 out a cutter, and partake in the general specu- 
 lation. 
 
 The money being raised, a boat was pur- 
 chased — men were engaged — provisions laid in 
 — arms were provided, and a captain of known 
 courage and ability was selected for the com- 
 mand. On a clear spring morning, the " Fly 
 of Exeter,*" as the bark was denominated, gal- 
 lantly sailed out of Topsham, bearing with her 
 the best hopes and wishes of a concourse of 
 spectators. 
 
 On the next club night, one of the members 
 very kindly offered me a share, (£50.) being 
 desirous I should participate in the means of 
 suddenly converting my pockets into a Spa- 
 nish mine. I had hitherto travelled and lived 
 in great luxury, and fifty pounds I could not 
 command ; but this same person was so bent on 
 doing me a service, that he put it to the Club, 
 whether they would not be content to take the 
 receipts of my benefit, more or less, as an equi- 
 
DOES THE FLY BITE? 211 
 
 valent for a share. It was carried nem. con. — 
 As the house would not hold more than seventy 
 pounds, and the charges were eighteen pounds, a 
 slight reflection convinced me, that I could not 
 pay more than the amount by this arrange- 
 ment, and I subscribed my name to their list 
 and articles accordingly. 
 
 The period of the cruize was to be a month, 
 ' — which month, as my reader will suppose, con- 
 sisted of one long dream of golden indepen- 
 dence. At its expiration, to put an end both to 
 fear and fancy, the " Fly of Exeter*" return- 
 ed, — but as pretty, as safe, and as ignorant of 
 an enemy, or the ocean, as when she quitted us. 
 The captain, indeed, swore that he had sailed 
 fifteen hundred miles, meeting with nothing but 
 a tar-barrel or some sea-gulls, and his men very 
 faithfully bore him out. But the agent who 
 shipped the stores, going on board to shake 
 hands with him, contracted some suspicion of 
 his story, from the fresh appearance of the ves- 
 sel; and slipping down into the hold, unper- 
 ceived, found all the provisions (excepting spi- 
 rits) precisely in the same condition as when 
 
212 PRlVATEER SPECULATION. 
 
 they were received on board. These rogues 
 had, in this instance, proved themselves fools 
 also; for, had they taken the precaution of 
 throwing the meat overboard, their secret 
 would have been secure. The captain ^nd 
 crew were accordingly taken up and carried 
 before a magistrate, when the truths of the 
 case came out. 
 
 It appeared that, instead of proceeding to sea, 
 the rascal of a commander put into Falmouth, 
 where, preferring pretty girls, good grog, and a 
 tavern tap-room, to foul winds, hard blows, and 
 the hazard of a capture, he had moored his boat 
 by the wharves, and obtained his crew'^s consent 
 to pass the month in a hearty jolHfication. 
 
 They were sent, I believe, en masse to a 
 house of correction : but our punishment was 
 severer than theirs ; for the affair getting wind, 
 not one of the Club dared show their faces in the 
 street, — the laugh was universal ; — and I, being 
 a public character, was considered legitimate 
 game ; for the little boys of Exeter, after 
 that, would make it a point to follow me in 
 the streets, and, twitching my coat, exclaim-*- 
 
BECKY WELLS. SIS 
 
 " Mr. Bernard, Mr. Bernard, — does the Fly 
 bite?" 
 
 Our season concluded very successfully at 
 Exeter, both in respect to manager and com- 
 pany. " The School for Scandal" had not 
 only restored the lustre of Mr. Hughes's repu- 
 tation, but renovated the strength of his trea- 
 sury. My benefit was appropriated to the pay- 
 ment of my " Fly" debt, — (and no second trip 
 being projected, the boat, after that, was suffer- 
 ed to go to pieces in harbour,) — ^but the loss was 
 made up to me on my wife's night. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that, owing 
 to some person's indisposition, a very pretty wo- 
 man, who had been some time in the company, 
 playing trifling characters, was entrusted with 
 that of " Becky Cadwallader" in Foote's farce 
 of " The Author." Her success was so great, 
 that she was induced the next summer to ap- 
 ply to the Hay market for an engagement, where 
 she appeared, and established herself as the 
 greatest simpleton of her time. The name of 
 Becky Wells will not soon be forgotten. This 
 was one of those sudden transitions from obscu- 
 
214 DR. JACKSON. 
 
 rity to eminence, with which dramatic history is 
 so frequently marked. 
 
 The ensuing summer we passed in a rapid 
 flight over Taunton, Barnstaple, and other 
 towns, and returned to our old head-quarters 
 in the winter, having engaged with Mr. Hughes 
 for two further seasons. As the events of this 
 summer found no record in my journals, and 
 my memory in no way rebels against my judg- 
 ment, I pass on to Exeter, where I now became 
 acquainted with the celebrated Doctor Jackson, 
 and commenced an early and lasting intimacy 
 with that " son of song," Charles Incledon, an 
 intimacy continued in England twenty, and re- 
 newed in America forty years afterwards. In- 
 cledon was at this time a thin, lanky youth, giving 
 some promise of his future powers, but more 
 noted for a disposition like that of a Newfound- 
 land dog — compounded of courage, grateful- 
 ness, and love of the water. All the stories in 
 circulation respecting him were illustrative of 
 one or the other of these qualities. The most 
 well-known features of his early life, I believe, 
 are his rumpus at school, and departure to sea, 
 
ANECDOTE OF INCLEDON. 215 
 
 over which I willingly pass, to record a circum- 
 stance more in honour of his character, and nei- 
 ther well known nor insignificant. 
 
 Some aquatic sportsman of Exeter had offered 
 a considerable sum to any man who would swim 
 down the river a certain distance, to a boat 
 moored, with a rope round his middle, and 
 bring back to his starting-point another. Seve- 
 ral had attempted this feat, and failed. Young 
 Incledon accomplished it ; but this was not his 
 ground of glory — he took the entire amount of 
 his reward to a poor widow in the city, who 
 had occasionally been kind to him, and was now 
 fallen into distress. When Doctor Jackson 
 heard of the circumstance, he was naturally 
 alarmed lest his pupil should have contracted a 
 cold which might injure his voice ; but when 
 IncledoH explained the manner in which he had 
 appropriated the money, the benevolent man 
 was immediately subdued, and dismissed him 
 with these words: — " Well, Charles, I''m not 
 angry at what you've done; for if your lungs 
 should be affected, your heart's in good order.'' 
 
 The companion of Incledon, as all the world 
 
216 DAVY THE COMPOSER. 
 
 knows, was Davy the composer. Doctor Jack- 
 son, who communicated the above, gave me 
 also the history of the latter person's origin and 
 musical precocity, which as I do not think is 
 generally known, I may as well introduce here, 
 to conclude my chapter. 
 
 Davy, it appears, was an orphan child, left to 
 the care of a poor relative, a weaver, at Credi- 
 ton. This man was a humble musician, teach- 
 ing the science of Psalmody to the village, and 
 playing the bass viol at church. He had an old 
 spinnet in his house (the gift of a wealthier 
 relative), upon which he used to practise his 
 tunes. Young Davy was always by his side on 
 such occasions, and whenever he went away 
 would mount his stool, and strike the instru- 
 ment, in the endeavour to distinguish the notes. 
 This amusement, however, not benefiting the 
 spinnet, it was locked up ; and the young musi- 
 cian, thus thrown upcm his own resources, in- 
 vented an instrument. He was at this time 
 about six or seven. 
 
 Next door to the weaver's was a blacksmith's 
 shop, into which young Davy was continually 
 
DAVY THE COMPOSER. 217 
 
 running to watch the operations of the modern 
 Cyclopides. He was thus enabled, unperceived 
 and unsuspected, to convey away at different 
 periods a number of horse-shoes, which he se- 
 creted in the unoccupied garret of the weaver's 
 dwelling. Then procuring a piece of wire (from 
 the same magazine), he attached it to two 
 cross-beams, and on this suspended the shoes, 
 assigning each its place in succession, and gra- 
 duating a correct scale by the strength of his 
 ear. He then obtained two sticks to strike 
 them with, in imitation of the hand-bells which 
 he had no doubt seen, as they were very preva- 
 lent in that part of England. So engrossed did 
 he become in this new employment, that he not 
 only gave up all his customary sports, but neg- 
 lected his lessons and the family errands. He 
 had sagacity enough, however, to keep the 
 cause a secret, and fortune assisted him, till 
 one day the weaver's wife going up-stairs to 
 search among the lumber that the upper room 
 contained, heard musical sounds, and stopping 
 to listen, distinguished the outline of a psalm 
 tune. However extraordinary the diversion, 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 MUSICAL PRECOCITY. 
 
 she could only attribute it to the presence of 
 tlie devil, and her fright had nearly the effect 
 of precipitating her to the bottom of the stairs. 
 Her husband was at home, and to him she de- 
 scended and made known this mysterious cir- 
 cumstance. He had less superstition than her- 
 self, and ascended the stairs more boldly. The 
 same sounds were audible, and peeping up, he 
 perceived the young musician perched on a 
 rickety, broken-backed chair, with his legs 
 tucked under him, and his tiny hands thumping 
 the horse-shoes, in the endeavour to form the 
 same tunes he had heard his relative play. 
 
 The weaver was too pleased and astonished 
 at this discovery either to chide or disturb him, 
 but retired with his wife, and after some cogita- 
 tion, determined to go over to Exeter and tell 
 Doctor Jackson his boy's story, presuming 
 that if he had abilities for music, that would be 
 a better business for him than weaving, and 
 knowing the doctor's character to be as eminent 
 for generosity as musical science. The follow- 
 ing day was accordingly devoted to the walk. 
 The Doctor heard his narrative with mingled 
 
WEYMOUTH AND EXETER. 219 
 
 pleasure and surprise, and agreed to ride over 
 to Crediton and witness the phenomenon. He 
 did so, and was introduced by the weaver to his 
 house and staircase, where the same sight pre- 
 sented itself as on a former occasion. The 
 youngster was seated on his chair, thumping his 
 horse-shoes, and distinguishing their sounds. 
 The Doctor could not control his transports, 
 but sprang up into the garret, seized little 
 Davy in his arms, and exclaimed — " This boy 
 is mine !" 
 
 My reader can imagine the scene that ensued : 
 this was good fortune, far above the poor 
 people's expectations. Young Davy was then 
 taken home to Exeter, and regularly appren- 
 ticed to his patron: his subsequent career is 
 well known. 
 
 The two ensuing summers I spent at Wey- 
 mouth, returning to Exeter in the winter, which 
 it is necessary to mention for the historical con- 
 nexion of these details ; but unluckily the period 
 thus comprised being distinguished by no events 
 my reader would be gratified in learning, I am 
 bound simply to observe, that at Exeter, Mrs. 
 l2 
 
220 IRELAND. 
 
 Bernard and myself received an invitation from 
 Daly the Irish manager to pass the succeeding 
 summer at Cork and winter in Dublin, upon 
 terms that would enable us to combine profit 
 with pleasure. We were induced to close with 
 his offer, and directed our faces therefore to 
 Ireland. 
 
VISIT TO IRELAND. 221 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1782. — Visit to Ireland. — Cork Green-room. — Lee Digges, 
 the celebrated " Wolsey :" his professional Fate. — John 
 Kemble, Stephen Kemble, O'Reilly, Daly, JMissYounge, 
 Mrs. Crouch, Miss Barsanti, &c. — Bob Bowles again ! his 
 disqualifications. — The Pink Suits. — A Breach. — Miss 
 Francis, or Mrs. Jordan : Tate Wilkinson her Sponsor : 
 origin of her name — Another difference with Daly. — Kera- 
 "ble's Sympathy. — Journey to Limerick. — Mallow. — Wild 
 Irish Theatricals. — The Manager. — Mr. Macfarlahe, the 
 one-eyed Cupid. — Gallery and Orchestra Dialogue — Public 
 Control of Public Amusements. — Mr. M*Shane, a high 
 Tragedian. — Mr. Waker, the low Comedian, and his nasal 
 Appendages. — Motto of a Sign, "Pay to-day and Trust 
 to. . . — A Countryman's Wit. — Irish travelling. — Li- 
 merick. — Exposition of a Family Mystery. — Anecdote of 
 John Kemble and JMiss Phillips. — Bowles in his Element. 
 
 — Irish Calculation. — The Anti-Venninists. — Butterfelt ' 
 
 Story of a SkuU. 
 
 / Ireland, on many accounts, was the country 
 of all others that I most desired to traverse. My 
 father's ancestors were Irish; and from youth 
 
VISIT TO IRELAND. 
 
 upward I had been seeking to clear up the par- 
 ticulars of his relationship, which to me appeared 
 very mysterious, as he was altogether estranged 
 from his family, and would never divulge the 
 grounds thereof. All that I knew was, that I 
 had cousins living in Limerick. But another 
 and perhaps a more agreeable stimulus, was 
 the notion I had been taught to form of Irish 
 character, by my father in particular, and the 
 profession in general, which appeared to me to 
 combine all those generous, sociable, and whim- 
 sical essentials, that go to constitute the firmest 
 friend and the drollest companion. 
 
 Ireland, dear Ireland, land of whisky and 
 waggery, of palaver and " purtaties," what a 
 charm was in thy name for the exorcism of blue 
 devils ! what a prospect in thy sound of a new 
 era in life, a Saturnalian existence of long laugh- 
 ing nights, and strange eventful days ! Ireland, 
 the precious soil consecrated in every actor's 
 memory, by the dearest and merriest remem- 
 brances ! Ireland, the proverbial " green spot'^ 
 in the arid desert of the unfortunate comedian ! 
 
 Previous to my setting out, I paid another 
 
CORK GREEN-ROOM. 2ZS 
 
 and a last visit to my mother, who was now ap- 
 proaching the limit of a hfe, which, in active be- 
 nevolence to the creature, had been passed in 
 practical praise to the Creator : over this meet- 
 ing and parting, as something too sacred to be 
 put upon paper, I wiUingly pass, as well as the 
 details of an uninteresting journey, and beg to 
 introduce my reader at once to the principal 
 members of the Cork Green-room, then com- 
 posing the best company out of London. 
 
 John and Stephen Kemble, Lee Digges, Daly, 
 O'Reilly, Jack Kane, and myself; Miss Younge, 
 Mrs. Melmoth, Miss Barsanti, Miss Phillips, 
 (afterwards Mrs. Crouch,) and Mrs. Bernard. 
 
 My reader can require no introduction to 
 John Kemble, a person whose history and ta- 
 lents have been as frequently served up as Gar- 
 rick's ; and as it is not my intention, in these 
 pages, to put forth criticisms upon actors of 
 whose merits the present day has had oppor- 
 tunities of forming its own opinion, I would 
 crave permission to dwell slightly on others, 
 who, possessed of solid claims to public favour, 
 have sunk beneath the grasp of a peculiar des- 
 
2f24 LEE DIGGES, 
 
 tiny. Passing over Kemble, therefore, I would 
 touch upon Lee Digges, as an important exam- 
 ple. Digges was an actor of superior merit, in 
 the line of Mossop, and was acknowledged for 
 many years to be the finest Cardinal Wolsey in 
 England. It would be uninteresting to enter 
 into any examination of his performance of that 
 character, as the grounds for my assertion, but 
 more to the purpose, if I answer the query, 
 how an actor possessing the ability to earn such 
 fame, should never have been established in 
 London, as every man of genius is supposed 
 to be a man of ambition, and London is the top 
 round of the ladder, which all actors strive for ? 
 The history of Cooke in later times affords a 
 key to that of Digges. Digges, like him, was 
 fonder of society than the Stage, (though by no 
 means addicted to the bottle,) and cared but 
 little for his public fame, so long as he found 
 friends in the towns he visited, who would 
 contribute to his social comfort. As both in 
 manners and character he was fitted to obtain 
 friends at all times, he passed his life in the 
 country, without one metropolitan aspiration ; 
 
THE CELEBRATED WOLSEY. 225 
 
 and only, like Cooke, in his advanced years 
 attempted to repair the injury he had inflicted 
 on his fortunes. He appeared at the Hay- 
 market in his favourite character, and succeed- 
 ed ; but the Winter Theatres at the time were 
 stocked with too many popular people to permit 
 his accession, and he returned to the country ^ 
 to wind up his career in the circles where he 
 commenced it. 
 
 On journeying to join Tate Wilkinson at 
 York, it was my fortune to witness Digges's 
 debut at the Haymarket ; and I remember very 
 well the very trifling, if very true objection then 
 raised to his pretensions, namely, that he re- 
 tained too many traces in his style of the school 
 in which he had been educated, — that which 
 Garrick succeeded in subverting. 
 
 As Comedy represents the manners, and Tra- 
 gedy the passions of man, and every generation 
 has its own fashion, whilst human nature is im- 
 mutable, we perceive not only the reason why 
 those elegant pictures of past life, the " Way 
 of the World,"" and the " Careless Husband/'' 
 have been long consigned to closets, whilst 
 L 5 
 
226 THE LONDON " SCHOOLS." 
 
 " Jane Shore" and " Venice Preserved" con- 
 tinue to be popular performances; but also, 
 why every generation should have produced 
 some change in the dramatic system, and created 
 the rudiments of a new " school." There have 
 been four distinguishable schools on the English 
 or London Stage, since its restoration under 
 Charles the Second. The first, that of Better- 
 ton, who modelled, in some measure, on the 
 French taste ; the next. Booth, Wilks, and 
 Cibber'^s (in which Digges and Quin, Mossop, 
 Sheridan, and Barry, were instructed) ; thirdly, 
 Garrick's; fourthly, (which is the present,) 
 John Kemble's. Now, as each of these schools 
 was formed upon the manners of the day, 
 (such manners only being considered natural,) 
 it is very evident that every actor who con- 
 tinues on the stage above twenty years will out- 
 live his school, and must, upon the London 
 Stage, fall into neglect, or conform to the pecu- 
 liarities of that which succeeds. But in those 
 days, the communication between the dramatic 
 world in London and the country was very 
 slight ; the system of " starring" had not come 
 
JOHN kemblr's wolsey. 227 
 
 in vogue, (which, with all its evils, is certainly 
 serviceable as a conductor to the metropolitan 
 battery, however feebly the shock may be 
 given) ; and Digges having passed his days in 
 seclusion, was comparatively ignorant of the 
 change which was going on. When, therefore, 
 he appeared in London, the peculiarity of his 
 style, so opposed to the new and prevailing taste, 
 was not, as it ought to have been, attributed to 
 the circumstances of his life, but evidenced as a 
 want of judgment. Nevertheless, the impres- 
 sion Digges produced in Wolsey, was a proof 
 that genius, like water, (an indefinable ele- 
 ment,) has a softening influence, however it is 
 coloured. The public were his witnesses, that 
 his powers of conception were eminent, and that 
 the light they threw around him was visible, 
 whatever the want of fashion in the socket from 
 which they emanated. 
 
 John Kemble's was the best Wolsey I have 
 seen since, but he built upon Digges, and fell 
 far short of him. 
 
 To proceed with my Green-room catalogue : — 
 Stephen Kemble requires no comments. As a 
 
J^28 MRS. POPE AND MRS. CROUCH. 
 
 friend and a companion, no one knew him better 
 or esteemed him more than myself; but, as an 
 actor, Stephen never was great, even when 
 weighing twenty-two stone. O'Reilly was call- 
 ed the Irish comedian, by way of distinction, 
 and was original in one or two of O'Keeffe's 
 farces. I can remember nothing more of him 
 than that he seemed to be in the way of Wes- 
 ton, but not so good. Daly, our manager, had 
 a good memory, a good person, and a good 
 wardrobe, with good parts to play — which were 
 the entire constituents of his good acting ; but 
 he was a manager, and could give away orders 
 to get himself applauded. Miss Younge (af- 
 terwards Mrs. Pope), as a metropolitan fa- 
 vourite, is too well known to need any allusion. 
 Miss Barsanti (afterwards Mrs. Daly) was the 
 original " Lydia Languish," an actress pos- 
 sessed of great animal spirits, and some know- 
 ledge of character. Miss Phillips (afterwards 
 Mrs, Crouch) was then a girl of about sixteen, 
 very beautiful, and very clever. Of Mrs. Ber- 
 nard I have spoken before, and it would be a 
 piece of matrimonial egotism to speak again ; — 
 
BOB BOWLKS AGAIN ! 229 
 
 and of Mrs. Melmotb, the fair colleague of 
 Miss Younge, I shall just say, in conclusion, 
 that when very young, she had been carried off 
 from a boarding-school by Mr. Pratt, under 
 the name of Courtney Melmoth, being mutually 
 fired with a passion for acting, and that after 
 playing together in several companies, they had 
 separated; — the former going out to America, 
 where she purchased a plantation, — the latter 
 becoming soon after distinguished as the au* 
 thor of " The Gleanings," &c. 
 
 My reader must now prepare for a surprise : 
 here was my quondam intimate again. Bob 
 Bowles ! I had induced him, whilst at Exeter, 
 to apply to Daly; and the latter, being in want 
 of a singer, accepted him. My reader may 
 therefore assure himself that I have some 
 whimsicalities in store. 
 
 To give Bob his due, he was a pretty singer ; 
 nature had gifted him with a full-toned, melodi- 
 ous voice, and he knew how to use it ; but in 
 order to strengthen the operas, he agreed to 
 take the seconds, and enable Mrs. Bernard to 
 shine in " Macheath''"' and " Young Meadows." 
 
230 BOB BOWLES' DISQUALIFICATIONS. 
 
 Miss Phillips was highly pleased at this arrange- 
 ment, for to Bob she somehow contracted a 
 public aversion. 
 
 Every one must know, that knows any thing 
 of the Drama, that all the heroes of operas are 
 lovers, and that they are generally described as 
 combining all the graces of Chesterfield, with 
 the form of an Apollo Belvedere. The singing 
 gentleman is sure to be selected by every other 
 person in the drama, as a sort of moral 
 May-pole, to be entwined with complimentary 
 wreaths of roses. The dictionary is drained by 
 the dramatist of all its adulative epithets, to 
 paint him ; and he is not only described by the 
 good-natured father, the sensible servant, the 
 affectionate butler, ^^&c. as the amiable — the 
 honourable — the generous — but as the young, 
 the handsome, the affable, &c. &c. Now no- 
 thing could be more anti-sentimental or anti- 
 amatory, than the face and figure of Bob 
 Bowles : — the one was flat, broad, and bony, 
 with indistinct water-blue eyes, and a peaked 
 nose (to say nothing of his mouth) ; tlie 
 other, long, thin, and unproportioned, legs and 
 
THE PINK SUITS. 231 
 
 arms hanging down like a pair of parallels, 
 equi-distant and uneven, and the whole seeming 
 to work (owing to a jerk in his gait) by inter- 
 nal machinery. He could never therefore make 
 his appearance but he excited some merriment ; 
 and Miss Phillips on their first performance 
 sympathized so deeply with the audience, that 
 she stuck in her first song. 
 
 The first thing that disturbed the harmony 
 of our Green-room, originated in the caprice of 
 the manager. We were to play " Know your 
 own Mind," in which Daly did " Millamour," 
 and myself " Dashwould." It happened that 
 Daly had a favourite pink suit, in which he 
 played all his genteel comedy characters, and on 
 the evening of the above, had arrayed himself 
 in the same, curled, powdered, and ruffled to 
 the very height of ton. Very unluckily, I had 
 a suit of the same cut and colour, which, un- 
 conscious of the apparel my manager would 
 assume, I selected, and, after duly preparing 
 myself, made my appearance in the Green-room. 
 The counterparts we presented excited instant 
 notice, and Daly and I strutted by each other 
 
A BREACH. 
 
 like a couple of cocks of the same feather. To 
 a smile, however, succeeded a laugh, and pre- 
 sently a jest, which ruffled Daly, who stepped 
 up to me, and in rather a peremptory tone de- 
 sired I would change my clothes. I remon- 
 strated, saying, that my lodgings were half a 
 mile off, and there was nothing in the stock to 
 fit me. But this would not avail : I should not 
 go on the stage in clothes the counterpart of 
 his. I proposed if he would lend me a coat I 
 would put it on ; but as it wanted only five mi- 
 nutes of the time, any thing more was impossi- 
 ble. He was imperative — I must either change 
 the entire suit, or not go on. Piqued at the 
 rude and vulgar mode in which he had convey- 
 ed his commands, I coolly replied, that " I 
 preferred the alternative," and walking up to 
 my dressing-room, prepared to disarray. The 
 play was now at a stand-still ; but in about five 
 minutes. Miss Barsanti ran up to me with a 
 coat from Daly's stock, conjuring me to put it 
 on and dismiss all he had said from my memo- 
 ry. I had no hesitation in complying with 
 her request, and settling my cravat, &c. I de- 
 
MRS. JORDAN. 
 
 scended to my duties. This little circumstance 
 disconcerted Daly for the night, and bred a 
 coolness between him and me, (I am ashamed 
 to record it,) which eventually resulted in our 
 separation. 
 
 Mrs. Bernard, after opening and succeeding 
 in a great round of characters, unfortunately 
 fell ill, and my domestic comforts were not less 
 abridged than my pecuniary resources. Doctor 
 Davies, the physician who attended her, was 
 the means of my becoming acquainted with se- 
 veral families in Cork, with whom I spent many 
 pleasant evenings. Among these was a Mr. 
 Morgan, who had a lovely little girl under his 
 protection, of great musical promise, that used 
 to sing a song about her love for " Ti-mo-thy," 
 with so much comic effect, that I was led to in- 
 quire its origin. I was informed that she had 
 learnt it from a lady of the name of Francis, 
 who visited the Cork Theatre the summer pre- 
 vious. This Miss Francis was Mrs. Jordan, 
 who, quarrelling with Daly, went off to York, 
 where she assumed her other name. As I had 
 never heard that Miss Bland was married, I 
 
ORIGIN OF MRS. JORDANS' NAME. 
 
 afterwards inquired of Wilkinson the cause ; 
 and he repHed, " Her name ? — Why, God bless 
 you, my boy ! I gave her her name, — I was 
 her sponsor." — " You ?^' — " Yes : when she 
 thought of going to London, she thought Miss 
 sounded insignificant, so she asked me to advise 
 her a name : — ' Why,"* said I, ' my dear, you 
 have crossed the water, so I'' II call you Jordan,^ 
 and by the memory of Sam ! if she didn't take 
 . my joke in earnest, and call herself Mrs. Jordan 
 ever since." This was Tate's story ; but as it 
 was told in his usually ambiguous way, my rea- 
 der may attach what credence to it he pleases. 
 
 I have related the grounds of a breach be- 
 tween me and Daly : another circumstance soon 
 occurred which widened it. There was a cha- 
 ritable institution in Cork, which proposed to 
 take the Theatre for a night, but claimed the 
 privilege not only of selecting the play, but 
 casting the characters. Daly was well paid, 
 and did not hesitate to agree; but what was his 
 surprise and indignation to find that the com- 
 mittee had given one of his principal characters 
 to me ! — yet this was not all ; — a young artist of 
 
CAPEL STREET THEATRE. 235 
 
 Cork, by the name of Pope, (afterwards of Co- 
 vent Garden Theatre,) had written a prologue, 
 and intended to speak it on this occasion; but 
 sudden indisposition preventing him, the com- 
 mittee applied to me in person, to come forward 
 in his foom. Now Daly particularly piqued 
 himself on his talent as a prologue speaker, both 
 as respected deportment and delivery ; and this 
 offence was more intolerable than the former. 
 An altercation of his seeking ensued between 
 us, and, instead of continuing with him for the 
 winter, I was consequently induced to accept 
 the offers of a Mr. Watson, who had come from 
 Dublin to engage a company for the Capel 
 Street Theatre. 
 
 In consequence of my wife's protracted ill- 
 ness, my resources became greatly straitened ; 
 and for the first time since I had quitted mana- 
 ger Osborn, did I experience the want of money. 
 Stephen Kemble, my most intimate friend, had 
 perceived this, but, unable to assist me, could 
 merely sympathize ; — however, he mentioned 
 the matter to his brother ; and one morning, at 
 breakfast, John paid me a visit. 
 
9S6 kemble's sympathy. 
 
 " Bernard/' said he, with a face and accent 
 sufficiently full of sadness, " how is Mrs. B. ?" — 
 "Not mending." — "And how are you.?" — "Not 
 mending either," said I, attempting to be funny 
 on a serious subject. — " Her illness must have 
 been a great drawback, and upon one salary — ^" 
 — "I have my benefit to look to, you know." — 
 " But that's always uncertain," he rejoined, with 
 unpleasant emphasis ; " but come, I haven't 
 called to put you out of spirits, but to ask you 
 a favour." — " Any thing that I can do, com- 
 mand me in." — " Well, then, consent to make 
 me your banker till better times await you."— 
 "Kemble," said I.—." John," said he, "here's 
 money to buy pins — marriage is chargeable ;" 
 with which words he gave my hand a squeeze, 
 and left his purse containing five guineas in it. 
 He then took up his hat and strode out of 
 the room, with the same slow and solemn step 
 that he entered it. This was a kindness I 
 never forgot. John Kemble was a reserved 
 man — a peculiar man — perhaps a proud man ; 
 but to the last hour of my life, I will maintain 
 
JOURNEY TO LIMERICK. 237 
 
 that he was an honourable man, a faithful man, 
 and a man of as much tenderness as integrity. ii 
 
 Within three weeks of our close at Cork we ] 
 adjourned to Limerick for the assizes, return- 
 ing to the former place to take our benefits. 
 
 This was a visit which, on a domestic account 
 (already explained), I particularly wished to 
 pay: making arrangements therefore for Mrs. 
 Bernard's comfort and attention during my ab- 
 sence, I joined Digges, Bowles, the Kembles, 
 and Miss Phillips and father, to proceed in 
 a party ; the company, as in general cases, 
 choosing their own companions and modes of 
 conveyance. Miss Phillips and her father de- 
 cided on a chaise, or buggy ; Digges and the 
 Kembles on a light waggon ; and Bowles and I 
 hired horses, and agreed to act as couriers to the 
 party, riding on in advance to order meals and 
 prepare beds. This arrangement was particu- 
 larly agreeable to Bowles : — we had now got into 
 the legitimate land of fun and adventure, and 
 Bob was determined to have his full measure. 
 
 At the little town of Mallow, our party halt- 
 
238 MALLOW THEATRE. 
 
 ed the first night ; where no sooner was tea on 
 the table, than a tall, raw-boned, badly-breech- 
 ed, briefly-skirted fellow, with a shaggy red 
 head, aquiline nose, and goggle eyes, presented 
 himself at the door, and informed us that he 
 was the manager of the Mallow Theatre. Hav- 
 ing observed our party alight at the inn, he 
 came to request the honour of our appearance 
 in his boxes that evening, being assured that it 
 would not fail in producing a corresponding ef- 
 fect in other parts of the house. Digges, Bowles, 
 the Kembles, and myself, agreed to adjourn 
 there. Miss Phillips was fatigued with her 
 ride, and intended to retire early. The ma- 
 nager inundated us with acknowledgments, — 
 laid his hand upon his breast, and retreated. 
 
 Shortly after, another visitor tapped at the 
 door, and receiving a summons to enter, intro- 
 duced his head only to our notice, from a mo- 
 tive of delicacy as I apprehended, his habili- 
 ments not being in a suitable state of repair. 
 This head, however, was very singular, — it 
 was unusually large and square, inclining to be 
 bald, and thatched with indivisible black locks ; 
 
WILD IRISH THEATRICALS. 239 
 
 a low forehead, high cheek bones, — the whole 
 illumined with one eye. From a subsequent 
 view of him, he appeared to be enveloped, ra- 
 ther than clothed, in a coat that buttoned up 
 so high, and fell down so low, as to dispense 
 with the concomitants of gloves or shirt ; — the 
 garment lapped round him, as a mainsail does a 
 mast in a dead calm ; but this sufficiency, how- 
 ever convenient, had an unpleasant appearance, 
 — ^it looked like a demonstration of the doctrine 
 of a vacuum. However, we were informed by 
 this personage that he had lately been a member 
 of the Mallow Theatre, where he performed all 
 the lovers and harlequins — and that he had un- 
 justly been deprived of his situation, on account 
 of making his dramatic character practical, by 
 playing the lovers off the stage as well as on, to 
 a young lady who engrossed the manager's af- 
 fections. Having repented of his penchant, and 
 hearing that we were about to patronize the 
 evening's performances, he entreated therefore 
 the favour of our interference to procure him 
 his reinstatement in the company. 
 
 At the first part of his declaration we ex- 
 
240 THE " ONE-EYED CUPID." 
 
 pressed some surprise (namely, that he played 
 the lovers with one eye) ; but when he alleged 
 the ground of his discharge, Miss Phillips very 
 ungenerously was induced to put her hands to 
 her sides, and shriek with laughter. To the 
 latter part of his address Digges, as our spokes- 
 man, very properly repHed, " that being stran- 
 gers to the manager, and totally disconnected 
 with the interests of the Theatre, such an inter- 
 ference on our parts would be both fruitless 
 and indecorous;" but he requested that Mr. 
 Macfarlane (our visitor) would call for any- 
 thing he pleased, and we would drink to his 
 better fortunes. 
 
 The language and appearance of this " one- 
 eyed Cupid," as Miss Phillips called him, sup- 
 plied her with food for meditation till bed-time ; 
 but we were desirous of a farther insight into 
 the peculiarities of wild Irish theatricals, and 
 repaired to the spot under the conduct of a 
 juvenile bogtrotter, who having to navigate a 
 narrow lane diversified with puddles, jumped 
 into each in order that we might walk round 
 
MALLOW THEATRE. 241 
 
 them, but, in so doing, contrived to bestow on 
 us a plentiful sprinkling of muddy spray. 
 
 The construction of the Theatre did not im- 
 portantly differ from that of many I had played 
 in in my earlier days. It was the interior of a 
 barn ; the ha^doft being naturally adapted for a 
 gallery ; the boxes, formed by rough boards 
 nailed to four uprights ; the stage, being divided 
 from the pit by a board bored with holes, as 
 the sockets for so many candles, or foot-lights; 
 the scenery was secundum artem^ things of 
 shreds and patches ; and the green curtain a 
 piece of grey antiquity that went up and down, 
 in momentary danger of dissolution. 
 
 Our amusement commenced the instant we 
 entered the house, in listening to a conversation 
 that was going on between the gallery and the 
 orchestra, the latter composed of a performer 
 on the violin and one on the big-drum. " Mr. 
 Patrick Moriarty," shouted the combiner of 
 horsehair and catgut, " how are you, my jewel ?" 
 — " Asy and impudent, Teddy O'Hoone; how 
 are you.? — How's your sow.?" — " Mischievous 
 
 VOL. L M 
 
^4S AN AMUSING DIALOGUE. 
 
 and tender, like all of her sex. — What tune would 
 it plase you to have, Mr. Patrick Moriarty .?" 
 Mr. Patrick was indifferent, and referred the 
 matter to a committee of females. In the mean 
 time Teddy began to tune up, at which another 
 of his "divine"" companions above assailed him : 
 " Arra ! Teddy O'Hoone ! Teddy, you divil !''— 
 *' What do you say, Larry Kennedy .?"' — " Tip 
 us a tune on your fiddle-de-dee, and don''t stand 
 there making the cratcher squake like a hog in 
 ahollybush. — Paddy Byrne." (to the drummer.) 
 — -" What do you say, Mr. Kennedy .?"— " An't 
 you a jewel, now, to be setting there at your 
 ase, when here 's a whole cockloft full of jon- 
 tlemen come to hear you thump your big bit of 
 cowhide on the top of a butter-tub."" 
 
 A popular air was at length decided on in 
 the gallery, and a general dance ensued, as 
 a sort of active preliminary to the amusements 
 to come; but which proved highly unpleasant 
 to us, who did not participate, inasmuch as 
 the cockloft being rather wide in its seams, 
 our hats and coats were presently covered with 
 as thick a layer of dust as might have been 
 
" OLYMPUS IN AN UPROAR. ^^43 
 
 accumulated in a hundred miles' ride on the 
 dickey of a coach. The exhilaration of the 
 Gods, moving through their pecuhar measure 
 on " Olympus top," and uttering their wild 
 shrieks and cries, would have been rather 
 amusing, had we not feared every moment that 
 the loft would have come through. The unfor- 
 tunate fiddler however, who was ministering 
 with great diligence to their diversion, at length 
 broke a string, and suspended it ; but they were 
 now in a state of too high excitement to permit 
 accidents, or inquire into causes ; and the mu- 
 sician's sudden defalcation from duty could only 
 be looked at in the light of a personal affront. 
 The gentlemen above-stairs had not brought 
 pistols, but they had got potatoes; and my 
 reader can imagine how they revenged them- 
 selves. A hurricane of epithets (too delicate to 
 be repeated,) broke from their lips, and then 
 each saltator grasped his potatoe, and, like a 
 skilful body of engineers, directed a discharge at 
 the pericraniums of the " band." This active ex- 
 pression of their feelings was managed with such 
 true aim and vigour, that the offender and his 
 M 2 
 
S44 A HIGH TRAGEDIAN. 
 
 companion made a speedy retreat behind the 
 green curtain. The potatoes being boiled how- 
 ever, instead of inflicting any injury, conferred 
 a benefit: the fiddler was enabled to pocket 
 the affront. A terrible uproar now ensued, and 
 the manager was called for, who, after some 
 delay, put his head on at the first wing, to in- 
 quire the ladies' and gentlemen's wishes, fearing, 
 as it seemed, to trust his bodi/ within their reach. 
 He had then to assure them that the breaking 
 of the string was purely accidental, and that 
 Messrs. Thaddeus O'Hoone and Patrick Byrne 
 were willing to come forward and make an apo- 
 logy. Their enthusiasm had now passed away, 
 and the ladies and gentlemen were open to rea- 
 son and benevolence. The musicians appeared, 
 were received into favour, the curtain went up, 
 and all was forgotten. 
 
 Of the performance I remember nothing more 
 than the appearance of a Mr. Waker, a low co- 
 median, and a Mr. M'Shane, a high tragedian : 
 the first very happily illustrating his designa- 
 tion in his style ; the latter in his height, six feet 
 two. 
 
A LOW COMEDIAN. 245 
 
 Mr. Waker, some years previous, had been a 
 great favourite in Dublin, but a personal afflic- 
 tion had unfitted him to maintain his standing, 
 even with a Dublin gallery. Two immense 
 excrescences had sprung out from his nose, 
 and depended on each side like bladders of 
 blood ; their appearance was not merely un- 
 graceful, but disgusting. That however which 
 had lost him his situation in the capital, had 
 procured him one at Mallow. Waker had a 
 habit of shaking his head, (contracted perhaps 
 in the nightly observation of a similar practice 
 with his spectators,) and thus agitating the pen- 
 dants to his nose, the delicate and decorous feel- 
 ings of his Mallow patrons were stimulated to a 
 roar of laughter. His acting was a compound 
 of buffoonery and blackguardism, which, set off 
 and supported by the shaking of his head, and 
 dangling of his nasal appendages, formed an ex- 
 hibition of which we soon had a surfeit. Of 
 Mr. M' Shane the tragedian, all that I can say is, ' 
 that though very long, we liked him very little. 
 
 On returning to the inn, we were struck for 
 the first time with the sign, which was a red. 
 
^46 MOTTO OF A SIGN. 
 
 round-faced Hibernian grasping a punchbowl, 
 and saying these words, " Pay to-day, and trust 
 to " As this seemed to involve rather an im- 
 portant contradiction to us who were travellers, 
 we required an explanation of the landlord, (a 
 bald-headed, bandy-legged little fellow, with a 
 mouth which, when unclosed, explained the 
 clown's idea of an open countenance,) and 
 were informed, that when his old sign of the 
 " Man and PunchbowF was worn out, Mr. 
 Mic M'Cormick, a friend of his, had agreed to 
 paint him a new one; but he being desirous 
 that the latter should contain some motto or 
 general rule of his establishment, as a guide to 
 the traveller who gazed on it, he agreed with 
 Mr. Mic M'Cormick, that the words " Pay to- 
 day and trust to-morrow" should be inserted, 
 the artist to be paid at the rate of twopence 
 a word. When the sign was completed, Mr. 
 M'Cormick had brought it home, but with the 
 deficiency of the word " morrow,'^ as above, 
 which was owing to a want of room. The 
 worthy host was not then, it appeared, so much 
 concerned at this alteration, or rather destruc- 
 
A countryman's wit. 247 
 
 tion of his meaning, as about the settlement of 
 the question, whether " to-morrow"" was to be 
 considered one or two words, — upon that fact de- 
 pending the number of twopences he was to pay. 
 After some argument between themselves, an 
 umpire was called in, who deciding that " to- 
 morrow" was but one word, the painter was 
 deducted twopence, and the sign was put up. 
 
 On resuming our journey the next morning, 
 we had not proceeded far before we came to so 
 many intersections of the road, as to render it 
 difficult to pursue ; to say nothing of ditches, 
 which were modest mill-ponds, and piles of 
 stones like Indian " tumuli." We at length 
 overtook a leathern-breeched, leathern- skinned 
 fellow, with a pair of shoulders which would 
 have fitted a chest of drawers, plodding on at a 
 gait between a jerk and a shuffle, and asked 
 him if the road we were pursuing would take 
 us to Limerick ? The rustic stopped, smiled, 
 dislodged a flea from his ear, and replied, " No, 
 no !" We exclaimed, " What will .?''—" To be 
 sure, your honour, the road won't take you to Li- 
 merick, but the coaches will !" Bowles laughed 
 
^48 IRISH TRAVELLING. 
 
 at this absurdity ; but I thought our situation 
 too serious. 
 
 We at length learnt that there were two roads 
 to Banff, and that we had taken the longest ; 
 that the road ran all the way to Killocleen, 
 being down-hill, and walked all the rest, being 
 up ; that there were sixteen miles of hills peep- 
 ing over each other's shoulders, and divil a bit 
 of a civilized being to be seen all the way, ex- 
 cept a cow or a jackass, or any place of enter- 
 tainment, save a little shebeen-house, with a 
 pipe stuck in its thatch, suspending a red rib- 
 bon, to notify that a noggin of whiskey and 
 clean straw were to be had within. We also 
 learnt that there were half-a-dozen sloughs in 
 the way, but that none of them were over the 
 horses'* shoulders, with many other interesting 
 localisms which I have now forgotten. 
 
 Giving our informant a thirteener for hi$ 
 trouble, (at which he was so grateful as to wish 
 we might tumble into the first bog we came to, to 
 give him the task of pulling us out of it,) for my 
 reader's satisfaction, as it was eminently to our 
 own, I beg to announce, that none of thes? 
 
LIMERICK. 249 
 
 anticipated evils befell us, and that we arrived 
 safely in Limerick. 
 
 My first duty, on getting into lodgings, was 
 to pay a visit to my family ; Limerick being 
 the ancient bed where the lineal tree of the 
 Bernards had taken root, and hung out its 
 branches. Mr. Robert Bernard, my unclcj was 
 my nearest kin, and to his house I directed my 
 steps. Nothing could exceed the warmth and 
 cordiality with which I was received, or the 
 astonishment manifested at the news that my 
 father was still alive. He had run away from 
 home, it appeared, when very young, walked 
 all the way to Cork, where a fleet was lying, 
 jumped into the water like a Newfoundland 
 dog, with a bundle on his shoulders, and swim- 
 ming to Admiral 's ship, threw himself 
 
 before the commander, and implored to be 
 employed in the service. His desire was grant- 
 ed ; an action soon after ensued, in which he 
 distinguished himself, and obtained a commis'- 
 sion. He eventually rose to the post of first 
 lieutenant, upon the ground of good conduct 
 and ability; and having changed his name 
 M 5 
 
250 ANECDOTE OF 
 
 from Bernard to Barnet, forty years had 
 elapsed, and his family remained in ignorance 
 of his fate. 
 
 Having thus ascertained a fact I had been 
 seeking all my life to clear up, the fortnight 
 we passed in Limerick I domesticated with my 
 relatives. 
 
 In addition to the assizes, a review was to 
 take place, this being a time of some political 
 excitement both in England and Ireland. The 
 latter was another cause which contributed to 
 the filling of the town and theatre. John Kem- 
 ble was a member of the " Dublin Volunteer 
 Corps," which passed inspection on this occa- 
 sion, and on the particular day was exempted 
 from his dramatic to attend to his military du- 
 ties. In the evening he dined with the corps, 
 and when the glass had filled pretty frequently, 
 a gentleman next him, being mellowed to that 
 open communicativeness of disposition which 
 so eminently marks the votaries of Bacchus, 
 nudged John with a chuckle, and whispered in 
 his ear, that there was a rare joke going on at 
 the Theatre. Kemble was eager to know it. 
 
JOHN KEMBLE AND MISS PHILLIPS. 251 
 
 " Why, mum," said his companion ; " you know, 
 Lord Clanwilliam. (who commanded a troop of 
 horse in the neighbourhood) has laid a plan to 
 carry ofF Miss Phillips after the performance ; 
 the officers are to assist him, and I was to have 
 been of the party, only that I am much ha}> 
 pier here." 
 
 Kemble was completely sobered at this in- 
 formation ; for at that time there was a growing 
 attachment between him and the fair songstress ; 
 he had therefore observed Lord C.'s attentions 
 to the former, but never suspected they were 
 serious, or capable of resulting in such unmanly 
 as well as illegal measures. But he kept his 
 seat with that coolness which, always denoting 
 courage, never deserted him, pretended to laugh 
 at the affair, and plied his companion so briskly 
 with the bottle, that the head of the latter soon 
 sank on the table. He then made his retreat unob- 
 served and unimpeded, and reached the Theatre 
 before the farce had concluded. Within ten 
 yards of the stage-door, he saw an evidence of 
 what he had heard, a coach-and-four in waiting 
 for his Lordship, and behind the scenes its full 
 
^5^ ANECDOTE OF 
 
 confirmation, — an officer was lolling at each 
 wing, and the noble personage himself saun- 
 tering backwards and forwards. 
 
 Miss Phillips' dressing-room was on a level 
 with the stage, (being a disused property-room) 
 and by its door, John took his stand, with the 
 utmost decision but indifference. Lord C. and 
 his companions were far from suspecting his de- 
 sign, but fearing he might be a hindrance to 
 their's, endeavoured to draw him away, by in- 
 viting him to supper. John, however, sted- 
 fastly refused their temptations, and when the 
 curtain fell, stepped up to Miss Phillips, and 
 said in the hearing of all present, " I have been 
 told, what I don't wish to believe, but have 
 come here to ascertain, that a most unmanly and 
 disgraceful plot has been laid to carry you off, 
 after the performance, this evening." — (Actors, 
 officers, and scene-shifters, stared in confusion. 
 Miss Phillips clasped her hands.) — " Don't be 
 alarmed,'' he continued ; " I have come here to 
 protect you ; and if you do get into the coach 
 which is waiting at the door, it shall only be by 
 
JOHN KEMBLE AND MISS PHILLIPS. 253 
 
 your own consent, or when I have lost the 
 power to wield the weapon at my side." 
 
 With these words he conducted her to her 
 room, and, unsheathing his sword, planted him- 
 self before it, in a tragic attitude certainly, be- 
 cause it happened to be a very serious one. The 
 regimentals he wore guaranteed his resolution, 
 and the full proportion of his frame amply evi- 
 denced his power to carry any threat into effect. 
 John was not acting now ! 
 
 Miss Phillips, on entering her room, burst 
 into a flood of tears; and the company gathering 
 round, their persons, together with the looks of 
 Kemble, led the officers to conclude that the 
 stratagem was pretty effectually frustrated : they 
 accordingly sneaked out, one by one, leaving 
 their noble commander leaning in a kind of 
 stupor against a wing. Miss P. at length quit- 
 ted her rooms and put her arm under Kem- 
 ble's, who bowing to her admirer, conducted 
 her out of the Theatre, and passed the group 
 of officers collected near the door; neither ob- 
 struction nor insult was offered him, and he 
 
254 BOWLES IN HIS ELEMENT. 
 
 left his fair companion at her residence in 
 safety. 
 
 The next day this circumstance got wind, and 
 neither Lord C. nor his troop would show their 
 faces in the city. They laughed it off, how- 
 ever, in the usual way when schemes are frus- 
 trated, by saying it was a joke. But the public 
 believed otherwise, and demonstrated their sym- 
 pathy at Miss P.'*s benefit ; they also recom- 
 pensed Kemble for the loss of his Lordship's 
 patronage : certainly never did a private cir- 
 cumstance so suddenly exalt a man in popular 
 esteem. Kemble's gallantry and courage were 
 the general theme of conversation. 
 
 My reader will suppose that in the very heart 
 of " Ould Ireland," and at a period and place 
 when all was bustle and variety, our old ac- 
 quaintance Bob Bowles found abundant game 
 for his laugh-hunting appetite. The Green- 
 room was a daily reservoir into which his obser- 
 vations were emptied. Bob had a great talent 
 in detecting the more especial, if minute, features 
 of the ridiculous in real life, and presenting 
 them under some sort of dramatic form. He 
 
IRISH CALCULATION. ^55 
 
 was both a humorist and a mimic, — thus he 
 gave the spirit with the manner. He related a 
 conversation one day between two of the " dar- 
 lings,*" which, though requiring voice and fea- 
 tures to give his effect to, as exhibiting some 
 traits of Hibernian ingenuity, may be worth 
 while to introduce. 
 
 His landlady was what was termed a " ge- 
 neral dealer," and, among other things, sold 
 bread and whiskey. A customer entering her 
 shop, inquired if she had any thing to ate and 
 drink. — " To be sure," she replied ; " I have 
 got a thimbleful of the crature, my darling, 
 that comes ounly to twopence ; and this big lit- 
 tle loaf you may have for the same money !" — 
 " Both twopence ?" — " Both the same — as Tm 
 a Christian woman, and worth double the sum/** 
 — " Fill me the whiskey, if you plase." — She did 
 so, and he drank it ; then rejoined — " It comes 
 to twopence, my jewel — I 'm not hungry ; take 
 back the loaf,'* tendering it. — " Yes, honey, but 
 what pays for the whiskey ?" — " VVhy, the loaf, 
 to be sure !"" — " But you haven't paid for the 
 loaf .''"" — " Why, you wouldn't have a man pay 
 
S56 THE ANTI-VERMINISTS 
 
 for a thing he hasn't eat ?" — A friend going by 
 was called in by the landlady to decide this 
 difficulty, who gave it against her; and from 
 some deficiency in her powers of calculation, 
 she permitted the rogue to escape. 
 
 Passing with Bowles one day down a back- 
 street, we observed a number of children on 
 both sides of the way, sitting before the doors, 
 and combing their heads upon a pair of bellows, 
 the broad surface of which afforded an ample 
 field for the annihilation of their little victims. 
 Bowles was immediately struck with the ap- 
 pearance of these anti-verminists, and stopped 
 to contemplate the labours of one young lady in 
 particular, who, differing from her companions, 
 was going through the process with a cool and 
 even mechanical regularity. " Innocent minds I'- 
 exclaimed I, " whom youthful sports and child- 
 hood's toils can please.'** — " All alive in this quar- 
 ter, Jack," responded Bowles. As we passed on, 
 the same scene presented itself at every other 
 door — children of all ages and both sexes arm- 
 ed with the deadly apparatus of bellows and 
 comb, against the lives of the unfortunate te- 
 
AND BOB BOWLES. 257 
 
 nants of their heads. " This seems to be a gene- 
 ral day of purification, Jack," said Bowles. — 
 " 'Gad, there's a sympathy in it," pretending 
 to scratch his head, evidently in want of an 
 opportunity to exercise his waggish inclination. 
 At length we came to a shop, behind the coun- 
 ter of which stood a red-nosed, fat-faced, vulgar- 
 looking vender of edibles and drinkables. — 
 Bowles, releasing my arm, jumped into the door, 
 and taking off his hat, said, — " Pray, Madam, 
 would you oblige me ?" — " Och," said she, 
 " Sirr, you may have all I have got in 
 the shop, and a great deal more." — " Then^ 
 may I request the favour of a pair of bellows, 
 and a small-tooth-comb.?" — " Sirr !" — " I am a 
 stranger in Limerick, Madam, come for the 
 assizes; and as I wish to partake in all the 
 amusements going forward, I perceive that 
 combing the head is all the rage in this quar- 
 ter!" 
 
 There was no doubt a comical expression in 
 Bowies'* eye, for the lady made no other answec 
 than the epithet — "Spalpeen!" and quietly reach- 
 ing her hand behind her to a mopstick in a 
 
258 BUTTERFELT. 
 
 corner, would no doubt have lent him much 
 more than he desired, had he not anticipated 
 this step by one of his own. 
 
 When the benefits were over, (of which mine 
 was among the best,) I took leave of my kind 
 friends and relatives, at the moment I was be- 
 ginning best to know and esteem them, and in 
 company with the old party, Bowles, Digges, 
 the Kembles, &c. set out on my return to Cork, 
 in the same order, and by the same means with 
 which we left it. 
 
 Nothing worth remembering occurred on our 
 way back, save this. To a little town called 
 Butte^^t, Bowles and I rode on in advance, to 
 order a repast. Giving the necessary directions 
 at the only inn it contained, (or rather house 
 making such public profession,) we took a stroll 
 to view a very ancient abbey, which drags this 
 obscure collection of human beings and houses 
 into notice. Near the building stood the cot- 
 tage of a Mr. Michael O'Galloghan, a superan- 
 nuated Sacristan, who picked up some addition 
 to his resources, by showing the " ould one"" 
 to travellers. 
 
MR. iMICHAEL O'GALLOGHAN. 259 
 
 Travellers in general, I believe, enjoy the re- 
 putation of being liars; but if there be a class 
 more entitled to the distinction, I should say 
 it is the guides and conductors one meets with 
 in travelling. The memory of Mr. Michael 
 CGalloghan is the ground of this opinion. 
 Though an old man and an apparent Christian, 
 the author of the " Arabian Nights Entertain- 
 ments" never invented more startling impossi- 
 bilities, nor Jack Palmer in his best days, as 
 " Young Wilding," ever gave deliverance to 
 falsehood more glibly. As a commencement, 
 he informed us that the abbey was built by 
 some companion of St. Patrick, who, disliking 
 the long and laborious process of masonry, sim- 
 ply took his stand on the spot, and, at his bid- 
 ding, the stones collected around him from the 
 various fields, and proceeded to pile themselves 
 up with due order and attention, till the build- 
 ing was completed. 
 
 There was a very beautiful view, however, 
 from the belfry, and on descending to the 
 churchyard, we were struck with the appear- 
 ance of a mass of human skulls piled up in the 
 
260 STORY OF A SKULL, 
 
 form of a cone. We were informed that these 
 were the remains of a dreadful battle which had 
 been fought in the neighbourhood many centu- 
 ries previous, and that the priest having blessed 
 them, a sacred influence consisted in their safe 
 preservation. 
 
 On returning to the inn, we found our party 
 arrived ; and whilst we sat down to what the 
 landlord had provided, I entertained them with 
 an account of our observations. " Yes," sub- 
 joined Bowles, " it was all very curious ; but 
 what pleased me the most was the skulls ; and 
 that I might carry away with me a memento, — 
 see — here is a memento moti r Saying which, he 
 gravely unbuttoned his coat and produced a 
 skull. — " I mean," said he, " to make it a pre- 
 sent to Daly, when we get back — it is a capi- 
 tal property for Hamlet. — ' Alas ! poor Yo- 
 rickf" 
 
 But the joke on this occasion was rather too 
 grave : we had heard Mr. O'Galloghan say 
 that the pile had been sanctified, and I could 
 not help surmising, that if the theft was disco- 
 vered before we left the village, serious conse- 
 
A "property" for hamlet. 261 
 
 quences might ensue. At this, John Kemble 
 increased the longitude of his countenance an 
 inch, and laying down his knife and fork, ex- 
 claimed — " Really — Mr. Bowles — if you go on 
 in this manner — it will be — dan-ger-ous to tra- 
 vel with you — I appeal to — the company — if 
 
 such conduct — is not " But Stephen and 
 
 Digges were roaring with laughter ; and Miss 
 Phillips, though she had turned away, saying 
 the sight made her sick, could not now refrain, at 
 the grimaces Bowles was making at his " pro- 
 perty." He was besought, however, by all of 
 us to return and deposit the skull where he 
 found it ; but this he refused to do, and put 
 it in his bosom, saying, he had been told 
 throughout life, that "two skulls were better 
 than one," and he was now resolved to test the 
 truth of the assertion. 
 
 My reader may probably surmise what was 
 the effect of this occurrence— that we did not 
 allot much time to swallowing our meal, paying 
 our host, and jumping into or on our convey- 
 ances, nor that, having got upon a sharp trot, 
 we desisted therefrom till many miles distant. 
 
^6.^ CORK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1782-3.— Cork. — Two skulls better than one. —Journey to 
 Dublin : humours of the carman. — A lamehoi-se. — Whimsi- 
 cal adventure and hoax. — Dublin. — Remarks on the three 
 Theatres : Daly's, Crawford's, and our own. — Mrs.Baddeley. 
 — Royal criticism. — Ryder : his merits. — Versatility, the dis- 
 tinction of Garrick. — Mrs. Crawford Unfair comparisons 
 
 between her and Mrs. Siddons. — Vandermere Crawford's 
 
 commencement. — Humours of a " Free night." — Paddy 
 Barret in Glenalvon, and his critics. — Our commencement. 
 — Stephen Kemble's hit at a *' Clapper." — Barry and Mos- 
 sop. — Anecdote of their management. — Daly's success. — 
 Our suffering. — A discovery among ourselves. — Flight of 
 
 our Managers. — Isaac Sparks, the humorist Story of 
 
 him and a Scotch doctor. — Crawford next on the decline.-— 
 Hamlet, playing Paddy O'Rafferty 1 — My engagement for 
 Belfast. — Jack Barnshaw's reading. — Daly's generosity. 
 — Mrs. Gardner's departure. — A grave joke. 
 
 Our last performance but one in Cork was 
 " Lionel and Clarissa," on the evening of which, 
 half an hour before the time, Bowles, who play- 
 ed " Lionel," ran to my lodgings in breathless 
 haste, to beg the loan of silk stockings, cravat, 
 shirt, and gloves. On inquiring how he was 
 
A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM. 263 
 
 unprovided, and why he applied at such a late 
 moment, he said that, when he quitted his 
 chamber in the morning, he had laid all the 
 things necessary for the evening's duties on his 
 pillow, but on returning home found that they 
 were gone, — a piece of magic which he could 
 only account for by an uncharitable squint at 
 his landlord's integrity, to whom, it appeared, 
 he was somewhat in arrear. I accordingly 
 lent him what he required ; and the next day 
 he told me that he had recovered his property 
 by the following stratagem. 
 
 Whether host or hostess was the instigator 
 of the theft, his suspicions fell on the chamber- 
 maid as the instrument, who brought him his 
 breakfast and took care of the room. One pe- 
 culiarity of the Irish character among the lower 
 orders, he had long observed — their supersti- 
 tion, and on this he was resolved to work. 
 
 When he had risen and dressed himself, he 
 opened his trunk, which lay facing the door, 
 and thrust his stage foil into its bottom, on the 
 top of which he placed the skull he had brought 
 from Butt«i^!Wt, and over that drew his red 
 
264 A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM. 
 
 nightcap; he then tied a cross stick to the 
 foil, and pinned around it a tragedy black robe, 
 to give the phantom form as well as features. 
 He then rang his bell for breakfast, and sat 
 down to study, when hearing the girl's foot upon 
 the stairs, he pushed the foil gently, and set the 
 head a-shaking. The door opened — the girl 
 ran in — stared upon it — started — shrieked, and 
 staggering back to the bannisters, dropped the 
 tea-tray, and all its contents over them. Bowles 
 in an instant kicked skull, foil, and cloak into 
 the trunk, and closed the lid; he then conti- 
 nued to read as if nothing had happened. The 
 girl's shrieks upon the landing-place were so ter- 
 rific, that her uncle and aunt (who were the 
 host and hostess,) instantly ran up-stairs, and 
 inquired the cause. Tears now succeeded yells, 
 and hysterics tears, and between both she 
 could only mutter — " Oh, oh, — the divil, the 
 divil !" 
 
 The worthy people naturally conjectured that 
 their lodger had been taking liberties with the 
 girl, and entering his room, assailed him with 
 a torrent of interrogations and execration. — 
 
TWO SKULLS BETTER THAN ONE. ^65 
 
 " DiviPs blood ! Mr. Bowles, what have you 
 been doing, Sir? — Oh, you writch, Mr. Bowles ! 
 ' — you have been taking advantage of my poor 
 girl's wakeness." 
 
 Bowles protested his innocence, and appealed 
 to the girl as. evidence. — " I haven't quitted my 
 chair," said he ; " and if I had wanted to be 
 agreeable, the girl didn't give me time, — she 
 ran into my room and out again, before I caught 
 a glimpse of her. — How dare you accuse me, 
 who am a married man, of such an intention!" 
 
 They now returned in some wonder to the 
 girl, who was sufficiently composed to acknow- 
 ledge that Mr. Bowles had not been *' playing 
 the devil with her," though the cause of her 
 alarm she refused to divulge. His breakfast 
 was accordingly collected from the shattered 
 fragments of the tray below ; and when he re- 
 turned to his room after rehearsal, he found 
 every article of his property lying on his pillow! 
 
 " There, Jack," said Bowles, when he had 
 concluded this account, " didn't I tell you that 
 I should find tivo skulls better than one ?'''' 
 
 The same evening closed a prosperous season 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
^66 JOURNEY TO DUBLIN. 
 
 at Cork. My benefit (in addition to that at 
 Limerick) had enabled me not only to defray 
 the expense of Mrs. Bernard's illness, (and dis- 
 charge my obligation to John Kemble,) but as 
 the physician considered she was too weak to 
 undertake the journey to Dublin, to make every 
 arrangement for her comfort, till able to proceed. 
 I accordingly bade farewell to the many friends 
 and associates I had found in this truly gene- 
 rous and warm-hearted city, and agreed to join 
 Bowles, Mitchell, Jack Kane, Kennedy, Kelly, 
 and Mrs. Taplin, (wife of the author of " Trea- 
 tises on Farriery,") in a travelling party, the 
 whole being destined for Dublin, though not 
 for one theatre. As we were none of us over- 
 stocked with money, economy, and not conveni- 
 ence, was the ruling principle ; and the following 
 was our agreement: — To subscribe so much a- 
 piece for the hiring of a two-horse car, to convey 
 our luggage, the defraying of tavern-bills, &c. ; 
 each gentleman to ride so many miles a-viay, in 
 turn ; and Mrs. Taplin, being a lady, to enjoy 
 the privilege of riding the whole distance. 
 
 In this arrangement there was a certain pro- 
 
JOURNEY TO DUBLIN. 267 
 
 mise of whim and adventure (independently of 
 its cheapness), which, I must confess, tickled me 
 to my heart's core. Bob Bowles himself was 
 not more delighted with the prospect. Our 
 measures were accordingly taken, and on a clear 
 Autumn morning, by daybreak, we quitted 
 Cork, with our luggage-loaded car — the driver, 
 an especial " cracher'" at the horses' heads ; 
 Mrs. Taplin seated at the top, with all the dig- 
 nity she infused in Queen Elizabeth ; and our- 
 selves marching out two-by-two, with bundles, 
 foils, and stage properties under our arms. 
 
 The first day of our journey passed over 
 without much event ; but we derived sufficient 
 amusement from the peculiarities of the car- 
 man, a mop-headed, lark-limbed beauty, whose 
 clothes were so ragged, that as he strode along 
 with his coat, shirt, and breeches fluttering be- 
 hind him, he put us in mind of a persevering 
 ship making its way against a head- wind. 
 This gentleman never whipped his horses when 
 they were low-spirited and lazy, but reasoned 
 with them as though they had been a pair of 
 the Houynhmns, mentioned by Gulliver, or 
 N 2 
 
268 HUMOUR OF THE CARMAN. 
 
 intelligent Christian beings. — " Arrah, Barney," 
 (he 'd say to the leader,) " arn't you a pretty 
 spalpeen to suffer your own brother Teddy to 
 lug the car up the hill by himself ? Haven't I 
 set you before him as an example? Have you 
 any heart to forgit a friend bekase you don't 
 see him ? Oh ! bad luck to your faalings ! — Ar- 
 rah, Teddy, (to the other,) don't you see, my 
 darling, what Barney is at ? he wants to rin 
 away from you, and get to the little shebeen- 
 house half a mile off, and ate up all 3/^our corn 
 before you come. — Hurry, hurry, my darling, or 
 divil the mouthful will he lave you !"" 
 
 Strange as it may seem, these addresses pro- 
 duced the desired effect, and Barney and Teddy, 
 as shaggy as a pair of lions, would pluck up 
 courage, and pull along like a couple of camels. 
 Observing that one of them was lame, we no- 
 ticed this to their owner, as an infringement of 
 our contract. — " Lame, your honor !" he re- 
 plied — " No sich thing, — the boy 's quite par- 
 feet ; only, you see, it 's a way he has of resting 
 one leg till the other three are tired." 
 
 At a little shebeen-house we stopped to re- 
 fresh, where Bowles spouted " Romeo'* to a fat 
 
A SUDDEN ALARM. 269 
 
 landlady, and Kane bought her sign as a " pro- 
 perty/'' — a red stocking. Over the door were 
 these words: — " Mrs. Casey accommodates gon- 
 teel men and their ackipages, with a great deal 
 of pleasure.'' 
 
 We had not proceeded a great distance the 
 next day, when we reached a descent in the 
 road, which led into a kind of pass between two 
 hills, dark and rocky enough for a modern melo- 
 drame: its appearance, however, conjured up 
 no unpleasant phantoms to a party like ours, 
 and we proceeded, amusing ourselves with the 
 usual resource — the recounting our early adven- 
 tures, — when, in the midst of one of Bowles' best 
 stories, a universal yell broke from the hills 
 above us, and on both sides we perceived a 
 dozen raw-boned, naked Patagonians running 
 down with bludgeons in their hands. This was 
 an " affecting situation," to speak theatrically : 
 never, for an instant, had we contemplated such 
 a visitation ; for, having associated as a means of 
 economy, and not protection, our poverty and 
 our profession alike blinded us to the idea of 
 being plundered. The novelty, not less than the 
 peril of our situation, therefore, glared upon us 
 
270 WHIMSICAL ADVENTURE, 
 
 with a Medusa-like influence ; fear palsied every 
 arm, congealed every heart, and muddled every 
 head but Bob''s, who roared out to Kennedy 
 for his pistols. Kennedy was Daly's treasurer ; 
 and having the last night's receipts in his trunk, 
 had been running about Cork, be it known, to 
 borrow weapons for its protection. This was a 
 peculiar case ; but he struck his head with his 
 hands, in reply, and exclaimed, — " The pistols, 
 the pistols! — By the powers! I have locked them 
 up with the money !'' There was no restraining 
 a laugh at this, had we been at Death'^s door; but 
 the villains had providentially halted an instant, 
 to observe us ; and Bowles, remarking it, prompt- 
 ly proposed that we should do something to 
 intimidate them ; such as drawing our swords, 
 and commencing a general combat round the 
 car, Mrs. Taplin, (a tall, well-formed woman,) 
 to act up to us, or rather down upon us. Ap- 
 proving the hint, we drew and fell to, — Macduff 
 and Macbeth — Richard and Richmond— 'Hot- 
 spur and the Prince, — stamping, cutting, and 
 thrusting at each other with the most • inhuman 
 gestures and grimaces; Mrs. Taplin bending 
 down on each side, stretching forth her hands* 
 
AND HOAX. 271 
 
 beating her bosom, letting loose her hair, (she 
 did it famously,) to induce us to desist. The 
 artifice succeeded, — the natives were completely 
 overpowered ; gazing upon us in awe-struck 
 silence, as though we were of a kindred charac- 
 ter — a band of rogues who had quarrelled among 
 ourselves, and were bent upon a general destruc- 
 tion. Perceiving this, we gave the wink to the 
 carman, and proceeded, continuing the fight 
 with increased vigour, falling and reviving, and 
 chasing each other about the car, with a medley of 
 exclamations, such as "Die, villain!" — "NeverT 
 — " Spare, oh ! spare him !" (from Mrs. Taplin.) 
 — " Renounce your claim !"''' — " Only with my 
 life !"— " Then perish !"— "Ah ! I have regained 
 my sword ; another chance is mine.'"* — " Lay on 
 Macduff," &c. 
 
 A gentleman on horseback at length rode up, 
 who stopped at a little distance to observe us, 
 and then politely inquired of Kelly, who was 
 leaning on his foil and calling out for Richmond, 
 (being actually very " hoarse with calling,") what 
 the devil we were all about, and who was that 
 beautiful lady on the boxes ? — Kelly shook 
 his head, and pointed to Bowles, who, on being 
 
273 JOURNEY TO DUBLIN. 
 
 addressed, asked the stranger if he could 
 speak Hebrew, High-Dutch, the Cherokee, or 
 the Russian languages. His interrogator said 
 No; but he would talk Irish with any man 
 on the sod ! 
 
 Mrs. Taplin, I should have mentioned, wore 
 a scarlet pelisse trimmed with fur, with a fur 
 cap and gold band ; which, on the head and 
 limbs of a well-proportioned woman, had an 
 imposing appearance. Bowles accordingly point- 
 ed to her with an air of great mystery, and said 
 that she was the celebrated Empress of Russia, 
 who had run away to Ireland, to raise a rebel- 
 lion, and we were a body-guard, who had appre- 
 hended her in Cork, and were conveying her to 
 Dublin Castle. At this intelligence, the man 
 set off at full speed, and acquainted the people 
 in the next village. We had now left our 
 intimidated intimidators at some distance, and, 
 proclaiming a truce, ceased fighting, to en- 
 joy the joke. Much farther, however, we did 
 not proceed, before every cottage began to 
 empty its tenants, to have a peep at Royalty ; 
 and on entering the village, we had a train of 
 
JOURNEY TO DUBLIN. 27^ 
 
 about one hundred of the greatest human curi- 
 osities in Ireland. We promoted the hoax by 
 our own air and manner, till comfortably estab- 
 lished in the inn, whose every window, door, and 
 passage, was instantly blocked up with forms and 
 faces eager to catch a glimpse of " the lovely 
 cracher, the Imperial Quane in the red thingum- 
 bob, who had come all the way from Russia to 
 emancipate Ireland;" as well as to lam the names 
 and distinctions of "the Russian jontlemen who 
 had cotched her in Cork, and were carrying her 
 to Dublin Castle to be executed !" 
 
 Fearing, however, if the joke was not put an 
 end to, that the multitude, in the true spirit of 
 Irish heroism and sympathy, would entertain the 
 wish of rescuing Mrs. Taplin and belabouring her 
 guards, we called the landlord in, told him the 
 whole affair, and desired he would go and inform 
 our attendants that they had been hoaxed by 
 the man on horseback, for they were pressing to 
 see no Empress of Russia and body-guard, but 
 Mr. Daly's company of comedians on their way 
 to Dublin. He had considerable difficulty, how- 
 ever, in obtaining any credence to his story ; and 
 n5 
 
'^74} DUBLIN., 
 
 when we quitted the hamlet, our line of attend- 
 ants was scarcely diminished. With the hu- 
 mours of this adventure we amused ourselves 
 during the remainder of our journey, which was 
 performed in five very fine and pleasant days. 
 
 My first duty in Dublin was to dress myself 
 with due attention, and wait upon my managers, 
 Messrs. Truby and Watts, two very elegant gen- 
 tlemen in deportment, but consummate scoun- 
 drels in principle : this secret, however, I was 
 necessarily ignorant of, till the season had com- 
 menced ; whilst every thing combined to give 
 an air of prosperity and propriety to the con- 
 cern. The Theatre had been newly decorated, 
 was patronized by the Mayor, and had old Car- 
 michael, a bluff, honest veteran, for the stage di- 
 rector. Having been engaged with my wife, at 
 a salary of eight pounds a- week, to play an ex- 
 tensive round of business in comedy and tragedy, 
 fame and fortune seemed to open their flood- 
 gates, and I very reasonably expected an overflow. 
 Under these happy impressions, I sat down to 
 pen a letter to my wife ; after which I pro- 
 cured suitable lodgings, and established myself 
 ^5 for the winter in DubHn. 
 
MRS. INCH BALD. — MRS. BADDELEY. 275 
 
 This memorable season of 1782-3, three thea- \ 
 tres were to contend for public favour : — " Daly's, 
 in Smock Alley ; Crawford's, in Crow Street ; 
 and Messrs. Truby and Watts's, in the Capel 
 or Old Fishamble Street, — all enjoying the same 
 licence, and ranging the samefield, and only 
 differing in the respective merits of their 
 companies. It may not be unamusing to cast 
 a rapid glance over the principal names that 
 formed the rival hosts, and estimate the strength 
 of each. 
 
 To commence with Daly. — He had John Kem- 
 ble, Digges, O'Reilly, Dawson, (brother-in-law 
 to Billy Lewis, and nearly as good an actor,) 
 Bowles, and Jack Johnson; Miss Barsanti, Mrs. 
 Melmoth, Mrs. Taplin, Mrs. Baddeley, (who 
 had succeeded Miss Phillips,) and Mrs. Incli- 
 bajd, subsequently the authoress. 
 
 Mrs. Inchbald was a pretty but not clever 
 woman, with an impediment in her speech, which 
 stage-fright always took away. This was a cu- 
 rious effect to observe behind the scenes. — Mr^. 
 Baddeley was very popular in her day, for the 
 harmonizing sweetness of her person and voice ; 
 unhappily, she was also distinguished for some 
 
276 RYDER'S MERITS. 
 
 imprudences in conduct. A Royal Personage 
 was very much pleased with her, to whom the lat- 
 ter circumstance being mentioned — " Well,weil,'" 
 said he, with a generosity which always cha- 
 racterised him, "she may have performed "Bad- 
 ly " in private, but in pubHc she is very good 
 indeed !" 
 
 The fate of this lady was another of the nu- 
 merous instances of the " Jane Shore'" class, 
 which so sternly illustrate the results of a devi- 
 ation from wedded duty. She had first quitted 
 her husband — then quitted London (where she 
 had been so many years established) — soon after 
 quitted Dublin, and at length died in Edin- 
 burgh, in a state of the most abject distress. 
 
 Crawford (who had been bred up a barrister, 
 but becoming enraptured with acting and Mrs. 
 Barry, had embraced the one, and married the 
 other,) numbered himself, which was not much, 
 (more than that he had a party who could de- 
 molish a theatre, if they could not establish one,) 
 his wife — a host ; Clinch, (immortalized as the 
 second and successful Sir Lucius O'Trigger!) 
 La Masli, the admirable fop-servant, and Ry- 
 der, the ruling favourite of Dublin. 
 
CAUSE OF HIS FAILURE. ^77 
 
 This latter was a comedian in the way of 
 King, and, without being an imitation, presented 
 as strong resemblances to the former in study, as 
 O'Reilly did to Weston in nature. What the 
 Dublin public thought of him was evidenced 
 in a twenty years' standing, which not all the 
 exotic talent of the metropolis could overturn. 
 What I thought of him is quite unnecessary to 
 state, since he came to London, and enabled its 
 audience to form their own opinion. The se- 
 cret of his failure I may however be permitted 
 to state. It was precisely that of Digges : he had 
 visited the English capital when somewhat past 
 his powers, and found the theatre that re- 
 ceived him plentifully stocked with established 
 favourites. My reader must be aware that those 
 were the days in which the Drama was in a 
 plethora of health, — that the meanest actors then 
 were good actors, and not a varlet would go 
 on to deliver a message but he was a fellow of 
 spirit and intelligence. Ryder, instead of re- 
 turning to Dublin, (where a party would still 
 have supported him,) continued in town, and 
 soon sank into neglect. 
 
 For one thing, however, he deserves to be 
 
278 garrick's eminence. 
 
 recorded ; that which distinguished Garrick and 
 Garrick's days, distinguished him — versatility. 
 It has often struck me, that this is the only 
 test by which you can try the merits of a come- 
 dian. A comedian must bean artist; and man- 
 nerism, (or want of versatility,) which results 
 from a peculiar constitution, though favourable 
 to strong effects in tragedy, (as I have already 
 explained,) in comedy opposes itself to the very 
 object of the actor. Where manners, and not pas- 
 sion, is the principal thing to be exhibited, the 
 man without versatility is continually present- 
 ing his own character to the audience, instead of 
 the author's. This was Edwin's fault ; and how 
 many comedians in a later day have played a 
 variety of characters, and carried the same look 
 and hitch, shrug and shuffle, cut and caper 
 into each, whether young or old, vulgar or gen- 
 teel ! But this was not the case with Ryder ; 
 nor with Woodward, Shuter, King, or Parsons ; 
 they could identify themselves with whatever 
 they played, and express it properly ; particu- 
 larly King and Woodward, who drained the 
 entire stock of comic assumptions in high and 
 low life, in Shakspeare and in farce. Garrick's 
 
MRS. CRAWFORD. 279 
 
 eminence in this respect was his only preemi- 
 nence, and is sufficient of itself to decide the 
 point. In his own day, he was deemed a better 
 comedian than tragedian, of which his attitude 
 in Reynolds's picture is a testimony, (where he is 
 represented between the Comic and Tragic Muse, 
 inclining to the former) ; but whilst even in co- 
 medy it has been questioned that his powers of 
 conception were superior to Henderson's, it 
 was at all times and upon all hands admitted 
 that his power of expression (partly natural, 
 partly acquired,) never met with an approach^ 
 
 Of Mrs. Crawford, who, though upon the verge 
 of fifty, retained all the symmetry of her per- 
 son, and the sweetness of her voice, my admira- 
 tion of her as an actress was so great, that I could 
 only convey my feelings to my reader, by enter- 
 ing into an examination of some of her charac- 
 ters ; but as this might prove an uninteresting 
 work after all, I dismiss her, as I have done 
 others, with a short remark. 
 
 Never have two people been more frequently, 
 yet more unfairly, contrasted, than Mrs. Craw- 
 ford and Mrs. Siddons. That Mrs. Siddons 
 was superior to her as a general tragedian, no 
 
280 MRS. SFDDONS. 
 
 one could deny : in this respect, perhaps she was 
 superior to any thing the Stage ever witnessed ; 
 but that she surpassed Mrs. Crawford in her 
 own peculiar element, the generation that saw 
 and can remember them both, will never admit. 
 The fact is, nothing could be more distinct than 
 the respective spheres of their preeminence. 
 Mrs. Siddons, at the height of her powers and 
 success, was the matron of the stage;— -Mrs. 
 Crawford, the lover. Mrs. Siddons claimed the 
 dominion of the dignified, the vehement, the ma- 
 ternal, and the intellectual ; — Mrs. Crawford, of 
 the tender, the confiding, and impassioned. Who 
 does not perceive, in Lady Macbeth and Juliet, 
 the difference of genius required to conceive 
 each, and the difference of powers to give them 
 display .'* And this was the precise difference, 
 in their best days, between Mrs. Siddons and 
 Mrs. Crawford. The fact that the former 
 lady succeeded in the latter's characters during 
 her lifetime, is of no weight whatever. Young 
 people can at all times assume elderly charac- 
 ters ; but the most general of all outcries is 
 that against elderly people putting our gravity 
 
VANDERMERE. 281 
 
 to the test, by representing young ones. Mrs. 
 Crawford (for the stage) was an old woman 
 when Mrs. Siddons appeared : she was not en- 
 titled, therefore, to play her best parts, and had 
 to maintain her popularity by others in which her 
 talent was but secondary. — To come at length 
 to Fishamble Street. 
 
 Our best actor was Vandermere, a broad co- 
 median, something in the way of Parsons, but 
 not so original. He with O'Reilly and Ryder 
 formed a sort of histrionic triumvirate in Dub- 
 lin. Stephen Kemble v/as engaged to lead the 
 tragedy ; and we numbered in addition — Better- 
 ton (father of Mrs. Glover), O'Neil (father 
 of the " modern Juhet"), Macready (father 
 of the present tragedian), Moss of Drury Lane, 
 with Mrs. Gardner of the Haymarket, a cham- 
 bermaid actress of great merit ; and many others 
 that it would neither be wise nor interesting to 
 mention. 
 
 The first house that opened for the season 
 was Crawford's ; and he was obliged to com- 
 mence with a " free night," by virtue of his 
 patent. Thinking that there must be some 
 
282 CRAWFORD'S COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 amusement, on an occasion when the doors of a 
 theatre were thrown open, like those of a hospi- 
 tal, to take in all comers gratuitously, I resolved 
 to adjourn to Crow Street, and witness the per- 
 formance on both sides of the orchestra. If there 
 was one particular spot in the world where 
 every moral and physical cause could combine, 
 to fender such an event more ludicrous than at 
 another, that spot was Dublin. The idea of a 
 Dublin gallery going into the boxes, pretty 
 strongly defends my assertion. By an early at- 
 tendance and a tremendous crush, (in which 
 my ribs were like to have shared the fate of my 
 hat,) I was carried into the house, through the 
 pit entrance, and recovered my understanding 
 within two seats of the orchestra. My reader 
 must imagine the appearance of the front — I can- 
 not describe it ; as well as the roaring and filli- 
 looing, and moving in and out. Soon after the 
 doors were opened, it was packed in every part 
 like a box of corks ; and I only regret that 
 my memory does not serve me to record some 
 of the conversation that ensued between the 
 *' leedies and jontlemen" for this night only. 
 
HUMOURS OF A FREE-NIGHT. 
 
 or sprinkle my pago with a few of their jokes. 
 However — 
 
 The play was " Douglas ;'"* and on this occa- 
 sion all the principals of the Theatre were 
 exempted from duty, and the characters were 
 allotted to understrappers. That of Glenalvon 
 fell into the hands of a little black-browed, 
 bandy-legged fellow by the name of Barret, 
 well known throughout Dublin for his private 
 particularities, and possessing at all times a 
 great circle of acquaintance in Mount Olym- 
 pus. The Irish people have great sympathy 
 and enthusiasm ; and notwithstanding their per- 
 sonal inconvenience, and the caricature daub- 
 ings of the beauties of Home (the actors ap- 
 pearing to be all abroad when they were at 
 home) then and there exhibited, they saw and 
 heard the whole with profound attention. Bar. 
 ret'*s entrance was the signal for an uproar ; 
 but it was of a permissible order. He was 
 dressed in an entire suit of black, with a black 
 wig, and a black velvet hat crowned with 
 an immense plume of black feathers, which 
 bending before him, gave him very much the 
 
284 PADDY BARRET 
 
 aspect of a mourning coach-horse. Barret had 
 some vanity and some judgment ; he was fond 
 of applause, and determined (to use his own 
 phrase) to have a belly-full. He accordingly 
 came on left hand upper entrance, and cutting 
 the boards at a right angle, paced down to the 
 stage-door right hand, then wheeled sharp upon 
 his heel, and marched over to the opposite side ; 
 his arms stuck a-kimbo, his robe flying, and his 
 feathers nodding, in pretty accurate burlesque 
 of the manner of Mossop. His friends com- 
 posing a major portion of the audience, the clap- 
 ping of hands, waving of handkerchiefs, and 
 yelling of lips that greeted him, I, having no 
 powers of expression to describe, must leave 
 to my reader's " powers of conception." 
 
 When the tumult had a little subsided. Bar- 
 ret began to act ; but some of his more intimate 
 acquaintance, taking a dishke to his costume, 
 interrupted him with exclamations of " Paddy 
 Barret, Paddy Barret !" Barret, however, was 
 conscious of the proprieties of his station, and, 
 turning a dignified deaf ear to such addresses, 
 proceeded. His friends now resorted to a species 
 
AND HIS CRITICS. 285 
 
 of notice to obtain his, which is beautifully pe- 
 culiar to an Irish audience — *' a groan for Mr- 
 Barret." That happened, however, not to be 
 the first time he had heard it ; and as we pay 
 little respect to things we are familiar with. 
 Barret proceeded. The *^ clarlings" were now 
 stimulated to a decisive measure, by aiming an 
 Irish apricot at his nodding plume, and shout- 
 ing out, '* Divil burn ye, Paddy Barret ! will 
 ye lave off spaking to that lady, and listen ?"" 
 The potatoe triumphed, and the actor, walking 
 forward to the lamps, desired to be acquainted 
 with his patrons' wishes. — " Put some powder in 
 yourjasey, you black-looking coalhaver."" — "Oh ! 
 is that all you want, my jewel ? why didn't you 
 say so before ? — Put some powder in my wig ! 
 surely I '11 do that thing ; but I have ounly to tell 
 you, my darlings, that I 'm a Scotch jontleman 
 to-night, and not Mr. Benjamin Barret ; and so 
 
 " — " Get out wid your dirtiness, Paddy — 
 
 you chimney-swaper ! you tragedy crow ! — Do 
 you think to bother us wid your black looks ? 
 Go and powder yourjasey, you divil's own body- 
 box-maker.''* — " Oh, to be sure, I '11 do that 
 • i. e. Undertaker. 
 
286 BARRET AND HIS CRITICS. 
 
 thing." Saying which, he made a low bow, and 
 retreated to the Green-room, leaving the audi- 
 ence and Lord and Lady Randolph to amuse 
 themselves ad interim as they pleased. 
 
 Barret on this occasion were a stiffly- starch- 
 ed lady's rufF; and the waggish barber pow- 
 dered him so sufficiently as to lodge a ridge 
 round his throat, and give him the face of the 
 ghost of Hamlet's father. When he returned 
 to the stage, he was received with a shout of 
 laughter that threatened to rend the roof. Pad- 
 dy bowed full low for the honour conferred on 
 him, and was about to proceed, when the 
 " Norman Quay" critics were at him again. 
 " Arrah ! the boy 's been in a snow-storm ! By 
 the powers ! he has put his head in a flour- 
 sack ! — Paddy, Paddy Barret !'' Glenalvon dis- 
 regarded them some time with a very laudable 
 spirit of contempt, till the yells, groans, epi- 
 thets, and exclamations, swelled the diabolic 
 chorus to a negation of the sense of hearing. He 
 then came forward a second time to inquire their 
 wishes. " Leedies and Jontlemen, what may it 
 plase ye to want now ^"^ — " Put some paint on 
 
OUR COMMENCEMENT. 287 
 
 your nose,'* was the reply. " What 1" — " Put 
 some paint on 3^our nose, you ghost alive!" — 
 ** Paint my nose to play tragedy ! Oh, bad luck 
 to your taste ! — I tell you what, Terence M*Mul- 
 ligun, and you, Larry Casey, with your two ugly 
 mugs up in the boxes yonder, I see how it is : the 
 Divil himself wouldn't plaseye to-night ; so you 
 may just come down and play the karakter your- 
 silves, — ^for the ghost of another line will I never 
 spake to-night." 
 
 Saying which, he took off his wig, and shak- 
 ing its powder at them contemptuously, walked 
 off the stage with a truly tragical strut. The 
 prompter was consequently obliged to come on 
 and read the remainder of the part. 
 
 Ours was the next vessel that came into 
 action. Having the crew assembled, Messrs. 
 Truby and Watts resolved to take advantage of 
 the wind, get the start of Daly, and bear down 
 with a broad s^ide upon Crawford. " The Mer- 
 chant of Venice" was fixed on as our stroiio-est 
 play, and the Mayor and authorities being pre- 
 sent with a brilliant assemblage of box com- 
 pany, the entertainments went off with so much 
 
288 STEPHEN K EMBLEMS HIT. 
 
 eclat, that we were led to augur favourably of 
 the season. Stephen Kemble made his dthut 
 in Shylock, and (Macklin being in London) 
 was tolerably successful. Some clever rogue 
 in the upper boxes however, who underrated 
 his and our talents, and had come for the pur- 
 pose of promulgating his opinion, perceiving 
 that disapprobation in a crowded and contented 
 house would be immediately silenced, employed 
 the ingenious mode of appearing to be delighted 
 with every thing, and thus clapped and bra- 
 voed to that degree, as effectually to disconcert 
 the actors and disgust the audience. Against 
 Stephen in particular was this covered battery 
 directed, who winced and sputtered like a roast- 
 ing apple ; but in the trial scene he took signal 
 vengeance. When addressing Gratiano he came 
 to the words — '*' Till thou canst rail the seal 
 from off this bond, thou," — and (looking up, he 
 added,) — " that noisy fellow in the boxes yon- 
 der, — ^but offend your lungs to speak so loud." 
 
 The allusion was received with universal ap- 
 probation, and the enemy was silenced. 
 
 Our Theatre had been the tenement of Mossop 
 
BARRY AND MOSSOP. S89 
 
 and Barry, during their Dublin career ; and 
 Carmichael our stage-manager, who was their 
 prompter, told me many whimsical stories of 
 their system and characters. 
 
 It appeared that both took aft active share in 
 the management, but divided their duties with 
 much judgment and efficiency. Mossop pre- 
 sided on the stage, — Barry, in the treasury : the 
 one engaged actors and cast pieces ; the other 
 paid the tradespeople, and settled the receipts. 
 The personal characteristics of these gentlemen 
 befit4;ed them for provinces which were as 
 widely distinct as their professional paths. Mos- 
 sop, though intelligent and clever, was stern, 
 proud, fiery, and commanding, making the busi- 
 ness move with a mechanical regularity, and 
 walking about immersed in the spirit of his 
 profession, sensitive of his rights, and not less 
 of his personal dignity,— .in short, exhibiting, 
 both in manner and mind, a living picture of 
 his favourite Mahomet. Barry was soft, mild, 
 conciliating, and persuasive, with a greater 
 knowledge of the world, and more of the man of 
 business, if not the gentleman. 
 VOL. I. o 
 
290 ANECDOTE OF 
 
 When their concern fell into difficulties, 
 Barry was perhaps the more important agent of 
 the two; he possessed the tact to subdue the 
 rising dissatisfaction of creditors. A tradesman 
 to whom they had run very deeply in debt, 
 having been promised his money several Satur- 
 days in succession, determined at length to see 
 and obtain something from Barry, or not quit the 
 Theatre. Mossop, the day before, had been ap- 
 plied to by an actor who had partly been en- 
 gaged in London, and was come to Dublin on 
 the strength of an old agreement at a time when 
 his services were the most inadmissible. Maho^ 
 met happening to be in the way when the trades- 
 man called, mistook him for the rejected Thes- 
 pian, and said rather sharply — '' My good Sir, 
 I 'm sorry you should have given yourself the 
 trouble of calling ; I left word at the box-office 
 yesterday, to say, that we could not attend to 
 your application."" — " Sir ! Mr. Mossop !" — " I 
 say, Sir, under the present circumstances of the 
 Theatre, it is impossible we can do any thing 
 for you." — " But you must do something for me. 
 I will be attended to," replied the tradesman. — 
 
THEfR MANAGEMENT. 291 
 
 " Sir !" exclaimed Mossop, in surprise. — " I have 
 been put off a dozen times, Mr. Mossop, and I'll 
 
 not be made a fool of any longer." — " D n, 
 
 Sir ! quit the room !" shouted the manager, losing 
 his patience. " I'll not quit the room," rejoined 
 the determined dealer, " nor the Theatre, nor 
 your presence, till I have had some satisfaction." 
 
 Mossop, who was a powerful man, could talk 
 no longer, but seized his applicant, with the in- 
 tention of throwing him to the bottom of the 
 stairs. Barry, however, providentially ran up 
 at that instant, and prevented the catastrophe, 
 by explaining the mistake. 
 
 The ensuing week Daly (to continue my for- 
 mer image) got under weigh, crowded all sail, 
 and came up to us in terrible array. He had 
 the strongest company, — Crawford the most po- 
 pular house, with the two greatest favourites 
 (Mrs. C. and Ryder). We had the smallest but 
 most comfortable Theatre, with the best patron- 
 age. 
 
 Thus the experiment was tried of sustaining 
 three theatres in a city which never has en- 
 riched one, not owing to the disposition of the 
 0*2 
 
292 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 people, but the want of means. The result 
 may be surmised. After the opening week, we 
 all played to empty benches. As it soon be- 
 came a struggle of dramatic talent, and not local 
 circumstances, Capel Street was necessarily the 
 first to suffer, and, Messrs. Truby and Watts 
 not proving to be monied personages, the first 
 to sink. 
 
 The object with which they had taken the 
 Theatre now came out : it was intended merely 
 as a blind to justice for the safeguard of a 
 gambling speculation. A large disused lumber- 
 room at the back of the house was fitted up in 
 the most expensive style with all the infernal pa- 
 raphernalia of the Goddess of Chance. Here all 
 the richer but sillier portion of the audience was 
 invited, when the performance was over, to take 
 an active part in another, and pay a high price 
 for their seat in the boxes ; Messrs. Truby and 
 Watts, with a well-dressed party of confederates, 
 acting as the decoy-ducks. But this abominable 
 partnership of Plutus and Thespis did not long 
 continue secret. Some of the poor devils who 
 were fleeced made a public complaint, and the 
 
A FLIGHT. 293 
 
 amusement was stopped. So also were the re- 
 sources of our managers : the Mayor could do 
 no less than withdraw his patronage ; and the 
 public having long since declined their attend- 
 ance, our receipts in a short time did not average 
 sufficient to pay the fiddlers. The result was 
 foreseeable, — neither tradespeople nor actors 
 obtained any money ; and Messrs. Truby and 
 Watts, to avoid the growing inconvenience of 
 such a situation, quietly took themselves off one 
 evening, and left the Theatre, tradespeople, and 
 company to settle the matter amongst them. 
 The company had but one resource — the public ; 
 though, I am sorry to admit, they had but one 
 ground of application — their necessities. But the 
 Irish people, wherever their brains may be situ- 
 ated, have their hearts always in the right place, 
 and sympathy extended to us what criticism 
 denied. Our tradesmen were thus converted 
 to the virtue of Job ; and a temporary manage- 
 ment being instituted, we received an accession 
 to our forces in the person of Mrs. Bernard, 
 (who was now completely recovered,) and that 
 of a Mrs. Sparks, a singer from Edinburgh, 
 
294 ISAAC SPARKS 
 
 who, luckily for us, was a great favourite in 
 Dublin. 
 
 The father-in-law of this Mrs. Sparks had 
 been an eminent comedian and humorist in 
 Dublin, at a previous period, where he founded 
 a club called " The Jokers," which for many 
 years concentrated all the wit and waggery of 
 the metropolis. 
 
 Of the various stories which were then in cir- 
 culation respecting him, I remember one, which, 
 I think, may justify my calUng up the memory 
 of this long-forgotten disciple of Heraclitus, to 
 introduce to my reader. 
 
 Isaac, or Iky Sparks as he was commonly 
 termed, lodged on one occasion in a house with 
 a Scotch doctor, who amused his leisure hours 
 by learning to play the fiddle. These gentle- 
 men, it must be remarked, were not upon the 
 most amicable terms ; the Scotchman turning 
 up his nose at Sparks as a '' vogabond Plee- 
 actor," and the latter retorting by calHng him a 
 " legal Vampire," since he lived by the death of 
 other people. The Doctor made it an invariable 
 rule to rise at daylight to practise, about which 
 
AND A SCOTCH DOCTOR. 295 
 
 time the convivial Mr. Sparks was getting into 
 his first nap. As their rooms were adjoining, it 
 was a necessary result that Sparks lost his sleep ; 
 and it soon became another, that he should lie 
 awake to meditate revenge. He did not like to 
 leave the house (perhaps he could not), but he re- 
 solved, if possible, to expel this fiddling Macbeth 
 "who murdered sleep," and was instrumental 
 to his annoyance. 
 
 One morning, he heard Mr. M'Intosh the 
 doctor desire Judy the servant, who waited on 
 both of them, to go out and buy him a penny- 
 worth of rosin for his " feedle ;" and as she 
 passed his door, he called her in, and inquired 
 her errand. — " Sure I'm going to get some 
 ros'n, Mr. Sparks, for Mr. M'Intosh's fiddle." — 
 " Ros'n, ros'n, you crachur !" said Sparks; " and 
 isn't ros'n you are going to ax for, Judy, arrant 
 nonsense ?"— " Arrah, Mr. Sparks !"— " Rosen's 
 Latin, my jewel : the shopkeeper won't under- 
 stand you !" — " Latin ! Och sure, Mr. Sparks, I 
 know nauthing of Latin ; will your honor tell me 
 what am I to ax for ?" — " Say you want a piece of 
 stick-brimstone, darling; that's English to spake, 
 
296 A SCOTCH FIDDLE. 
 
 and good Irish in the bargain." The girl com- 
 plied with his direction, procured the brimstone, 
 and returning to Mr. M'Intosh, presented it -to 
 
 him. " You dom b h !" exclaimed the 
 
 Scotchman, " what ha' ye broot me? — what do ye 
 ca** this ?■" — " Brimstone, Sirr !" — " Breemstun ! 
 did I na send ye for roosin ?" — " Plase your 
 honor, and so you did ; but Mr. Sparks tould me 
 that brimstone was the raal thing to ax for."" 
 
 Foaming with rage, away flew the Doctor into 
 Isaac's room, (who was listening to the result,) 
 and demanded of him how he dared to interfere 
 with another person''s affairs, and alter his com- 
 mands to the servant. — " Why, Mr. M'Intosh," 
 said Isaac very coolly, '' what did you send for.?" 
 — " Roosin, Sir, — roosin for my feedle, and be 
 domm'd to ye."'—" Well," rephed Sparks, " I 
 always thought brimstone was rosin for a Scotch 
 
 fiddle ir 
 
 Crawford's business was the next to decline. 
 Daly, by means of " exotics *" from London, and 
 a succession of new pieces, contrived to concen- 
 trate the public attention. At length, no money 
 coming forward on a Saturday morning, the 
 
CRAWFORD'S DECLINE. 297 
 
 "baud" rebelled, and refused to play at night. 
 Crawford felt this the more grievous, as he was 
 to enact Hamlet on that occasion. When the 
 time of performance came, the truth was reveal- 
 ed to the audience ; not a fiddle was to be seen ; 
 and, to all appearance, this heavy tragedy was to 
 be gone through without a note of harmony. 
 The gods of all nations, I believe, are fond of St. 
 Cecilia, but none more particularly than those 
 of Dublin, who vehemently roared out for their 
 accustomed diversion. Crawford immediately 
 walked before the curtain in his Hamlet's clothes, 
 and, detailing the circumstances of his situation, 
 threw himself on the well-known, deeply-prized 
 indulgence of a Dublin audience, to excuse the 
 absence of the hard-hearted " Priests of Apollo." 
 Crawford was a favourite in the city, upon many 
 personal grounds ; but this was rather a large 
 request, and considerable murmuring ensued. At 
 length one of his auditors shouted out, "Divil 
 burn it, Billy Crawford ! don't I know that you 
 play the fiddle like an angel ! tip us a tune 
 yoursilf, my darling, and that shall contint us !" 
 Such an act was certainly a compromise of his 
 o5 
 
298 HAMLET AND PADDY O'RAFFERTY. 
 
 professional dignity, particularly in the habili- 
 ments of Hamlet ; but, under the circumstances 
 of the case, the manager conceived it justifiable. 
 He accordingly acquiesced in their wishes with 
 a low bow, and retreating to the Green-room, 
 took down his violin, which hung there for the 
 rehearsal of music, and returned to the lamps, 
 when he struck up Paddy O'Rafferty ! and, not- 
 withstanding his sable vesture, contrived to 
 infuse sufficient spirit in it by the fling of his 
 foot, and the bobbing of his head. The manner 
 and the music had the desired effect ; an encore 
 was called for, and the performance put the 
 "divinities'" in such perfect good-humour, that 
 the play and farce proceeded and concluded 
 without another note of music for the evening. 
 
 Ryder, finding that Crawford could pay no 
 one but his wife, took a benefit, and went over 
 to Daly : — this event hastened the close of 
 the Theatre. 
 
 Ryder about this time was very fortunate in 
 getting three thousand pounds by the Lottery. 
 He had purchased a ticket two years before, 
 
RYDER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 299 
 
 which at the drawing he had mislaid and for- 
 gotten. A tradesman calling on him for a bill 
 which had been already paid, Ryder said he 
 could produce the receipt if he looked over his 
 papers. The honest person, who could not re- 
 collect this circumstance, but wished to re-collect 
 his money, was therefore ordered to call again ; 
 and he set to work in investigating his drawers. 
 The receipt he did not find, but he lit upon the 
 Lottery ticket, which he thrust into his pocket. 
 That evening he was invited out to supper, and 
 went in a very ill-temper, at the prospect of pay- 
 ing a debt he did not owe, and being so obliged 
 through his own neglect : at table he related the 
 case, and drawing out of his pocket the ticket, 
 exclaimed, " So, after hunting every drawer and 
 pigeon-hole I had, and inspecting in particular 
 a large bundle of receipts, I found nothing but 
 this old Lottery ticket, and be cursed to it ! — one 
 that my wife made me buy two years ago," A 
 gentleman present looked at the number, and 
 acquainted Ryder that he was the owner of the 
 unclaimed prize. Whether he paid the trades- 
 
300 BELFAST ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 raan or not, in the flush of his good fortune, I 
 cannot say ; but for that evening his spirits were 
 as happy as usual. 
 
 Every attempt that we had made to bolster 
 up the season having failed, the prospect was 
 now apparent of its speedy termination. This 
 event was not to be attributed to the public, 
 who, by various good houses, had set us upon 
 our legs, and given us a fair trial. The company 
 began therefore to reflect on their next destina- 
 tions. Such is the life of an actor ! who, after all, 
 comes the nearest to an evidence of the perpetual 
 motion. — Stephen Kemble was going over to 
 Daly, — Better ton had quitted us soon after 
 Messrs. Truby and Watts, — Macready and 
 O'Neil, my very worthy friends, were proceeding 
 to Belfast. I therefore seemed to be the only 
 one unprovided, when Macready one morning 
 brought Andrew Cherry to my lodgings, who 
 had come from Atkins, the Belfast manager, ex- 
 pressly to secure the services of my wife and self. 
 The terms he offered were by no means such as 
 to take advantage of my present situation, and 
 I was happy to accept them. 
 
JACK BARNSHAW'S READING. 301 
 
 Jack Barnshaw, our singer, was going back 
 to Liverpool. — (Bowles, who was with Daly, re- 
 turned to Norwich, where he died.) — This per- 
 son had been brought up a butcher, and received 
 no education, — his ideas were therefore on a par 
 with his manners; but the gift of a pleasant full- 
 toned voice had enabled him to embark and 
 make his way on the stage: scarcely a night 
 passed but Jack made some egregious blunder, 
 which would puzzle the audience, and convulse 
 the actors with laughter. Playing Leander, one 
 evening, in " The Padlock," when he addressed 
 Leonora, and said — " Beauteous Leonora ! have 
 you not observed a pilgrim at your gate, who 
 has often watched you ?"" he continued, — " I am 
 that pilgrim,— -one that would change shapes as 
 often as Portius, to gain a sight of you !" 
 
 When he came off, I was at the wings, (being 
 the Mungo of the night,) and stopped him for 
 an explanation. "Jack, what did you say just 
 now about Fortius.?'' — *'What ! Portius!" said 
 he—" Change shapes as often as Portius, — why, 
 it's in the book !"— " And who was Portius, may 
 
302 DALY'S GENEROSITY. 
 
 I ask?"—" Why, Jack Bernard, I didn't think 
 
 you was so d d hignerant ! why, don't you 
 
 remember the Marchant of Venice t'other night, 
 where there is a Fortius that first is a woman, 
 you know, and then doesn't she change shapes 
 and come on as a man ? and then doesn't she 
 change shapes again, and come on as a woman ? 
 — that's what it means." -^*^" "^^ '^"''^ '^'?'^ 
 ,T My wife's illness and the manager's defalca- 
 tion, as my reader must suppose, had consider- 
 ably involved me ; and though in possession of 
 an engagement, I was under some difficulty to 
 proceed to it. A few days before I quitted 
 Dublin, I met Daly on horseback, who stopped 
 me. Having parted in mutual disgust at Cork, 
 and passed each other since without a recogni- 
 tion, this circumstance surprised me. But the 
 feelings of the man had triumphed over those of 
 the actor. "Bernard," said he, stretching out 
 his hand, " all quarrels forgot : we ought to 
 have been better friends and brother actors. — I 
 know how you are situated ; and if twenty gui- 
 neas will be of any service, Kennedy will give 
 them to you, and take your note at your own 
 
TRIBUTES TO PRIVATE VIRTUES. 
 
 time.'' — He then wished me better fortunes else- 
 where, and rode off. 
 
 I have mentioned this circumstance, (in com- 
 mon with many others,) not that it could be of 
 any particular interest to ni}^ reader (if it were 
 not historically requisite) ; but as it is well 
 known that there must be a certain portion of 
 every man's book which is heavier and duller 
 than the rest, I would desire that such por- 
 tion in mine should consist of these little tri- 
 butes to the private virtues of individuals whose 
 public characters are the only links that con- 
 nect them with public memory. 
 
 The next day I dined with John Kemble, 
 who wished to do me the same kindness as 
 Daly ; but as this was unnecessary, I received 
 from him instead what was equally serviceable 
 — a letter of introduction to Sir John O'Neil of 
 Shanes Castle. 
 
 Having thus brought our disastrous season 
 at Dublin to a close, I think it is high time I 
 should bring this chapter also, and I can do it in 
 no way so amusingly as by relating the mode of 
 Mrs. Gardner's departure, who, though a mar- 
 
304 MRS. GARDNER'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 ried woman, was fond of very singular ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 Mrs. G. was a lady of extravagant habits, 
 and had involved herself in Dublin, in a man- 
 ner which the conduct of her manager was no 
 excuse for. Receiving a letter from the Haymar- 
 ket, to say that her services were required, the 
 season being about to open earlier than usual, 
 settlement with her creditors was out of the 
 question ; and to obtain their permission to de- 
 part without a settlement, seemed equally hope- 
 less ; whilst under the present circumstances 
 of the Theatre, a benefit would but have in- 
 volved her. But she had some friends in Dub- 
 lin, who, if they would not enable her to pay 
 her creditors, were willing to assist her in elud- 
 ing them. A scheme was accordingly concerted 
 for her deliverance, and carried into effect in 
 the following manner : — 
 
 Early one morning, Mrs. Gardner was pro- 
 nounced to be very unwell ; by breakfast-time 
 she was worse ; at noon she was quite danger- 
 ous ; at evening, past recovery ; and at night — 
 dead. No one was permitted to approach her 
 
A GRAVE JOKE. 
 
 during this time, but persons concerned in 
 the conspiracy, and certain grave gentlemen, 
 who, by the aid of well-powdered wigs, black 
 breeches and stockings, and gold-headed canes, 
 passed for physicians. The next day, the 
 mournful intelligence was promulgated in the 
 newspapers, to the dismay and regret of nu- 
 merous tradesmen and money-lenders. An un- 
 dertaker having been bribed and called in, made 
 the necessary funereal preparations, and by 
 noon that day, in solemn state, the ostensible 
 remains of Mrs. Gardner were carried forth, 
 and deposited in the " tomb of all the Capulets,''' 
 with a long train of mourners, who carried 
 onions in their handkerchiefs, whilst a lady, who 
 very much resembled her, had taken her pas- 
 sage over-night in a Holyhead packet, and in 
 two days afterwards was drinking to Mrs. 
 Gardner's repose, in lodgings near the Strand. 
 
306 IRISH TRAVELLING. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1783. — Irish travelling Belfast Green-room. — Atkins. — 
 
 Cherry. — Captain Garvey, the Irish Don Juan, and ori- 
 ginal of " Paddy Carey." — Miss Knipe. — Story of her Fa- 
 ther. — Another Whitely and Thornton Opening Play. — 
 
 Gurney in Careless : his singing, and female admirers. — 
 Amyas Griffith (the Belfast Critic) and his legs. — La 
 Mash, the fop-servant, and Kitty Frederick : his record 
 of spousal gratitude — Sir John O'Neil. — Mr. Rice, the 
 old Irish Gentleman. — M'Nat and his " Parkegits." — 
 New Theatre proposed. — My first management. — Attach- 
 ment to Ireland. — GeoflFry Galway, a great little actor. — 
 Story of him and Whitely. — His blunders. — Londonderry. 
 — Hard drinking : The " six-bottle men." — An Irish invi- 
 tation. — Sligo. — The Castle Inn. — ^The Duelling Assembly- 
 room. — Impromptu by Mr. Farren (father of the actress). 
 — Le Sieur Ray and his " Cockalorum." — Sligo " Glee 
 Club." — Retahation, and an elegant challenge. — Captain 
 Garvey's Gaities, and impudence. — My illness. — The 
 two "Wat Tylers." — Restoration by lime-water: the 
 receipt. 
 
 Our journey to Belfast partook of the com- 
 mon characteristics of Irish travelling in those 
 days. A machine called a buggy was our 
 
BELFAST GREEN-ROOM. 307 
 
 conveyance (which in the vermin it contained 
 seemed to justify its designation), drawn by a 
 nondescript collection of bones and hairs, term- 
 ed in Ireland, with some humour, a horse, be- 
 fore whom the driver used to run with a wisp 
 of hay in his hand, to induce the beast to go 
 forward and bite it (wearing out whips being 
 expensive). The road itself was diversified with 
 ponds of water, called puddles, — and cut up 
 into tolerable footpaths, under the name of ruts ; 
 whilst the immense masses of stone and clay, with 
 which Irish ingenuity, in covering a ditch, had 
 created a hill, made it resemble nothing so much 
 as the hump-distinguished back of the sea-ser- 
 pent, which it was my fortune to see in Ame- 
 rica many years afterwards. 
 
 I will now proceed, in my usual way, to in- 
 troduce my reader to our corps at Belfast ; no- 
 ticing such particulars in each as may contri- 
 bute to the stores of these pages, — viz. 
 
 Atkins, Row, Tyrrel, Cherry, Garvey, 
 Macready, O'Neil, Kane, Kennedy, Hammer- 
 ton, Bernard, Mrs. Atkins, Miss Knipe, Mrs. 
 and Miss Hoskins, and Mrs. Bernard. 
 
308 ATKINS. — CHERRY. 
 
 Atkins, our head, was a pretty singer and a 
 worthy man, but not a clever manager. — The 
 character and talents of " honest Andrew 
 Cherry" were too well known to a London 
 public to need any reference here : — the anec- 
 dotes of our acquaintance shall come in their 
 proper places. Captain Garvey, our " walking 
 gentleman,*" deserves some notice. This per- 
 son was about the most notorious character con- 
 nected with the Irish Staoje, though more on 
 a personal than professional account. He was 
 an Irishman by birth, and had all the distinc- 
 tions of his country in perfection, — a handsome 
 countenance, a tall and graceful person, a good 
 proportion of calf and back, and a sufficient 
 measure of that impudence which is called ease. 
 His family, who were respectable, had purchased 
 him a commission in a horse-regiment, as an 
 outset ; but irregular habits and love of plea- 
 sure had led him to the Stage, which, being an 
 itinerant and diversified life, presented more 
 facihties for the gratification of his whims and 
 passions. He had a little patrimony however, 
 
CAPTAIN GARVEY. 309 
 
 which, with the title of Captain, to get him cre- 
 dit with tailors and tavern-keepers, (the only 
 people who gave him any,) kept him in re- 
 sources. The aids of dress were never wanting 
 to set off the graces of his person, and an air of 
 fashion enveloped the whole ; for, wherever he 
 went, he contrived to partake of the prevailing 
 amusements, and mix in good company. As an 
 actor, Garvey was on a par with the generality 
 of persons who make the Stage a means of sub- 
 sistence or amusement, and not a pursuit of 
 genius. As a man, he was an equal favourite 
 with the men and women. He was not highly 
 educated or possessed of much mind, but had 
 an abundance of iiatural ability, which, with a 
 good song, some small-talk, and infinite good- 
 humour, led him into all societies, and distin- 
 guished him in each. With the men, he would 
 drink, game, sing, swear, run, ride, box, bet, or 
 fight duels all day long ; with the women, his 
 accomplishments were not fewer or less fatal. 
 Garvey was the Irish Don Juan : Rochester was 
 a continent character in comparison — a mere 
 
310 ORIGINAL OF " PADDY CAREY.*" 
 
 abbot of St. John. He had a wife in every 
 town he visited, and as many concubines as So- 
 lomon. Nature erred in making him a Christian, 
 —he should have been born in Turkey, with 
 all the fair prerogatives of a three-tailed Bashaw. 
 I don't know in what consisted his moral 
 strength, — but women he admitted to be his 
 weakness. You could hardly stumble on a 
 family in those times (which had a female part) 
 that he had not attacked. His name was a 
 tocsin of terror to all husbands and lovers ; 
 and wherever he came, elopements, seductions, 
 and crim-cons were the looked-for and general 
 result. Thus for many years he may be said 
 to have supplied the subject-matter to all the 
 scandalizing tea-drinking parties in the Island. 
 He was, in short, the complete personification of 
 an Irish " fine fellow ;" and certainly the most 
 " imposing" character it has ever been my for- 
 tune to meet with. '" 
 Andrew Cherry, it seems, thought it a pity 
 that such an individual should be lost to pos- 
 terity, and determined to perpetuate him by 
 
MISS KNIPE. 311 
 
 means of the profession he adorned ; which he 
 did, a few years after, by that vulgarized but 
 faithful portrait — Paddy Carey ! 
 
 Garvey's personal notoriety was the secret of 
 his theatrical success ; men and women would 
 flock to see him^ and not the character he as- 
 sumed ; and as he never wanted an engage- 
 ment in private, a similar good fortune was the 
 result in his employments. To pass on : — Jack 
 Kane, our low comedian, I shall come to by and 
 by. Macready and O'Neil (both living in 
 1827) were clever in their respective paths ; and 
 Miss Knipe, afterwards Mrs. Cherry, was a 
 pretty girl and a pretty actress. 
 
 The father of this latter was a well-known 
 manager in Ireland, distinguished by no small 
 portion of the spirit peculiar to the extinct 
 race of the Whitelys and the Thorntons. If 
 my reader derived any amusement from those 
 worthies, he will forgive me, perhaps, if I intro- 
 duce the above to his acquaintance. 
 
 Knipe was a very plain man, both in his looks 
 and habiliments ; but he had a handsome wife, 
 
312 A STORY OP 
 
 who was very fond of dress, as most managers'* 
 wives are, that attach a proper importance to 
 their husbands' situations. Arriving at an inn 
 one evening during a journey, Mrs. K. was 
 shown into the parlour with great ceremony, 
 where she ordered supper ; but Knipe remained 
 outside to see his horse attended to, and his 
 buggy burnished. Satisfying himself upon the 
 first point, he walked up to the Teddy who was 
 purifying his vehicle, when the latter mistook 
 him for his wife's servant, and said, " Ton my 
 sowl, honey, you 're a mighty fine gintleman, to 
 make me wash your muddy buggy, when I 
 have ever so many delicate plates and dishes to 
 clane in-doors ! Take the mop, you divil, and 
 work away at the wheels, whilst I fetch another 
 bucket of water." Knipe, being a fellow of in- 
 finite good-humour, laughed at his mistake, and 
 confirmed him in it by complying with his wish. 
 When Teddy returned, a conversation en- 
 sued as to what sort of situation Knipe enjoyed. 
 " You Ve pretty good wages, I shouldn't doubt, 
 darling?" — '* As much money as I can get," 
 said Knipe. — " And does that beautiful lady. 
 
MISS KNIFE'S FATHER. 313 
 
 your mistress, give it all to you ?" — " No— but 
 she assists me."—" How long have you lived 
 wid her ?'' — " Three years." — " How long shall 
 you stop .?" — " As long as I live."—" Oh, you 
 lucky divil! — sarve that lovely cracher all your 
 life — you should do it for nothing. And is she 
 very kind to you .?" — " Very — very fond of me." 
 — " The divil !"— " She couldn't live without 
 me." — " You daun't say so !" — " And a word 
 in your ear." — " Well." — " I 'm to sleep with 
 her to-night !" — " Och, hubaboo ! Oh, you 
 angel of the sivinth heaven ! — what star was 
 you born under .?" 
 
 Knipe, anticipating no consequences from 
 such an equivoque, went in to supper when the 
 buggy was cleaned ; but Teddy had been so 
 struck with the beauty of Mrs. K. that he 
 could not restrain his envy at her husband's hap- 
 piness, and divulged what he had heard to a 
 fellow-servant, who telling it to a second, it 
 was reported to a third, and so proceeded 
 through every male and female link of the do- 
 mestic machine, till it reached the landlady, who 
 was naturally shocked. Knipe was unknown 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
314 A STORY OF 
 
 to her ; and his mean appearance sufficiently es- 
 tablished her servant's mistake. She accord- 
 ingly determined to watch his movements at 
 night, and prevent such a disgrace to her house, 
 if attempted. Mrs. K. retired early to bed ; but 
 her spouse, as was his usual custom, sat up to 
 smoke his pipe, and drink a tumbler of whiskey. 
 At length he took up the light, and followed 
 his wife's steps ; having been informed by her 
 what chamber he was to go to. As he ascended 
 the stairs, he heard whisperings in the passage, 
 and the noise of moving to and fro ; but it was. 
 perfectly dark, and he could see nothing. 
 On gaining the landing-place, he perceived the 
 various doors ajar, and was about to proceed 
 to No. 10, when they flew open with a simul- 
 taneous clang, and out rushed every domestic 
 in the inn, who surrounded and seized him ; 
 the treacherous Teddy and the infuriated 
 hostess at their head. " Go along. Sir," said 
 she ; " go down- stairs, Sir ; you know, you was 
 to slape over the stable. — Do you think to make 
 a tawdry-house of a respectable inn .?" Knipe, 
 in the utmost consternation, demanded the rea- 
 
MISS knife's father. 315 
 
 son of such treatment ; and his wife, who was in 
 bed, called out to him, " My dear ! what 's the 
 matter?" — " Oh, hould your tongue, Marm," 
 replied the landlady ; *' you ought to be ashamed 
 of sich doings in a jonteel place of entertain- 
 ment ! — Slape wid your sarvant ! — Oh, fie ! Bad 
 luck to your taste I*' 
 
 Knipe now kicked and struggled in the grasp 
 of a dozen Irish wenches and cowboys to little 
 purpose ; and the appearance of Mrs. K. at her 
 door, who had jumped up in the greatest alarm, 
 only fortified their hearts, instead of melting 
 them, at such an open evidence of female frailty. 
 To all her addresses, therefore, to let him go, 
 — that he was her husband, &c , they replied by 
 shaking their heads, putting their hands to their 
 faces, and crying, " Fie, fie ! Oh you naughty 
 woman ! go along :"" — and to Knipe : " Get down- 
 stairs, you big blackguard !" A terrible squabble 
 ensued below ; and Knipe was eventually re- 
 leased, though not without danger of paying a 
 penalty for his joke. 
 
 We opened with " The School for Scandal/' 
 myself and wife sustaining Charles and Lady 
 p 2 
 
316 GARVEY IN " CARELESS." 
 
 Teazle ; Macready, Joseph ; Row, Sir Peter ; 
 Cherry, Crabtree ; and Garvey, Careless, — in 
 which he sang the song of '' Here 's to the 
 Maiden !" and obtained a double encore* Its 
 effect upon the audience was no doubt greatly 
 owing to his gallant reputation, which gave the 
 sentiments a sort of personal point ; but, put- 
 ting this aside, I question whether it has ever 
 been so sung or received since. He gave the line, 
 " And now to the girl that 's but one, (eye,) Sir," 
 with infinite humour ; and nothing could be 
 more admirably marked than the transition of 
 his manner in the lines '' Here 's to the wife 
 with her face full of woe, — And now to the 
 damsel that 's merry !" The Olympian ladies 
 were in ecstasies; and if they could have had 
 their will, I believe, would have given up the 
 play for the song. " Give it us again. Captain 
 Garvey, you jewel ! let us hear your own swate 
 pipe. — There 's a leg, Judy ! and there 's a back ! 
 — Oh, he 's a nate son of the sod !"" 
 
 The house was well and elegantly attended ; 
 and our season commenced under the most fa- 
 vourable auspices. 
 
AMYAS GRIFFITHS. 317 
 
 In the course of the week, I was introduced 
 to Mr. Rice of Carrickfergus, a great patron of 
 theatricals and a noted bon-vivaiit ;— as well as 
 to Mr. Amy as Griffiths, the critical sovereign 
 of Belfast ; — and, through the favour of these 
 gentlemen, to the " Philharmonic Society," a 
 weekly meeting, at which there was as much 
 mirth as music. Mr. Griffiths, though not 
 eminent as a singer, was the leading talker of 
 the evening : he had an original stock of ideas, 
 and great fluency in delivering them. Unhap- 
 pily, he was deformed both in his back and 
 legs, which procured him from many the title 
 of the modern ^sop. One thing, however, dis- 
 tinguished him more than his bodily peculi- 
 arities, — a complacency of mind, which could not 
 only tolerate his defects being alluded to, but 
 permit him to laugh at them himself. At the 
 above meeting one evening, he was rattling and 
 sparkling away, with the least crooked leg of the 
 two thrown over the other, (a piece of pardon- 
 able policy,) when the conversation happened to 
 turn upon dancing. A wag in company, who 
 knew his good humour, asked him " if he was 
 
318 LA MASH AND 
 
 fond of the amusement ?" — " Yes,'' he replied, 
 " and mean to subscribe to the winter balls.'** — 
 ''What! with that leg?"— "Ay, with this 
 leg; and, notwithstanding your sneering, I'll 
 bet you a rump and dozen, there 's a worse 
 leg in the room." — " Done, done !" cried a dozen 
 voices. Amyas shook the hands of each.— 
 " Now," said his antagonist, with a smile of con- 
 fidence, "come forward. Gentlemen, and let Mr. 
 Griffiths point out such another limb as that." 
 — " Here it is," he replied ; and throwing off his 
 left leg, raised his right in the air, immeasurably 
 more hideous than the other. A general laugh 
 was the result, and the society decided he had 
 fairly won his wager. 
 
 In the course of our second week, I was 
 surprised by a visit from La Mash, the 
 fop-servant, who was passing through Belfast 
 on his way to Scotland, accompanied by the 
 well-known Kitty Frederick, a gay and grace- 
 ful fair one, beautiful, vivacious, and extrava- 
 gant. La Mash was naturally a fop, though 
 not a polished one : he could not assume 
 
KITTY FREDERICK. 319 
 
 the gentleman, but the gentleman's gentleman 
 fitted him like his clothes. This rendered him 
 superior to Dodd in my " Lord Duke," and 
 inferior in '* Sir Benjamin Backbite." But, 
 like Edwin, and unlike Dodd, his acting was 
 the counterpart of his daily deportment, and not 
 the result of minute observation. One would 
 have thought that his mother had been wait- 
 ing-maid to the Duchess of Kingston, and 
 his father the duster of Lord Chesterfield's 
 clothes. Whilst at Drury Lane, Kitty Frede- 
 rick had flopped her affections on him, (he was 
 the most elegantly made man I ever saw,) and 
 had run after him to Dublin. I could not, how- 
 ever, but express my surprise, that a person of 
 notoriously expensive habits should have quit- 
 ted the scene of her resources to join a penniless 
 comedian. 
 
 " Whay, ay," said he, '^ eet ees vary re- 
 markable, but eet ees vaary true ; all the warld 
 theenks there ees but one Frederick ; and she 
 theenks — ha ! ha ! — there ees but one La Mash." 
 
 He took a pinch of snuff in saying this, and 
 
320 SIR JOHN o'NEIL. 
 
 his tone and manner under other circumstances, 
 I am sure, would have obtained him a round of 
 applause. 
 
 A month after this, I heard that he was in- 
 carcerated in Edinburgh, and that Kitty, having 
 emptied her purse, had flown back to the me- 
 tropolis. There, however, the jailer's daughter 
 fell in love with him, and having some property, 
 he married her, and applied her dowry to his 
 release. La Mash had some good feeling, and 
 in remembrance of the circumstance, drew the 
 picture of a prison window, with himself peep- 
 ing through the bars, and his wife looking at 
 him and singing the song, " The bird in yon- 
 der cage confined !" 
 
 After receiving many courtesies from Mr. 
 Rice, he took me over in his carriage to Shane*s 
 Castle, to introduce me to Sir John O'Neil, and 
 tender the letter Kemble had given me. Sir 
 John was very fond of the Drama, and had built 
 a theatre, at which his wife (a very clever and 
 entertaining female) and Mr. Rice sustained the 
 principal characters. He had also secured a 
 band, which was always ready either for orches- 
 
MR. RICE. 321 
 
 tra or pleasure-boat, by making it a sine qua non 
 in the engaging of a servant, that he should play 
 on an instrument. 
 
 At Shanes Castle I received much attention ; 
 but Mr. Rice was my best friend, and his con- 
 duct was more like that of a father. He was 
 one of those old remaining instances of the 
 liberal and enlightened Irish gentleman, who by 
 the benevolence of his heart and the suavity of 
 his manners rooted like an oak in the affections 
 of his acquaintance, and flourished like an ever- 
 green in the knowledge of the world. I gene- 
 rally dined with him twice a-week, at his house 
 out of town ; and whenever he rode in to the 
 play, it was a pleasurable duty to provide for his 
 comfort. One evening when behind the scenes, 
 he noticed a roasted fowl on the stage, which 
 looked very white and tempting ; and he whis- 
 pered me that he particularly fancied a wing of 
 the same, with a bottle of porter. I desired him 
 to step up to my dressing-room, and when the 
 scene was over it should be brought to him ; 
 which was accordingly done, and the porter sent 
 for. Mr. Rice sat down to its demolition with 
 p5 
 
322 m'nat and his "parkegits.'' 
 
 great avidity, and at that moment our stage- 
 keeper M'Nat, whose perquisite the bird was 
 on these occasions, (but whom I intended to re- 
 munerate,) missed it, and ran raving about the 
 Theatre, to know where it was gone : when in- 
 formed, he sprang up the stairs, and pushing 
 open the door, saw Mr. Rice very comfortably 
 seated at the table, with the well-dismembered 
 fowl disappearing before him. That gentle- 
 man's presence checked the impending thunder- 
 cloud at this infringement of privilege; and 
 M'Nat jumping down-stairs, with head and 
 heart burning, ran on the stage, (instead of to 
 the manager,) and howled out between rage and 
 sorrow — " Leedies and Jontlemen, Mr. Bur- 
 nard has stowl my parkegits !'' — Here, however, 
 his articulation failed him, and he stood stam- 
 mering, scraping, and scratching his head, till 
 the house was involved in a roar of laughter. 
 Atkins then called him off, and Doctor Apsley 
 the physician came round to inquire the grounds 
 of such a singular charge. An explanation tend- 
 ed only to heighten its absurdity; and the Doctor 
 was about returning to his party, when Mr. Rice, 
 
NEW THEATRE PROPOSED. 323 
 
 hearing the disturbance, called M'Nat up and 
 gave him a crown. The poor fellow's gratitude 
 was overwhelming, and his sense of the aspersion 
 on my character so keen, that, seeing neither 
 propriety nor Mr. Atkins, he ran on the stage 
 again, and said, " Leedies and Jontlemen, I beg 
 to inform you that Mr. Bur-nard has not stowl 
 my parkegits T' — Another and a louder laugh 
 was the result of this ; and the word " my 
 parkegits" became after that very common in 
 Belfast. 
 
 Our season proved so successful, that Mr. 
 Atkins was induced to think of building a new 
 theatre for a winter depot, the old one being 
 small, infirm, and inconvenient ; but he was 
 pleased to consider that, in so doing, the services 
 of my wife and self were essential, having esta- 
 blished ourselves in the good opinion of the 
 public, far beyond his or our expectations. He 
 proposed terms, therefore, for our continuance 
 with him through the summer and winter en- 
 suing, which I was induced to accept.-— But 
 this was not all. As it was necessary that he 
 should be present at Belfast during the building 
 
324 MY FIRST MANAGEMENT. 
 
 of the new house, his company in the mean time 
 required a head ; and though I was one of its 
 youngest and latest members, he was further 
 pleased to consider me the most calculated to 
 promote his interests in supplying his place. 
 Though delighted at the thought of manage- 
 ment, as every actor is, (for if the love of power 
 is not inherent to human nature, it is the failing 
 of the profession,) I necessarily felt some dis- 
 trust in my experience, and agreed only to meet 
 his wishes, on the ground of its being universally 
 agreeable to my companions, and that they 
 signed a paper which would invest me with all 
 his authority and privileges. A meeting was 
 accordingly called, the matter proposed, and, 
 after a few wry faces from Row only, agreed to. 
 Cherry, who I expected would have expressed 
 and experienced the most disappointment, hap- 
 pened at that time to be particularly engaged in 
 combating Captain Garvey, to gain the hand of 
 Miss Knipe. He therefore sighed for manage- 
 ment of a softer kind, and to his joy, as well as 
 mine, he succeeded. Miss K. was by no means 
 blind to the fascinations of the Captain, but 
 
GEOFFRY GALWAY. 825 
 
 somehow had no inclination to become the six- 
 teenth Mrs. Shuffleton. 
 
 Independently, however, of all professional ' 
 or pecuniary prospects, I had many personal 
 motives for continuing my stay in Ireland. 
 Never was a being more truly enchanted with 
 a new country, than I on that occasion. Whe- 
 ther in considering the sociability and gene- 
 rosity of the upper orders, or the humour of 
 the lower ones, the Irish character seemed to 
 combine all the desideratums of the convivialist, 
 — Ireland to be the ultima Thule of the come- 
 dian's wanderings. 
 
 The foundation of the Theatre was therefore 
 laid before the season concluded, and, under my 
 management, the company proceeded to London- 
 derry for a month. 
 
 Here, in lieu of Hammerton and Kennedy, 
 who went to other engagements, we received the 
 services of a Mr. Geoffry Galway, a hair-dresser 
 by trade, and an actor by profession, who was 
 famous for playing little parts. Colley Gibber 
 has immortalized his archetype. Galway's best 
 characters were — the Murderer in Macbeth, 
 
326 GENIUS ON THE WING. 
 
 the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, and the 
 Player King in Hamlet ; upon his success in 
 which he would plume himself with as much 
 pride as though he had performed the heroes of 
 the dramas. He had received his dramatic tui- 
 tion under that human curiosity Jemmy White- 
 ly, (perpetuated to the latest posterity in these 
 pages,) and on one occasion the following occur- 
 red : — When representing the Player King, he 
 stepped forward to repeat the lines — 
 
 " For us and for our trage-dy, 
 Here stooping to your clemen-cy, 
 "We beg your hearing patient-ly." 
 
 Here he should have rested with Shakspeare ; 
 but genius was on the wing, and he could not 
 bring the eagle-bird to earth ; therefore he con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " And if on this we may rely, 
 
 Why, we '11 be with you by and by." 
 
 At which Whitely, who lay on the ground as 
 Hamlet, snarled out, loud enough, to be heard 
 by all the audience — 
 
 " And if on pay-day you rely, 
 Take care I stop no sala-ry :" — 
 
galway's blunders. 327 
 
 thus justifying the rhyme by a very serious 
 reason. 
 
 Galway was also celebrated for his disposi- 
 tion to blunder ; though, being an Irishman, 
 this may seem an Irish remark. When pre- 
 viously with Atkins, it had been his office of an 
 evening to see Mrs. Atkins home, whenever her 
 duties concluded before the performance. On 
 these occasions he was sure to make some mis- 
 take, which would afford food for merriment the 
 next morning. Gal way's hat was growing ve- 
 nerable and grey ; and Atkins promised him a 
 new one, on condition that he did not make a 
 blunder for the day. This was a pleasant wa- 
 ger to accept, and GeoiFry thought it an easy 
 one to perform. He little knew what an arrant 
 knave was his tongue to the interests of his 
 head ; the covering of the one did not touch the 
 other. He resolved however to speak but in 
 monosyllables that day ; and, notwithstanding 
 the attempts that were made to enthral him, 
 succeeded in maintaining his claim to ration- 
 ality and single meaning. But at night, as he 
 was lighting Mrs. Atkins down the steps to the 
 
c 
 
 328 LONDONDERRY. 
 
 Street, he held the lantern in an awkward posi- 
 tion, and the flame was extinguished. '^ There, 
 Madam," said he, " now we are all of a colour, 
 like a harlequin's jacket." — ''Ah, Geoffry,"" said 
 Mrs. Atkins, laughing, " you have lost your 
 hat." — " By the powers ! I have," he answered, 
 " before I had got it !" 
 
 ^ At Londonderry I experienced the same cor- 
 dial and generous reception in private life which 
 had marked my stay at Belfast ; but I was here 
 led to observe, for the first time, the hard-drink- 
 ing which prevailed in the interior. At the table 
 of Mr. Rice, Sir John O'Neil, and the Belfast so- 
 ciety in general, it was the custom to put a bottle 
 of wine at each person's elbow, and let him fill as 
 he pleased ; but here were particular meetings, 
 where bumpers were drunk for the evening out 
 of half-pint goblets,— which were without a stand, 
 in order to compel the bibber to empty their 
 contents at a draught. This race of convivial- 
 ists (who, from their strong heads and capa- 
 cious entrails, were denominated by their bro- 
 ther Bacchanals — the '' six-bottle men") were 
 chiefly composed of old fox-hunters and coun- 
 
THE " SIX-BOTTLE MEN." 829 
 
 try 'squires; and, like certain plants, seemed 
 only to be kept alive by perpetual soaking. But 
 these persons were not to be stigmatized as 
 drunkards : their drink was claret, a light wine 
 (wanting its modern spirit, brandy) ; and pos- 
 sessed of a more than ordinary deadness of con- 
 stitution, habit had rendered this extraordinary 
 means of vivification harmless. Those who suf- 
 fered from their system were strangers who had 
 not been schooled in it (and in this way the old 
 saying of " killing with kindness" was very lite- 
 rally verified); but it was a surprising event 
 indeed if one of the " initiated" could not, after 
 making a cellarage of his stomach, and stowing 
 away his half-dozen, maintain the perpendicu- 
 larity of his attitude with the most mathema- 
 tical precision. 
 
 I visited a " six-bottle club" but once, and 
 from the headach it cost me, was wise enough 
 ever afterwards to decline an encore; but I 
 remember very well being invited to one which 
 held its orgies at a sea-side hamlet, and was very 
 generally attended, with the following highly 
 cheerful inducements : — " Will you come over 
 
330 SLIGO. 
 
 to us, Mr. Bur-nard, for a wake? You**!! be 
 mightily plased with the fillows you'll mate 
 there, and plinty of variety : for one Sunday 
 night you '11 see as merry a set of divils round 
 the table as your heart could desire; and the 
 nixt, more than half will be under the sod, and 
 a set of frish faces will pop into their places. — 
 Will you come, Mr. Bur-nard ? " 
 
 Our stay at Londonderry, after paying all 
 expenses, and receiving a sum to proceed with, 
 enabled me to remit five-and-twenty pounds to 
 Atkins. — Our next destination was Sligo, which 
 we reached in every description of vehicle, with 
 the aid of every description of the animal called 
 horse ; in every description of weather, and 
 upon every description of road — thoroughfares 
 which, to use a permissible pun, we found to be 
 thorough foul. Notwithstanding this, and that 
 we were bog'd very often, and trusted for in- 
 struction to finger-posts, which, from the capa- 
 city of their clay sockets, blew round like wea- 
 thercocks, and only pointed right if the wind 
 was, our difficulties were lightened by the hu- 
 mours of the shebeen-houses we stopped at. 
 
THE CASTLE INN. 331 
 
 and the ideas of natives distinguished by all the 
 innocence and nakedness of Adam. 
 
 At the Castle Inn in Sligo we put up; and 
 the landlord, having been formerly an actor, 
 paid us great attention. His house contained 
 the Sligo Assembly-room, the wainscot of which 
 I observed to be perforated in numerous places 
 with bullet-holes, under which were written 
 different names. I naturally requested an ex- 
 planation; and my host informed me, that 
 this room being the " largest and natest in the 
 town," whenever its gentlemen fell out, here 
 they took occasion to fall in, and settle their 
 differences in a gentlemanly way. I need not 
 point out the advantages of such a place for 
 such a purpose over the open field, both as 
 respected its retirement and security, and the 
 means it afforded the parties of recording their 
 claims to honour. I would merely assure my 
 reader hereby, that the old joke of "pistols 
 and coffee for two" originated in a very serious 
 truth. 
 
 I was soon very comfortably established at a 
 hair-dresser''s in the principal street, where, on a 
 
332 IMPROMPTU BY MR. FARREN. 
 
 pane of my chamber-window, I read four lines, 
 which induced me to inquire the name and his- 
 tory of their author. I learnt that they had 
 been traced by a Mr. Farren, who had visited 
 Sligo in Shepherd's company the summer pre- 
 vious: a man as distinguished for his superior 
 education and refinement, as was his manager 
 for a brutal and overbearing disposition. No 
 two men, I was informed, ever presented a 
 more perfect reverse ; and it was supposed that 
 when smarting under some collision with his 
 superior he wrote the following :— • 
 
 " How diflFerent David's fate from mine ! 
 His blessed, mine is evil : 
 His * shepherd' was the Lord divine, 
 My ' shepherd' is the Devil.*' 
 
 This gentleman was the father of that accom- 
 plished actress, the late Countess of Derby ; and 
 setting aside the intrinsic merit of the impromptu, 
 I was induced to think that if the pane could 
 be conveyed to that lady, it would give her 
 some pleasure. With this view, I oiFered my 
 host a fair sum to extract it ; but he would not 
 consent, for he considered a certain luck to 
 
LE SIEUR RAY. 333 
 
 consist in its safe preservation. — " Mr. Bur- 
 nard," said he, " ever since Mr. Farren wrote 
 those verses, I have niver wanted a lodger !" — 
 There was no arguing against this, even with 
 the universal language — Spanish ! 
 
 I had letters of introduction to Mr. John 
 Tyler, in Sligo ; Mr. Justice Phibbs, and various 
 other heads of famiUes ; so that, in a private re- 
 spect, I had as much enjoyment as I could desire ; 
 but the wretched state of the business soon dis- 
 eased my mind. The inhabitants had all the 
 disposition to support the Theatre, but they 
 wanted the means, — a predicament that the 
 Stage is often placed in in the country ; — and 
 had it not been for a review, and a fair-week, I 
 must inevitably have closed the doors. — But, even 
 then, I was not permitted an exclusive harvest. 
 An Irish conjurer and ventriloquist, by the 
 name of Ray, but who called himself " Le Sieur 
 Ray," to blarney his countrymen, (though he 
 spoke a brogue thick enough to have cut with a 
 knife, as Bowles used to say,) sailed into port 
 with us, and divided the market. He cleared 
 more by one evening's exhibition than we by 
 
384 SLIGO GLEE-CLUB. 
 
 three,— ^nd won fifty pounds besides, by swim- 
 ming over a river with a rope about his waist. 
 
 This was the impudent dog (the act evi- 
 denced his origin) who, exhibiting before their 
 late Majesties, refused to perform his grand de- 
 ception till the Queen said cockalorum^ in which 
 he pretended the charm consisted. Her Majesty 
 thought the word either difficult or indelicate, 
 and declined ; but the King was so bent upon 
 the great astonishment, that he turned round to 
 her good-naturedly, and said — " Say cockalo- 
 rum, Charlotte — say cockalorum." 
 
 I need scarcely remark, that the Irish are as 
 musical as they are convivial : — they make the 
 best companions, and they sing the best songs : 
 Every town I had visited contained a " catch 
 and glee-club,'" and Sligo could boast of one 
 with no inferior attractions. Through the fa- 
 vour of Mr. Tyler, I was introduced to it, and 
 attended every meeting that my public duties 
 permitted me. One evening I happened to 
 be the only Englishman in the room, and the 
 members took the opportunity of roasting me 
 upon my nationalities, (viz. beef-eating, bell- 
 
RETALIATION. 335 
 
 ringing, coal-burning, card-playing, 8cc.) It 
 being my profession to stand forward for the 
 world's amusement, (though rather to be laugh- 
 ed with than laughed at,) I bore this infliction 
 very patiently, till called on by the chairman 
 for a song, when I gave " Paddy and the Pro- 
 ker,^"* which contained more satire upon Ireland 
 in five lines, than all that had been said against 
 England for the evening. As soon as I had 
 commenced however, a gentleman entered the 
 room who had been some time absent from Sli- 
 go, and who quietly took a seat by the door, to 
 prevent my interruption. When I concluded, 
 there was a hearty laugh from every one but 
 this gentleman, who, ignorant of my provoca- 
 tion, conceived the song to be an insult to the 
 company : he therefore walked up to the table, 
 filled a glass of wine, and approaching me, said 
 — *' Sir, I have listened to your song, and I 
 beg you to consider that I have thrown this 
 glass of wine in your face." This was a direct 
 challenge, and though elegantly conveyed, the 
 object certainly thrilled me with a novel and 
 sudden sensation of terror. Some words ensued, 
 
336 A CHALLENGE. 
 
 and Mr. Tyler rose and went out of the room 
 with my antagonist. I was then informed that 
 his name was Jones, and that he was a dead 
 shot; and I then remembered that Jones was 
 one of the names I had read under a bullet- 
 hole in the " Sligo Assembly-room." In a few 
 minutes Mr. Tyler returned, and said that it 
 was necessary I should fight Mr. Jones, and he 
 was sorry that, being that gentleman's intimate 
 friend, it was out of his power to be my second, 
 but that he would lend me his pistols. A hur- 
 ried vision now passed before my eyes, of the 
 Sligo Assembly-room, and my name under an 
 ineffectual bullet ; but I was pretty well primed 
 at this time, and, despising both danger and rea- 
 son, replied, that " I had never played the cow- 
 ard but on the stage, and could always act like 
 a gentleman off; the aggrieved party had there- 
 fore only to name his time and place, and' I 
 would procure a friend and meet him. When 
 Mr. Tyler again quitted the room, the chair- 
 man called for the glee of " How shall we mor- 
 tals spend our hours.?" and requested I would 
 take a part in it. I complied, but sang with 
 
AN AGREEABLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 337 
 
 little spirit, for the idea of the duel was upper- 
 most, and that pointed out a mode in which I 
 should spend one, and perhaps the last, of my 
 hours, neither as agreeably as in love or in 
 drinking. Before it concluded, Mr. Tyler and 
 his friend returned to the room and took their 
 seats; and the latter, when permitted, filled two 
 glasses of wine, and putting them on a tray, ap- 
 proached me again, accompanied by Mr. Tyler, 
 and begged I would drink a glass of wine with 
 him, and not, as he had said before, consider 
 that I felt it in my face, Mr. Tyler having 
 satisfactorily explained the cause of my singing 
 " Paddy and the Proker," and I having demon- 
 strated no intention to insult, by my willing- 
 ness to render satisfaction where it had been 
 presumed. 
 
 I give my reader leave to imagine, that I 
 took up the glass with more pleasure than I 
 should have done the pistols, and cheerfully 
 swallowed, with its contents, all hopes of per- 
 petuating my name on the wainscot of the 
 " Sligo Assembly-room." 
 
 Notwithstanding many serious resolutions to 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
338 CAPTAIN garvey's designs. 
 
 refrain, in consequence of many serious symp- 
 toms of disorder, the temptations of the table 
 were too strong for me, and my health sank 
 under this spirited experiment on its strength. 
 I gradually weakened, lost my appetite, and 
 was at length laid up with what is termed 
 " a port fever." A week or two previously, 
 being advised to take exercise as the best means 
 of invigoration, I had purchased a pony ; but 
 was deprived of its services owing to the fol- 
 lowing circumstance : — 
 
 A young lady in Sligo, of tolerable family 
 and fortune, had fallen in love with Garvey, and 
 the circumstance reaching his ears by one of 
 those mysterious channels which Cupid only 
 can concert, early one morning he obtained an 
 interview, and prevailed on her to elope with 
 him ; but as he had no money to provide for an 
 immediate flight, he secreted her for the day in 
 his lodgings, intending no doubt to obtain the 
 assistance from me. By mid-day, the affair was 
 buzzed about town ; and the guardians of the 
 girl, obtaining some clue, went to her hiding- 
 place, where they were certainly received with 
 
DEFEATED THROUGH STRATAGEM. 339 
 
 extended hands, but hands that clenched pis- 
 tols ; — the owner swearing that their first step 
 on the stairs should be fatal to them. Not 
 doubting his words, they prudently retreated, 
 and waited on me. I sympathized with the 
 worthy people sincerely, and felt it incumbent 
 on my character, both as a man and a manager, 
 that I should give them every assistance towards 
 the recovery of their ward. Stratagem, and not 
 force, was to be employed, (for I knew Garvey 
 too well to consider his threats mere bravado,) 
 and I accordingly proposed that we should re- 
 turn to his lodgings ; I would go in alone, 
 and draw Garvey down to some lower room, 
 whilst they (the door having been left ajar) 
 should steal in and carry off the girl. — For- 
 tune, or rather Providence, favoured the plan. 
 Garvey received me without the slightest 
 suspicion, and went into an inner room 
 below, where I contrived to engage him in a 
 profound discussion as to what plays we could 
 cast for the ensuing week, and what plan we 
 could adopt for the invigoration of the business. 
 The guardians, meantime, stole up-stairs to his 
 Q 2 
 
340 CAPTAIN GARVEY's LOSS, 
 
 sitting-room, secured his pistols, and surprised 
 their ward, who did not require much persua- 
 sion to quit the house with them, when her 
 lover's character was laid open. Pride rushed 
 in to the assistance of duty, the moment that 
 honour appeared to be jeopardized by affection : 
 speedily but silently they therefore departed. 
 
 My situation during this was by no means 
 enviable : every moment I feared that Garvey 
 would overhear or suspect something ; and I 
 was well assured that a rencontre must pro- 
 duce fatal consequences. At length a cough in 
 the passage informed me that all was success- 
 fully accomplished, and my performance might 
 conclude as soon as I pleased. On quitting him, 
 I made the best of my way home; but the 
 instant Garvey discovered his loss, he ran into 
 the streets and caught a glimpse of the buggy 
 that contained his dear one, as it was rolling 
 out of town. Considering that force only could 
 have occasioned such an act, he resolved to pur- 
 sue and rescue her ; but he had no horse of his 
 own, and knew not where to hire or borrow one. 
 He then thought of mine, and conceived that, 
 
AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. S^l 
 
 as I had been a party in wronging him, it 
 would be a refinement of revenge, to make me 
 contribute to his happiness. He accordingly 
 went to my stable in a cool and determined 
 manner, kicked open the door, saddled the pony, 
 and galloped after the fugitives, whom he soon 
 overtook. He at first had intended to shoot 
 the guardians instantly, but second thoughts led 
 him to appeal to the girl, and submit to her de- 
 cision — " whether or no she accompanied her con- 
 ductors with her own consent ?"" She very laco- 
 nically answered, " Yes ;" and he, very chap- 
 fallen, but satisfied, then wished her a good 
 morning and galloped back to Sligo, where, 
 turning my pony into the stable, with no other 
 covering than its own sheet of foam, he said not 
 a word to me or my groom ; and the conse- 
 quence was, that in ten days the beast became 
 stone-blind. I was thus obliged to part with my 
 purchase for half the sum it cost me: but though 
 Garvey enjoyed this revenge keenly, and I, 
 from the circumstances of the Theatre, could 
 take no reprisal, still the thoughts of having 
 preserved from his fangs an innocent girl, who 
 
342 MY DRESS-HAT. 
 
 might become an affectionate wife, and a tender, 
 careful mother, was some consolation. 
 
 Garvey was certainly a most impudent fel- 
 low. A few days after this, (and before I fell 
 ill,) he called on me in his usual way, and beg- 
 ged the loan of my dress-hat, being invited to a 
 large party of ladies, and having no chapeau 
 which was good enough for the occasion. I did 
 not like to refuse him, but complied only on 
 condition of the hat being returned to me the 
 first thing next morning. I could not, however, 
 restrain my surprise that he should dare show his 
 face among females after the late affair; but 
 he smiled, and replied that " that same affair 
 had procured him the invitation." The next 
 morning I saw my hat, sure enough ; but 
 it was stuck on one side of Captain Garvey's 
 powdered and pomatumed head, as he strQt- 
 ted by my window, arrayed in scarlet coat, 
 buckskin breeches, and top-boots; one hand 
 knuckled on his hip, — the other twirling " a 
 twig," which was by no means an incipient 
 " shilelagh." I instantly threw up the sash, and 
 called after him. " Oh, you want your hat, do 
 
343 
 
 you ?" said he — " why then, borrow, my darling, 
 as I did !" — with which he walked on. 
 
 Four-and-twenty hours after I took to my 
 bed, I was pronounced to be at Death's door : 
 this was a pleasant situation for my wife and 
 the company, as, in the event of my dissolution, 
 nothing could be done for their relief till 
 Atkins had been apprized. But my consti- 
 tution was powerful, and it pleased Providence 
 that life should linger in me. In the mean 
 time, a corps of volunteers arrived in Sligo, and 
 the Theatre (my companion in decline) received 
 some renovation. 
 
 Mr. Tyler had a brother Watkins, who com- 
 manded in this body, and was invariably present 
 in our boxes : this gave rise to a droll coincidence. 
 
 Cherry was playing Lingo in " The Agreeable 
 Surprise" one evening, and when he came to the 
 question to Cowslip — " You never heard of the 
 great heroes of antiquity, Homer, Heliogabalus, 
 Moses, and Wat Tyler ?" the audience laughed 
 loudly, and turned their .eyes upon Captain 
 Wat Tyler in the boxes. Cherry was known 
 to be in the habit of introducing jokes of his 
 
344 THE TWO "WAT TYLERS." 
 
 own; and the gallant officer, concluding this to be 
 such a one, left his seat when the act was over, 
 and went behind the scenes, where he desired 
 Dick Row, our prompter, to let him look at the 
 book. He was greatly agitated, and Row in an 
 instant surmised the cause. " Sir," said he, as 
 the Captain turned over the leaves hurriedly, 
 his face burning, and throat choaking with in- 
 dignation, "Mr. Cherry spoke the author." — 
 " Indeed, Sir !" replied the Son of Mars ; " I 'm 
 afraid not. Sir — I 'm afraid not ; and by St. Pat- 
 rick and the seven holy stars ! if he dared to — I 
 —eh — " At this moment he had found the right 
 place, and the words met his eye : his features 
 instantly relaxed into a comical smile, and, look- 
 ing at Row, he exclaimed, " By the powers ! 
 there 's two of us, sure enough ! — Mr. Cherry, 
 Sir, was correct, and I beg you ten thousand 
 pardins for this intrusion :" saying which, he 
 returned the book, made an elegant bow, and 
 retreated. 
 
 My health not immediately mendings the na- 
 ture of my disease Jed every one to conclude 
 there were little hopes of my recovery, though 
 
A SKILFUL PHYSICIAN. 345 
 
 with the best of advice; and I was favoured 
 with visits from most of my acquaintance, who 
 came with a truly friendly motive, namely, to 
 make my mind easy :■— one offering to convey 
 my last wishes to my family, being on the point 
 of proceeding to England; another promising 
 to see my wife safe to Belfast ; — a third giving 
 his honour that I should be comfortably put to 
 bed in Sligo churchyard, and that the " Catch 
 and Glee Club" should raise a stone to my 
 memory. 
 
 The most comfortable visit I received was 
 from a physician who rode in to see me from 
 an adjacent village : he was very fond of thea- 
 tricals — had witnessed my efforts, and on one 
 occasion dined with me in public ; and he said 
 that he could not but feel sorry at the idea of 
 so merry a fellow as myself going out of the 
 world when I was beginning to be of so much 
 service to those who were in it. He proposed 
 therefore that I should take, night and morning, 
 a draught he had brought with him, which would 
 not interfere with my regular medicines, and 
 might have a more favourable effect. I thanked 
 Q 5 
 
846 EFFECTS OP LIME-WATER, 
 
 him for his kindness, and placing an implicit re- 
 liance on his ability (as we always do on these 
 occasions), complied with his request. In two 
 days time he called again, and found me much 
 better ; a farther supply of the liquid was left 
 me, and my spirits began to revive. The re- 
 port soon circulated ; and my regular physician, 
 attributing the change to his own prescriptions, 
 congratulated himself, was congratulated by 
 others, and expected to be congratulated by me, 
 upon his extraordinary skill. In *his case, I 
 thought that, " Ignorance being bliss, 'twould 
 be folly to be wise,"" and therefore kept him in 
 the dark ; whilst my unknown friend continuing 
 to pay his visits and bring his restorative, in less 
 than a fortnight raised me up from my bed, 
 led me into the street, placed me once more on 
 the stage, and even gave me the abihty to play 
 a game at cricket. My welcome from the public 
 was equally warm on the boards and in the 
 street; and the worthy man who had performed 
 this almost miraculous cure, so far from accept- 
 ing any recompense for his services, gave me the 
 receipt of the means by which he had saved me, 
 
THE RECEIPT. 347 
 
 and which I here subjoin for the benefit of 
 those who may be placed in a similar situation ; 
 viz. — "Two pounds of lime steeped in three 
 quarts of water, twenty hours ; two wine-glasses 
 to be taken night and morning."" 
 
348 SLIGO. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SUgo. — A Shebeen-house Irish sermon. — Original im- 
 
 promptii by Pope. — Ride to Derry. — A stoical quadruped. — 
 An Irishman's experiment. — Derry. — The Earl of Bristol ; 
 Anecdote of him and his valet. — Irish circumlocution. — 
 The resuscitated horse-stealer. — Cherry in the Miser, and 
 the Drummer's wig. — Belfast. 
 
 1783-4. — Lady O'Neills address. — Anthony Pasquin, a tra- 
 velling painter. — A brief remark. — Offers from Mr. Palmer 
 at Bath, and Vandermere. — Jemmy Fotterel in Tragedy. 
 — "Pass the Box." — Kane's benefit, and Garvey's senti- 
 ment. — Irish travelling.— Joe Haynes' logic, in demon- 
 strating the connection between himself and a shabby coat. 
 — Vandermere, a dramatic " Great Unknown." — Debut 
 of Mrs. Billington at "Waterford, and subsequent success. — 
 Farewell to Ireland. 
 
 Shortly before our close at Sligo, a party 
 of us proposed to take a ride into the country, 
 the first fine Sunday morning, to view some ad- 
 jacent spots of renowned picturesque, and re- 
 turn home to dinner. The weather proving fa- 
 
A SHEBEEN-HOUSE. 349 
 
 vourable the ensuing Sabbath, we fulfilled our 
 design. Having taken our fill of the beauties of 
 Nature, we then began to think of satisfying 
 another sense — the palate, and rode to a shebeen- 
 house situated on one corner of a common, with 
 the usual distinctions of a red stocking, pipe- 
 stem, and certain characters chalked on a board, 
 signifying to those who could read them, that 
 entertainment was to be had within for man and 
 beast. 
 
 The furniture of this caravansera consisted of 
 a large iron pot, two oaken tables, two benches, 
 two chairs, and a whiskey noggin : there was a loft 
 above (attainable by a ladder), upon which the in- 
 mates slept ; and the space below was divided by 
 a hurdle into two apartments, — the one for their 
 cow and pig, the other for themselves and guests. 
 
 On entering the house, we discovered the fa- 
 mily at dinner, (eleven in number,) — the father 
 sitting at the top, the mother at the bottom, 
 and the children on each side of a large oaken 
 board, which was scooped out in the middle, 
 like a trough, to receive the contents of the pot 
 of *' paratees." Little holes were cut at equal 
 
350 THE ONE COMMODITY. 
 
 distances to contain salt, and a bowl of milk 
 stood on the table ; but all the luxuries of meat 
 and beer, bread, knives, and dishes, were dis- 
 pensed with. They ate as Nature dictated, and 
 as God had given ; — they ate, and were satisfied. 
 
 The landlord was of the ordinary broad- 
 backed, black-browed breed, with a leg like an 
 elephant's, a face as round as the shield of 
 Douglas, and a mouth which, when open, bore the 
 same proportion to his head, that the sea does 
 to the land. His wife was a sun-browned but 
 well-featured woman, and his young ones (but 
 that they had a sort of impish hilarity about 
 them) were chubby, and bare enough for so 
 many Cupids. 
 
 When we asked the landlord what he had 
 to eat, — he said, " Whiskey !" — What he had 
 to drink, — "Whiskey !'' — " What we could 
 contrive to stay our stomachs on, — his an- 
 swer was still — " Whiskey V There was nothing 
 to be had at this place of entertainment but 
 the one commodity. Luckily, one of our party 
 had brought some sandwiches with him, and 
 though scanty when distributed among six, we 
 
/ 
 
 AN IRISH SERMON. 351 
 
 contrived nevertheless to make them a stopgap, 
 and washed them down very pleasantly with 
 some of our host''s whiskey. 
 
 Strolling into an adjacent lane after this re- 
 past, we heard the sound of music at a distance, 
 and presently espied a chapel peeping out 
 amongst a clump of trees. The service was 
 going on when we entered the building, which 
 bore many resemblances to the old abbey at 
 /^utte^^t. The congregation was wild and 
 wretched beyond description : FalstafF's regi- 
 ment was composed of portly, well-clothed men 
 in comparison : — but, in beautiful relief to such 
 a scene, a person rose up in the pulpit, whose 
 sufficiency of stomach and benevolence of as- 
 pect would have led me to surmise his occu- 
 pation, had we met in the open air. He ad- 
 dressed his flock to something like the following 
 effect : — 
 
 " My dear children ! You know that I have 
 been your Father, and Comforter, and Confessor, 
 these six-and-twenty years next Feast of the Vir- 
 gin ; and you all of you know what trouble 
 I Ve had in keeping Saltan from taking hould 
 
352 AN IRISH SERMON. 
 
 of your so wis. Ay, — you may well look glum ; 
 but you are mighty sure, every son of Adam 
 amongst you, that I have worked hard enough. 
 But will you never lave off your abominable 
 tricks ? Will you never grow obedient ? What ! 
 you think you may sin as you plase the whole 
 week long, and come to me for absolution at the 
 end of it ! Then I tell you what, darlings — you 
 won't get it! — Arrah now, Mr. Pat Maloney, 
 why did you cock your eye on the pulpit just 
 then ? I didn't say I meant you ; but now 
 you '11 give me lave to suppose so. — And you, 
 Mr. Philip O'Shugnessy, — you are making a 
 great bother with your nose and throat, as if 
 you had a big could : wait a bit, darling ; I '11 
 come to you presently, and mind if I don't 
 tickle your rotten conscience to some tune ! 
 
 " Does any one know Judy Bryant ? — Oh, to 
 be sure, everybody knows poor Judy ; and yet 
 I dare say some of you will pritind to tell me 
 that you never heard or saw such a cracher in 
 all your born days. Now, couldn't poor Judy 
 hang her blanket out to dry — her ounly blanket, 
 on her own palings, but that the Divil must put 
 
AN IRISH SERMON. 35S 
 
 it into the heads of certain parsons, whom I 
 have at this moment in my eye, to take a fancy 
 to the same ? — Well, Murtock O'Donnel, I 
 didn't say it was you did it, although you do 
 look so fidgety and flustered ; — nor you, Barney 
 Mac Shane; but you remember I said I had 
 the parson in my eye, do you? — And you, 
 Meggy Flanagan, — you can't sit asy in your 
 sate either : yet who would suspect you, that 
 have got a comfortable home, and your hus- 
 band Teddy one of the best cobblers in the 
 country?" He now deepened his voice, and 
 threw into his manner a very impressive so- 
 lemnity. " Remember what I have said, my 
 children ! — Poor Judy Bryant has lost her 
 blanket ! I have the big thafe before me that 
 stowl it; and if it is not returned to her before 
 to-morrow morning, I '11 excommunicate him 
 and all that belong to him ; and I '11 have no- 
 thing more to do with him in this world or 
 the next ! " 
 
 The terrific yell which was now sent forth 
 by the *' children," drove us forth from the 
 chapel ; but with the impression on our minds. 
 
354 IMPROMPTU BY POPE. 
 
 that the being who could thus combine the 
 duties of the spiritual and civil magistrate, 
 was deserving in the highest degree of the pub- 
 lic esteem ; for, however Philosophy might cavil 
 at the means he employed, Justice was benefited 
 by the ends he obtained. 
 
 At Sligo I was introduced by Mr. Tyler to 
 a Mr. De la Court, an elderly gentleman of 
 refined manners and truly enlightened under- 
 standing. He had formerly lived in London, 
 mixed in the best circles, and been a compa- 
 nion of Pope, by whom he was in possession 
 of an original impromptu upon a lady known 
 to both, who had retained to an advanced age 
 the bloom of youth in her countenance. He 
 was kind enough to permit me to copy this; 
 and if thought out of place in these pages, 
 my reader perhaps will excuse its introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Celia, we know, is sixty-five, 
 Yet Celia's face is seventeen : 
 Thus Winter in her breast must live, 
 Whilst Summer on her face is seen. 
 
A RIDE TO DERRY. 355 
 
 " How cruel Celia's fate ! who hence 
 Our hearts' devotion cannot try ; — 
 Too pretty for our reverence, 
 Too ancient for our gallantry." 
 
 The election at Sligo brought up our busi- 
 ness with several good houses, and gave most 
 of us profitable benefits. I was thus enabled to 
 quit the town in comfort and reputation, grate- 
 ful for the many kindnesses I had received 
 in it, and not forgetful of the lesson in re- 
 gard to drinking. 
 
 The Belfast Theatre not being ready to re- 
 ceive us, we had to return to Londonderry for 
 a fortnight. My wife and the ladies I sent 
 forward in a car. The company proceeded 
 agreeably to their own means and inclinations, 
 and I only remained to see off the theatrical 
 luggage. 
 
 My own means of conveyance was a horse, 
 or pony ; — a singularly stubby, shaggy animal, 
 as round as a barrel, but so low, that my 
 legs were in imminent peril of sounding each 
 puddle we passed. He was indeed an elegant 
 
S56 A RIDE TO DERRY. 
 
 extra-sized pig ; though, from his slow and so- 
 lemn pace, he had one of the characteristics of 
 a cow, or some other creature of the rumina- 
 tive genus. 
 
 My ride on this occasion was the most un- 
 comfortable I can remember in the whole course 
 of my wanderings. When I had advanced about 
 five miles on my journey, I recollected I had 
 left behind me my wife's lapdog, and in a 
 spousal fit of good-humour turned back to ob- 
 tain it. The morning was rather hazy when I 
 set out, but before I was again on my track a 
 drizzling rain came on. The dog was a miniature 
 of my horse — a fusby little fellow, too heavy to 
 be carried, and too fat to run fast. It was ne- 
 cessary therefore that my pace did not exceed his; 
 but of this there was no fear. I do not believe my 
 Bucephalus could have been stimulated to more 
 than the accomplishment of four miles an hour, 
 had he been charged by a regiment of infantry 
 with fixed bayonets. I certainly never had a sus- 
 picion of the truth of the transmigration of souls 
 till then ; and then I did think that the spirit 
 of the great Brutus inhabited that little brute, or 
 
A STOICAL QUADRUPED. 357 
 
 that I was bestriding Cato, or Fabius, (who 
 "conquered by delay ^''') or some other noble Ro- 
 man or Greek, such a stoical indifference did 
 the creature manifest to all my jerks, blows, 
 kicks, and curses, — so invincible was his resolu- 
 tion to maintain the regularity of his move- 
 ments. The result is obvious : I was very soon 
 drenched to the skin ; and the shower establish- 
 ing itself as a real rain, my hat acquired the na- 
 ture of a piece of sponge, — and my clothes, of so 
 much sticking-plaister. — But the measure of my 
 difficulties was not yet full. On descending a 
 hill, my girths gave way, which it took me ten 
 minutes to adjust (with as much comfort as if 
 I had been standing under the falls of Niagara) ; 
 and a little farther on, my courser cast a shoe. 
 I was thus obliged to take refuge in the first 
 hovel I came to, where I luckily obtained 
 a hammer and nails, some whiskey, and a 
 warm fire. When the weather had moderated 
 a little, I again proceeded, but discovered that 
 my companion had done his day's work, as far 
 as running was concerned ; and was actually 
 obhged to dismount and lead him to the next 
 
town, (Bally something,) where all my wants 
 were supplied, and I was enabled to dispense 
 with my present mode of conveyance. The 
 laziness of this little beast I have never forgotten ; 
 and once or twice during the ride, I was upon 
 the eve of trying the same experiment as a cer- 
 tain " offspring of Erin," who used to go to 
 market upon a similarly snail-paced quadruped, 
 and who bethought him, if the " cracher" was 
 so slow when proceeding in the usual way, his 
 movements might be quickened by inverting 
 his position, and scudding him, as the Dutch- 
 man does his scow — tail first. His reason for 
 this was rather feasible ; for a friend coming up 
 as he was about to commence this retrograde 
 progression, and inquiring why he had put the 
 jewels behind — before ? he replied, " Why, you 
 see, I want to get to market early to-day, and I 
 mane to back him forwards a bit, bekase when 
 we used to go to town head first, Barney al- 
 ways set his face, against it .'*" 
 
 At Londonderry, our fortnight's performances 
 were got up by subscription, and the first and 
 noblest was the Bishop of Derry, Earl of Bris- 
 
THE EARL OF BRISTOL. 359 
 
 ( tolj^brother ^of the husband of the Duchess of 
 
 I VKingston. 
 
 He was a great patron of theatricals, and his 
 favourite conversation was upon the London 
 Stage. He was very fond of contrasting the 
 merits of its then popular performers with those 
 of a school which had passed away. Being 
 pleased to take particular notice of me, I had 
 opportunities at his own table of estimating his 
 talents. A more agreeable companion I never 
 met with, nor a more well-informed man ; and 
 I have no doubt he was as liberal as he was 
 intelligent ; but what qualified him to be a 
 Bishop, more than his competency to spend 
 eighteen thousand a-year, I never could dis- 
 cover. The Earl was a great bon-vivant, and 
 the relaxations he indulged in called for certain 
 invigorations to balance the account. But his 
 constitution was like a dilapidated building, — 
 continual repair only preserved the form, whilst 
 it added nothing to the strength. His physi- 
 cian had advised early rising, and a walk on the 
 ramparts, as the best bracers, or, in case of un- 
 favourable weather — a cold bath ; and for some 
 
360 THE EARL OF BRISTOL 
 
 time the Earl had adopted and been benefited 
 by such means. He had an Irish giant for a 
 valet, a fellow as muscular as he was tall, who v 
 had been in his service many years, and dis- 
 charged thfe duties of waking him in the morn- 
 ing, and waiting on him to the ramparts or the 
 bath. One morning the Earl felt very drowsy, 
 (having not long been in bed,) and told Teddy, 
 when the latter disturbed him, to begone. 
 " Plase, Sir,"' said the servant, " I know it rains 
 very well ; but if your honor won't walk, you 
 can take the bath, you know." The Earl how- 
 ever would not rise at all, and Teddy quitted 
 the room. At breakfast the former felt unwell, 
 and, attributing it to his non-compliance with 
 his usual custom, blamed his domestic for not 
 compelling him to bathe, whether he wished it 
 or not, knowing that such an act was conducive 
 to his master's health. 
 
 " Teddy," said he, " you know what bene- 
 fit I have derived from bathing ; and you know 
 very well, that when a man is inclined to sleep, 
 he '11 sacrifice any thing to enjoy his bed. An- 
 
AND HIS VALET. 361 
 
 Other morning, when you find me unwilling to 
 rise, take me up in your arms — you are strong 
 enough — and carry me to the bath !"— '' Very 
 well, Sir," said Teddy, " I '11 remember." 
 
 The following morning it rained again, and 
 Teddy, true to his duty, came into the EarPs 
 chamber, and awoke him to take the bath ; but 
 his master was as little inclined to rise on this 
 occasion as before, and moreover felt displeased 
 at being so hastily summoned from a beautiful 
 pantomime that was performing in the play- 
 house of his brain. But Teddy was not to be 
 put oif or got rid of, and insisted on his getting 
 up. " I tell you I shall not rise this morning, 
 Sir," said the Earl. — " But you must rise." — 
 " Must ! Get out of the room, you rascal !" — 
 " By the powers ! I '11 do no such thing." — " Am 
 I not your master ?" — " Don't I know it is for 
 your health?" — "I command you, Sir!" — "Yes, 
 — but, plase your Grace, you are either not awake 
 now, or you're not sensible of what you're saying; 
 and if I let you slape now, don't I know very 
 well that at breakfast you '11 be scowlding me 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
3652 A COLD BATH. 
 
 again, as you did yesterday ? So, come along, 
 my Lord ; 'tis no use your kicking and bawling ; 
 you must come and bathe yourself." Saying 
 which, he quietly took the Earl up in his arms, 
 as he would have done a lapdog, and carry- 
 ing him to the tub, plumped him in it. The 
 latter knowing it was no use to struggle in such 
 a situation, when the shock was over, called 
 for soap and towels. 
 
 At breakfast, the Earl was rather gloomy, and 
 could not acquaint his family with the cause 
 till Teddy came in, who, nodding his head and 
 rubbing his hands in great glee, approached 
 him and said, " Well, my Lord, I managed to 
 wake you this morning!" At these words, 
 said he to me, my features relaxed, and I could 
 not deny the poor fellow the approbation he 
 expected. 
 
 At Derry we were joined by a Mr. Knipe, 
 brother to Mrs. Cherry ; a kind of dra- 
 matic expletive, as regarded talent, — for he 
 filled out the number, without expressing any 
 sense. But the Volunteers, who were now ga- 
 thering all over Ireland, rendered this place 
 
IRISH CIRCUMLOCUTION. 363 
 
 very lively, and benefited the Theatre. The 
 " band*" volunteered for our orchestra, and the 
 officers were very regular in their attendance to 
 the boxes. Here I was again beset with invi- 
 tations; but the warning I had received at 
 Sligo rendered me cautious in accepting more 
 than health as well as duty permitted. 
 
 If the Irish are to be distinguished as a 
 convivial and a musical, they must also be 
 noted as a circumlocutory people. Observing 
 one day an unusual commotion in the streets of 
 Derry, I inquired of a bystander the reason ; 
 and he, with a mellifluous brogue, replied in the 
 following metaphorical manner : — " The rason, 
 Sir ! Why, you see that Justice and httle Larry 
 O'Hone the carpenter have been putting up 
 a picture-frame at the end of the strate yonder, 
 and they are going to hang one of ' Adam's 
 copies' in it."—" What 's that ?"— " Why, poor 
 Murdock O'Donnel." — " Oh, there's a man to be 
 hung .?'' — " Do they put up a gallows for any 
 other purpose .?"—" What's his offence ?"— «No 
 offence, your honor; it was only a liberty he 
 took." — "Well, what was the liberty?" — 
 R 2 
 
364 IRISH CIRCUMLOCUTION. 
 
 "Why, you see, Sirr, poor Murdock was in de- 
 licate health, and his physician advised that he 
 should take exercise on horseback; and so, having 
 no horse of his own, he borrowed one from Squire 
 Doyle's paddock ; and no sooner was he on its 
 showlders, than the Divil put it into the cra- 
 cher's head to go over to Kellogreen cattle-fair, 
 where he had a good many acquaintances ; and 
 when he was got there, Murdock spied a friend 
 at the door of a shebeen-house, and left the 
 animal grazing outside, whilst he went in to 
 have a thimbleful of whiskey; and then, you 
 see, they got frisky, and had another, and 
 another, till poor Murdock went to slape on 
 the binch ; and when he w ouke up, he found 
 the cracher gone, and his pocket stuffed full 
 with a big lump of money." — " In short," said 
 I, " you mean to say he has been horse- 
 stealing .?" — '* Why, Sirr,*" he replied, stammer- 
 ing and scratching his head, " they call it so in 
 England!" 
 
 After hanging his appointed time, this un- 
 fortunate Murdock was cut down and conveyed 
 away by his friends to an adjacent house, where, 
 it being discovered that his neck was not broken, 
 
THE RESUSCITATED HORSE-STEALER. 365 
 
 a physician was called in, and the means of re- 
 suscitation were successfully employed. He then 
 sank into a sound sleep, and was ordered to be 
 given a cup of new milk whenever he woke and 
 was thirsty. Two female relatives sat up with 
 him ; and the worthy Doctor sent them a bottle 
 of whiskey to cheer the tedium of the night ; 
 but they in drinking healths to one and the 
 other's families, and long life in especial to 
 Murdock, very soon became too sociable to be 
 discreet. 
 
 When Murdock awoke, he rubbed his eyes, 
 and looking round him wildly, exclaimed — 
 " Where am I, dear lady, — in Purgatory ?^' — 
 " No, no, honey Murdock : don't you know 
 Judy Flin's cabin, — your own sister Judy ?" — 
 " And is that you, Judy ? — and is this a bed ?" 
 he inquired, quite bewildered. " To be sure 
 it is Judy," said she, — " and this a bed, though 
 it is not as good a one as I could wish ; — and 
 here 's Molly Dorgan, your own cousin jarman ; 
 and we have been both drinking your health, 
 Murdock, and long life to you, wid the whiskey 
 the Doctor sent us to kape the ould blue Divil 
 from tazing us." — "But sure I was hangt, 
 
366 THE RESUSCITATED HORSE-STEALER. 
 
 Judy," said he. " Sure enough, darling, for 
 not returning Farmer Doyle's pony that you 
 borrowed : but Doctor Mulready, blissings on 
 him ! who brought you into the warld five-and- 
 twinty years ago, when your mother Katty 
 was put into the straw, has brought you alive 
 agin, after you had been made the picture 
 of the ' slaping beauty"* on the Government 
 sign-post." — " Why, then," replied Murdock 
 with a deep sigh, " I don't thank Doctor Mul- 
 ready ; — I was very asy where I was. Father 
 O'Connel had forgiven me my sins ; my misery 
 was all over, and a swate slape had begun ; and 
 here have you brought me back to this dirty 
 world to beg, steal, and starve, as I have done 
 before. — I don't thank you, Judy : you never 
 ax'd my consent. — And by the powers ! since 
 Doctor Mulready has had me born over agin, 
 he shall be at the expinse of bringing me up !" 
 
 To mollify Murdock's discontent at his re- 
 storation, the women handed him the whiskey- 
 bottle, (though strictly enjoined by the Doctor 
 to give him nothing but milk,) which he seiz- 
 ing with desperation, drained at a draught. 
 
867 
 
 and the liquor meeting the wind in his throat, 
 he struggled, gurgled, and fell back upon the 
 bed, beyond the skill of Doctor Mulready, 
 to revive again. 
 
 Receiving a letter from Atkins, to say all 
 was prepared for our reception, I hurried the 
 close of our visit, and put up the benefits. 
 Cherry played the " Miser" for his, which was 
 certainly not as good a performance as Ryder's, 
 nor exactly in his way ; since he was most at 
 home where a broad laugh was to be elicited. 
 A member of our " volunteer" band, who play- 
 ed the drum, was a very tall, thin, conspicuous 
 figure, and in the intervals of his duties he used 
 to turn his back to the stage, and place himself 
 in a commanding attitude, which was owing, I 
 believe, partly to his contempt for our abilities, 
 and partly with the view of dividing with us 
 the public attention. We had often noticed 
 this among ourselves, and laughed at the fel- 
 low ; and one evening it was discovered that the 
 tall and vain musician wore a wig. 
 
 Cherry, finding that " The Miser " did not 
 " take," to use a Stage phrase, resolved on some 
 
,# *.. 
 
 368 THE drummer's wig. 
 
 bold experiment to arouse his lethargic audi- 
 tors ; and in the scene where he discovered his 
 robbery, and ran about inquiring — " Who's got 
 my money ? — where is my money ?" he bent his 
 head over the pit, and addressed several persons 
 in succession, — " Have you, Sir, — or you, — or 
 you, got my money ?" till at length he fixed his 
 eyes on the unobserving drummer, and cried — 
 "You have got my money!" — at which he 
 pounced upon his pericranium as an eagle would 
 swoop upon a sheep, seized the wig, and waving 
 it aloft in triumph, exclaimed, " Here is my mo- 
 ney ! I have got my money !" and then ran off, 
 leaving the astonished musician with his bald 
 pate shining like the apex of Mont Blanc on 
 a summer's morning. His appearance and 
 Cherry*s manner were irresistible : but the ex- 
 periment succeeded to nearly a fatal issue; — the 
 house was but a temporary erection, and it 
 rocked with the uproar to its very foundation. 
 
 I had much pleasure in returning to Belfast, 
 where I possessed many sound friends, as well 
 as pleasant companions ; and the Earl of Bristol 
 was pleased to extend the sphere of my ac- 
 
LADY O'NEILLS ADDRESS. 369 
 
 qualntance by various friendly letters. On join- 
 ing Atkins, I rendered him a satisfactory ac- 
 count of my transactions during the brief 
 period of my authority ; and I cannot say that 
 I was unhappy at such a period having ended. 
 Being merely Mr. Atkins' deputy, I had been 
 subjected to many trials of temper and per- 
 sonal submissions by the company, which not 
 unfrequently embittered my public cup of 
 sweets. 
 
 We opened our new house with an elegant 
 address, written for the occasion by Lady 
 O'Neil, and spoken by myself. The audience 
 that received it was perhaps the most brilliant 
 that house ever contained. 
 
 It was during this winter that I first became 
 acquainted with that Eccentric and Satirist, An- 
 thony WilHams, better known under his adopted 
 designation of Pasquin, at this time a travelling 
 portrait-painter, stopping at Belfast to take the 
 likenesses of a few persons he had brought let- 
 ters to. One of these was Mr. Griffiths, who 
 was so struck with Anthony's conversation du- 
 ring a sitting, that he introduced him to the 
 R 5 
 
370 ANTHONY PASQUIN. 
 
 '' Ad el phi Club," a literary meeting, of which I 
 was a member. Here Pasquin's conversational 
 talents rendered him a general favourite, and he 
 was employed to paint the Society sitting round 
 a table, which was a large picture, and, as pre- 
 senting a general resemblance, was valuable at 
 the time, to hang over our mantelpiece ; but it 
 was very inferior as a specimen of art. Pas- 
 quin, was a much better writer than painter; and 
 the " Children of Thespis"" is the evidence he has 
 left behind him. But as he was a man so well 
 known, and for so many years, to the London 
 public, it would be as repugnant to me to 
 dwell upon talents which were always appre- 
 ciated, as it would be to palliate principles 
 which were always condemned. 
 
 My increase of leisure, on returning to the 
 quiet of my former situation, threw me open to 
 a great deal of social temptation ; but I had re- 
 sisted Satan at Derry, when decked with the 
 most alluring smiles of Bacchus, and was not to 
 be overpowered in Belfast. However, I was by 
 no means confident in the strength of the cita- 
 del, which had been once sapped, and was still 
 
ENGAGED FOR WATERFORD. 871 
 
 open to attack ; and, fearful lest a fatal result 
 might attend a second struggle, I was induced 
 to tear myself away from this convivial Eden, 
 and accept the proposals of my old manager, 
 Mr. Palmer, who tendered myself and wife a 
 three years' article (to commence with the suc- 
 ceeding winter) for Bath. Bath was the next 
 step to London, and London is the pinnacle 
 which every actor must hope and strive to 
 reach. 
 
 It was well that I came to this determination 
 quickly ; for Atkins laid siege to me soon after 
 to continue in Belfast, and share with him the 
 management. My summer destination was still 
 undecided, when I received a letter from my 
 friend Vandermere, stating that he intended 
 opening a new theatre at Waterford at the 
 above period, and would be happy to receive 
 me and Mrs. Bernard. This was an engage- 
 ment on my way to England. I wrote back, 
 therefore, to accede to his terms, and thus dis- 
 posed of my remaining time in Ireland. 
 
 Jack Kane, who was a great favourite of mine 
 on account of his natural humour, introduced 
 
372 FOTTEREL IN TRAGEDY. 
 
 me one day to an old companion of his, Mr. 
 Fotterel, a Dublin actor of so-so standing in 
 Daly's corps, who being on a furlough for a 
 fortnight, had come to Belfast to spend it. 
 There was a whimsicality about his manners 
 and language, which led me to make some in- 
 quiries when he quitted us, and Kane amused 
 rae with the following narration. 
 
 Fotterel, or Jemmy Fotterel, as he was more 
 familiarly termed, was a great favourite with the 
 Dublin audience, (gallery,) and in private life 
 was notorious for his gambling propensities, 
 which always kept him penniless and shabby. 
 One of the terms used in hazard, (Jemmy's fa- 
 vourite game,) when the person has lost the right 
 of throwing, is, " Pass the Box." One evening 
 Jemmy had the King in Hamlet to play, owing 
 to another actor's indisposition, and though a 
 low comedian, and apparently the most unfit 
 man in the world to assume the buskin, a 
 stern necessity had no master, even in manager 
 Daly. Jemmy however, like many other co- 
 medians, (if not most,) had no mean opinion of 
 his tragic powers, and resolved at night to elec- 
 
*« PASS THE BOX." 373 
 
 trify both actors and audience. He thus took 
 the trouble of studying that difficult speech of 
 the King's, which is generally omitted ; but kept 
 his intention secret to prevent an interference, 
 till the moment of its utterance. He then 
 walked forward, and with the slow enunciation 
 and ponderous gravity of Kemble, commenced 
 it. The audience were taken by surprise, and 
 were silent ; but a brawny, coal-heaving looking 
 personage in Mount Olympus, who knew some- 
 thing of Jemmy and his habits, and had always 
 been accustomed to see him in farce, grew un- 
 easy at this dull exhibition ; and when he saw 
 the actor actually going to kneel down, he could 
 not restrain his discontent, but shouted out, 
 '' Oh, bother! Jemmy Fotterel — Pass the 
 Box— Pass the Box." 
 
 This season proved most productive to Mr. 
 Atkins ; and the company were as well satisfied 
 as himself, with the exception of poor Kane, 
 whose benefit failed in toto. Jack was of Bel- 
 fast origin, and on this account considered the 
 circumstance the more grievous. He had ab- 
 solutely expected that, without resorting to any 
 
374 
 
 of the measures of his brethren — without either 
 private influence or public attractions, he had 
 merely to put up his name — " Mr. Kane (of 
 Belfast) his night," and it was a necessary con- 
 sequence, that when the doors had opened, the 
 house would fill. Up to the very day there 
 were no places taken certainly, but this did 
 not dishearten him ; he considered it rather 
 as a sign that there would be a rush at 
 night. He was in the house, and having to 
 play in the first piece, divided his time be- 
 tween the green curtain and the dressing- 
 room, in order to go on with his toilette and 
 have a glimpse of his good-fortune together. 
 The awful truth at length burst upon him 
 in the empty state of the house within five 
 minutes of the commencement ; and his asto- 
 nishment was overpowering. He looked like a 
 figure of stone ; but this frigidity soon began to 
 melt with disappointment, and Garvey (who 
 was concerned in the performance, but had been 
 out to a country jollification) at that mo- 
 ment came in. Seeing Kane alternately peep- 
 ing through the curtain, as he wiped the tears 
 
garvey's sentiment. 875 
 
 from his eyps, and " making up his face"' at a 
 mirror in his hand, the big drops cutting out 
 curious channels through the black and red 
 paint, and his cuft* carrying away with every 
 wipe half the rouge he put on, Garvey ap- 
 proached and endeavoured to console him. 
 " Come, come. Jack ! be a man ; don't snivel 
 like a girl !" — " Like a girl V replied Kane. 
 " Ay, ay, Mr. Garvey, it 's all mighty fine 
 talking : don't you see I shall be ruined by my 
 benefit ! — not enough paple to pay the candies ! 
 and to sarve me so — Jack Kane ! their own 
 Belfast boy ! — Och, the Divil fly away with such 
 patronage, say I !" Garvey when half-drunk 
 was always sentimental; and as he was bent 
 upon comforting Kane, rejoined with the man- 
 ner of Sterne — " Well, Jack, be patient ; if you 
 lose your benefit now, you may get one here- 
 after !" Kane however, mistaking his allusion, 
 got exasperated, and replied, " Pogh, pogh, 
 Mr. Garvey ! — benefit hereafter ; haven't I al- 
 ways had a benefit before r 
 
 I pass over with pleasure what was to me a 
 painful duty — the taking leave of my friends in 
 
376 JOE HAYNES'' LOGIC. 
 
 Belfast, (particularly Mr. Rice, who honoured 
 me so far as to have my picture taken in Jaffier, 
 and in Clodio, for his study,) since I never in- 
 tended these pages to be the depository of my 
 private feelings, and friendship and love (when- 
 ever they are real) I have always considered 
 things a good deal too sacred to be talked about ; 
 to say nothing of their want of interest to a 
 reader who knew not their objects. 
 
 I also pass over the details of our journey to 
 Waterford, Irish travelling being much alike, 
 and having alluded to it sufficiently ; but in ex- 
 planation of the phenomenon of an Irish tra- 
 veller's contentment under all the difficulties of a 
 journey, it has often struck me that that logic 
 was available which Joe Haynes made use of 
 in demonstrating the connection that existed 
 between his person and a shabby coat. Lacy 
 his manager, one Saturday morning, paid but 
 half-salaries, and on Sunday encountered Haynes 
 in Fleet-street, wretchedly dressed. Knowing 
 that the wag had more wardrobe than what he 
 had on. Lacy asked him how he could think of 
 exposing himself in such habiliments on a Sun- 
 
MRS. BILLINGTON. 377 
 
 day.—" Why, Mr. Lacy," said Haynes, " I '11 
 prove to you that there is a necessity why I 
 should not only wear, but be content with these 
 clothes." — " Do so," said the manager. — " Well, 
 Sir, you must know, that my pocket always con- 
 forms in its dimensions to your treasury, — my 
 breeches naturally accommodate themselves to 
 my pocket, — my coat must appear in character 
 with my breeches, and I must necessarily be 
 content with both !" So with Irish travelling ; 
 the road was adapted to the country, the buggy 
 to the road, the horse to the buggy, and the tra- 
 veller to both ! - if ■- 
 
 It was a curious circumstance that, in the 
 course of this year, it was my lot to speak two 
 '* opening Addresses" to two new Theatres. 
 Lj If I might give way to my own wishes, I 
 should pause here to write an eulogium upon 
 Vandermere — another of the "dramatic Great 
 Unknowns" whom the past century produced ; 
 but I fear that my reader's sympathy would not 
 be excited, and will rather ensure it by neglect- 
 ing him to allude to a more fortunate piece of 
 excellence — Mrs. Billington ! 
 
378 MRS. BILLlNGTON*S DEBUT 
 
 This lady had made her dtbut in Dublin with 
 Daly, and failed ; she now accompanied her 
 husband (who was engaged in our orchestra) 
 to Waterford, with the view of merely singing 
 for benefits and at concerts. Billington was a 
 pleasant and clever man, and I introduced him 
 to the house of a great musical amateur in 
 Waterford, to whom Mr. Rice had given me a 
 letter. Cubit our singer I also took there ; and 
 as we were beginning to get up some difficult 
 pieces of music, and wanted a female voice, Bil- 
 lington asked permission to bring his wife, whom 
 till this moment no one had heard of. Young 
 and lovely as she was then, I need hardly de- 
 scribe what was the impression she produced on 
 our party, by a union of the most musical science 
 with the greatest natural gift which the annals 
 of English singing can boast of. Our astonish- 
 ment was equal to our admiration ; and the next 
 day I told Vandermere, who went with me to 
 Billington^s lodgings, and heard her sing. There, 
 without an instrument and in a low room, she 
 pleased him sufficiently to obtain the immediate 
 offer of an engagement ; but her failure at Dublin 
 
AT WATERFORD. 379 
 
 had so discouraged her, that she was fully con- 
 vinced at this period she should never succeed 
 on the stage. Tiie cause of her failure being 
 \ery obvious, (that timidity which people of 
 genius at all times feel in their outset,) I vo- 
 lunteered my services to read to her one or 
 two singing characters, as a means of inducing 
 her to study them : my offer was cordially ac- 
 cepted ; and but a few mornings had elapsed 
 before she was not only perfect in the words, but 
 the spirit of Rosetta and Clarissa. A stage- 
 rehearsal was now resorted to, and she soon be- 
 came aufait " to the business." On this acting 
 groundwork, she collected confidence, and gave 
 the manager leave to put her name in the bills. 
 Her success at Waterford was equal to her de- 
 serts ; yet, strange to say, at the conclusion of 
 the season she was unprovided with an engage- 
 ment ; and Billington, knowing my destination, 
 came to me, to use my interest with Mr. Palmer 
 in procuring him (only) a situation. I accord- 
 ingly wrote to Bath, and received an answer 
 that the arrangements for the orchestra had 
 been long since completed, but that if Mr. Bil- 
 
380 FAREWELL TO IRELAND. 
 
 lington and wife would join the company, on 
 the ground of making themselves useful, Mr. 
 Palmer could give them three guineas a- week, 
 till something better presented itself. Billington 
 carried this letter to his wife, with the view, as I 
 iipnagined, of accepting the offer : what circum- 
 stances interfered, I know not ; but in the Pas- 
 sion-week of the winter following, when I rode 
 up to London to shake hands with some old 
 friends, I met Billington accidentally, and went 
 home with him to congratulate his wife : she 
 had appeared in London, and established herself 
 as the first female English singer of the age. 
 Such is another of the strange transitions with 
 which dramatic life abounds. 
 
 And now, having brought the first volume of 
 ray history to a conclusion, I bid adieu to Ire- 
 land, with the same feelings of regret which 
 influenced me originally ; and if my wanderings 
 hitherto, from boyhood to manhood, have pro- 
 duced any pleasure to my reader, perhaps he 
 will accompany me in my next book, to the 
 zenith of my fame and fortune as well as my 
 years; when, should he have not become tired 
 
A TRIP PROPOSED. 381 
 
 of the comedian's company, I will propose, as a 
 means of invigorating his health, (after so many 
 hundred miles' travelling,) that he takes a trip 
 with me to America. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENT LEY, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street. 
 
RETROSPECTIONS 
 
 THE STAGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE LATE JOHN BERNARD, 
 
 MANAGER OF THE AMERICAN THEATRES, 
 
 AND FORMERLY 
 
 SECRETARY TO THE BEEF-STEAK CLUB. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. IL 
 
 LONDON ; 
 
 HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1830. 
 
LCNDOK : 
 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, 
 
 porset Street, Flee: Street. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1784.— Bristol — Tom Blanchard, the "Child of Nature :" 
 his complacency. — An example. — Mr. Palmer's Coaches : 
 an overturn, and Blisset's comment. — Weeks, the Inn- 
 keeper; David Ross, and George Barnwell Quin's Cri- 
 ticism, — Anecdotes of George Powell. — Holland and Powell, 
 the Dramatic " Orestes and Pylades.'^ — Foote's joke. — Billy 
 Bates, and his Benefit. — Shuterand the •' Bristol Hogs." — 
 
 Bath The Green-room. — jNIeyler the Epigrammatist. — 
 
 Doctor Harrington. — Anecdote of Madame Mara. — Mr. 
 Peach. — Sir John Danvers : his eccentricities, his stockings, 
 coach, wine, library, &c. — Earl Conyngham : his recollection of 
 Garrick and Quin, and comparison. — Model of my Lord 
 Ogleby.— Sir John Oldmixon,— the " Bath Beau," and his 
 curls. — Captain Stanley, the " Bath Bacchus," and his 
 nose . . . . Page 1 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1784-5 — Anecdotes of the Institution of the "-^ Bath Catch 
 Club." — Sir John Danvers, the proposer. — Earl Conyngham, 
 Lord Cork, &c., Committee; Meyler, Poet Laureate; Rauz- 
 zini, Musical Conductor ; Dr. Harrington, Composer and 
 Physician. — Jeu d'esprit — Its Rules and " Order," — Ladies' 
 Night." — Duchess of Devonshire. — Incledon's d^but at Bath. 
 — Rauzzini's contempt for English singing, his conversion. 
 — His criticism on Incledon, &c.— Incledon's mode of ''recol- 
 lecting the words." — Swansea. — Blisset's reading in " Rue- 
 ful. "^-Sir J. Danvers' generosity and attachment, the subject 
 of sarcasm. 
 
 1785-6.— Bath.— Mrs. Eston — Anecdotes of Dr. Herschel, 
 Musician and Astronomer, when in the Bath Orchestra. — 
 Sarcasms of his companions, and of mine. — The absentee 
 
 Planet. — A surprise Mrs. Baddeley's beauty Edwin's 
 
 Comment The Doctor's Generosity. — Charles Dibdin and 
 
 3Ir8. Harris. — Debut of Miss Brunton. — The friendship of an 
 Eccentric— Brighton.— Royal patronage and compliment 34 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1786-7. — Bath : Amateur Theatricals, ajor Halliday 
 
 and his Companions. — " Brabantio's" Address. — Criticisms 
 on Cassio. — Captain Stanley and his comment. — Anecdote* 
 of the early life of Sir Thomas Lawrence. — Old Lawrence 
 the *' Reader," and Innkeeper, and Jonathan Payne. — " Lit- 
 tle Tom's" notoriety ; his taking Edwin's likeness ; his rea- 
 dings. — " Tom, don't touch Satan." — Young Lawrence s dra- 
 matic propensity : a Rehearsal and a Scene — House-warming 
 at Frome. — Handy and Captain Stanley. — A Recipe for im- 
 proving Madeira,— Incledon's volunteered Song, and encores : 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 his Address.— Miss Poole's d^but.— Mrs. Dickons.— An At- 
 tempt at Authorship.— Meyler*8 hoax.— Mr. Pettingall and 
 the *' Liar.'*— Death of the Earl of Conyngham.— Death of 
 Jonathan Payne, and his Epitaph Engagement for Lon- 
 don. — Brighton — Interview with H. R. H. the Prince. — 
 Major Hanger and Mrs. Johnson. — Sheridan and Fox . ^2 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1787. — London. — Accident. — Honest Surgeon D6but in 
 
 Archer. — London Green-rooms — The Talent of those times. 
 — « Beef-steak Club :" its Members, Officers, &c. : its Port.— 
 Admiral Shuldam's Pun. — Comparison of the '^ Beef-steak" 
 and the '* Catch Club." — Wit and Music. — Visit to Mack- 
 lin : his exaggerated Age ; his Maimers ; his Mind — favourite 
 Reply — the terrific play of his Features. — Anecdote of George 
 the Second. — Macklin's Egotism — Satirized by Foote at the 
 Ha}Tnarket. — Anecdote. — Macklin's classic attainments : his 
 interview with Dr. Johnson. — The two Ursa Majors. — Ply- 
 mouth.— Commodore IM 'Bride and the Bonny Pheasant. — 
 Sailors' attachment to Theatres — Anecdote of the Commo- 
 dore and his Crew. — A sailor's complacency and benevolence. 
 — Anecdote. — Mr. Prigmore and his Breeches . .107 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1788-9. — London. — Bucks' Lodge. — Assume the Secretary- 
 ship of the Beef-steak Club. — Scale of the Members* Quali- 
 ties. — Anecdotes of Sheridan and Fox, Bannister, Miles 
 Peter Andrews, Delia Cruscan Merry, Bate Dudley, Bear- 
 croft, Woodfall, Major Arabin, and Barry the Hatter. — 
 Lord Galway's Waggery — "Peg Timber-toe." — The three 
 "Stage Gentlemen," Smith, Lewis, and Garrick. — Ex- 
 change no robbery. — Story of a Watch. — Accession of 
 Characters. — Edwin's Indisposition : its meaning. — Dinner 
 
VI CONTENl'S. 
 
 of the "Marine Society"— The Boys' Hit at the "Spa- 
 nish Ambassador." — Admiral Afflick's atrocity. — The ^'Ana- 
 creontic Society." — Stevens, Morris, and Hewardine. — He- 
 wardine's " Literary Kidnapping," and detection of Bate 
 Dudley. — How to remember a Story. — Plymouth. — Mr. 
 B. R. Haydon's first attraction of the public notice . 188 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1789-90 London.— The "Era of Clubs."— The Come- 
 dian's Club. — Kelly, Dignum, and Sedgwick, the vocal tri- 
 umvirate. — Sheridan's comments on the two latter, and reply 
 to John Palmer. — Notes of a Club conversation, the " Beef- 
 steak." — Mr. Darley and his song. — Billy Upton, Manager 
 of Astley's Literary Department : his Songs, and Jack John- 
 son. — JMacklin's return to the Stage. — Frank Aiken's age. — 
 Billy Bates' reply. — Colman and Harris. — Philip Lewis, the 
 '< Crying Philosopher ;" his remark to Webb ; and inter- 
 ruption to Anthony Pasquin : his impromptu on Garrick. — 
 Rider and Rock. — A '' Knife" with a point. — Plymouth. — 
 The three " Ubiquitarians." — Captain Bell and Sir John 
 Jervis — Sir John's favourite Boatswain. — The Sailor afloat : 
 an example of coolness : his devotion to the service . 170 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 1790-1. — London. — Holman on Cooke.— The Science of 
 Story-telling. — Theatrical Story-tellers. — Parker ; "Wil- 
 kinson ; Tommy Hull ; Dodd and Pilon ; Suett ; Mack- 
 lin ; and Dr. Wolcot — Aiken and Kemble's Duel. — A cool 
 Reproof. — Mr. Bradelle. — Gentleman Humphreys and the 
 Blacksmith. — Lord Barrymore and the " Blue -bottle 
 Club;" or, the "Humbugs." — Incledon's Humbug — The 
 Hibernians. — Anthony Pasquin, his Lordship's favourite 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 and secretary. — Anecdote of a gentlemanly Dog. — Lord 
 B.'s eccentricity and reply. — *' Going his rounds." — A Lon- 
 don Blood's ramble. — The "Two o'Clock Club."— The 
 Finish. — Robin Hood. — Mr. Bowden and his " nose." — 
 Dublin scepticism ; innocent revenge. — Mrs. Abingdon 
 and her " teeth ;" a gallant controversy : her juvenility. 
 — Edwin's death — Retirement from Coven t Garden . 199 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1791. — Plymouth. — Jefferson and the prawns. — Lostwithiel 
 and the lace. — Mrs. Canning': her character, and anecdote of 
 her great courage. — A ghost story. — Eccentricities of Becky 
 Wells : her royal attachment. — Killing with kindness ; and 
 " Haven't you heard of a jolly young waterman ?" — Siege of 
 Plymouth. — Dover. 
 
 1791-2. — Charles Mate. — Guernsey : my new Theatre. — 
 
 Mr. Hargrave, Jemmy Fotterel and his patrons Teignmouth. 
 
 — John Emery's introduction to the Stage : symptoms of the 
 future Comedian. — The patient Farmer.— Lord Howth, and 
 the Landlady's mistake. — Passage to Dover in the Pomona 
 
 Frigate Mr. Lee Sug and Captain Savage. — Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 Fox.— Dover. 
 
 1792-3 D6but of Mr. Hunn, and his legs — Anecdote of 
 
 a spaniel. — Return to Covent Garden.— Fracas at Plymouth. 
 — G. L. Barret's last favour . . 232 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1793-4. — London. — Club Captain Clark, Macklin's 
 
 Goose. — Merry, and my Lapsus. — How to speak a Pro- 
 logue. — Eccentricities of Jemmy Wilde, with Cubit, with 
 Mrs. Mattocks, with a City Club — The two John Ber- 
 nards. — A Lawyer's munificence. — The " Poor Sailor." — 
 Munden's acting. — Plymouth.— John Emery and Dr. Gas- 
 
vm CONTENTS. 
 
 kin. — Mr. Prigmore.— Comicalities of Billy Lewis. — Lord 
 Edgecombe's Ale. — The Dog-Coach, &c.— The Comedian's 
 Recollections. — A " Comical Dog." — London. — " Beef- 
 steak" Members abroad. — Curious circumstances of the 
 deaths of Colonels Boswell and Elde. — The Elegy, and In- 
 
 cledon's ear. — London Characters " Barrington" a judge 
 
 <rf Theatricals — Count Bibb : the original of " Jeremy 
 
 Diddler." — Gentleman Harry The Pickpocket of high 
 
 life. — A singular Anecdote. — Scene in a flash-house. — Inci- 
 dent.— Brighton ... 269 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1795-6. — Guernsey. — Royal condescension and kindness. 
 
 A Compliment.— Anecdotes of Governor Small — Royal 
 
 interference Sir Sydney Smith's Boatswain. — Event at 
 
 the death of Governor Small. — General Dalrymple, and my 
 Guernsey Vauxhall.— A " Double Entendre" on the opening 
 night.— Reasons of its failure.— Plymouth. — Captain Clark. 
 
 — Charles Mate Anthony Pasquin. — The public mistake. 
 
 liord Barrymore's Advice. — Rossignolle the Ventriloquist ; 
 
 his powers : Adventure in a Night Coach : his improve- 
 ment of Joe Miller — Anecdote of Quin and an Innkeeper. 
 
 Falmouth. — Mendoza and the Sailor. — The Jack and 
 
 the Jew. — Colonel George. — Offer from America. — Fare- 
 well to the " Beef-steak." — Manager and Friends. — 
 Departure for the New World, 4th June 1797- — A word to 
 the Reader . . . .304 
 
RETROSPECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE STAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1784 Bristol.— Tom Blanchard, the <•' Child of Nature :" 
 
 his complacency. — An example. — Mr. Palmer's Coaches : 
 an overturn, and Blisset's comment. — Weeks, the Inn- 
 keeper ; David Ross, and George Barnwell Quin's Cri- 
 ticism. — Anecdotes of George Powell. — Holland and Powell 
 the Dramatic " Orestes and Pylades.'^ — Foote's joke Bil- 
 ly Bates, and his Benefit Shuter and the "Bristol Hogs." 
 
 — Bath. — The Green-room — Meyler the Epigrammatist. 
 — Doctor Harrington. — Anecdote of Madame Mara. — Mr. 
 Peach.— Sir John Danvers : his eccentricities, his stockings, 
 coach, wine, library, &c. — Earl Conyngham : his recollection 
 of Garrick and Quin, and comparison. — Model of my Lord 
 Ogleby . — Sir John Oldmixon, the " Bath Beau," and his curls. 
 — Captain Stanley, the " Bath Bacchus," and his nose. 
 
 In the summer of 1784, the Bath company 
 was playing at Bristol ; and thither I proceed- 
 VOL. II. B 
 
 
 vr^ 
 
» TOM BLANCHARD, 
 
 ed, embarking for Milford Haven in a lime 
 smack, which was driven by a tempest into Fish- 
 card, a fishing village on the Welsh coast, where 
 there was only one person that could speak 
 English, though (to use an old joke) the na- 
 tives pretty generally understood Spanish. 
 
 From Mr. Palmer I received a most cordial 
 welcome, and shook hands in his corps with 
 mostly old acquaintance; the new faces were 
 those of Jackson, Wordsworth, and Tom Blanch- 
 ard, the " Child of Nature," who, with Edwin 
 and Weston, forms in my recollection a trium- 
 virate of actors that produced greater effects 
 from impulse, than others from the most skil- 
 ful preconcertment. 
 
 It is needless to say any thing of his public 
 merits : he came to London, where they were 
 duly appreciated ; but Blanchard, like Edwin 
 and Weston, was the comedian of private life 
 — the originality of his ideas could only be 
 equalled by his mode of delivering them. What 
 amused me most, was his imperturbable com- 
 placency ; there seemed to be no circumstance 
 under heaven, serious or ludicrous, that was ca- 
 
THE "CHILD OF NATURE." 3 
 
 pable of disturbing it ; whether on the stage, or 
 in the street, in encountering a creditor, or (from 
 some gross lapsus) the risible thunder of an 
 audience, never would a muscle of his counte- 
 nance relax, or any intelligence dwell about it, 
 to affirm that he was conscious of his situation. 
 Out of the abundance of proofs I received upon 
 this point, perhaps my reader will permit me to 
 lay one before him. 
 
 Bristol was the first engagement that brought 
 him into notice. Previously, he had served his 
 stage apprenticeship by strolling ; and it was in 
 one of the neighbouring villages Mr. Palmer 
 first observed him. Tom was well known in 
 Bristol ; and a few of his friends were in the 
 habit of paying him a weekly visit, to felicitate 
 him with the novelty of a supper, and by pa- 
 tronising his benefit, prevent it from becoming 
 bis temporary ruin. 
 
 On one occasion, these worthies had been dis- 
 comfiting the blue devils by the aid of a 
 potent force of white spirits, and entered the 
 boxes in a very hilarious and discriminative con- 
 dition. The play was "Macbeth," and Blanchard, 
 B a 
 
4 HIS COMPLACENCY. 
 
 bj doubling Banquo, a Witch, and Macduff, was 
 laying claim to the theatric eulogy of being a 
 " host in himself." Versatility was Garrick's 
 distinction ; and presuming Tom played tragedy 
 badly, in this play he could not be the " first 
 murderer.'' His friends made their appearance at 
 the moment MacduiF receives the news of his wife 
 and children's destruction ; every humane per- 
 son here, or at least every parent, has a sympa- 
 thetic thrill, and flies to snuff or pocket hand- 
 kerchief to disembogue his feelings. Tom had 
 no doubt worked himself up to throw half-a- 
 dozen matrons and milk-maids into hysterics; 
 but his companions, expecting to find him revel- 
 ling in some broad comedy character, were in- 
 capable of excitement : they listened to his 
 first burst of agony, (which might have been 
 moderately well given,) in a kind of stupid sur- 
 prise, but further attention was impossible. 
 Simultaneously, they rose up in their seats, cha- 
 racterised the whole thing as a humbug; 
 
 and one of them having brought a bottle of 
 whisky in his pocket, publicly produced it — 
 cursed Tom's wife and children, and bade him 
 
AN EXAMPLE. 5 
 
 leave off " howling there like a house-dog," 
 and come and drink with them. Such a re- 
 quest, at such a moment, any one will allow, 
 was, to say the least of it, indecorous ; but, how- 
 ever Melpomene might frown, the actor feel, or 
 the prompter stare, Blanchard instantly per- 
 ceived that, coming from such an influential 
 quarter, the request was not to be denied. His 
 presence of mind, on this trying occasion, would 
 have done honour to a life's instruction in the 
 schools. He politely bowed to his inviter, beg- 
 ged the messenger and gentlemen about him to 
 suspend their conversation for an instant, ap- 
 proached the box, took the bottle, drank, smack- 
 ed his lips, bowed again, returned to his place, 
 resumed his attitude, recollected his murdered 
 wife and children, and proceeded as if nothing 
 had happened. His friends were now no longer 
 his foes, and Macduff triumphed alike over 
 usurper and spectator. 
 
 I believe I have noticed every one besides in 
 this company, worth noticing, on a former oc- 
 casion. Among the additions, Jackson was a 
 decent actor, and Wordsworth a pretty singer, 
 
6 MR. palmer's coaches. 
 
 but with little compass, which the ladies used to 
 forgive however, remarking — that " he looked 
 all he could not express." 
 
 Mr. Palmer, whose coach-inventing faculty 
 was already notorious, had contrived two con- 
 veyances to transport the company from Bath 
 to Bristol ; the one containing fifteen, the other, 
 twelve persons. He was now playing three 
 times a- week in Bristol, and once in Bath, till 
 the season of the latter came on, when this order 
 was reversed. This arrangement was very plea- 
 sant whilst the fine weather lasted, and created 
 a family-feeling in the company, who, living in 
 both places, would invite each other to beds and 
 breakfasts. But, when the season advanced, 
 returning nine miles at one o'clock in the 
 morning, after a long night's performance, was 
 any thing but desirable. 
 
 People, however, in this world will never re- 
 gard evil in a comparative, but a positive light ; 
 and we on one of these latter occasions, beginning 
 to murmur, were instructed, by an unexpected 
 aggravation of our miseries. 
 
 The rain came down in torrents; the road 
 
AN OVERTURN. 7 
 
 was a sea of slush ; and the night was so diabo- 
 lically dark, that a man with a heavy conscience 
 might have imagined we were on the highway 
 to the capital of the infernal regions. Our 
 coachman was not to be execrated, therefore, 
 if, in nearing the hedge, one of the wheels 
 mounted a prostrate mile-stone, and turned the 
 long vehicle over into a sufficiently capacious 
 ditch. A minute previously there had been as 
 much discontent amongst us, as in the pit of a 
 theatre at a bad play : I don't know what the 
 latter effect could be compared to but the sud- 
 den alarm of fire ; such screeching and kicking, 
 tugging and tumbling, imprecating and depre- 
 cating, I have no power to describe. My rea- 
 der will be satisfied when I say, that no one 
 was seriously hurt, but that every one was tre- 
 mendously drenched. A night-coach luckily 
 coming up, afforded us assistance to right the 
 vehicle, and collect our scattered bundles of 
 properties, which had embellished the road with 
 wigs, roses, ruffles, swords, hats, and gloves. 
 This journey, which was begun in uproarious 
 dissatisfaction, concluded in the most silent 
 
8 blisset's comment. 
 
 resignation ; we entered, and proceeded without 
 another syllable ; and the fear of another acci- 
 dent hung over us ever after, like the hair-sus- 
 pended sword mentioned in the classics. Blisset 
 made me laugh, however, in despite of all an- 
 noyances ; he was notedly of the crab-apple 
 kind, and but reflected in Jaques and Rueful his 
 natural temperament. The ditch had been his 
 physician with the others ; and as he shook the 
 muddy moisture from his garments, he fixed 
 his eye on me, and exclaimed, " Johnny, now I 
 can understand Shylock : — ' There be land rats, 
 and there be water rats.' " 
 
 The " Bush,*" at Bristol, was at this time 
 kept by Weeks, one of the most generous and 
 convivial of the ancient fraternity of hosts. He 
 had a great attachment to the stage ; indeed, he 
 was a clever actor, and seemed to have the sea- 
 son's success as much at heart as the manager ; 
 for no man could have laboured more to pro- 
 mote it. It will be supposed, that the sphere 
 of a principal innkeeper'^s utility was not a con- 
 fined one. He as invariably put our bill into 
 the hands of a customer as his own; and I be- 
 
DAVID ROSS. 9 
 
 lieve the charge on our account was always 
 the greatest. An arrival from London was the 
 sure parent of a visit to us, till this nightly 
 reinforcement in our boxes began to be sted- 
 fastly looked to ; so that whenever we perceived, 
 about nine o'clock, the sudden influx of certain 
 muflPed, cloaked, booted, and great-coated stran- 
 gers, the usual remark in the Green-room used 
 to be, " The London Coach is in !" 
 
 In his private little parlour, I frequently met 
 the veteran David Ross, a tragedian of a tole- 
 rably high as well as long standing at Covent 
 Garden. Ross was distinguished by being the 
 original George Barnwell, but more particularly 
 by the circumstance of having checked and con- 
 verted a real Barnwell, who one night entered 
 the theatre to lounge away an hour, before the 
 commission of his relative's murder : there con- 
 templating his counterpart, conscience freed 
 itself from the grasp of desperation, and drove 
 him home a penitent. 
 
 This anecdote Ross never failed to commu- 
 nicate to every new acquaintance, and, in my 
 opinion, with great propriety: an old man's 
 b5 
 
10 quin's criticism. 
 
 vanity was to be pardoned, where an event re- 
 dounded so greatly, not only to his own ho- 
 nour, but his profession's. For this exact il- 
 lustration of Shakspeare'ti words, " Guilty crea- 
 tures sitting at a play," &c. must be considered 
 an incontrovertible proof, that the Stage has 
 been, and ever may be, a medium of moral im- 
 provement. 
 
 Hoss, in his later days, grew very portly, 
 and his face became so overloaded with fat, 
 as to defeat its expression, which necessarily lay 
 in the perception of the muscles. On the last oc- 
 casion on which he assumed his favourite charac- 
 ter, Quin was behind the scenes, and encountered 
 him. The satirist surveyed him all over for a 
 minute, and then exclaimed, " George Barn- 
 well, David ! George Barnwell, an Apprentice ! 
 D — m me if you don't look more like the Lord 
 Mayor of London !''' 
 
 At Bristol I found a few of my old acquaint- 
 ance, who formed the members of the " Sport- 
 ing Club" ten years before, when, in the neigh- 
 bouring hamlet of Chew Magna, I made my 
 professional debut. Some of them were now 
 
GEORGE POWELL. 11 
 
 members of a party who met yearly at the 
 " Bush," to commemorate George Powell. Such 
 was the public and private esteem which, in 
 this place, this ill-fated genius commanded ; one 
 of the most striking examples of the class 
 termed " no one's enemies but their own,"** and 
 in dramatic records distinguished as the only 
 man who, in Garrick's days, played Lear, and 
 made the Roscius tremble for his laurels. 
 
 It is well known that, on some occasion when 
 business or pleasure carried the latter to the Conti- 
 nent, Powell was put forward in his characters, 
 either as a forlorn hope in the absence of others, 
 or as a means of effectually "cutting his throat ;"" 
 a piece of managerial duplicity which Garrick 
 was not the only one who stooped to. To the 
 wonder of the Green-room, not less than the de- 
 light of the town, Powell made a stand, and La- 
 cey instantly dispatched a bulletin to his partner 
 conveying the information, and concluding with 
 these words, " If you don't come back directly, 
 David, the public will have forgot you when 
 you do." It will be supposed that Garrick did 
 not treat this hint with contempt. 
 
1^ POWELL AND HOLLAND. 
 
 Powell and Henderson died in the opening 
 bloom of their fame as well as manhood. Had 
 both of them hved to a mature old age, it is not 
 improbable that the splendour of their setting 
 would have gleamed upon the memories of the 
 present generation. 
 
 Powell had gone down to Bristol in the sum- 
 mer for the invigoration of his health. Holland, 
 his old associate and inseparable, was playing 
 Richard, and had repeated the line "We all 
 have cause to mourn the dimming of our shining 
 star !" when a gentleman entered the boxes, and 
 exclaimed aloud, *' Mr. Powell 's dead V Hol- 
 land instantly reeled to the wings as though he 
 had been shot, stammered, came forward, and, in 
 attempting to apologize, burst into tears. The 
 audience sympathized with him sufficiently, for 
 he was allowed to quit the stage, and go home ; 
 an example which was followed by nearly two- 
 thirds of the house. 
 
 My reader that knows the history of the above 
 " Orestes and Pylades" of dramatic Hfe will not 
 discredit this account, nor set it down to the 
 score of theatrical artifice ; but as there are many 
 
FOOTE. 18 
 
 who may, from ignorance of the fact, fall into 
 the latter error, I may be permitted to men- 
 tion, that in no age, country, or profession, has 
 there been exhibited a more pleasing proof of 
 the strength of human sympathies, than in the 
 one-time proverbial attachment of Powell and 
 Holland. 
 
 I am not aware that they were related or had 
 been educated together, but they made their 
 amateur and public debut in company, and in 
 the same characters (lachimo and Posthumus), — 
 acted in the same theatre many years, — ^lived 
 in the same house, and employed the same 
 tradesmen ; a similarity of ideas and desires con- 
 tinually associated them, w^hether in public or 
 private ; so that it was the cry at Drury Lane — 
 "Do you want Powell ?"—*' Yes."— •" Well, 
 Holland 's in the house, so he can't be far off." 
 —"Where's Holland?"— "Why, in the next 
 street, I should think, for there 's Powell at the 
 corner !" 
 
 Foote had his jest upon these intimates, as in- 
 deed he had upon every one. Holland, sleeping 
 one night at a person's house which took fire, 
 
14 BILLY BATES. 
 
 narrowly escaped with life. The next morning, 
 when the circumstance was mentioned in the 
 Green-room, Foote exclaimed, ''Well then, 
 Powell was burned?"— *' Oh no!"— "Why, 
 don"*t you say Holland was very near ?" 
 
 The Bristol Theatre was originally opened by 
 Powell and Holland ; the town having been pre- 
 viously visited by a strolling company under 
 the domination of Billy Bates, a subsequent 
 understrapper at Drury Lane. Bates had found 
 Bristol his most profitable resort; but, unable to 
 check the tide of public feeling when it set in 
 favour of a stationary theatre and respectable 
 performances, was glad to turn it, as far as possi- 
 ble, to his advantage, by making Holland engage 
 himself and family. Bates, as most acting-ma- 
 nagers are, was the commander of his company, 
 on the stage, and in the closet. He played all 
 the best parts, and thus laid claim to the cha- 
 racter of the " superior actor." On the present 
 occasion, however, his talents were somewhat un- 
 dervalued. A tragedy was the opening perform- 
 ance, in which Holland did a King at the head 
 
THE "BRISTOL HOGS/' 15 
 
 of his army, and Bates was condemned to a piti- 
 ful messenger who gave him notice of the ene- 
 my's approach. This character comprehended 
 but one entrance and five lines of diction ; but 
 these five Hues were precious ; and Bates, having 
 a throat like a speaking trumpet, rushed on at 
 rehearsal, and thundered them forth, taking at 
 the same time a stage-effective, but rather inde- 
 corous sweep of the boards from the fourth 
 wing to the floats. 
 
 " Mr. Bates !"" said Holland with a stare of 
 surprise, "you surely don't intend to deliver 
 that message in that manner at night ?"— " Yes, 
 but I do, Mr. Holland." — "You are too loud. 
 Sir!"— "Loud, Sir! not at all. Sir; I'm only 
 energetic. I've got a benefit to make as well as 
 you, Mr. Holland !" 
 
 The citizens of Bristol; from their seemingly 
 blunt and business-like manner, were impudently 
 nicknamed by travellers the "Bristol Hogs;" 
 and as the old adage avers, " an ill name never 
 wants wings," the appellation was familiar 
 through most parts of the kingdom. In thea- 
 
16 SHUTER. 
 
 trical matters, the only thing that could be 
 charged against them was a certain uncer- 
 tainty, or disposition to have an opinion of 
 their own, and cavil at the verdict of a London 
 audience. 
 
 Shuter, when in the height of his popularity, 
 visited this city one summer, and played all his 
 favourite characters with such success, that on 
 his benefit-night the receipts barely covered the 
 charges. The next day he took a handful of his 
 neglected night's bills, and walking in the midst 
 of a principal street, strewed them about, cry- 
 ing, " Chuck, chuck, chuck !" (the term used in 
 feeding their swine.) This bold experiment on 
 their pride and generosity proved successful. 
 Shuter was induced to try a second night, and 
 the house was filled up to the ceiling. 
 
 I have now concluded every notice of Bristol 
 that can be amusing, and must beg my reader's 
 company to Bath, which opened for the winter 
 of 1784, with the following company : Dimond, 
 Murray, Brunton, Bernard, Blanchard, Row- 
 botham, Payne, Wordsworth, Egan, Summers, 
 Keasberry, and Blisset; Mrs. Bernard, Mrs. 
 
MEYLER THE EPIGRAMMATIST. 17 
 
 Sheriff; Miss Cleland; Summers, Stanten, 
 Wright, &c. 
 
 Among these persons, Brunton was my old 
 friend from Norwich ; and Charles Murray 
 (both afterwards of Covent Garden) was an 
 actor who had established a peculiar fame. He 
 played Shylock and Bagatelle with equal ex- 
 cellence. 
 
 Mr. Palmer was pleased to flatter my vanity, 
 by opening with the comedy of " Which is the 
 Man ?"" in which Mrs. Bernard and myself sus- 
 tained our favourite characters of Lady Bell 
 Bloomer, and liOrd Sparkle. 
 
 At Bath, I was welcomed warmly by my old 
 acquaintance, and introduced to many new ones. 
 Mr. Pratt, to whom I was personally known, 
 had been succeeded in his library by Meyler 
 the Epigrammatist, a gentleman whose rare 
 union of affability and talent did not fail in ren- 
 dering his reading-room a concentrating point 
 for all the wit and fashion of that gay resort. 
 He was an excellent reader as well as writer ; a 
 fact to which Henderson had borne a brilliant 
 testimony. * 
 
18 DOCTOR HARRINGTON. 
 
 To Meyler I was indebted for numerous in- 
 troductions to the dramatic dilletanti, at this 
 fountain-head of taste and criticism ; but per- 
 haps I was in no instance so truly obliged to 
 him as in forming the acquaintance of Doctor 
 Harrington. 
 
 If I am bound to consider Bath, at this pe- 
 riod, as the beginning of the summer of my 
 public and private enjoyments, I am proud to 
 confess it was to the Doctor's society I owed 
 many of its fruits. With his talents as a physi- 
 cian or musician I have nothing to do ; the world 
 long ago formed its estimate of both ; perhaps 
 any remarks upon his personal character would 
 be equally needless, since it has been so often and 
 sufficiently dwelt upon, which is to say, eulo- 
 gized: but I must regret that, of the many 
 hours I passed at his table and enjoyed his 
 highly communicative spirit, these journals, 
 which have been so faithful in preserving many 
 trifling particulars, should present so little evi- 
 dence. One circumstance however is recorded, 
 which must apologize for the absence of others. 
 
 Previous to his residence in Bath, the Doctor 
 
MADAME MARA. 19 
 
 lived at Wells ; and one day after dinner, whilst 
 entertaining a circle of musical friends, a German 
 family came under his window, of whom the 
 father played the flute, the mother a guitar, a 
 girl sung, and a boy carried round the hat. The 
 tones of the girl's voice, and her brilliant execu- 
 tion of a piece of music they were well ac- 
 quainted with, startled and delighted them. 
 The Doctor sent out to desire they would come 
 into the hall and repeat it : his family were now 
 made partakers of his surprise and gratification. 
 The Doctor, whose heart was as open to the cry 
 of necessity, as his ear to the finest harmonies of 
 Haydn, then inquired into the circumstances of 
 the family, and was informed that the father, a 
 Mr. Schemling, being disappointed of employ- 
 ment in London, whither he had proceeded from 
 the Continent, had been compelled to this itinerant 
 resource, as the only means of support. The 
 Doctor could do little for him at Wells, which 
 was not a musical place, but gave him letters to 
 some influential persons in Bath, as a means of 
 procuring patronage to undertake a morning con- 
 cert There, the girl's abilities did not fail to 
 
20 BATH PATRONS. 
 
 divest the Doctor's recommendation of its appear- 
 ance of enthusiasm. She was heard, wondered at, 
 and talked of; some amateurs instantly tendered 
 their services to carry the father's project into 
 effect; bills were printed, tickets issued and 
 purchased; and the Doctor rode over to superin- 
 tend in person the musical arrangements. The 
 proceeds of this concert were sufficient to enable 
 the family to return to London and thence to 
 Germany, where their daughter, being placed 
 under proper masters, began to develope her 
 powers, grew up, married, and in a few years 
 after revisited England, and, with a comet lustre, 
 blazed upon its public as Madame Mara. 
 
 At the Doctor's residence I was brought in 
 contact with a brilliant assemblage of noble and 
 noted characters : Rauzzini was one to whom I 
 became indebted for many professional services, 
 Loder another, and Earl Conyngham, Sir 
 Charles Barapfylde, Lord Cork, and Captain 
 Baker, were of the number, who, on stretching 
 out their hands to me, never afterwards with- 
 drew them. 
 
 There were a few persons, however, who made 
 
) 
 
 SIR JOHN DANVERS. 21 
 
 my acquaintance of their own accord : one was 
 Mr. Peach of Bownham House, Gloucestershire, 
 a truly estimable and generous gentleman, whose 
 wealth was thought sufficient to warrant the 
 jest, that " one Peach was worth three plums ;" 
 — another was Sir John Oldmixon, the Bath 
 beau; — a third, that celebrated eccentric. Sir ) 
 John Danvers. 
 
 The Eccentric stands out in relief to all his 
 kind, like a chaos of the mental elements, rather 
 than any peculiar arrangement of them ; and I 
 could never yet satisfy myself why these curiosi- 
 ties should come into the world, but on the sup- 
 position that Nature created them in one of her 
 desperate moments, to dissipate the ennui of 
 forming so many thousands alike. 
 
 Sir John was as well known in Bath as the 
 Mayor or the Pump-room ; his dress, his man- 
 ners, and his apothegms, were equally notorious ; 
 and no man perhaps in England enjoyed so ex- 
 tensive an acquaintance ; the meanest and the 
 noblest were comprehended in his sphere, — he 
 touched the zenith and the nadir of social inter- 
 course. I am not aware whether his life has 
 
22 SIR JOHN'S PECULIARITIES. 
 
 been published ; but if so, there must be many 
 of the present day who never read it, and it will 
 answer my purpose to pen from memory a few of 
 
 ( his peculiarities. 
 
 ) He was of a tall and gaunt structure, with a 
 slight stoop, and an immense Roman nose, which 
 did not slightly resemble the beak of a condor. 
 He wore his wig on one side, with the tail flap- 
 ping over his ear, surmounted by a hat hardly 
 large enough to cover three of the curls. His 
 coat was of a cut and colour which must have 
 been fashionable about the time of the Revolu- 
 tion ; his breeches conformed to his coat, — they 
 were of black velvet, spotted over, like the back 
 of a panther, with port wine. His waistcoat 
 was the only elegant habiliment he wore, and 
 the embroidery of this had long since faded 
 under the momentary showers of snufF it was 
 exposed to. But the most whimsical feature of 
 his dress was his stockings : he wore a white 
 one on one leg, and a black one on the other, in- 
 tending thereby, as he declared, to express his 
 political opinions. The white he termed the 
 
SIR JOHN'S PECULIARITIES. 23 
 
 Tory, and the black, the Whig; and his right 
 being the most venerable leg, the appearance of 
 either on his dexter shank signified his confi- 
 dence in the conduct of Mr. Pitt, or Mr. Fox. 
 This mode of telegraphing his tenets was uni- 
 versally admired. 
 
 To theatricals he was passionately attached ; 
 and two evenings out of the three were invaria- 
 bly passed in the stage-box. His appearance 
 there, however, would sometimes divide the 
 public attention with the stage. At a tragedy, 
 his sensibility was so great, he would blubber 
 like a child ; and in a comedy, he could never 
 contain his satisfaction, but would open his ca- 
 pacious jaws, (and when open, his mouth cer- 
 tainly bore the same proportion to his head, that 
 the sea does to the land, in a map of the world,) 
 and laugh out, and aloud, as if his heart was de- 
 termined to be heard. Then, if any thing oc- 
 curred in the gallery to disturb the progress of 
 a scene, up he would stretch his tall figure from 
 the box, and shake his stick at the elevated cri- 
 tics ; the efi^ect of which may be presumed, as 
 
24 SIR JOHN AT THE THEATRE. 
 
 well as of the conversations he would occasionally 
 hold with the people in the orchestra about their 
 wives and children. 
 
 The first notice he took of me was in Charles 
 Surface: when in the screen-scene I retreated 
 to the stage-door, and turned to retort upon 
 Sir Peter his eulogium on Joseph, his delight 
 was so great, that clapping and crying out 
 would not do, but he must needs poke me in the 
 ribs with his long stick and exclaim, " That's 
 right, you comical dog ! don't go away." In an 
 instant, the audience released Sir Peter from his 
 misery, and began to laugh at me. I must con- 
 fess, when I went off, if I was not irritated, I 
 was considerably astonished, till the prompter 
 explained his character. The next morning (so 
 favourable the impression I had made) he 
 called at the theatre to see me, and learning I 
 was on the stage rehearsing, sent a card to me, 
 with these words — *' When you have done 
 prayers, I shall be glad to see you in the lobby. 
 — John Danvers, to Charles Surface.'* 
 
 The wording of this invitation was a pretty 
 strong evidence of its author's character. I re- 
 
SIR JOHN DANVERS. 25 
 
 paired to him when my duties were concluded, 
 and he very cordially commenced my acquaint- 
 ance, by some flattering allusions to the past 
 night's performance, and a pressing request to 
 dine. It being a non-play day, I was under no 
 necessity to refuse ; and, in the interim, he pro- 
 posed taking a turn in the street. Chaining me 
 to his side by a tight grasp of the arm, away he 
 then darted, in a sort of half-trot, his other hand 
 clenching and swinging by the middle his long 
 staff of a stick. In the broad light I gained a 
 distinct view of his odd appearance ; and, ac- 
 customed as I had been to stand the fire of the 
 public gaze, I must confess, that on that occa- 
 sion I felt rather qualmish. I was then but 
 seven-and-twenty however, and wore a scarlet 
 coat. 
 
 When our promenade was over (during which 
 Sir John rambled very amusingly over a va- 
 riety of subjects), his coach came up, and we 
 got in. The vehicle was of a piece with him- 
 self : it was of a dark colour, slung on very 
 high straps, and large enough in a winter's day 
 for a man to have caught cold in. The pos- 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
26 SIR JOHN AT HOiME. 
 
 tilion and coachman were a pair of sexagena- 
 rians, in a blackish livery ; and the four long- 
 bodied horses were black also, with flowing 
 manes, and graceful switch tails, and feet that 
 had been educated to pace over the stones at 
 the rate of about four miles an hour ; indeed, 
 they seemed to have a due idea of their dig- 
 nity ; and the whole affair might have been mis- 
 taken for an undertaker's. 
 I The same spirit of peculiarity pervaded 
 things at home, where Sir John had a bill hang- 
 ing up, denoting his precise species of aliment 
 for the day. Monday, for instance, lamb and 
 cider; Tuesday, beef and beer, &c. I found, 
 however, that the cook turned up his nose at 
 this code of regulations, when company came. 
 Our dinner was modern, plenteous, and excel- 
 lent. Sir John also retained a travelling chap- 
 lain, who said grace, read prayers, and took 
 care of his library. This was another curiosity ; 
 abounding with all the best works of the best 
 authors, there was not one volume perfect. So 
 eager had been Sir John in his pursuit of know- 
 ledge, that he had inspected each ; and when- 
 
SIR JOHN DANVERS. 27 
 
 ever a passage pleased him, he tore out the leaf, 
 thrust it into his pocket, and then applied it to / 
 other purposes. He had a taste also for paint- \ 
 ing, and had lumbered a room with old second- ) 
 hand portraits, which he touched up into ima- ■ 
 ginary likenesses to Chatham, Chesterfield, the 
 King, &c. i 
 
 Sir John lived well, as the gout in his left 
 leg testified. He usually took his three bottles, 
 which he called his three friends : the first, his 
 encourager; the second, his adviser; and the 
 third, his consoler. He had also a humorous 
 knack of bestowing upon wine a regal appel- 
 lation, and making its various species represent, 
 when placed upon the table, the sovereigns of 
 the countries that produced them : — thus, a bottle 
 of port stood for the King of Portugal, cham- 
 paigne for that of France, Madeira for his Spa- 
 nish Majesty, whilst a bottle of porter, I believe, 
 represented our beloved Monarch, If we turn- 
 ed, therefore, from one wine to another, he 
 would exclaim, " Now we have bled the King of 
 Spain to death, what if we decapitate the King 
 
 of France f 
 
 c 2 -^ ---■ -"-^ 
 
528 EARL CONYNGHAM. 
 
 Sir John, however, claimed a noble distinc- 
 i tion from his kindred in general — he was nei- 
 / ther penurious nor illiberal ; his purse and table 
 \ were ever open to the needy and neglected, and 
 / the only reason he had not more dining ac- 
 / quaintance was, because people magnified his 
 humours to a pitch beyond endurance. To 
 tradespeople he was particularly generous ; for, 
 wherever he noticed a new shop, he would go 
 ) in, purchase their commodities, however use- 
 less, or exorbitantly priced ; and when they were 
 
 \ sent home, refuse to take them in. 
 
 i 
 
 Earl Conyngham was one of my most dis- 
 tinguished patrons. He represented, in its most 
 extensive sense, the true old English nobleman. 
 He was a convivialist, in that most convivial 
 of English times, a wit, and a man of as much 
 refinement as observation ; one whose experience 
 had ripened all the buds of education into senti- 
 ments which did as much honour to his heart as 
 his head. 
 
 His Lordship was extremely gouty, and some- 
 what asthmatic, so as to occasion his continual 
 
QUIN AND GARRICK. 39 
 
 sitting in a chair, which, by the turning of a 
 screw or crank, rose and fell in accommodation 
 to his position. 
 
 When no rehearsals interfered, his Lordship 
 honoured me by invitations to breakfast, over 
 which I would chat to him the nature of the 
 past night's performance, and the newspapers' 
 novelties. Theatricals were a favourite theme 
 with him, and the glories of the stage engrossed 
 the greenest field of his remembrance. Quin 
 was his great actor, and he loved to pitch him 
 continually against Garrick in tragedy and co- 
 medy. Garrick could neither play Falstaff, nor 
 Sir John Brute, Cato, nor Othello ; two of which 
 being Shakspeare's chef-d'auvres^ he considered 
 Quin (who was excellent in all) to have the 
 greatest genius. He remembered in his early 
 days seeing Garrick and Quin play Cassius 
 and Brutus, and he described the effect of the 
 " quarrel scene" by this powerful image. Quin 
 resembled a solid three-decker, lying quiet, and 
 scorning to fire; but with the evident power, if put 
 forth, of sending its antagonist to the bottom ; — 
 
30 SIR JOHN OLDMIXON, 
 
 Garrick, a frigate running round it, attempt- 
 ing to grapple, and every moment threatening 
 an explosion that would destroy both. 
 
 His Lordship contributed to my public as 
 well as private advantages. He afforded me a 
 model for Lord Ogleby ; a character which, 
 with any advantage to my fame, I played for 
 the first time in Bath. In a moral respect, cer- 
 tainly little or no resemblance existed between 
 this nobleman and Garrick's splendid concep- 
 tion. His Lordship was fonder of the society 
 of men than of women, and had no vanity but on 
 the score of his critical acumen. The nature of 
 Lord Ogleby, I readily perceived on the first 
 reading; but his manner was for a long time 
 a desideratum. Garrick intended him to repre- 
 sent not only a debilitated, but an elegant no- 
 bleman ; of such a person I had no picture in 
 my eye, till I saw his Lordship ; and ever after, 
 the suspicion never entered my head that my 
 original was to be improved. 
 
 It was during one of my morning calls that I 
 met Sir John Oldmixon, at his Lordship's ; and 
 the flattering introduction I then received, ira- 
 
THE BATH BEAU. 31 
 
 proved our previously distant street acquaint- 
 ance into a lasting intimacy. This gentleman, 
 from the refinement of his dress and manners^ 
 bore the peculiar appellation of the " Bath Beau," 
 and upon all points of good-breeding was looked 
 up to as an oracle. This distinction, in the me- 
 tropolis of fashion, he was not slightly proud 
 of ; it acknowledged him as the legitimate suc- 
 cessor in the dynasty of Nash. Certainly, the 
 mechanism of his dress was a profound study, 
 and his science in manoeuvring a snufF-box and 
 a cane, was for many months, in my eyes, an 
 impenetrable mystery. I have been told that 
 Sir John was the original of Mrs. Cowley's Lord 
 Sparkle; he certainly was of mine, accident 
 having thrown me into his company on my first 
 visit to Bath. Whatever success I obtained in 
 the fops and fine gentlemen, (which were the 
 characters I played mostly in London,) I am 
 wiUing to acknowledge that I owe it all to the 
 strong impressions I received from Sir John 
 Oldmixon. But this gentleman enjoyed the 
 additional celebrity of having founded an order 
 of his own, — the *' full curl" order, as it might 
 
32 CAPTAIN STANLEY, 
 
 have been called, grateful to the memories of 
 the peruquiers of the past generation. Our 
 first performance of " Which is the Man ?" was 
 so successful, that in the course of the ensuing 
 week it was repeated. The next day, Sir John 
 met and stopped me in the street, saying, " Ber- 
 nard, I saw your ' Sparkle,' last night ; they 
 say you imitate me V — " It is my object, Sir 
 John," I replied, '* to imitate the manners of an 
 English nobleman!" — "Ah, ah, true; but 
 your dress was incorrect." — " In that respect," 
 said T, " I must confess. Sir John, I did 
 design to imitate you.*" — " Oh no, quite wrong ; 
 you had only twelve curls of a side ; I never wear 
 under sixteen !" 
 
 Captain Stanley (the Pylades of Major Hal- 
 liday, the well-known amateur,) was a great bon- 
 vivant ; and from the rotundity of his figure, 
 and the roseate blush of his nose, bore the con- 
 vivial distinction of " The Bath Bacchus." He 
 was by no means a brilliant man in the street, 
 though one of the most agreeable to be met 
 with, even in those times, at table. The cause 
 was apparent, and he used to acknowledge it • 
 
THE BATH BACCHUS. 38 
 
 his ideas were stranded in the day-time, and 
 required a bottle or two to float them to a con- 
 versational level. 
 
 He was a frequent visitor to our boxes ; but, 
 however great his gratification or sympathy, he 
 could not at all times command his senses, and 
 would fall asleep ; the result of which was, that 
 he would favour the audience with an original 
 melody (in a pretty high key) by his nose. 
 One evening, in the " Twelfth Night," Orsini 
 had repeated the lines — " Sing again, — oh, it 
 comes o'er my ear like the sweet South, stealing 
 and giving odours ;" when the Captain, sud- 
 denly waking, replied with a shrill blast on his 
 nasal instrument, which disconcerted the actor, 
 and plunged the house in a convulsion of 
 merriment. 
 
 c 5 
 
34 ANECDOTES OF THE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1784-5. — Anecdotes of the Institution of the " Bath Catch 
 Club. " — Sir John Danvers, the proposer. — Earl Conyngham, 
 Lord Cork, &c., Committee ; Meyler, Poet Laureate; Rauz- 
 zini, Musical Conductor ; Dr. Harrington, Composer and 
 Physician. — Jeud' esprit Its Rules and "Order." — "La- 
 dies' Night." — Duchess of Devonshire, — Incledon's d^but 
 at Bath. — Rauzzini's contempt for English singing, and con- 
 version. — His criticism on Incledon, &c. — Incledon's mode 
 of "recollecting the words." — Swansea. — Blisset's reading 
 in " Rueful." — Sir J. Danvers' generosity and attach- 
 ment, the subject of sarcasm. 
 
 1785-6 — Bath. — Mrs. Esten — Anecdotes of Dr. Herschel, 
 Musician and Astronomer, when in the Bath Orchestra. 
 — Sarcasms of his companions, and of mine. — The absentee 
 Planet. — A surprise. — Mrs. Baddeley's beauty. — Edwin's 
 Comment. — The Doctor's Generosity. — Charles Dibdin and 
 Mr. Harris. — D6but of Miss Brunton. — The friendship of 
 an Eccentric. — Brighton. — Royal Patronage and Compli- 
 ment. 
 
 The first novelty of the season was Mrs. 
 Inchbald's comedy of " Such Things Are," in 
 which I played Twineall; and, for the first time, 
 
"BATH CATCH CLUB.'* 35 
 
 attracted the attention of the London managers. 
 Diamond was the Philanthropist ; BHsset, Sir 
 Luke Tremor; Murray or Brunton, the Sul- 
 tan ; Mrs. Bernard, the Female Prisoner ; and 
 Mrs. Sheriff, Lady Tremor. 
 
 The first epoch in my private history was the 
 setting on foot of the '< Bath Catch Club ;'' the 
 circumstances of which were as follow : — 
 
 There was at this time in Bath but one mu- 
 sical meeting ; an old '' Pipe and Pot Club," 
 which had been estabHshed by the tradesmen, 
 some thirty years before; and, though distin- 
 guished by a good deal of harmony moral and 
 musical, but little frequented by any but actors 
 who wanted to make benefits. The reason of 
 this was, not that the members were trades- 
 men, (for convivialists in those days were not 
 so scrupulous for the titles as the talents of 
 their companions,) but because the worthy cits 
 had established this meeting as a private point 
 of union, where they could assemble on a Satur- 
 day night, when the cares and accounts of the 
 week were over, to *' smoke a pipe and sing a 
 song :"" thus, it was no object with them to obtain 
 
36 THE "BATH CATCH CLUB:" 
 
 visitors, although they were not averse to receive 
 them ; but the spirit of their original design 
 having perpetuated the laws, a man was obliged, 
 on " going to Rome" in this manner, to do as 
 Rome did. One of their most unpleasant regu- 
 lations was, that nothing should be drunk in 
 that society but malt hquor; another, per- 
 fectly barbarous, that every one present should 
 contribute to the harmony of the evening ; or, 
 in other words, sing, which was very frequently 
 contributing to its discord. 
 
 Thus they deprived themselves of the pre- 
 sence of many clever fellows who were desirable 
 talkers, but had no "voices in that city ;" whilst 
 others who could vocalize, kicked at the pecu- 
 liarity in their mode of sacrificing to Bacchus. 
 Convivialists of that period were independent 
 fellows; they were practically men of spirit, 
 and very few of them could " wind themselves 
 up" upon any thing but brandy. Such a state 
 of things in the most musical and sociable, 
 as well as the most fashionable, of all the 
 cities of the realm, was not to be borne ; and 
 
ITS FOUNDERS. 37 
 
 the obvious relief was to set up another club 
 upon a liberal scale, to which the rank and ta- 
 lent of this gay depot might resort, unoppressed 
 by the tyranny of beer or bad arrangements. 
 
 The first person who proposed this, was Sir 
 John Danvers ; than whom did not exist a 
 more stedfast devotee to the cause of merriment 
 and music. His summer months, he used to 
 say, were all passed at the table, and the frosty 
 and rainy weather came on when he had to at- 
 tend to his person or estate. Sir John had vi- 
 sited the " Old Club*" once or twice, and, the 
 last time, in my company ; and though we both 
 petitioned hard to be relieved from malt liquor, 
 we found that the members did not more re- 
 semble the Persians in their addiction to pipes, 
 than the immutability of their laws. 
 
 Coming away, which was at an early hour, 
 our impressions were pretty much the same; 
 a hint from Sir John was sufficient to reveal 
 the fact ; upon that, I spake : and he replied. 
 A simple suggestion begot a deliberate discus- 
 sion; and by the time we reached home, though 
 
38 THE " BATH CATCH CLUB :'' 
 
 we travelled in chairs, and had to talk out of 
 the windows, we had also arrived at some defi- 
 nite conclusions. 
 
 Briefly I proposed, under the sanction of Sir 
 John's name, to draw up the prospectus of a 
 Club which should contain from fifty to a hun- 
 dred members, — meet weekly, — be directed by 
 a committee with the regular officers, and em- 
 brace all the musical talent, amateur and pro- 
 fessional, in the city and neighbourhood. A 
 moderate sum would provide for its out-fits, 
 and a " Guinea Subscription," with the fines of 
 rules properly established, would be sufficient to 
 meet every subsequent expense. 
 
 With my head and heart full of the design, 
 I went home at about two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, and permitted my ferment to boil over on 
 about two sheets of paper : next morning, at 
 breakfast, I condensed the elaborate draught, 
 and carried it to Sir John ; he attached to it 
 his signature, and headed the subscription pa- 
 per with the pleasing sum of ten pounds. I 
 then commenced my operations by proceeding 
 to Dr. Harrington, whose delight at the pro- 
 
ITS COMMITTEE. 39 
 
 posal was not inferior to our own. He ac- 
 companied me to Rauzzini and Loder, as the 
 most eminent professionals in Bath, if not in 
 England ; and ensuring their co-operation, we 
 gave the project a fair launch into publicity. 
 I then made a circuit of my noble patrons and 
 friends, and not only obtained their signatures, 
 but subscriptions, which varied from two to ten 
 pounds. The first twelve. Sir John proposed, 
 should form the committee, who would elect 
 their chairman, secretary, and treasurer, and 
 proceed to the concoction of the rules. These 
 twelve were the following : — Sir John Danvers, 
 Earl Conyingham, Lord Cork, Sir Charles 
 Bampfylde, Sir Charles Asgill, Captain Baker, 
 Captain Tinker, Doctor Harrington, Rauz- 
 zini, Loder, Meyler, and Bernard; the lat- 
 ter of whom was elected permanent secretary 
 and treasurer, pro tern. 
 
 Meyler then placed a fair copy of the pro- 
 spectus and subscription on his table; and Sir 
 John accompanied me to the " White Lion," 
 kept by Arnold, to secure his large room, the 
 best in Bath, as the scene of our festivities. 
 
40 THE " BATH CATCH CLUB." 
 
 The paper had not been exhibited a fortnight 
 in the library, before it contained forty names : 
 the effect of the proposal resembled an electrical 
 influence — the shock once conveyed, every heart 
 that it reached was a ready conductor : the 
 funds thus placed at my disposal, defrayed the 
 purchase of music, fitting up of the room, and 
 hire of instruments. The committee by this 
 time had framed the rules, and elected the Earl 
 of Conyngham, Chairman ; 'b/Leyler, Poet Lau- 
 reate; Rauzzini, Musical Conductor; and Dr. 
 Harrington, Composer and Physician. This 
 union of offices gave rise to an obvious but un- 
 justifiable jew d'esprit in the papers, which may 
 amuse the reader, and cannot now annoy the 
 Doctor, if repeated. 
 
 ** Quoth Tom to his friend, Have you heard of this Club, 
 Which report is so proud with new honours to dub ; 
 And of Harrington also, that modern Apollo, 
 Who in medicine and music 's to beat the world hollow ? 
 Quoth Ned, I have heard of this strange combination 
 Of duties averse, but without consternation : 
 The Doctor, when physicking, says he composes ; 
 And when he composes, we know that he doses." 
 
 Luckily for the Doctor, however, there were 
 
 not three persons in Bath but would have 
 
DR. HARRINGTON. 41 
 
 taken his medicine as willingly as his music; 
 and the Club were eminently satisfied by the 
 production of two beautiful catches, — " Neigh- 
 bours, come round me, hear my tale;" and, 
 "Oh, Sir, can you tell — where old Goody 
 Groaner, the midwife, doth dwell?" 
 
 Thus, in about six weeks from its first sug- 
 gestion, the " Bath Catch Club" came into ac- 
 tive existence, and announced its first meeting. 
 The noble names which swelled its list, many 
 humbler men than myself would have preserved 
 as a memorial ; but this circumstance, at the 
 time, appeared trifling, in comparison with the 
 variety and strength of our musical talent, vocal 
 and instrumental, which however was princi- 
 pally amateur. The theatre contributed only 
 two persons from the orchestra, and four from 
 the stage — Murray, Brunton, Blanchard, and 
 Wordsworth, two of whom sang in glees. 
 
 To the reader who remembers and cherishes 
 the spirit of those " days departed," all the de- 
 tails I could give on this subject would be in- 
 teresting ; but as I am bound to consider that 
 the chances are nine to one that he came into 
 
42 RULES OF THE CLUB. 
 
 the world a generation too late, I will merely 
 notice a few of the rules and principles of an 
 institution which contributed so largely to the 
 diffusion of that " spirit'' and pass on. 
 
 Our fines were — for an oath, a shilling ; poli- 
 tics, two; religion, three; and a quarrel, or dis- 
 pute, a dozen of claret. Every member was 
 permitted to bring a friend, but, in so doing, 
 was obliged to send up to me the stranger's 
 card, with a mark upon its back, to say whe- 
 ther he could sing, and, if so, whether in glees 
 or solos: a certain number of pieces of music 
 were arranged to be sung nightly, the list of 
 which lay before me : five or ten minutes' in- 
 terval was allowed between each for conversa- 
 tion, during which I successively sent the cards 
 round to their owners, bearing on their backs a 
 request that they would favour the company at 
 the conclusion of the next piece of music — the 
 announcement of the name being a sufficient sig- 
 nal : their replies enabled me to fuel the flame 
 without exciting the slightest notice ; and thus 
 the time, which at these meetings is usually 
 lost from the colds or caprices, the inability or 
 
" ladies' NIGHT." 48 
 
 disinclination of persons to sing, was effectually 
 saved, and devoted to the general enjoyment. 
 This " Order'' was unequalled at any other 
 meeting, save the " Beefsteak ;'' and, I may be 
 permitted to add, contributed in no small de- 
 gree to the elevation of the Catch Club so far 
 above its contemporaries. A month after the 
 commencement, our numbers were full. Of a 
 hundred members, the average attendance was 
 fifty, who, with their friends, amounted, nightly, 
 to about seventy persons. Order, in such as- 
 sembly, was synonymous with enjoyment, (since 
 it prevented its suspension,) and its noiseless 
 maintenance with the regular progression of the 
 performances, certainly surprised the stranger 
 as much as the rare merits of what he heard. 
 
 Every meeting went off with so much eclaty 
 that before the conclusion of the season, the 
 Bath " Catch Club ■' was all the rage, and we 
 had not only the men but the women petition- 
 ing for admission as visitors. This induced 
 the Committee to give what was termed '* A 
 Ladies'* Night," for which we obtained from 
 the Mayor the use of the *' Town Hall," and 
 
44 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 performed a concert with our entire strength. 
 On this occasion, I felt myself placed in a novel 
 situation : — there were fifty-seven titled females 
 on the list ; and it was my duty, as the " Master 
 of the Ceremonies," to lead them to their seats, 
 in the due order of their precedency. Never 
 having studied the Peerage, and always having 
 treated this point on the stage with some indif- 
 ference, I am afraid I should have committed 
 some serious blunders, had not Sir Charles 
 Bampfylde kindly furnished me with hints to 
 thread the mazes of etiquette securely. I came 
 off, however, with flying colours ; for, at the 
 end of the performance, on approaching the 
 Duchess of Devonshire, (who crowned the as- 
 sembly with her beauty and her breeding,) and 
 inquiring how she had been pleased, her musical 
 lips severed, and she answered, " IVe been 
 greatly pleased, Mr. Bernard, and not in the 
 least degree, with your attention." 
 
 As I was sitting one morning at breakfast, 
 about a fortnight after our club commenced, a 
 rap came to the door, and two gentlemen were 
 shown up to me, in one of whom I recognised 
 
CHARLES INCLEDON. 46 
 
 Charles Iiicledon, the other was a Mr. Durell, 
 and both were members of the Southampton 
 company, now playing at Winchester; from 
 which place they had walked to Bath. 
 
 When Incledon returned from sea, I was 
 playing at Exeter, (the winter previous to my 
 visit to Ireland,) and as we had been intimate 
 under Dr. Jackson's roof, he did not scruple to 
 call upon me and make known his dramatic 
 propensities. I accordingly introduced him to 
 Mr. Hughes, who, wanting a singer for Ply- 
 mouth that summer, engaged him. Some tri- 
 fling difference had sundered them, and he had 
 been wandering ever since, from one town to 
 another, undecided in his views, and displeased 
 with his managers. Hearing, at length, of my 
 popularity at Bath, he had undertaken this 
 visit, in the hopes that I might have as much 
 influence with Mr. Palmer as Mr. Hughes. I 
 was not more flattered than grieved by this ex- 
 pectation, knowing that Mr. Palmer, in common 
 with most managers, made it a rule to make no 
 engagements in the midst of a season. All I 
 could do, therefore, was to accompany him to 
 
46 MR. palmer's indifference. 
 
 that gentleman, tell his story, and let him plead 
 his own case with a song. My recollection of 
 his powers was a very faint one, and I could 
 not conjecture what the result of this simple 
 specimen would be. Mr. Palmer received us 
 very pleasantly, and listened very attentively ; 
 but in reply arrayed the very objections to his 
 wishes I had premised. He was prevailed on, 
 however, to enter the theatre, and hear Incle- 
 don sing, who selected one of Dibdin's popular 
 ballads. I was enraptured ; but Mr. Palmer, 
 either from some defect in his auricular organ, 
 or a strong prejudice in favour of Wordsworth, 
 expressed a very milk-and-water sort of satisfac- 
 tion, and did nothing but reiterate his objections 
 with the usual regrets, (a managerial property,) 
 that, plum-like, enclose the pill of a refusal. In- 
 cledon's answer was that of his companion, and 
 both retired quite chop-fallen — more particu- 
 larly as they had expended their last shilling in 
 reaching Bath. Having on my account been 
 induced to undertake this adventure, I felt 
 bound to assist them back again, and luckily I 
 then had the means ; but I resolved, before 
 
incledon's engagement. 47 
 
 Incledon quitted Bath, to make a few of my 
 friends participators in my gratification. That 
 being a non-play day, I was enabled to invite a 
 party of musicals to dine with me and meet the 
 young sailor ; among whom were Dr. Harring- 
 ton, Meyler, and Loder. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe the sensation 
 his singing created then and there ; because I 
 believe there are so many thousands existing who 
 have felt that sensation themselves. Suffice it, 
 that the next morning Charles and his friend 
 mounted the roof of a coach, on their return to 
 Winchester ; and Dr. Harrington ran about the 
 Bath streets, stopping every one he knew, to 
 acquaint them with the " musical phenomenon" 
 he had heard. Mr. Palmer was now beset on 
 all sides with inquiries, petitions, and remon- 
 strances ; and, ratiier in compliance with his 
 friends' than his own wishes, in about six weeks 
 afterwards, despatched Incledon the offer of an 
 engagement, which was accepted. 
 
 His appearance, at a time when the old Eng- 
 lish melodies were the prevailing taste, and sim- 
 plicity and sweetness were the synonymes of 
 
48 RAUZZINl'S CONVERSION. 
 
 music, from the peasant to the peer, was, no 
 doubt, a most fortunate circumstance ; but he 
 was endowed by nature to carry the popular 
 enthusiasm to a pitch which no singer for the 
 next century must hope to rival. 
 
 From the stage it was an easy step to our 
 Catch Club, and the value of such an accession 
 was estimated by the members. However, the 
 obligation lay not altogether on the shoulders 
 of the society. Incledon there obtained his first 
 friends and patrons, who introduced him to the 
 distinguished circles of Bath, and procured for 
 him the countenance he met with on going to 
 London. 
 
 Rauzzini had a great contempt for English 
 singing ; he had never heard any, he said, 
 which did not puzzle him to determine which 
 was worst, the tone or the taste. On the day 
 Incledon dined with me, he was absent, and all 
 Dr. Harrington's encomiums would not convert 
 him ; he believed the Doctor to be a man of 
 taste and judgment; but, on this point, feared 
 that he was prejudiced. The night of Incle- 
 don''s debut, it was with some difficulty, there- 
 
AND CRITICISM. 40 
 
 fore, he could be prevailed on to attend. He 
 accompanied the Doctor's party, but rather by 
 compulsion than persuasion ; and, on entering 
 the box, turned his back to the stage, as was his 
 invariable custom on such occasions. Before 
 Incledon had got through three bars of his first 
 song, (as Edwin, in Robin Hood,) Rauzzini be- 
 gan to listen ; three more turned him round ; 
 another six convinced him, and, at the conclu- 
 sion of the verse, he joined loudly in the ap- 
 plause. When the opera was over, he went 
 behind the scenes, took Incledon by the hand, 
 and said, *' Sare, I sank you for ze pleasure 
 you af give me ; you vas de fus Ingleesh singer 
 I have hear, vat can sing. Sare, you af got a 
 voice — you af got a voice," 
 
 The next day, the topic of conversation was 
 not so much the merits of Incledon, as the cri- 
 ticisms of his admirer ; and the general inquiry 
 was not, " Have you heard the new singer .?'" 
 but, " Have you heard what Mr. Rauzzini says 
 of the new singer ? " 
 
 Incledon was undoubtedly a singer after Dr. 
 Harrington's own heart; but his triumph over 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 rauzzinTs compliments 
 
 Rauzzini was truly flattering. The latter did 
 not scruple to declare at the Club, on the ensu- 
 ing night, that he had never heard such power, 
 flexibihty, sweetness, and fulness, with so rich 
 a falsetto, in any voice, of any country what- 
 ever. " Shentleman,"" said he, " it vas vat I 
 call one natural curioss'''( — ity.) 
 
 Rauzzini was now a nightly, instead of an oc- 
 casional, visitor at the theatre, where he would 
 establish himself in the right-hand stage-box, 
 planting his right ear towards the orchestra, 
 and, distending his eyes (during Incledon's 
 songs) as though the organs of sight were also 
 receptacles of sound. ' -^ '^-^ «• 
 
 Charles, at the conclusion of a favourite bal- 
 lad, one evening, made a beautiful run, in that 
 way which was altogether his own, rolling his 
 voice grandly up, like a surge of the sea, till, 
 touching the top-note, it gushed away in 
 sweetness. " Coot Cot !" cried Rauzzini, look- 
 ing up, "it vas vare lucky dere vas some roof 
 dere, or dat feller vould be hear by de ainshel 
 in hev''n.''' When he sang at Vauxhall, perhaps 
 my reader will say, this obstacle did not exist. 
 
incledon's bad memory. 51 
 
 Incledon had always a bad memory for study, 
 and this was one reason why he was not a bet- 
 ter actor. " Without a man knows his author,*" 
 Macklin used to say, " he does not know him- 
 self." In addition to this, he could never vamp, 
 to use a theatrical technical, which implies the 
 substitution of your own words and ideas when 
 the author'^s are forgotten. Vamping requires 
 some tact, if not talent ; and Incledon's recent 
 occupations had imparted to his manners that 
 genuine salt-water simplicity to which the ar- 
 tifices of acting were insurmountable difficul- 
 ties. With his little stage experience, at this 
 period, it will be supposed that he was more 
 open to a lapsus than subsequently ; and Mr. 
 Palmer, having noticed one or two, was so care- 
 ful for his fame, (nothing now could exceed the 
 manager's kindness,) that he came round to In- 
 cledon and cautioned him. The latter pro- 
 mised to be more attentive ; but resolved, if he 
 again blundered or bog'd, to apologize in a 
 manner of his own. 
 
 An occasion was not long in arriving. The 
 next night, whilst playing a lover, in the midst 
 D 2 
 
52 INCLEDON S MODE OF 
 
 of a passionate address to his mistress, he stack 
 as fast as though he had been up to his middle 
 in a Kilcobery slough. In vain the lady hemm''d 
 and ha'd, the prompter whispered, or the au- 
 dience stared ; his agitation only increased at the 
 assistance that was given him, and in endeavour- 
 ing to recollect a little, he forgot more. All was 
 now at a stand-still, till Incledon suddenly ob- 
 served to the lady, that love having taken 
 away his language, perhaps she would permit 
 him to express what he felt in a favourite air. 
 He then broke into one of his ballads, and whilst 
 singing the first verse recollected the author; 
 a thunder of applause greeted this effusion, and 
 he proceeded with spirit, but on quitting the 
 stage met Mr. Palmer at the wings, who stared 
 at him like a statue. Incledon immediately ex- 
 plained : " Mr. Palmer, you have been exceed- 
 ingly kind and generous to me, and I wouldn't 
 offend you or the Bath audience for the world ; 
 there's no persons I respect more ; they treat me 
 like a prince and a gentleman at the ' Catch 
 Club ;' but the truth is, Sir, I forgot my part, 
 
RECOLLECTING THE WORDS. 53 
 
 and I could not take the cue. I assure you, Sir, 
 my agitation was so great, I could not take the 
 cue, and I introduced one verse of * Black-eyed 
 Susan,' in order to recollect the words." 
 
 Incledon, finding this plea sufficient, availed 
 himself of his resource on several subsequent 
 occasions, so that at length it became a remark 
 in the Green-room, whenever his voice was heard 
 on the stage, " Is he singing the music, or re- 
 collecting the words ?"" 
 
 This season concluded not more to the satis- 
 faction of Mr. Palmer than every member of his 
 company. My benefit was patronized by the 
 " Catch Club," (which was rendering my box- 
 leaf the " Bath Guide,") and I woke up from a 
 dream of eight months' uninterrupted enjoyment. 
 
 My views in the summer were directed to 
 Swansea, having received an invitation from va- 
 rious residents, who in the winter had visited 
 Bath and made my acquaintance. A company 
 not numerous but meritorious was desired ; 
 among whom, it was suggested, young Incledon 
 would prove attractive. 
 
54 STORIES OF THE STAGE. 
 
 This was my first speculation in "manage- 
 ment," and it proved so successful, that, to the 
 last hour of my connection with the Stage, I 
 continued, directly or indirectly, to fish in its 
 troubled waters. 
 
 The only circumstance of the season that is 
 amusing to remember, happened on Blisset's be- 
 nefit. He was playing Rueful in the " Natural 
 Son," (a part which would have ensured him 
 the highest honours in London,) and at the mo- 
 ment he was about to make the disclosure to 
 Blushenly of his birth, a party came in, who, 
 being strangers, turned their attention to the 
 decorations of the house, and expressed their 
 admiration so loud as to drown every accent from 
 the stage. Blisset stared at them an instant, in- 
 dignantly and disconcerted ; then taking his 
 companion by the arm, " Come along," said he, 
 "you can't hear me here, and I'll tell you all 
 about it in the next room ;"" with which he went 
 off, and gave vent to his vexation. 
 
 During this summer. Sir John Dan vers visited 
 Oxford, and, with the ^' Catch Club*" engrossing 
 his past, present, and future, called on Dr. 
 
SIR J. DAN VERS' GIFT. 55 
 
 Hayes for advice in the purchase of an organ, 
 which we had experienced the want of, during 
 the past season, in the execution of many grand 
 pieces. It had been proposed at our last meet- 
 ing to subscribe for the above purpose, and 
 among a hundred members the expense would 
 not have been heavy ; but Sir John had thrown 
 dissuasives and obstacles in the way, with no 
 other view, as it now appeared, than that of sup- 
 plying the requisite himself. Having decided 
 on an instrument of a pecuharly fine tone, which 
 cost him five hundred pounds, he dispatched it 
 to Bath in a cart, with proper people to put it 
 up, and sent me a letter to this effect : — 
 
 ''DEAR BERNARD, 
 " I HAVE purchased an organ (which I 
 have sent to Arnold's) for our next winter's 
 meetings, and I beg your acceptance of the 
 same as a token of my esteem for your care and 
 industry in forming what I consider to be the 
 first society of the kind in the kingdom. 
 " Your's truly, 
 
 "J. Dan VERS." 
 
56 BATH SARCASM. 
 
 This valuable present I never availed myself 
 of, for, on quitting Bath, I gave it to the Club, 
 and of its ultimate appropriation I am not aware ; 
 but if my reader is surprised at the generosity 
 of the act, as it relates to myself, he will be much 
 more so in learning Sir John's latter conduct, 
 which presented to it so striking a comparison. 
 
 At this period, the worthy Baronet certainly 
 felt for me an unfeigned esteem: whether it was 
 on purely personal grounds, or in the measure I 
 had contributed to his enjoyments by the insti- 
 tution of the Club, I cannnot say, but my name 
 was continually on his lips, and I felt grateful. 
 I knew his worth as well as his peculiarities, (for 
 he put me in mind of one of his own silver can- 
 dlesticks, — a thing that was both valuable and 
 serviceable, though of ridiculous workmanship,) 
 — and I was proud of the sarcasm of a Bath 
 banterer, who observed, "Another proof of 
 Sir John's eccentricity is his friendship for 
 Bernard !" 
 
 With the " Catch Club'' I was continually 
 associated when absent, and this formed the one 
 topic of our conversation when together — its plea- 
 
MRS. ESTEN. 57 
 
 sures, its progress, its patronage, its farther im- 
 provement, and its future festivities; and on 
 one occasion, I remember, when contemplating, 
 at the close of the winter, its comparative per- 
 fection, we looked back to its origin, he ob- 
 served with a smile, " Who would have thought, 
 Bernard, that such a society as this should have 
 grown out of a conversation you and I had, 
 when jogging home together one night, in two 
 chairs side by side, our heads bobbing out of the 
 windows, and hitting each other till they rung 
 again ?" 
 
 The season of 1785-6 rolled rapidly round, 
 and the Theatre and Club opened with equal 
 eclat ; the first novelty at the one was the debut 
 of Mrs. Esten, whose mother, Mrs. Bennet, 
 lived on the Parade, and visited in genteel cir- 
 cles ; whilst our Club was strengthened by the 
 accession of Boyton a musician, under whom 
 Charles Dibdin acquired or completed his know- 
 ledge of thorough bass. 
 
 Dining one day at Dr. Harrington's, Boyton 
 reminded me of Dr. Herschel, who, on my first 
 visit to Bath, was Organist to the Octagon 
 d5 
 
58 DR. HERSCHEL 
 
 Chapel, and played an instrument in the or- 
 chestra. At that period I should have alluded 
 to him, not only as I have something amusing to 
 say, but because I was indebted to him for my 
 first knowledge of music. A '' compunctuous 
 visiting'^ of my conscience compels me now to 
 repair the neglect. 
 
 Owing to the production of various operas at 
 Bath, in which either serious or comic music was 
 allotted me, I felt myself awkwardly situated, 
 which the good-natured German observing, he 
 proffered his services to give me private instruc- 
 tion, upon terms which should be arranged at a 
 future period. This offer I gratefully accepted, 
 and attended him twice a- week, at his own lodg- 
 ings, which then resembled an astronomer'^s much 
 more than a musician's, being heaped up with 
 globes, maps, telescopes, reflectors, See. under 
 which his piano was hid, and the violoncello, like 
 a discarded favourite, skulked away in one 
 corner. 
 
 This was not the only evidence of Mr. Her- 
 schel's astrological propensities, nor were they 
 a public secret ; he had taken observations, and 
 
AND HIS *' ATLAS.'' 59 
 
 communicated with philosophical societies; the 
 consequence of which was, that he had been 
 quizzed b_y the fiddlers, and called by the charita- 
 bly disposed an eccentric. To his friends and 
 to myself he alluded to these studies without 
 embarrassment, and would modestly remark, 
 that " all men had their failings, and this was 
 his." When I came to him of an evening, and 
 caught him thus employed, he would tell me 
 with a laugh, to take care how I stepped over his 
 " new world," and didn'*t run foul of his " celestial 
 system ;" and when I helped him to put his ma- 
 chinery aside, he had a standing joke in calling 
 me his "Atlas," because I once carried the 
 globe on my shoulders. When the removal was 
 made, the fiddle was taken down, or the harpsi- 
 chord opened, without farther comment 
 
 Whether it was a presage of his future suc- 
 cess, or a constitutional complacency that for- 
 tified him so firmly against the battery of the 
 waggish, I cannot say, but certainly no man 
 bore a persecution of this kind with less marks 
 of suiferirg Nevertheless, I believe that his 
 conditior, in comparison with mine, was para- 
 
60 DR. HERSCHEL. 
 
 disical. When it was known that I attended 
 him privately, the actors swore that T was stu- 
 dying astronomy, which rendered me the butt 
 of the Green-room, and fair game for every 
 society I entered. I was gravely asked at table 
 whether I " advocated Tycho Brahe, or Coper- 
 nicus ?"" and what was ray " opinion of Sir 
 Isaac Newton''s Treatise on Fluxions .?"'* whilst 
 others stopped me in the street to inquire if 
 I " had calculated the period of the last comet's 
 return.**"* Edwin, who was my intimate, said 
 the severest thing. "Bernard's got tired of 
 * Earth,' and Herschel will carry him to ' Ve- 
 nus' and ' Mercury.* " 
 
 Notwithstanding I was so familiar with his 
 pursuits, one evening he gave me a surprise. 
 The opera of " Lionel and Clarissa " was an- 
 nounced, in which I was given the part of Lord 
 Jessamy. His Lordship having a difficult song, 
 I went as usual to my clever friend to rehearse 
 it. It was cold and clear weather, but the sky 
 that night was rather cloudy, and the moon 
 peeped out only now and then from her veil. 
 Herschel had a fire in his back-apartment, and 
 
THE ABSENTEE PLANET. 61 
 
 placed the music-stand near its window, which 
 I could not account for. He then procured his 
 vioUn, and commenced the song, playing over 
 the air twice or thrice to familiarize me with 
 its general idea ; and then leading me note 
 by note to its thorough acquaintance. We 
 got through about five bars pretty well, till 
 of a sudden the sky began to clear up, and 
 his eye was unavoidably attracted by the celes- 
 tial bodies coming out, as it were, one by one 
 from their hiding-places : my eye, however, was 
 fixed on the book : and when he exclaimed, 
 '* Beautiful ! beautiful !'' squinting up at the 
 stars, I thought he alluded to the music. At 
 length) the whole host threw aside their dra- 
 pery, and stood forth in naked loveliness: — 
 the effect was sudden and subduing, — " Beau- 
 tiful^ beautiful,*" shouted Herschel, " there he 
 is at last !"" dropping the fiddle, snatching a 
 telescope, throwing up the window, and (though 
 it was a night in January) beginning to survey 
 an absentee planet, whith he had been long 
 looking for. 
 
 My stone-like surprise, not to say mortifi- 
 
b» DR. HERSCHEL. 
 
 cation, contrasted rather strongly with his rap- 
 turous expressions (which, by the by, seemed 
 to welcome the star back, as though he had 
 been an old human acquaintance), "Aha! — how 
 — do — you — do? — I'm — glad to see — you,'' 
 &c. ; and I must confess that, for an in- 
 stant, I was of Lady Anne's humour, and 
 wished that some gentlemanly comet would 
 come by, and brush away the intruder with 
 his tail. The fit, however, was soon over, and 
 then we proceeded with the song. 
 
 Herschel, when in company, owing to the 
 above causes, was exceedingly abstracted, and 
 would frequently listen to a long story without 
 comprehending a word of it. This was very 
 mortifying to the person who had been endea- 
 vouring to entertain him ; and on subsequent 
 occasions, when this absence was perceived, it 
 grew to be a common remark with many, — 
 " He 's in the clouds again, he 's star-gazing ! 
 
 Nowhere more than at the theatre, in a long 
 musical rehearsal, was he given to this celes- 
 tial absorption of ideas, and nowhere so much 
 was he exposed to sarcasm, both from the stage 
 
MRS. BADDELEY. 63 
 
 and the orchestra, whenever it was perceived. 
 At the time in question, Mrs. Baddeley came 
 down to Bath for a few nights, and when she 
 walked in as Polly, Herschel, wlio had never 
 seen her before, was so overpowered with her 
 beauty, that he dropped his fiddlestick and 
 stared at her. When this was mentioned in 
 the Green-room, Edwin quaintly remarked, 
 " Well, ' twas nothing strange ; he was star- 
 gazing." 
 
 Let me conclude these notices, as I would 
 always wish to do when I cannot praise the 
 talents, with a record to the virtues of this 
 individual. The point of terms, though I re- 
 peatedly pressed him to settle it, he invariably 
 deferred, saying he had not time then to talk 
 about '• terms," he had only time to give me 
 a " lesson." At the end of the season, having 
 regularly received my two lessons a-week, I 
 waited on him to know what remuneration I 
 should make ; when he refused to receive a shil- 
 ling, saying, " He had undertaken to teach me, 
 because he thought I could not afford to pay 
 any one."" 
 
64 CHARLES DIBUIN. 
 
 Ten years after this, I met the Doctor in 
 London, where he was established as an astro- 
 nomer, and we renewed and continued our 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Calling at Meyler's one day, I learned that 
 Charles Dibdin was in Bath, and had been to 
 the theatre over-night to see " Robin Hood," in 
 which I played the Tinker. I resolved, there- 
 fore, to send him a card of invitation from the 
 Club; this being a permission which, as Secre- 
 tary, I enjoyed without limitation towards my 
 professional brethren. 
 
 At this time Dibdin was personally unknown 
 to me, and Boyton brought him the next club- 
 night, and introduced him generally ; but in my 
 transition from the Tinker to the Secretary, he 
 did not recognise me. I placed him at my right- 
 hand, in order to show him as much atten- 
 tion as possible, and then commenced our 
 convivialities with my constitutional song of, 
 '* When the gamut I got of the Conjugal 
 State.'"* At its conclusion, Dibdin turned to 
 Captain Baker, who sat next him, and observed, 
 "Mr. Bernard would make an excellent actor,"' 
 
MR. HARRIS'S OFFER. 65 
 
 in evident ignorance that he had seen me the 
 night before. The Captain smiled, but was 
 silent, and at the close of the evening acquainted 
 me with what he had said. 
 
 The next day I met him in the street ; but 
 by this time he had identified me. After eulo- 
 gizing our meeting, as affording him five hours 
 of unmixed satisfaction, he surprised me by 
 observing that his business in Bath was prin- 
 cipally on my account ; Mr. Harris having de- 
 puted him to see me act, and sound me on my 
 views in regard to a London engagement. He 
 said that he was not only sufficiently pleased 
 to make a favourable report, but if I came to 
 terms with the manager, he would take my 
 measure for an original part in an opera he 
 was now writing. 
 
 This intelligence and promise were very flat- 
 tering, but at that time took little effect. I 
 had no aspirations for London : by no possible 
 combination of circumstances could I have been 
 more happily situated than J was then at Bath. 
 With an income sufficient to support me, the 
 ruling favourite of the theatre, and in my 
 
66 MISS brunton's debut 
 
 private path freely admitted to a footing with 
 all the talent and title of the city, what more 
 could I desire or obtain ? My present posses- 
 sions were certainties, but London was an un- 
 tried and precarious ground, where, if it was 
 possible I could also become the centre of the 
 circle, a life's labour and miraculous good 
 fortune were the necessary means. 
 
 With these sentiments, Dibdin quitted me on 
 his return to London ; notwithstanding which, 
 I received a letter from Mr. Harris, who ima- 
 gined, I believe, that I was manoeuvring for 
 terms. He offered me six pounds a-week, and my 
 wife four, for four years, which I refused ; stat- 
 ing, however, as my plea, that my article to Mr, 
 Palmer did not expire till the ensuing season. 
 
 Shortly after this, Dibdin had a quarrel with 
 Mr. Harris, and withdrew his opera: whether 
 it was ever produced, and what became of my 
 " character," I know not. 
 
 This season was distinguished by the debut 
 of Miss Brunton in the " Grecian Daughter,""' 
 a girl of about sixteen, her father playing Evan- 
 der. This was the most extraordinary evidence 
 
AND EARLY GENIUS. 67 
 
 of genius I eVer met with : till within a week of 
 the performance, her talents, and even incli- 
 nation for the stage, were unsuspected. I can 
 vouch for the fact, as I was so intimate with 
 the family. Her father had taught her to read 
 Shakspeare as a means of mental improve- 
 ment ; and her proposed employment was that 
 of a governess. Coming home from rehearsal 
 one day, he overheard her in her bed-room re- 
 citing Calista's speech upon the unfortunate 
 condition of her sex, which surprised him so 
 much, that he pushed open the door, and asked 
 her if she intended it as a personality. He 
 was soon convinced, however, that she was igno- 
 rant of his presence, and made her repeat the 
 speech ; its effect led him to question her, when 
 he discovered that she was perfect in the part ; 
 and that not only, but Juliet, Belvidera, and 
 Euphrasia ; this was a strong symptom of the 
 cacoethes ludendi, and he summoned a consul- 
 tation of advisers ; among whom was Meyler 
 and myself. We were satisfied with a speech and 
 scene ; and Mr. Palmer was the next day added 
 to the number ; he was no shallow or inexpe- 
 
68 GREAT EVIDENCE OF MISS B.'S GENIUS. 
 
 rienced critic, and it was not in compliance with 
 managerial interest that he remarked, " Here 
 will be another Siddons !" Briefly, these events 
 having occupied the Monday and Tuesday, on 
 the Wednesday the young lady was on the 
 stage rehearsing, and on the Monday follow- 
 ing she played Euphrasia at Bristol with the 
 most unqualified success. Her reception at Bath 
 confirmed the triumph of that performance; and 
 Mr. Harris, passing through Bristol on one of 
 her subsequent nights, engaged both father and 
 daughter for Covent Garden. 
 
 The most surprising feature of this debut 
 (and which I considered as the most legitimate 
 proof of genius) was Miss B.'s extraordinary 
 self-possession, — she moved and spoke like an 
 experienced stager ; and had I not known her 
 from her childhood as a secluded and domestic 
 girl, I should have sworn that she had passed 
 every night of her life before the eyes of the 
 public. 
 
 Sir John Danvers continued his kindness to 
 me till the close of this winter. He had given 
 me an organ, made me the daily occupant of his 
 
BRIGHTON. 09 
 
 table, and even went so far as to offer me a 
 house on his own estate, (Sweetland Pdrk,) with 
 an annuity at his death, if I would quit the 
 stage and live with him altogether. This, how- 
 ever, was rather too great a sacrifice for a young 
 and happy actor to make ; but I certainly pro- 
 mised to pass the ensuing summer at his country 
 seat. 
 
 At the season's end, however, I found that I 
 had indulged too liberally in its gaieties, for the 
 good of my health ; dinner-parties on non-play 
 days, and supper-parties after the performance, 
 were a sort of social laudanum that excited me 
 for the time, to rack me for the future. I was 
 in fact severely debilitated, and Dr. Harrington 
 said that sea-bathing was the only thing to 
 restore me. 
 
 At this period, a good many Bath people were 
 going over to Brighton ; and Fox, its manager, 
 was advised to engage me. I was undecided 
 in my views, when I received his letter, contain- 
 ing very favourable terms for the " firm," as he 
 called Mrs. B. and myself. This spot, of all 
 others, proposed to combine the two objects of 
 
70 AN eccentric's friendship. 
 
 health and competence ; and I replied to him in 
 the affirmative, writing to Sir John, who was 
 now at Sweetland Park, and stating the above 
 circumstances as an apology for the non-ful- 
 filment of my promise. 
 
 His reply bewildered and grieved me. He 
 charged me with ingratitude, falsehood, and 
 meanness; swore I had no more occasion to 
 bathe than he had ; knew that if I had pro- 
 mised any one else I should have kept my word ; 
 supposed my wife made a fool of me ; and, in 
 short, after ransacking the dictionary for a va- 
 riety of vituperatives I don't care to repeat, he 
 took an eternal farewell of me and the Club. 
 — And he kept his word ; not once after that 
 did he visit the Society (at one time his only 
 source of enjoyment); and when we encountered 
 in the streets of Bath, he was stone-blind in an 
 instant, or wanted to speak to some one over 
 the way. This was the friendship of an 
 eccentric. 
 
 My first visit to Brighton merits a proud re- 
 cord in these pages, since it created an epoch 
 in my public history. It was there I not merely 
 
ROYAL PATRONAGE. 71 
 
 re-established my health, but obtained the gra- 
 cious notice of His Royal Highness the Prince. 
 He was present at my dehut in Belcour and 
 Young Wilding, and personally requested the 
 repetition of the performances. 
 
 I believe I can boast of being the first if not 
 the only actor who was honoured with an invi- 
 tation to the Pavilion. 
 
 After this, I began to think there was even 
 a higher state of enjoyment in store for me, 
 than what I had been afforded in the circles 
 of Bath. 
 
 His Royal Highness bespoke my benefit play, 
 which was "The Liar." Mr. Weltjie came to 
 take all the boxes, which occasioned the ele- 
 vation of the pit to the box-prices. I expressed 
 a hope that His Royal Highness would be pre- 
 sent, though I knew that that day he dined 
 with the Camp. That worthy gentleman replied, 
 that I might be sure he'd come, since he had 
 given his word : thePrince,he rejoined, "always 
 keeps his word, but he says you are the greatest 
 ' Liar' on the Stage." 
 
BATH. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1786-7. — Bath : Amateur Theatricals.— Major Halliday and 
 his Companions. — " Brabantio's" Address. — Criticisms on 
 Cassio. — Captain Stanley and his comment. — Anecdotes 
 of the eariy life of Sir Thomas Lawrence. — Old Lawrence 
 the "Reader,** and Innkeeper, and Jonathan Payne. — 
 " Little Tom's" notoriety ; his taking Edwin's likeness ; 
 his readings. — " Tom, don't touch Satan." — Young Law- 
 rence's dramatic propensity : a Rehearsal and a Scene. — 
 House-warming at Frome. — Handy and Captain Stanley. 
 — ARecipe for improving Madeira. — Incledon's volunteered 
 Song, and encores: his Address. — Miss Poole's debut. — Mrs. 
 Dickons. — An attempt at Authorship. — Meyler's hoax. 
 —Mr. Pettingall and the " Liar."— Death of the Earl of 
 Conyngham. — Death of Jonathan Payne, and his Epitaph. 
 ^—Engagement for London. — Brighton — Interview with 
 H. R. H. the Prince. — Major Hanger and Mrs. Johnson. 
 — Sheridan and Fox. 
 
 The winter of 1786-7 was my third and last 
 season at Bath. The '* green-room" presented no 
 new faces ; and notwithstanding we had lost Sir 
 
AMATEUR THEATRICALS. 73 
 
 John's at the Catch Club, we continued its 
 meetings with the usual hilarity. 
 
 During the summer. Major Halliday and 
 other members of our Club had set on foot 
 some amateur theatricals at Bristol, which, be- 
 ing in aid of the funds of charitable institutions, 
 had been well attended. 
 
 The Major wished to transfer the scene of 
 his triumphs and benevolence to Bath, and for 
 so laudable an object the theatre was obtained 
 on an " ofF-night," and the performance was got 
 up under the direction of the " Acting Com- 
 mittee." " Othello" was the play, the Major 
 sustaining his favourite character the Moor. 
 This was, with one or two exceptions, the best 
 piece of amateur acting I ever saw. It might, 
 however, have owed no small portion of its 
 brightness to the foils with which, in lago, Cas- 
 sio, Brabantio, and Roderigo, it was surrounded . 
 Many of these gentlemen seemed to justify the 
 remark of Dr. Johnson, who was once entrapped 
 to a similar exhibition. "I must confess I am 
 astonished that individuals, who pride them- 
 selves so much on their dignity and sense among 
 
 VOL. IL E 
 
74 BRABANTIO'S ADDRESS. 
 
 friends, should be tempted to make such fools 
 of themselves, for the amusement of strangers." 
 Desdemona and Emilia, with the minor cha- 
 racters, were supported by members of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 On this occasion I was generally requested 
 to officiate as prompter. I forget the gentle- 
 man's name who assumed Brabantio, but he 
 had to speak the address. Seeing me with the 
 paper in my hand, as the curtain was about to 
 rise for its delivery, he hinted that he had no 
 occasion for my services, having made himself 
 dead perfect, to encounter an encore ; I accord- 
 ingly laid down the MS. and he made his 
 bow. He had not delivered above ten lines, 
 out of sixty, when he " settled," and looked 
 round to me for assistance ; but some one had 
 taken up the neglected lines and carried them 
 to a lamp to read ; an outcry and bustle was 
 made to obtain them ; and the " public" being 
 present, placed Brabantio meanwhile in the 
 situation of the Eddystone Light-house dur- 
 ing a tempest, though not so firm on his foun- 
 dation. 
 
CAPTAIN STANLEY. 75 
 
 When the address was rescued, his agitation 
 (and the public's) was too great to permit his 
 hearing my whispers; and after floundering on 
 a little farther, about " British generosity,"" 
 " orphans' tears," " female tenderness," " manly 
 dignity of this Green Isle," &c. a person took 
 pity on him in the pit, and said, " Well, my 
 good Sir, we've no doubt you mean very well, 
 but you only confuse us by attempting to 
 explain !" 
 
 This sentiment meeting the general appro- 
 bation of the house, dismissed Brabantio, with 
 about forty lines in arrear, whose vexation was 
 not slightly increased by my reminding him of 
 his own words, as the cause of the dilemma — 
 that " he had made himself dead perfect, to en- 
 counter an encore J"* 
 
 Captain Stanley (the '' Bath Bacchus") was 
 the Cassio of the evening. The criticism that 
 the wags passed upon his performance was, 
 " That for a man who could sup so well, he 
 spouted very badly !" My reader may be in- 
 clined to say, that this was sad fun. Critically, 
 therefore, it was misapplied to the performance 
 E 2 
 
76 A FATAL ERROR. 
 
 — that was funny sadness. The Major ex- 
 pected that he would have made a hit in the 
 drinking-scene ; but soldiers are not always good 
 artists ; and here was a fatal error, in supposing 
 the stage to be, instead of to resemble, nature. 
 The Major advised his "Lieutenant"" to be plied 
 with brandy, to which the latter not being 
 averse, the consequence was, that he got tipsy 
 very naturally, but took the whole night to re- 
 cover. All his lamentations for his lost repu- 
 tation were awkwardly given ; whilst his face, 
 scorning and denying the puppyism of his lan- 
 guage, wore its uniform jollity, and cried out, 
 " One bottle more !" 
 
 This little contradiction exposed him to the 
 laughter of his companions and the anger of 
 the Gods, who did not like to have their re- 
 collections of Shakspeare disturbed, and com- 
 mented, as usual, in the manner of their fa- 
 vourite bird. The Captain was dressed in red 
 regimentals, and having coloured his face pretty 
 highly, what with the flaming lustre of his nose, 
 and the rotundity of his figure, he resembled 
 a Russian stove heated red-hot; the gallery 
 
CAPTAIN Stanley's comment. 77 
 
 could be compared to nothing but a pond of 
 cold water, for whenever he touched them they 
 hissed. 
 
 Considering the object of the performance, 
 my reader will say that this was rather hard 
 treatment, but it was not unaccountable: the 
 Captain and his companions said, they " played 
 for their amusement;" thereby intending to 
 stamp the public mind with the distinction, 
 that they were not actors who play for their 
 support; but they did not anticipate that, if, 
 in playing for their amusement, they failed in 
 playing for the public's, the public would draw 
 no distinction between them and actors what- 
 ever. 
 
 After standing in a "gallery shower-bath," 
 throughout a scene, the Captain said to me on 
 coming off, "Bernard, I have often hissed a good 
 actor before now; but if ever I do a bad 
 one again, may I bed — d !" — Experientia 
 docet I 
 
 One of the minor characters of this per- 
 formance was supported by young Lawrence 
 the painter, then about seventeen, who was re- 
 
78 EARLY LIFE OF 
 
 receiving professional instructions, I believe, from 
 a Mr. Hoare, of Bath.* 
 
 On my first visit to Bath, I became acquaint- 
 ed with Ills father, who had formerly been an 
 actor, and was then an innkeeper at Devizes. 
 The stage, though a relinquished, was his fa- 
 vourite pursuit, and he came to Bath regularly 
 once a- week, to pass an evening in the Green- 
 room. Here he recounted his early adventures, 
 in connection with some member of the com- 
 pany, and criticized actors metropolitan and 
 provincial. I could not learn the measure of 
 his own talents, but he certainly deserved the 
 fame he enjoyed of being a most excellent rea- 
 der. He had a clear, full voice, and gave to 
 Milton and to Shakspeare all their dignity and 
 tenderness. Ability of any kind is seldom un- 
 
 * The following anecdotes are introduced in the Original 
 Manuscript, in their proper place, the year 1778, but were 
 subsequently expunged by the Autobiographer, in compliance 
 with the wishes of Sir Thomas, to whom, being on terms of 
 intimacy, he submitted the work. The death of the latter 
 gentleman frees the Editor from a restraint which was purely 
 personal, and permits him, by the above means, to give a 
 glimpse of the President's early history, which no publica- 
 tion has yet afforded.— January 28th, 1830. 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 79 
 
 accompanied with vanity ; it is the shadow which 
 is sure to be produced by the sunshine of pub- 
 lic favour. 
 
 Lawrence not only used to entertain his friends 
 at home (round a snug parlour fire) with his 
 " readings," but, whenever a new play was an- 
 nounced, would come over to Bath, and proffer 
 his services to the actors, to '*read their parts;*" 
 a kindness which some who intended to sponge 
 at his house would accept, but others of more 
 dignity declined. 
 
 The wag of the Bath Green-room (as indeed 
 he continued to be) was Jonathan Payne, an 
 actor of the true Joe Miller order — more famous 
 for the good things he said off the stage than 
 on. Payne, however, was of that particular 
 species of humorist who is fond of a practical 
 joke ; and the worthy innkeeper presented a 
 notable means for the exercise of his genius. 
 
 ' Rosina' was to be performed, in which Payne 
 was cast one of the rustics. Meeting Lawrence 
 behind the scenes, he told him that he had to 
 play a- new part the next night, and should feel 
 extremely obliged if Mr. Lawrence would read 
 
80 EARLY LIFE OP 
 
 it to hirn. Lawrence bustled up-stairs to his 
 dressing-room (which was that of a dozen 
 others) with the greatest alacrity, and Payne 
 very gravely handed him the part. Lawrence 
 put on his spectacles, and began to con it over. 
 " Act I. Scene I. Enter Rustic, O. P. ; at end 
 of the song, exit P. S., with groupe. Scene II. 
 Enter Rustic, P. S., with haymakers. Exit 
 Rustic, with ditto. — Act 11. Enter Rustic, O.P. 
 with rustics, — on till the end." 
 
 Lawrence, reading the above aloud with great 
 deliberation and emphasis, involved himself in a 
 mist of surprise, and his hearers in a roar of 
 laughter. Looking up, he then exclaimed, " Read 
 your part, Mr. Payne; I don't perceive you 
 have a word to say." — " No, Sir," said Payne ; 
 " for, if I had, I should not have asked you." 
 
 But Lawrence at this time owed all his noto- 
 riety to his son " Tom," a boy of about nine 
 years of age, who exhibited a wonderful preco- 
 city of talent in taking likenesses. His father, 
 however, had taught him to read Shakspeare 
 and Milton with considerable effect, and consi- 
 dered his ability in this respect (since it pro- 
 ceeded from himself) of a much higher order 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 81 
 
 than the former, which was natural. Neverthe- 
 less, the distinction between the two was, that 
 as a reader " little Tom" was but little Tom — 
 a very clever child, nine years of age, and, as a 
 sketcher of likenesses, he disclosed the rudi- 
 ments of the future powers of the President. 
 
 There was something about little Lawrence, 
 however, which excited the surprise of the most 
 casual observer. He was a perfect man in mi- 
 niature; his confidence and self-possession smack- 
 ed of one-and-twenty. 
 
 Lawrence frequently brought his boy to the 
 Green-room, and we would set him on a table, 
 and make him recite " Hamlet's directions to 
 the Players.'' On one of these occasions Hen- 
 derson was present, and expressed much gratis 
 fication. The little fellow, in return for our 
 civilities and flatteries, was desirous to take our 
 likenesses the first time we came to Devizes; 
 and Edwin and myself afibrded him an oppor- 
 tunity soon after, on one of our non-play-day 
 excursions. 
 
 After dinner, Lawrence proposed giving us a 
 " reading," as usual ; but Tom reminding him 
 b5 
 
82 EARLY LIFE OF 
 
 of our promise, we preferred a specimen of his 
 talents, as bein^ the most novel. The young 
 artist collected his materials very quickly, and 
 essayed my visage the first. In about ten 
 minutes, he produced a faithful delineation in 
 crayon, which for many years I kept as a curio- 
 sity. He next attempted Edwin's, who, startled 
 at the boy's ability, resolved (in his usual way) 
 to perplex him. 
 
 No man had a more flexible countenance 
 than Edwin ; it was not only well featured, but 
 well muscled, if I may be allowed the expression, 
 which enabled him to throw over its surface, as 
 on a moral prism, all the colours of expression, 
 minutely blending, or powerfully contrasting. 
 He accordingly commenced his sitting, by set- 
 tling his face into a sober and rather serious 
 aspect ; and when the young artist had taken 
 its outline and come to the eyes, he began gra- 
 dually but imperceptibly to extend and change 
 it, raising his brows, compressing his lips, and 
 widening his mouth, till his face wore the 
 expression of brightness and gaiety. Tom no 
 sooner perceived the change than he started in 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 83 
 
 supreme wonder, attributing it to a defect in his 
 own vision. The first outUne was accordingly 
 abandoned, and a second commenced. Tom 
 was now more particular, and watched him 
 narrowly ; but Edwiny feature by feature, and 
 muscle by muscle, so completely ran what 
 might have been called the gamut of his coun- 
 tenance, (as the various components of its har* 
 mony,) that the boy drew, and rubbed out, till 
 his hand fell by his side, and he stood silently 
 looking in Edwin's face, to discover, if possible, 
 its true expression. Edwin could not long 
 maintain his composure at this scrutiny, and 
 revealed the hoax with a burst of merriment 
 that mimicked thunder. 
 
 Little Tom could not take up Shakspeare or 
 Milton and read at random : he had been in- 
 structed in particular speeches, and to those he 
 referred. There was one in Milton (*' Satan's Ad- 
 dress to the Sun,") he had been long wishing to 
 learn ; but his father, from an apprehension that 
 his mind was yet unequal to its grasp, had passed 
 it over. Tom had listened, nevertheless, when- 
 ever the former read it to a friend, and surprised 
 
84 EARLY LIFE OF 
 
 his father not slightly with the news, that he 
 could imitate him. A family in Devizes, who 
 were well known to Lawrence, giving a party one 
 evening, requested the favour of his son''s com- 
 pany for his readings. Lawrence consented, but 
 on condition that Tom was not requested to select 
 other than his own passages. He then caution- 
 ed his boy against attempting any thing in 
 which he was not perfect, and particularly this 
 Address of Satan. In the evening, Tom walked 
 to the house, with Milton and Shakspeare under 
 his arras, and was shown into the company with 
 the utmost attention. 
 
 When the complimenting, &c. was over, he 
 was asked what recitation he preferred in Mil- 
 ton. He replied, " Satan's Address to the Sun ;" 
 but that his father would not permit him to 
 give it. For that reason, they were particularly 
 eager to hear it, as they wished to discover 
 whether Tom was a mere parrot or a prodigy. 
 His dutiful scruples, however, were not to be 
 overcome till they had promised to obtain his 
 father'^s forgiveness. He then turned to the 
 forbidden page, and a written slip of paper 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 85 
 
 dropped from it. A gentleman picked it up, 
 and read it aloud — " Tom ! mind you don't 
 touch Satan !" 
 
 My reader must conceive the effect which the 
 wording of this caution produced on the hearers. 
 Tom, however, did have dealings with Satan, 
 and handled him, as I was informed, with great 
 discretion. 
 
 As young Lawrence grew up, his Shak- 
 spearian readings, and his frequent visits to the 
 theatre, imbued him with a strong dramatic 
 propensity, and about his sixteenth year* he 
 had serious intentions of making the Stage his 
 profession. 
 
 I was now in Bath once more, but with a 
 wonderful improvement in my fame and for- 
 tunes. No man could be more favourably situ- 
 ated than myself, (combining private with pub- 
 lic advantages,) to give advice or assistance to an 
 aspirant ; and the young artist needed no intro- 
 duction in coming to me for both. I heard him 
 recite Jaffier ; and though private recitation, I 
 will admit, is at all times an imperfect cri- 
 * The winter, 1785. 
 
86 EARLY LIFE OP 
 
 terion, I did not perceive, on this occasion, any 
 evidences of talent he could balance against 
 that which was acknowledged in his present 
 pursuit. I desired him, however, to call on me 
 again, and said that, in the interim, I would speak 
 to Mr. Palmer. In the interim I met his father, 
 and felt myself bound to disclose what had pass- 
 ed. Lawrence had failed in his business at 
 Devizes, and was looking forward to his son's 
 efforts for support. Knowing from experience 
 the precarious fortunes of an actor, and, by this 
 time, the value of his son's talents, he was ne- 
 cessarily alarmed at my intelligence, and beg- 
 ged I would use all my influence in dissuading 
 him from his design. I knew young Lawrence's 
 filial attachment, (which, among his acquaint- 
 ance, was indeed proverbial,) and I suggested 
 that the best plan would be, to achieve the de- 
 sired object by a surprise. I appointed Law- 
 rence, therefore, to come to my house the next 
 morning, about twelve, with some friends, and 
 sent word to his son to meet me there half an 
 hour after. I then went to Mr. Palmer, told 
 him the circumstance, and requested his co- 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 87 
 
 operation. He promised it most freely, and 
 agreed to attend the rendezvous at the time 
 appointed. 
 
 By half-past twelve, the next day, all the 
 parties were assembled : old Lawrence and his 
 friends, in the back-parlour ; young Lawrence, 
 Mr. Palmer, and myself, in the front. The ma- 
 nager was no sooner introduced than, with great 
 adroitness, he desired a specimen of young Law- 
 rence's abilities, and took his seat at one end of 
 the room. 
 
 I proposed the opening scene between Priuli 
 and Jaffier, and one between Jaffier and Belvi- 
 dera. We accordingly commenced : (I, Priuli; he, 
 Jaffier :) and he proceeded very perfectly, till, in 
 the well-known speech of " To me you owe her," 
 he came to the line, 
 
 *' I brought her — gave her to your despairing arms ; 
 Indeed, you thanked me ; but — *' 
 
 but here Jaffier stammered,and became stationary. 
 I held the book, but would not assist him, and he 
 recommenced and stopped, reiterated, and hem- 
 med, till his father, who had heard him with 
 
88 EARLY LIFE OF 
 
 growing impatience, could contain his vexation 
 no longer, but, pushing open the door, thrust in 
 his head, and prompted him to the sentence, 
 
 " a nobler gratitude 
 
 Rose in her soul, for from that hour she loved me, 
 Till for her life she paid me with herself ; " 
 
 then added, " You play Jaffier, Tom ! D — m 
 me if they'd suffer you to murder a conspi- 
 rator!" 
 
 The whole party now made their appearance, 
 and began to remonstrate ; when Mr. Palmer, 
 taking young Lawrence by the hand, assured 
 him, in the most friendly manner, that he would 
 do any thing to serve him ; but that it was 
 his conviction the latter did not possess those 
 advantages which would render the Stage a safe 
 undertaking. This address did not produce an 
 instantaneous effect. It was obvious that the 
 young artist entertained the reverse opinion : a 
 conversation now ensued, in which I, abusing 
 the life of an actor, and other friends paint- 
 ing the prospects of a painter, young Lawrence 
 at length became convinced, but remarked with 
 a sigh, ** that if he could have gone on the 
 
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 69 
 
 stage, he might have assisted his family much 
 sooner than by his present employments." 
 
 My reader can appreciate the affection of this 
 sentiment; but lam unable to describe its deli- 
 very, or the effect it took upon every person 
 present. Passing over, therefore, the scene which 
 ensued, I will only add, that young Lawrence 
 went away renouncing his intentions and re- 
 taining his friends. 
 
 It is certainly one of my pleasantest recollec- 
 tions, that, by thus lending my aid to check this 
 early propensity, (which, if encouraged, must 
 have led to a renouncement of the pencil,) I 
 was an agent, however humble or indirect, in 
 the furtherance of my worthy friend's ultimate 
 prosperity. 
 
 Handy, a tavern-keeper at Bath, was about 
 to open the principal inn at Frome, which being 
 the property of Lord Cork, various members 
 of the " Catch Club" were invited to the house- 
 warming. 
 
 Captains Baker and Stanley, Sir Charles 
 Bampfylde, Incledon, and myself, went over in a 
 party. ,^ 
 
90 A RECIPE FOR 
 
 The friends and tenants from his Lordship's 
 estate amounted to about forty, and the visi- 
 tors from Bath to as many more : the dinner- 
 tickets were half-a-guinea, exclusive of liquors. 
 
 When we were all assembled in the parlours 
 and before the door, shaking hands, and de- 
 ciding bets upon the time of each other's arrival. 
 Captain Stanley's head, running upon an object 
 more important, led him to enter the bar and 
 ascertain the quality of the wines to be imbibed. 
 Mrs. Handy drew the cork of a Madeira bottle, 
 and filled him a glass. 
 
 The epicure took it into his mouth and rolled 
 it deliberately about on the tip of his tongue, 
 but shook his head, and remarked, " That won't 
 do, Mrs. Handy, — that won't do ; 'tis as weak 
 as tea!" 
 
 Mrs. Handy expressed her regret, said she 
 would speak to her husband the instant he came 
 in, and some other should be substituted. The 
 Captain then returned to the company. 
 
 I now took an opportunity of going to the 
 bar to shake the worthy host's hand, who di- 
 rectly after made his appearance, and was in- 
 
IMPROVING MADEIRA. 91 
 
 formed by his wife of the Captain's objection. 
 Handy smiled and gave me a glass from the 
 bottle, which I thought was very good. He 
 then drew a glass of brandy, poured it into the 
 undervalued liquid, and corked it up. The 
 Captain soon returned, his peace of mind being 
 essentially disturbed by the prospect of poor 
 Madeira. Handy instantly apologized for (what 
 he termed) his wife's mistake in giving a sample 
 from a bottle not designed for the dinner, and 
 begged the Captain's opinion upon another. 
 Producing and filling a glass from the same, 
 the Captain subjected it to his former ordeal, 
 bathing his tongue in it, and scouring the roof 
 of his mouth : an immediate effect was percep- 
 tible in his countenance, which glooming the 
 instant before like the dead of night, lit up 
 with a spreading smile like the dawn of a 
 red sky in a dog-day morning. Concluding 
 the ceremony with a smack sharp and loud 
 as the pop of champagne, he exclaimed, " Ah, 
 that 's something like. Handy ; there 's some 
 strength in that, — that's what I call a glass of 
 good Madeira." 
 
92 incledon's volunteered song. 
 
 About nine o'clock Lord Cork vacated the 
 chair, and I was called to it. The country- 
 people were so astonished at our pleasantry and 
 music, that they began to get exhilarated at an 
 early hour; but, as this was overthrowing an 
 established habit of the Club, I proposed that 
 we should adjourn to the theatre, and return to 
 our glasses about eleven. This was agreed to 
 by two-thirds of the party, and we consequently 
 pretty well filled the front-boxes. The enter- 
 tainment was the " West Indian," in which 
 Dowton played Belcour, then a young member 
 of the profession, but with more than the usual 
 evidences of future eminence. 
 
 Incledon, recognizing some acquaintance in the 
 company, went behind the scenes, and directly 
 after volunteered a song ; this was a high treat to 
 the pit and** gallery; but the wags in the boxes 
 were bent on other amusement. They encored 
 him twice, and brought him on the stage for the 
 fourth time. He now perceived their intention, 
 and, making a low bow, addressed them as fol- 
 lows : — *' Gentlemen, I sang this song, for the 
 first time, to please my friends behind the 
 
MISS POOLE'S DEBUT. 93 
 
 scenes; the second, to please the public; the 
 third, to please yourselves; but if I sing it 
 
 again, may I be !" (stopping as if to meditate 
 
 a terrific oath.) " What ?"" shouted a dozen voices. 
 " Why, I ""ll whisper you, Gentlemen, when I 
 come round;" and with these words he returned 
 to the boxes. This was the cleverest thing I 
 ever knew Incledon to say or do. 
 
 During this winter, I was in some measure in- 
 ^ strumental in bringing forward that musical pro- 
 digy Miss Poole, (afterwards Mrs. Dickons,) a 
 child of seven or eight years of age, who sung 
 and played some of Mrs. Billington*s bravuras 
 with ease, precision, and comparative power. I 
 knew her father very well, and, through my 
 connection with the " Club,"" was enabled to ob- 
 tain him a patronage for a morning concert. 
 This experiment not only relieved him from his 
 difficulties, but gave that surprising little crea- 
 ture a launch into publicity. 
 
 During this winter also, I made my first 
 attempt as an author, in a farce called " The 
 Whimsical Ladies." Boy ton composed its mu- 
 sic, and took a successful measure of Incledon, 
 
94 AN ATTEMPT AT AUTHORSHIP. 
 
 Wordsworth, Blanchard, and Miss Wright for 
 songs; Blanchard, in particular, made a hit in 
 the " wooing effusion of a Tailor :""' 
 
 f' My dearest love, 
 My turtle-dove. 
 My suit I '11 lay before you." 
 
 This production did some good to the trea^ 
 sury, and Mr. Palmer gave Boyton and myself 
 a clear joint night at Bristol, by which I cleared 
 forty pounds, and the former (in conjunction with 
 the sale of the songs) above a hundred. 
 
 Mr. Colman was now in Bath, and did me the 
 favour of a call, to offer me eight guineas a- week 
 for the ensuing summer, saying that he did this 
 at the express wish of His Royal Highness the 
 Prince. 
 
 AHaymarket engagement, however, interfered 
 with the Bath and Bristol seasons, which per- 
 mitted merely an interval of seven weeks ; and 
 as I had made up my mind to renew my article 
 with Mr. Palmer, I was obliged to decline 
 Mr. Colman's tender ; assuring him, at the same 
 time, that on my next visit to Brighton I would 
 
meyler's hoax. 95 
 
 properly acknowledge my Royal patron's con- 
 descension. 
 
 Meyler was as fond of a practical as a verbal 
 joke. There was at this time residing in Bath 
 a silk-mercer, by the name of Pettingall, who was 
 notorious for telling little pleasant impossibilities, 
 or, to be vulgarly laconic, — lies. He would 
 deal them out as rapidly and good-humouredly 
 as his patterns. 
 
 The "Young Wilding" farce was to be 
 played, and two hours before the performance 
 Mrs. Bernard was taken ill, and could not sus- 
 tain her usual character of Miss Grantham. A 
 lady in the company f)roffered her services as a 
 substitute, on condition that she was given a 
 book. I had lost mine, did not know where to 
 find the prompter's, and at length ran to Meyler's, 
 to procure a volume of the " British Drama." 
 The particular volume which contained the 
 piece was either out or mislaid, and all Meyler 
 could do was to direct me to some person who 
 might possess it. " Mr. Pettingall,"" said he, 
 the silk-mercer on the Parade, is a great lover 
 
I- 
 
 96 MR. -^ETTINGALL AND "THE LIAR." 
 
 of theatricals, and I Ve not the least doubt that 
 he *11 oblige you." 
 
 Away I scampered to Mr. PettingalPs, as no 
 time was to be lost, and found him behind his 
 counter attending to the wants of a dozen cus- 
 tomers. He knew me instantly, and desisted 
 from puffing a particular pattern, to hear my bu- 
 siness. " Your name," said I, " is Pettingall, I 
 believe ?""— " Yes, Sir, — and you are Mr. Ber- 
 nard .?" — " The same : you must excuse the want 
 of ceremony in this call ; but, the fact is, we are 
 in desperate want of a book at the theatre, and 
 Mr. Meyler informed me that you were the most 
 likely man in Bath to assist us." — " What play 
 is it, Mr. Bernard .?" — " The Liar, Sir."— 
 "The what, Sir.?"— "The Liar, Sir." In an 
 instant his previously placid countenance ruffled, 
 and grew as red as a moon in a melodrama. 
 " D n, Sir !" he exclaimed violently, strik- 
 ing the counter, " do you mean to insult me .?" I 
 stared at him in amazement ; but the bystanders, 
 who perceived the joke, turned away to suppress 
 their laughter. " Insult ! I don't know what 
 you mean. Sir," said I. — " And I don't know 
 
DEATH OF EARL CONYNGHAM. 97 
 
 what you mean, Mr. Bernard," said he. — " Mr. 
 Meyler," I added. — " Oh ! it was Mr. Meyler 
 that sent you : — I 'm satisfied." 
 
 The truth was now elicited ; and, after proving 
 my innocence, and joining with him in condemn- 
 ing Meyler's conduct as most ungentlemanly, I 
 hastened back to the Ubrary, to be laughed at 
 by the hoaxer and a dozen of his companions. 
 
 Towards the close of this season, our Club sus- 
 tained a severe loss in the death of the Earl of 
 Conyngham, who had retired to Wells a few 
 weeks previously, to counteract a late alarming 
 change in his health. The Society lost an ele- 
 gant and intelligent director, and I, amongst 
 many, a sincere and truly serviceable friend. 
 Whilst equalling most in the mere ornaments of 
 character, his Lordship could boast of all its 
 laudable substances. He was the most perfect 
 example of a man who derives his own happi- 
 ness in the measure that he contributes to that 
 of those who are around him. 
 
 We sustained a loss also in the theatre, though 
 more among ourselves than with the public; 
 poor Jonathan Payne, the worthy and the 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
S8 DEATH OF JONATHAN PAYNE. 
 
 witty ! an actor of not much eminence, being 
 one of that order so often alluded to in these 
 pages — " the comedian of private life." 
 
 He had been long in a decline ; but a cause 
 which accelerated his death was his rejection 
 by Miss Summers, a very pretty girl in the com- 
 pany, whose father was a Thespian of Payne's 
 standing. Miss Summers, on the above occa- 
 sion, was said not to have exercised a perfect 
 freedom of will, but to have sacrificed love to 
 duty. Her father was in the habit of declaring, 
 whenever the matter was mentioned, *' If you 
 ixiarry Jonathan Payne, Betsy, I '11 cut you off 
 with a shilling," which amused the Bath trades- 
 people, as Summers had been fifty pounds in 
 their books for the last five years. 
 
 Dr. Dart was the reverend gentleman who 
 attended Payne in his last moments, and per- 
 formed the funeral service ; and I penned the 
 epitaph which was inscribed on his stone, — it 
 was as follows : — 
 
 " In autumn Payne wither'd, in winter Payne died, 
 For * Summer's' sweet sunshine to Payne was denied ; 
 A dart of grim Death enter'd Payne's honest breast, 
 And a ' Dart' of religion consigned him to rest." 
 
INTERVIEW WITH MR. HARRIS. 99 
 
 As the season drew to a close, Mr. Harris 
 made his appearance in Bath, and was intro- 
 duced to me by Mr. Palmer, in the Green- 
 room. He renewed his offer to me of a Lon- 
 don engagement, but upon much higher terms, 
 with the flattering intelligence, that the Prince, 
 on learning my determination from Mr. Colman, 
 had written to him, to give me a winter-footing in 
 London. I reiterated my old objections to quit- 
 ting Bath, though I could by no means express 
 my sense of the honour which His Royal Highness 
 had done me, in this personal interference for my 
 advantage. I told Mr. Harris that I was more 
 happily situated then, than ever I had been be- 
 fore ; and so long as Mr. Palmer would give me an 
 engagement, I did not wish to change masters. 
 This drew a reply from the latter, who said, 
 " The fact is, Bernard, I am about to sell a 
 third of this property to ' Keasberry and Di- 
 mond,' and to give up all active share in its 
 direction. Thus, if you continue here, you must 
 pass out of my hands, and you had better do so 
 to your own advantage. Mr. Harris, you are 
 aware, has been wanting you these two years, 
 F 2 
 
100 ENGAGEMENT FOR LONDON. 
 
 and, till the present time, I never favoured his 
 views." 
 
 This gave a different aspect to the matter, 
 and I promised Mr. Harris an answer the next 
 day. The period of consideration, as my reader 
 will suppose, was passed in the company of my 
 wife. Watson and Jefferson, the Chelten- 
 ham and Plymouth managers, were in Bath at 
 this time, desirous that I should join them. 
 The one offered me a clear half of his property ; 
 the other a third, upon merely nominal terms ; 
 but the Liverpool Theatre was to let, and my 
 good friend Mr. Peach had stood forward to 
 say, that if I liked the speculation, he would 
 provide me with the means. Each of these ob- 
 jects had some attraction in the light of my fu- 
 ture home ; and consulting my own feelings if 
 it was imperative I should quit Bath, I certainly 
 preferred being a country manager to a Lon- 
 don actor; but my wife had been all her life 
 eager to reach London, and on my account only 
 had reramned out of it so long. Her desire 
 was to close with Mr. Harris, if he treated for 
 us both, and select one of the above as a sum- 
 
ENGAGEMENT FOR LONDON. 101 
 
 mer resort : her desires, as they generally did, 
 carried the question. 
 
 The next day I met Mr. Harris at Mr. 
 Palmer's with some friends, and we talked the 
 affair over. I told him of the other schemes 
 I had in view, and of the only condition upon 
 which I would go to London, — that my wife 
 had an opening also. Mr. Harris replied, that 
 he was most willing to engage Mrs. Bernard, 
 but could not promise her specific business till 
 vacancies occurred ; he would however insert a 
 clause in her article, which should enable her to 
 break it at the end of the first season, if her si- 
 tuation was disagreeable. He then offered me 
 ten, eleven, twelve, and thirteen pounds for four 
 years, and Mrs. Bernard five, six, seven, and 
 eight. This was four pounds more for myself 
 and two for my wife, than he had ofi^ered the 
 winter previous. Before agreeing to these 
 terms, however favourable, strict matrimonial 
 propriety required I should submit them to 
 Mrs. B., who, after some wincing and hesitation, 
 permitted me to carry back to the manager 
 her affirmative. 
 
102 BRIGHTON. 
 
 As this book is the record of the events, and 
 not the feelings, of my life, I pass over the 
 struggles it cost me to quit that city in which 
 elapsed the three happiest winters of my ex- 
 istence. The Club honoured me with a farewell 
 dinner, (though I was afterwards to mingle 
 with many of its members in London,) and re- 
 cognised my claims to its public attention on 
 my benefit, which, with Mrs. Bernard's, pro- 
 duced me two hundred and fifty pounds. After 
 a short season at Bristol, my destination was 
 Brighton, where I was taught by Fox to ex- 
 pect a very favourable reception : but I had 
 more reasons for visiting it than one. 
 
 On arriving there, my first duty was to call 
 at the Pavilion, where I was received in the 
 most cordial manner by my patron, who was 
 pleased to reiterate the words of Mr. Harris, 
 that " if I quitted Bath, there was no place I 
 should go to but London." I told His Royal 
 Highness that I thought he condescended great- 
 ly in taking such an interest in my fortunes, 
 " Not at all, Bernard," he replied. " If I con_ 
 descended to enjoy your talents, I certainly 
 
INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCE. 103 
 
 may condescend to reward them : — the fact is, I 
 consider myself in your debt for a certain sum 
 of gratification, and I wish to balance the ac- 
 count by doing you as much service as lies in 
 ray power." 
 
 We then rambled into a conversation upon 
 the Catch Club and convivial society of Bath, 
 with its distinguishing characters ; and when we 
 touched upon London, he was pleased to sug- 
 gest that I should make my debut in either 
 Dashwood or Young Wilding, for the follow- 
 ing very flattering reason : — " I like your Gen- 
 tlemen, Bernard, — you do not fatigue the atten- 
 tion by running about, — you can act when you 
 stand still ; and I must confess to your credit, 
 that you are the only * Stage Gentleman'' that 
 has made me laugh heartily, without leading me 
 to think I had got into low company.*" 
 
 The night after our opening, I was honoured 
 with an invitation to the Pavilion to meet Ma- 
 jor Hanger, Colonel Fitzpatrick, and other con- 
 vivial worthies, in connection with whom I must 
 mention the only amusing circumstance that 
 distinguished this summer's trip. 
 
104 MAJOR HANGER AND MRS. JOHNSON. 
 
 A " Lady Abbess;"- by the name of Johnson, 
 had come down to Brighton with half-a-dozen 
 " NunSj" and took a very agreeable house on 
 the East Chff. Shortly after our theatricals 
 commenced, one of the beauteous " Damiselas" 
 had eloped with a mysterious " inamorato," and 
 the amiable old lady, in this serious attack on 
 her resources, ran raving about to her acquaint- 
 ance for advice and assistance. The first ques- 
 tion to be decided was — " Who is the gallant ?" 
 and, among others, she put it to the sympathiz- 
 ing Major Hanger. 
 
 The Major, after a little consideration, re- 
 plied that " he could fix his suspicions on no 
 one but Bernard the Bath actor." This wicked 
 surmise, in the feyer heat of the worthy matron, 
 was easily converted into a conviction : away 
 rushed Mrs. Johnson to her lodgings, and 
 penned the following letter to the manager : — 
 
 " SIR, 
 "If you do not instantly discharge Ber- 
 nard the Bath actor, I shall withdraw my pa- 
 tronage ! " I am yours, 
 
 " Amelia Johnson." 
 
THE BRIGHTON MANAGER. 105 
 
 Fox was so delighted with this epistle, that 
 he showed it to half his acquaintance before it 
 came to me (amongst others to the Major) ; 
 and had not my moral character stood fair both 
 with the town and Mrs. Bernard, I should have 
 experienced some uneasiness. Fox, however, 
 wrote a brief reply to Mrs. Johnson, that my 
 appearance on his boards was of more import- 
 ance than hers in his boxes: but^the next day, 
 the beguiled fair one returning to the tender 
 shelter of this inestimable lady's roof, every 
 thing was cleared up to my honour and her 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Fox, the Brighton manager, was a very odd 
 character. He was a kind of Caleb Quotem 
 in real life : he could combine twenty occupa- 
 tions without being clever in one ; a pretty ge- 
 neral characteristic of country managers in those 
 days. He was actor, fiddler, painter, machinist, 
 and tailor, besides check-taker and bill-sticker 
 on occasions. 
 
 He prided himself more especially on his 
 talents as a painter. He had executed all his 
 own scenery, (as he executed all his own cha- 
 F 5 
 
106 SHERIDAN. 
 
 racters,) and accomplished in person the em- 
 bellishments of the house. 
 
 Sheridan was down at Brighton one summer, 
 and Fox, desirous of showing him some civility, 
 took him all over the theatre^ and exhibited its 
 beauties. " There, Mr. Sheridan," said he, " I 
 constructed this stage, — I built and painted those 
 boxes, and I painted all these scenes."*"* — " Did 
 you ?" said Sheridan, surveying them rapidly ; 
 *' well, I should not have known you were a 
 Fox by your brush'''' 
 
AN ACCIDENT. 107 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1787. London. — Accident. — Honest Surgeon. — Debut in 
 Archer. — London Green-rooms. — The Talent of those 
 times. — " Beef-steak Club :" its Members, Officers, &c. 
 
 its Port — Admiral Shuldam's Pun Comparison of the 
 
 " Beef-steak" and the " Catch Club." — Wit and Music- 
 Visit to Macklin : his exaggeratedAge, hisManners, his IMind 
 — favourite Reply — the terrific play of his Features. — Anec- 
 dote of George the Second. — Macklin's Egotism — satirized 
 by Foote at the Haymarket. — Anecdote. — Macklin's clas- 
 sic attainments : his interview with Dr. Johnson. — The 
 two Ursa Majors. — Plymouth. — Commodore M 'Bride and 
 the Bonny Pheasant. — Sailors' attachment to Theatres. — 
 Anecdote of the Commodore and his Crew. — A Sailor's 
 
 complacency and benevolence Anecdote. — Mr. Prigmore 
 
 and his Breeches. 
 
 At the conclusion of the Bath season, I passed 
 three weeks at the seat of my friend Mr. Peach, 
 in Gloucestershire; and on proceeding from 
 thence to town in a gig, the horse stumbled in 
 descending a hill, snapped the shafts, pitched 
 
108 AN HONEST SURGEON. 
 
 Mrs. Bernard into a hedge, and broke my shins. 
 The consequence of this was, that, on reaching 
 London, I was laid up with a pair of unavailable 
 legs, and could not contribute my services on 
 the opening of the Theatre. A friend of my 
 wife's family, supposed to be a surgeon, attend- 
 ed me, who, perceiving that I presented a fa- 
 vourable job, 'kept my wounds open, and phy- 
 sicked me upon the system of the doctors in 
 Foote's farce of the " Devil on Two Sticks." 
 
 President. " What was the treatment yesterday ?'* 
 Bolus. " We jalloped the right ward, and phlebotomized 
 the left." 
 
 President. " Then, jallop the left ward to-day, and phle- 
 botomize the right." 
 
 In this manner, I lay a month upon my sofa, 
 and had the satisfaction of reading in the papers 
 the success of other persons in characters writ- 
 ten for myself. My surgeon daily congratulated 
 me on an improvement which no one but he could 
 perceive, every morning varying his plaster, 
 each of which was to be a specific, that invaria- 
 bly failed, — one day the green, the next the 
 white, with washes of all sorts, the sole effect of 
 
AN HONEST SURGEON. 109 
 
 which was, to keep up inflammation, and che- 
 rish " proud flesh/' Meanwhile, he completed 
 the catalogue of his Christian perfections by 
 preaching to me largely upon the virtue of pa- 
 tience. He chuckled over the job. 
 
 At length an old nurse visited me by stealth, 
 with a pot of bitter herbs, and fomented my 
 legs every morning, half an hour after the 
 " friend of the family" was gone. In two days 
 there was an obvious improvement ; the inflam- 
 mation was allayed, and the white flesh was 
 disappearing. Tiie surgeon gazed upon this 
 effect (for I watched his features narrowly) with 
 profound astonishment — his rascally plasters 
 were evidently playing him false, and curing 
 me against his will. He was forced (the labour 
 was perceptible) to put a smile on his cheek, 
 and I enjoyed some revenge in the pain it cost 
 him to congratulate me now. If the roguery 
 had not been so repulsive, the ridiculousness 
 would have been amusing, in his crying out, 
 " Well, Mr. Bernard, we've hit upon the plas- 
 ter at last ; that white dressing is invaluable." 
 
 In a week my wounds had closed, and in a 
 
110 DEBUT IN ARCHER. 
 
 fortnight from the old woman's first visit I was 
 enabled to draw on a pair of new boots, and 
 make my bow to a London audience in the 
 characters of Archer and Kecksey ; Mrs. Ber- 
 nard appearing with me in Mrs. Sullen and the 
 Irish Widow. The boxes, on that occasion, 
 presented so many well-known faces from Bath, 
 that our favourable reception was ensured, and 
 we repeated the characters. 
 
 My engagement with Mr. Harris was to sus- 
 tain the business of Lee Lewis, which was very 
 extensive, including all the fops and eccentric 
 gentlemen, with smart servants and feeble old 
 men ad infinitum. The following were among 
 my principal characters : — Young Marlow, Dash- 
 would, Captain Absolute, Duretete, Gratiano, 
 Puff, Sharp, Lissardo, Young Philpot, Flutter, 
 Clodio, Lord Trinket, Lord Sparkle, Sir Brilliant 
 Fashion, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Verges, &c., 
 with five characters, which were specified in my 
 article — Lord Ogleby, Twineall, Michael Pe- 
 rez, Don John, and Young Wilding. 
 
 In all of these, my stand was such as to 
 
LONDON GREEN-ROOMS. Ill 
 
 answer the expectations of my friends at Bath, 
 and my Royal patron at Brighton. 
 
 I have made it a practice to give the *' green- 
 rooms" of every theatre I entered; but, on 
 reaching London, where the characters and 
 talents of every public favourite have been 
 so sufficiently known and recorded, I think this 
 duty is indispensable. I shall do no more, 
 therefore, than enumerate the dramatic (not the 
 vocal) forces of each house, for my reader to 
 make his own comparisons. 
 
 At Covent Garden, the principals were — Hol- 
 man, Pope, Lewis, Brunton, Farren, Edwin, 
 Ryder, Quick, Wilson, Blanchard, and Ber- 
 nard ; Miss Brunton, Mrs. Mattocks, Mrs. Es- 
 ten, Mrs. Wells, and Mrs. Bernard. 
 
 At Drury Lane — Kemble, Bensley, Palmer, 
 Wroughton, J. Bannister, King, Parsons, Suett, 
 Dodd, and Baddeley ; Mrs. Jordan, Miss Far- 
 ren, Miss Pope, and Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 Miss Brunton had superseded Miss Younge 
 at our house, and Miss Farren Mrs. Abingdon 
 at the other. Henderson's death, (the " dim- 
 
112 DRAMATIC TALENT OF THE PERIOD. 
 
 ming of our Shining Star,") and Mrs. Siddons' 
 triumph at Drury Lane, gave to that house a 
 decided preeminence in tragedy ; but our comic 
 strength was more upon a par. Leaving this 
 point to my reader''s decision, there is but 
 one I would wish to establish, — ^that the col- 
 lective talent of the metropolis was greater in 
 those days than it has been since. It is ge- 
 nerally admitted, that the race of dramatists 
 has degenerated tremendously. We had then 
 Sheridan, Colman, sen., Colman, jun., Cumber- 
 land, Murphy, Holcroft, with 0''KeefFe, Hoare, 
 Dibdin, Morton, and Reynolds about be- 
 ginning. I know of no names in the present 
 day that can be contrasted with even the 
 weakest of these in the composition of comedy, 
 opera, or farce : one thing is remarkable, that 
 the talent of that day was decidedly comic. 
 Jephson was the only one who wrote a tolerable 
 tragedy, and his memory has not been preserved 
 by the Stage. The tragic genius of England 
 descended into the tombs of Otway, Southerne, 
 and Rowe. 
 
 Between the dramatist and the actor there 
 
THE " BEEF-STEAK CLUB.'' 113 
 
 seems to have been a peculiar sympathy both in 
 their talent and fate; — they have flourished and 
 faded in much the same manner. Particular 
 instances are cited, in the present day, of actors 
 whose excellence may vie with those I have 
 above recorded. This is true ! — ^but this is all! 
 Plays are now written and represented for these 
 "particular instances" solely. It was the pecu- 
 liarity of that period, that a play should be con- 
 sidered unworthy of a Theatre Royal, unless it 
 contained at least six prominent characters ; 
 and farther, that such play was unjustly dealt 
 with, if the meanest character was not as per- 
 fectly represented as the highest. 
 
 Blanchard and Mrs. Esten had made their 
 debut with me at Covent Garden. So that with 
 Pope and Edwin, who were intimates of old, I 
 found myself at home in the Green-room. I now 
 thought of my letters of introduction, and by 
 their means began to make the circuit of the 
 convivial societies. My first visit was to the i, / 
 " Beef-steak Club," where I had the distinction 
 of being proposed an honorary member the first 
 night. This was owing to my " Bath" noto- 
 
 \^ 
 
114 MEMBERS OF THE CLUB. 
 
 riety: Kelly, Dignum, Sedgwick, and Suett, 
 those unrivalled glee singers, with Charles Ban- 
 nister, were the only other professionals enjoy- 
 ing the same privilege. Here I was introduced 
 to Sheridan, Selwyn, Woodfall, Topham, Bate 
 Dudley, Miles Andrews, Merry, Taylor, He- 
 wardine, Saville Carey, Stevens, Colonel Bos- 
 well, Major Arabin: that galaxy of table wits, 
 in whose lustre the Royal Brothers delighted to 
 sun themselves, and whose union formed an 
 epoch in the convivial history of London. 
 
 ^ The society consisted of forty members, one- 
 third of whom were noblemen ; of these. Lords 
 Townshend, Ca\an, Gal way, and Say and Sele, 
 were the most noted. Captain Morris was the 
 Secretary; Mr. Bearcroft, the Recorder; Ste- 
 
 i^vens, the Poet- laureate ; and Dr. Kennedy, the 
 
 /Physician. 
 
 The cook and wine-keeper had salaries of fifty 
 pounds each, though the perquisites of the for- 
 mer, in the remains of meat, &c. doubled that 
 amount. Pork and mutton-chops were provided 
 for visitors who disliked the established viand ; 
 but they were seld9m called for, the anti- 
 
ADMIRAL SHULDAM'S PUN. 115 
 
 nationality of such a taste disgusted true-born 
 Britons; and it was an impression with fo- 
 reigners, that unless they eat the '* beef-steak," 
 they could not enter into the spirit of the Club. 
 Port was the established liquid: two pipes of 
 which were received yearly, — one to be divided 
 into quarter casks for the four senior mem- 
 bers in rotation, — the other to be put to nurse 
 in the cellar, three years in wood, and four in 
 bottle. 
 
 This wine rendered the meeting nearly as 
 famous as its wit ; its equal was not to be pro- 
 duced in England: all respectable bacchanals 
 swore by it ; all tavern-keepers and Oporto 
 merchants thronged to taste it ; and it was able, 
 on one occasion, to seduce that sensible man 
 Admiral Shuldam to commit a pun. When 
 asked at the " Beef-steak" what season of the 
 year he preferred being at sea, he touched his 
 glass and replied, " When I can't be in Port !" 
 
 The chairman, treasurer, and secretary of 
 this meeting wore a uniform which was pecu- 
 liar and pleasing: it was a blue coat, with a 
 red collar, and a golden ^ gridiron suspended 
 
116 A COMPARISON. 
 
 from a button-hole by a blue ribbon, black silk 
 indispensables, and stockings. 
 
 My first visit to the "Beef-steak*" enabled me 
 to perceive how difierently it was constituted 
 from the " Catch Club.'* If I could designate this 
 difference by a word, 1 should say that the one 
 was a talking and the other a singing society. 
 At the " Beef steak" there was less music ; be- 
 cause it was to be heard at so many other meet- 
 ings in comparative perfection, besides public 
 places, — and because there was more talent in 
 the members to sustain long conversations. 
 Music was a relief to them ; but if it had ex- 
 ceeded a song or a glee, it would have proved 
 an interruption. Kelly, Dignum, and Sedgwick, 
 compassed all their desires ; and composers, con- 
 ductors, and instrumental performers, were got 
 rid of iji toto. The members were all men of the 
 world, and (London being a large cauldron, in 
 which society is kept continually in a ferment, 
 and something new is hourly rising to the sur- 
 face,) they had well-stored heads to unburthen 
 on coming together. Thus the Club wore the 
 air more of a casual than a regular assembly. 
 
WIT AND MUSIC. 117 
 
 At Bath, the case was contrary. There, the 
 members seemed to form but one family, — the 
 business of the Club their only employment, — 
 the pleasures of the Club were certainly their 
 only excitement. They looked forward to them^ 
 week after week, as their sure means of balancing 
 accounts with divers cares and disappointments. 
 This gave the Club a great refinement and se- 
 lectness; but as there was so little stirring in 
 the town, to furnish food for conversation, it 
 was necessary that, by previous arrangements, a 
 certain stock of amusement should be provided 
 in the music. 
 
 In point of patronage, these Clubs were much 
 upon a par: the talents of the two were of an op- 
 posite kind, private and professional : for wit, 
 the " Beef-steak," concentrating the rays ci£ the 
 metropolis and the, age was above comparison ; 
 whilst for music, the " Catch Club " would have 
 borne comparison with any similar institution 
 in the world. 
 
 One of my letters of introduction was from 
 Colonel Ware of Plymouth to Macklin, and I 
 took an early opportunity of delivering it. 
 
118 VISIT TO MACKLIN : 
 
 When I knocked at his door, I was shown into 
 his study, and found him seated at a table, sur- 
 rounded by a variety of unfinished dramas, that 
 had been designed and commenced in the matu- 
 rity of his powers, to be completed in their decay. 
 Every body knows that, in the year 1787, Mr. 
 Macklin was a gentleman considered to be about 
 ninety-five years of age, who was more generally 
 talked and written about than any other mem- 
 ber of his profession; that he was styled the 
 Nestor, the Methusalem, and the Thomas Parr 
 of the Stage, — the father and the wonder of the 
 dramatic world : the '' wonder," with the critics, 
 was, justly, the strength and freshness of his men- 
 tal faculties ; but his uncertain and exaggerated 
 age was sufficient with the gallery amateurs ; — 
 that his sun should have stood still when a hundred 
 others had set; that people''s grandfathers re- 
 membered him a middle-aged man ; that no book 
 could tell his beginning, and no man prophesy 
 his end, — for he had as little appearance of dying 
 now, as when the generation around him was at 
 nurse. I believe many old women suspected 
 that, from his connection with the Stage, he was 
 
HIS PERSON AND MANNERS. 119 
 
 in possession of the elixir vitae (that being an 
 unlawful secret) ; and he told me, that in the 
 country a man once asked him "if he had not 
 come over with King Charles at the Restoration!'* 
 Every body, also, I presume, must have had 
 some information respecting Macklin's person 
 and manners ; that he was a broad-breasted, 
 bald-headed, shaggy-browed, hooked-nosed in- 
 dividual, as rough and husky as a cocoa-nut, 
 with a barking or grunting delivery more pecu- 
 liar than pleasing, which to musical ears made 
 him something like a ' bore.' Any parti- 
 cular description would be therefore uninterest- 
 ing ; but I may be permitted a few remarks as 
 introductions to the anecdotes I shall tell of him. 
 
 If good manners are to be gleaned from a col- 
 lision with society, Macklin's were bad, because 
 throughout life he had been chiefly his own 
 company. His manners grew out of his mind, 
 which, being powerful and profound, cared not 
 for oil or ornament, so long as it could express 
 itself with vigour and conciseness. 
 
 Macklin's early education had been scant, and 
 his mind had taken a long while to grow. At 
 
120 VISIT TO MACKLIN : 
 
 forty, he told me, he began to understand the 
 English grammar, and at sixty he was versed in 
 that of the Latin, Greek, French, and Italian 
 languages. Macklin had not read much ; but he 
 had digested what he had read, and reflected 
 upon what he had observed. From sixty to 
 ninety-five, he had been laying up his know- 
 ledge, which, as the fruit «f experience, would 
 have been of the best kind had not prejudice 
 spoiled it, as heat mostly does grain. However, 
 he had two of the qualities of an instructive 
 companion, — his information was extensive, and 
 his ideas were specific and practical ; but he was 
 taken very seldom with the fit of being enter- 
 taining. No man could be more arbitrary in 
 argument, or half so egotistical in familiar re- 
 collections. The chain of his conversation inva- 
 riably wound round that centre-pin — himself; 
 his own fame, his own merits, his own admirers, 
 were the themes, which if you could listen to 
 and be amused with, you might command his 
 tongue for the day. But if, in the midst of a 
 favourite theory, you happened to demur or 
 start what appeared to be the symptom of a 
 
HIS FAVOURITE REPLY. 121 
 
 contradiction, he stopped short, looked in your 
 face, as much as to warn you from your opi- 
 nion ; then flung aside detail for debate, and 
 put himself in the attitude of one who wanted to 
 eat, and so defeat you. A little opposition, how- 
 ever modest or rational, chafed him ; and when 
 excited, he grinned, glared, and barked at you 
 like a wolf-dog. Being determined to triumph, 
 (particularly with young men,) if his arguments 
 failed to convince, and the terrible play of his 
 features to confuse you, he had a corps de 
 reserve in one reply, which to few men of the 
 past century could be misdirected — " Oh, you 
 think so, do you.?^ well then, all I can say is, that 
 when you have lived in the world as long as I 
 have, you '11 think differently.'''' 
 
 The terrific effect of his features, when under 
 excitation, has been recorded in his performance 
 of Shylock. The most amusing proof I have 
 heard upon the point, was as follows : — 
 
 When he had established his fame in that 
 character, George the Second went to see him ; 
 and the impression he received was so powerful, 
 that it deprived him of rest throughout the 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
122 ANECDOTE OF GEORGE THE SECOND. 
 
 night. In the morning, the premier (Sir Ro- 
 bert Walpole) waited on the King, to express his 
 fears that the Commons would oppose a certain 
 measure then in contemplation. " I wish, your 
 Majesty," said Sir Robert, " it was possible 
 to find a recipe for frightening a House of 
 Commons ?''' — "What do you think," replied the 
 King, " of sending them to the Theatre to see 
 that Irishman play Shylock !" 
 
 Macklin's vanity, and introduction of the 
 letter I, to the discomfiture of every other 
 in the alphabet, was the sharpest thorn to his 
 friends, and readiest weapon of his enemies. 
 When Foote commenced his dramatic satires 
 at the Hay market, Macklin was beginning to get 
 popular as a teacher of elocution, and the hu- 
 morist resolved to give a whole-length of him, 
 among others. 
 
 He represented Macklin in his arm-chair, 
 examining a pupil in the classics. " Well, Sir, 
 — did you ever hear of Aristophanes.^" — 
 " Yes, Sir,— a Greek dramatist, who wrote" 
 — " Ay, but I have got twenty comedies in 
 those drawers, worth his ' Clouds'* and stulf. — 
 
FOOTE AND MACKLIN. 123 
 
 Do you know any thing of Cicero?" — "A 
 celebrated orator of Rome, who, in the polished 
 and persuasive, is considered a master of his art." 
 — '" Yes, yes ; but I '11 be bound he couldn't 
 teach elocution!" — "Perhaps not, Sir."" — 
 " Perhaps, then, you have heard of one Roscius, 
 whom Cicero praised?" — " Certainly, Sir, — a 
 very celebrated actor." — "Stuff! he couldn't 
 have played Shy lock !" 
 
 This exhibition being laughed at, and talked 
 of greatly, it was very natural that, among 
 others, Macklin himself should go to see it. 
 To escape observation, he placed himself on 
 a back-seat in the boxes. The important scene 
 came on; and as Foote convulsed the house 
 with his successful mimicry, Macklin writhed 
 and muttered, not knowing whether to run out, 
 or upon the stage. Foote wound up this dis- 
 play with a kind of charge to his pupil. — " Now, 
 Sir, remember; I, Charles Macklin, tell you, 
 there are no good plays among the ancients, and 
 only one great one among the moderns, and 
 that 's the * Merchant of Venice;' and there 's 
 only one part in that, and only one man that 
 g2 
 
124 MACKLIN'S INTERVIEW 
 
 can play it ; — now. Sir, as you have been very 
 attentive, I '11 tell you an anecdote of that play : 
 when a Royal Personage, who shall be nameless, 
 (but who doesn't live a hundred miles from 
 Buckingham House,) witnessed my performance 
 of the Jew, he sent for me to his box, and re- 
 marked, * Sir, if I were not the Prince — ha — 
 hum — you understand — I should wish to be 
 Mr. Macklin !' Upon which I answered, * Royal 
 Sir, being Mr. Mackhn, I do not desire to be 
 the .'" 
 
 Macklin could no longer contain himself; but 
 starting up, he stretched his body forward, and 
 shouted, " No, I '11 be d— d if I did." In an in- 
 stant the audience turned and opened on him 
 like a pack of hounds : hunted from the boxes, 
 he speedily descended the stairs, and, in the 
 manner of Sir Anthony Absolute, took six steps 
 at a time. 
 
 The most whimsical anecdote of Macklin I 
 ever heard, was one in connection with Dr. 
 Johnson. The author and the actor were never 
 very intimate : being cast in much the same 
 mould of mind, they were noted for similar in- 
 
WITH DR. JOHNSON. 125 
 
 firmities : they were equally rugged and positive, 
 imperious, and cynical. When Mackhn grew into 
 notice as a man of letters, (a truth that Garrick, 
 not his greatest admirer, deposed to,) the Ursa 
 Major of literature paid the Ursa Major of 
 theatricals a visit, to ascertain the extent of 
 his pretensions. Macklin showed him his li- 
 brary, and seemed to have a sufficient knowledge 
 of every work it contained. They then sat 
 down to converse, and rambled over a variety 
 of subjects, upon all of which Macklin kept his 
 legs, to the Doctor's satisfaction. When grap^ 
 pling upon the level ground of an equally well 
 understood question, their strength seemed to 
 be equal. The Doctor, nevertheless, was desi- 
 rous of overthrowing him before they parted, 
 and touched on the score of his classic attain- 
 ments. Greek and Latin the actor knew as in- 
 timately as French and Italian, and defended 
 himself grammatically and colloquially, from 
 every thrust of the lexicographer. Johnson, 
 growing more determined from the failure of 
 his attempts, at length addressed him with a 
 string of sounds perfectly unintelligible. ** What's 
 
126 PLYMOUTH. 
 
 that, Sir ?" inquired Macklin. " Hebrew !" an- 
 swered Johnson. "And what do I know of He- 
 brew?" — "But a man of your understanding, 
 Mr.Mackhn, ought to be acquainted with every 
 language !" The Doctor's face glowed with a 
 smile of triumph. — " Och neil en deigen vonsht 
 horn boge vaureen .'" exclaimed Macklin. John- 
 son was now dumb-founded, and inquired the 
 name of the lingua.? "Irish, Sir !'' — " Irish !" ex- 
 claimed the Doctor. *' Do you think I ever stu- 
 died that.?"— -"But a man of your understand- 
 ing, Doctor Johnson, ought to be acquainted 
 with every language !" 
 
 During the winter, Jefferson, the veteran of 
 Drury Lane, came to London, and made his old 
 proposal to me of joining him for the summer 
 at Plymouth. From the good character I 
 heard of this depot, I conceived that I could 
 not make a more favourable selection, and agreed 
 to purchase one-third from Jefferson, who held 
 two, for four hundred pounds ; the other being 
 in the possession of a Mr. Wolf, who proved 
 to be one in sheep'^s clothing. 
 
 To Plymouth I accordingly proceeded at the 
 
COMMODORE MACBRIDE. 127 
 
 close of the season, where I was welcomed by 
 my friend Colonel Ware, and by him intro- 
 duced to Governor Campbell, and Mr. Wynn the 
 Mayor. It was my good fortune also to en- 
 counter two schoolmates. Lieutenants Ross and 
 Howe, whose respective ships were lying there 
 under the command of Admiral Innis and Com- 
 modore Macbride ; to these gentlemen, together 
 with Mr. Evan Nepean, secretary to Admiral 
 Milbank, they made me known, and enabled me 
 to secure for the Theatre their important pa- 
 tronage. 
 
 Our season opened, continued, and concluded 
 most successfully : blue uniforms thronged the 
 boxes, and there was a strong muster nightly, 
 in pit and gallery, of tarpaulin toppers, and 
 pigtails. 
 
 Commodore Macbride was our most service- 
 able friend ; he was nearly as fond of theatricals 
 as cock-fighting ; — this latter propensity, how- 
 ever, was the more notorious. He had a farm 
 near Plymouth, where he reared his game fowls ; 
 they were distinguished throughout the West 
 of England, being half pheasants, by which mix- 
 
128 sailors' attachment 
 
 ture he had found the chicken to possess a 
 stronger beak, and, though smaller in size, to be 
 improved in its activity. It was owing to this, 
 that his ship, the " Bienfaisant," was rather hu- 
 morously Englished by the sailors " The Bonny 
 Pheasant!" 
 
 Sailors in general, I believe, are very fond of 
 playhouses : this may be partly because they 
 find their ships workhouses, and partly because 
 the former are the readiest places of amusement 
 they can visit when ashore. I remember, on my 
 first trip to Plymouth, I was rather startled at 
 observing the effect which acting took on them, 
 as also their mode of conducting themselves 
 during a performance. It was a common occur- 
 rence, when no officers were present, for a 
 tar in the gallery, who observed a messmate 
 in the pit that he wished to address, to sling 
 himself over and descend by the pillars, treading 
 on every stray finger and bill in the way. When 
 his communication was over, and before an of- 
 ficer could seize him, up again he went, like a 
 cat, and was speedily anchored by the side of 
 " Bet, sweet Blossom." i 
 
TO THEATRES. 129 
 
 The pit they called the hold ; the gallery, up 
 aloft, or the maintop landing ; the boxes, the 
 cabin ; and the stage, the quarter-deck. Every 
 general and gentleman, they saluted as a skip- 
 per; every soldier was a jolly, or a lobster; 
 and the varieties of old and young men, who 
 were not " in command," were collectively de- 
 signated swabs. Jefferson, being the eldest, was 
 a Rear- Admiral, and I was a Commodore. 
 
 What they disliked the most in representa- 
 tion was a sea-fight ; some blunder or defi- 
 ciency was sure to lay bare the artifice, and 
 put them out of temper : either our ships can- 
 tered over the seas, or they could perceive the 
 submarine Gullivers who were working them : 
 on such occasions, they were much more noisy 
 than the vessels. On the contrary, what most 
 delighted them was a land-fight, particularly 
 if Richard or Macbeth took a good deal of 
 killing, — they were all alive at a dying scene: 
 but they required the villain, whoever he was, 
 to roll about a few minutes, like a jolly-boat in 
 a tempest, in order to evince the pangs of his 
 G 5 
 
130 COMMODORE MACBRIDE 
 
 conscience and his wounds, when a secundum 
 artem kick and shiver to conclude were the sure 
 precursors of their thunder. 
 
 They had, however, more gallantry than 
 patriotism, and preferred that the combat and 
 triumph should turn on the emancipation of 
 a female than a country. The ladies they 
 eulogized under the form of frigates, and their 
 stems and sterns. Stays, bend, bows, and 
 beam-ends — sky-scrapers (their feathers) and 
 spankers (their trains), were severally sub- 
 jected to a critical observance. What touched 
 their feelings the most was a love-scene: the 
 tears of a young couple took them " all aback ;" 
 injustice to the girl called down audible mur- 
 murs " to belay ;*" the desperate resolutions of 
 her lover, to requite her, were invariably 
 cheered, and the triumphant hug, when the 
 happy pair came together at the end of the 
 piece, was the full perfection of their dramatic 
 enjoyments. 
 
 A circumstance occurred during this first 
 managerial trip to Plymouth, which was rather 
 amusing. Intelligence having reached Govern- 
 
AND HIS CREW. 131 
 
 ment that some Dutch privateers were cruizing 
 in the Channel, to the jeopardy of our coasting 
 vessels, Commodore Macbride received orders to 
 get his ship ready for sea with the utmost ex- 
 pedition. The Bienfaisant was at this time in 
 dock, and he set the whole crew to work on 
 her, promising them on the Monday, that if 
 they swam her by the Thursday following, 
 he would "treat them all to the play.'* The 
 tars " turned-to "" in the necessary manner 
 night and day, and by the specified time the 
 Bienfaisant floated fit for the ocean. That 
 very evening, however, a breeze springing 
 up, the Admiral was obliged to disappoint his 
 men of their reward, and put to sea. The day 
 after, he encountered the enemy, sunk one, and 
 on the Saturday morning brought the other 
 into harbour. 
 
 When the Commodore's heart was filled with 
 the triumph of the action, and the town's- 
 people were thronging on board to oiFer him 
 their congratulations, he perceived the boat- 
 swain and the crew collected in the forecastle 
 discussing some subject with unusual earnest- 
 
132 A sailor's complacency 
 
 ness. The boatswain approaching him soon 
 after, he inquired what the men wanted — " Not 
 their prize-money already?*" — "No, your Ho- 
 nour,'' answered Jack ; " they want to go to the 
 play, as your Honour promised last Thursday." 
 The Commodore smiled, and despatched a 
 note to me, expressive of his wishes. Bills 
 were immediately struck off, and dispersed 
 through the town ; and under the eclat of the 
 late triumph, our temple of Thespis was over- 
 flowed at the opening of the doors. 
 
 Two of the most genuine characteristics of 
 a Jack, I consider to be his complacency and 
 benevolence. This summer, at Plymouth, I 
 witnessed a curious display of both. A crowd 
 of people were surrounding, and endeavouring 
 to secure, a bull which had escaped from its 
 owner. The beast, exhausted with a chase 
 about the streets in one of the hottest days of 
 July, stood still and panted; but, by his low 
 growl and significant position of the horn, be- 
 tokened he was not unprepared for his pursuers. 
 After many ineffectual attempts to seize him by 
 ropes, &c. an honest Jack came forward, and 
 
AND BENEVOLENCE. 133 
 
 began to swear at them lustily, for their manner 
 of treating the national beast of Old England. 
 " Avast, you lubbers ! — a turn,"" said he, " and 
 see how I'll take him in tow ! — Here, Billy, 
 Billy, Billy ! — There, don't you see how he 
 nods at me? Only treat him civilly, and like 
 a gentleman, he^ll come-to directly.'' As he 
 said this. Jack, sure enough, approached the 
 brute, and, patting his forehead, threw one arm 
 over his neck, leant carelessly against him, 
 and, laughing at their fears, abused the mob 
 for their violence. 
 
 " See here !" said he ; " here have T laid my- 
 self quietly alongside, and Billy 's as gentle as a 
 young Marmselle. An't you a pretty set of 
 swabs, to treat a dumb hanymal in this way ? 
 — Where 's a noose ? Splinter me, if I was his 
 howner, I 'd sarve you out. — Poor Billy!" 
 
 He had scarcely spoken these words, (making 
 a sign that they should throw him a rope,) 
 before the bull, slipping his horns from under 
 Jack's arm, thrust them between his legs, and 
 in an instant elevated him five feet above his 
 back. Jack lighted upon the hard pavement, 
 
134 MR. PRIGMORE. 
 
 amidst the roars of the multitude. Rising up, 
 and rubbing the saluted part, he glanced his 
 eye at the bull, and exclaimed, with a mixture 
 of indignation and regret — "Sheer off, you 
 bl — y swab ! you bears malice !" 
 
 Our company this season was more select 
 than numerous ; Jefferson in the old men, se- 
 rious and comic, was a host. Wolf, my other 
 partner, was a respectable actor ; and Mrs. 
 Bernard and myself were established favourites 
 from the metropolis. Among the corps was a 
 Mr. Prigmore, a gentleman of some vanity and 
 little merit, whose opinion of himself was in an 
 inverse proportion to that of the pubhc. One 
 of the peculiarities of this person was to sup- 
 pose (though he was neither handsome nor in- 
 sinuating) that every woman whom he saw, 
 through a mysterious fatality, fell in love with 
 him. 
 
 There was a very benevolent widow living in 
 Plymouth, in respectable circumstances, who 
 frequently came to the Theatre, and was kind 
 enough to inquire into the private situations 
 of various members of the company. Among 
 
THE BENEVOLENT WIDOW. 135 
 
 Others she asked about Prigmore, and was told 
 that he had but a small salary and made a 
 very poor appearance. Hearing this, she re- 
 membered that she had a pair of her late hus- 
 band's indispensables in the house, which she re- 
 solved to offer him. A servant was accordingly 
 dispatched to the object of her charity, who 
 meeting one of the actors, and partly disclosing 
 her business, he went in search of Prigmore, and 
 finding him exclaimed, " Prigmore, my boy, 
 here 's your fortune made at last ; here 's a rich 
 widow in the town has fallen in love with you, 
 and wants to see you." 
 
 Prigmore not suspecting his roguery, was led 
 to the servant, in a state of bewildered rapture, 
 and by the latter was informed that the 
 widow would be glad to see him any morning 
 it was convenient. He appointed the following, 
 and went home to his lodgings to indulge in a 
 day-dream of golden independence. His friend, 
 in the mean time, whispered the truth through 
 the Green-room, where there were two or three 
 others wicked enough to join in the conspiracy, 
 by walking to Prigmore's house to tender their 
 
136 MR. PRIGMORE 
 
 congratulations. Prigmore, as will be supposed, 
 passed a sleepless night, and spent an extra 
 hour at his toilette the next morning, in adorn- 
 ing hiniself with a clean chin and neckcloth. ^ 
 
 He then sallied forth, and, on reaching the 
 widow's, was shown into her parlour, where, 
 casting his eyes around on the substantial suf- 
 ficiency of its furniture, he began to felicitate 
 himself on the aspect of his future home. 
 
 The lady at length appeared : she was upon 
 the verge of forty ; a very fashionable age at 
 that time, which resting on the shoulders of a 
 very comely-looking woman, seemed to be in 
 character with her very comfortable dwelling. 
 Prigmore's satisfaction and her benevolence 
 operated equally in producing some confusion : 
 at length a conversation commenced. She ac- 
 quainted him that she had heard his situation 
 was not as agreeable as he could wish, — that his 
 income was a confined one ; she was therefore 
 desirous to do him all the service that lay in her 
 power. Prigmore, considering this an express 
 declaration of her affection, was about to throw 
 himself at her feet, when she suddenly sum- 
 
AND HIS BREECHES. 187 
 
 moned her servant and exclaimed, " Rachel, 
 bring the breeches !" 
 
 These words astounded him, and he stared 
 in her face like a block of marble ; the widow, 
 as suspicionless as himself of the hoax, could 
 not interpret his wonder ; but on receiving the 
 habiliment, folded them carefully up, and re- 
 marking that they were as good as new, (her 
 husband having caught his fatal cold in them 
 the first time he put them on,) begged Prigmore's 
 acceptance of the same. 
 
 "And was it for this you wanted me, Madam?^ 
 exclaimed Prigmore, rising from his chair ; his 
 tone and countenance bespeaking a mixture 
 of surprise and disappointment. — " Yes, Sir." 
 He put on his hat, and walked to the door 
 in silent indignation. The good woman, as 
 much astonished as himself, followed him, and 
 said, " Won't you take the breeches. Sir ?'''' — 
 " No, Madam," he replied, pausing at the door 
 to make some bitter remark — " Wear them 
 yourself !"" 
 
 For the remainder of the season, his life was 
 far from being enviable. 
 
138 bucks' lodge 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1788-9 — London. — Bucks* Lodge. — Assume the Secretary- 
 ship of the Beef-steak Club. — Scale of the Members' Quali- 
 ties — Anecdotes of Sheridan and Fox, Bannister, Miles, 
 Peter Andrews, Delia Cruscan Merry, Bate Dudley, Bear- 
 croft, Woodfall, Major Arabin, and Barry the Hatter. — 
 Lord Gal way's Waggery. — " Peg Timber-toe." — The three 
 "Stage Gentlemen," Smith, Lewis, and Garrick. — Ex- 
 change no robbery Story of a Watch. — Accession of 
 
 Characters. — Edwin's Indisposition : its meaning. — Dinner 
 of the " Marine Society." — The Boys' hit at the « Spa- 
 nish Ambassador." — Admiral Afflick's atrocity. — The 
 " Anacreontic Society." — Stevens, Morris, and Hewar- 
 dine. — Hewardine's *' Literary Kidnapping," and detec- 
 tion of Bate Dudley. — How to remember a Story. — 
 Plymouth. — Mr. B. R. Haydon's first attraction of the 
 public notice. 
 
 1788-9 was my second winter in London, the 
 
 ! first event of which worthy to be recorded in 
 
 these pages was my becoming a member of the 
 
 " Bucks' Lodge," Cateaton Street, — a society 
 
 / that, for the harmony and hilarity of its meet- 
 
SECRETARY TO BEEF-STEAK CLUB. 139 
 
 ings, had few superiors in the metropolis. The 
 anniversary ball and supper was given on a 
 scale of great elegance. 
 
 The next and more important circumstance, 
 was my becoming Secretary to the " Beef-steak \ 
 Club." / 
 
 His Royal Highness the Prince had, this win- 
 ter, instituted a convivial meeting under his , 
 own roof, to the secretaryship of which he ap- i 
 pointed Captain Morris. The latter gentleman, 
 being unable to fulfil the duties of two offices, 
 necessarily seceded from the Beef-steak, and for j 
 the honours of the latter there were not a few 
 competitors. But the great proportion of our 
 visitors had either visited or belonged to the 
 Catch Club, (Captains Baker and Stanley in 
 particular,) and these gentlemen, whenever al- 
 luding to that society, were so much in the 
 habit of referring its prosperity to my exertions, 
 that the Committee were induced to tender me 
 the vacant chair. I was highly proud to accept 
 it, with some foundation for my pride, in having 
 obtained it unasked for. 
 
 It is unnecessary to allude to the duties of 
 
140 SCALE OF members' QUALITIES. 
 
 this office, (which were very similar to those at 
 Bath, though not quite so extensive,) as my 
 reader can only be interested by the event, 
 (though an epoch in my career,) in the propor- 
 tion that it increased my intimacy with those I 
 controlled. The fruits of this intimacy I will 
 give in as few words as possible — first, by sub- 
 joining a sort of scale of the different quahties 
 of the most noted members, and then by relat- 
 ing as many little peculiarities and' original 
 anecdotes of each as I can recollect. 
 
 THE SCALE. 
 
 
 
 Sheridan 
 
 Good humour. 
 
 
 Wit. 
 
 3 
 
 Humour. 
 
 
 Selwyn 
 Andrews 
 
 2 
 2 
 
 2 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 Merry 
 
 Topham 
 
 Woodfall 
 
 3 
 2 
 3 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 Bate Dudley 
 
 Taylor 
 
 Hewardine 
 
 3 
 
 . 3 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 3 
 3 
 
 Saville Carey 
 G. A. Stevens 
 
 3 
 2 
 
 
 3 
 2 
 
 Major Arabin 
 
 3 
 
 
 3 
 
 Bearcroft 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 C. Bannister 
 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
MEMBERS. 141 
 
 I could extend this list; and in refraining 
 from so doing, must neglect many names of 
 merit and celebrity ; but it is sufficient to show 
 in what proportions the elements of our club- 
 harmony consisted. 
 
 Of the above, the most constant in attendance 
 were — Merry, Andrews, Topham, Woodfall, 
 Dudley, Arabin, Bannister, with Lords Gal way 
 and Cavan. 
 
 Stevens and Carey came whenever they were 
 in town. Taylor and Hewardine, belonging to 
 other clubs, could not give us an undivided 
 attention; but we had Cumberland, Colman, 
 Pilon, Peter Seguin, and a dozen other visitors, 
 to supply their places. 
 
 Sheridan and Selwyn, our most brilliant stars, 
 were the most eccentric and uncertain. The 
 latter, however, was getting aged and taciturn. 
 
 Sheridan sometimes brought Fox with him : 
 they were then another Damon and Pythias. 
 Of the comparisons that were instituted between 
 these gentlemen in public, I pretend to no opi- 
 nion ; but in society no two men could present 
 a greater contrast. The " Champion of the 
 
142 ANECDOTES. 
 
 People" appeared to be the stupidest person 
 at the table, till he had imbibed his bottle ; and 
 be then woke up, to put the whole room to 
 silence with his laughter ; whilst Sheridan kept 
 firing and blazing away for the evening, like an 
 inexhaustible battery. 
 
 Fox had all the taste for this society, but not 
 the talents : no man could be more aiFable, or 
 more completely satisfied with his company. If 
 he did not throw fuel on the flame, he enjoyed 
 all its light and heat : if he spoke not till he was 
 spoken to, he evidently felt and understood 
 every good thing that was said, by the nature 
 of his applause, which was a lengthened roar, in 
 no bad imitation of thunder. From this latter 
 peculiarity, combined with the truly John Bull 
 characteristics of his face and figure, I should 
 certainly have taken him for an alderman of the 
 old school, had we not been introduced. 
 
 Sheridan, I observed, never exerted himself 
 so palpably as when Fox was present; there 
 was a perceptible effort on these occasions, 
 which implied he had a higher object in view 
 
SHERIDAN AND FOX. 143 
 
 than that which the Society usually afforded. 
 It struck me, however, that his spontaneous 
 sallies were equally successful. 
 
 Sheridan was not, in the truest sense of the 
 word, a convivialist ; he had no bonhominie, 
 or what an Englishman understands by the word, 
 — ^good humour ; he was a satirist, and fonder of 
 detecting the follies of his companions than 
 admiring their talents or virtues: in lieu of good 
 humour, he had great vanity. He went into 
 society, not to sympathize with even clever men, 
 but to find an audience. He required to be the 
 centre of the circle ; he seldom laughed, but in 
 the manner of Sir Archy M'Sarcasm ; and he 
 could only talk, under the excitement of the ge- 
 neral attention; so that he secured this attention. 
 I don't think he was particular as to the grade 
 of his companions (provided they were not 
 fools) ; but his comparative coldness and indif- 
 ference to the general sources of merriment, his , 
 evident absorption in himself, led me to think 
 that he did not come among us in the way of 
 other men, but rather to play a part, in which 
 
144 ANECDOTES. 
 
 he concerted his startling brilliances, and de- 
 rived his gratification solely from the effect they 
 produced. 
 
 His wit, with all the effervescence and pop 
 of champagne, had undoubtedly too often the 
 sour sharpness of cyder. I have heard it 
 ratjier happily compared to a steel, which is po- 
 lished and pointed, — and to an icicle, which is 
 pointed also, but cold and glittering. I think 
 that, personally, he bore the most resemblance 
 to a torpedo, which can electrify without being 
 electrified. 
 
 After Sheridan, Fox used to be most pleased 
 with Charles Bannister, whose quiet and sus- 
 tained humour contrasted strongly with the 
 sudden flashings of the manager's wit. It 
 was the diff*erence of daylight and lightning. 
 One evening, I remember. Fox was seated be- 
 tween Sheridan and Bannister, and did nothing 
 but fill their glasses and listen to their conver- 
 sation ; whilst they, making his head a kind of 
 shuttlecock, hit it on each side with such admi- 
 rable repartees, that he roared aloud like a 
 bull. 
 
ANDREWS. 145 
 
 Andrews was a witty man, but his sayings 
 were like fireworks ; — they startled you one 
 instant, to leave you in utter darkness the 
 next. You always admired what he said, and 
 yet you never could remember it. This might 
 have been owing to his mode of delivery. 
 
 We had four authors in the Club, and three 
 editors ; Andrews was one of the former ; he 
 was the pro and epilogue writer of the day, 
 having achieved five or six plays which had 
 failed, and about a hundred of the former com- 
 positions that were successful. He was not, 
 however, satisfied with this fame or his other 
 experience, and contemplated daily fresh at- 
 tempts at the drama. Mentioning this matter 
 to Sheridan one day, with the hope of getting 
 advised to proceed, the former replied, " I 
 tell you what, Andrews, — you succeed very well \ 
 in the head and tail of a play, but you 'd break / 
 down in the main, depend on it." 
 
 In these " heads" and " tails," Andrews 
 contrived to satirize the follies of the day with 
 some effect, but laid himself open to the re- 
 taliation of the public by a peculiarity which 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
146 ANECDOTES. 
 
 distinguished Foote — a fondness for titled so- 
 ciety, and a propensity to laugh and lash at it 
 when he mixed in any other. He was noted 
 for his attentions to a certain nobleman, whose 
 deficiency of intellect and sufficiency of arro- 
 gance were equally unpleasing. " Why, An- 
 drews," said a friend to him, " every body says 
 you are Lord Lyttelton's shadow." — "1 don't 
 know how his Lordship can have a shadow," 
 he replied, " when every body says they can 
 see through him."" 
 
 One of the best things I can remember was 
 in connection with his employments. Some one 
 asked him " why he had never married;" point- 
 ing out various favourable opportunities in fa- 
 milies that he visited. " I can't say," he replied, 
 "but it's natural for a gunpowder maker to be 
 afraid of a match J' 
 
 Of all men in the Club, Merry had the greatest 
 proportion of that which, in my "Scale," I in- 
 tended by the term good-humour, — that cheer- 
 ful, placid, and benevolent mould of mind which 
 can bear all its own peculiarities being laughed 
 at, without wishing to laugh at another's in 
 
MERRY. 147 
 
 return. Never was a man's name a gi*eater 
 echo to his character than Merry''s. Mrs. 
 Inchbald's vocabulary might have been chal- 
 lenged for so felicitous an instance. Merry 
 seemed to live in a perpetual spring; all was 
 sunshine and freshness with him, and his heart 
 overflowed with its happiness, like a sparkling 
 fountain. 
 
 He was not so witty as Andrews, or so origi- 
 nal; but he was rather the pleasanter compa- 
 nion of the two, for he had more oil and less 
 vinegar. Their talents were very different. Mer- 
 ry couldn't write satire, (it was as little in his 
 head as his heart,) nor, being akin'to it, a co- 
 medy ; but he had attempted some dozen reams 
 of tragedies. His chef-d'xuvre he presented 
 to Mr. Harris, who returned it with this remark, 
 that ** it was a good cup of tea spoiled by too 
 much milk and sugar !" Nothing could have 
 more aptly characterized his writings, in which 
 the design was generally good ; but from tlie 
 universal amiability of the characters, and the 
 abundance of love scenes, a fatal insipidity was 
 engendered. Merry would never acknowledge 
 H 2 
 
148 ANECDOTES. 
 
 a villain for his acquaintance, even upon paper : 
 to balance this failure, he had succeeded very 
 greatly, as all the world knows, in the compo- 
 sition of a certain kind of poetry, called " The 
 Delia Cruscan." These effusions used to be 
 quizzed by the Club, who were more attach- 
 ed to the George Stevens, Tom Hewardine, 
 and Captain Morris school. Topham's paper, 
 *' The World,'' was his favourite medium to 
 the public; and something appearing in it 
 which contained allusions to our meeting, a 
 dozen of us bought the paper, and brought 
 it to the room : its successive production round 
 the table raised a laugh and flattered Merry 
 greatly. It was then proposed by Topham, 
 that the lines should be read aloud by Mr. 
 Suett. Dicky required first to look over 
 them, and boggled a good deal in investigating 
 the sentiments ; at length he exclaimed — 
 " Roses, posies, lilies, tulips ! why, you are 
 as floury^ Mr. Merry, as a miller." — " Then," 
 observed Bannister, " he must be a poet in 
 grain." 
 
 Cumberland made the wittiest remark on 
 
MERRY. 149 
 
 Merry's verses : he said, *' they put him in 
 mind of a bouquet of artificial flowers ; they had 
 all the bloom, without the scents y 
 
 One of the most amusing circumstances of 
 Merry's literary life was the following. — Though 
 he had little wit, he had some humour, and 
 made nearly as good puns as poetry. — Andrews 
 had written a comedy, in which he had sketched 
 all the genteel characters (as I was told) with 
 force and sprightliness, but found that they 
 wanted a stronger relief in the low comedy de- 
 partment than he could give. He therefore 
 applied to Merry to *' spice" his footmen and 
 butlers with a few jokes. The latter readily 
 undertook and completed the task. 
 
 On its representation, the comedy was re- 
 ceived with an attention that augured its proba- 
 ble success, till one of the " spiced " characters 
 came on, whose first joke put the house out of 
 temper ; a repetition of his offence drew forth a 
 verbal notice, and a persistance in this conduct 
 generated a whirlwind of hisses that blew away 
 the unfortunate play to the infernal abodes ; in 
 other words, it was d d, through Merry's 
 
150 ANECDOTES. 
 
 assistance. After this, Andrews and he never 
 wrote in partnership. 
 
 Bate Dudley was a very quiet gentlemanly 
 man, who always laughed heartily, but spoke sel- 
 dom. He was built upon the scale of my friend 
 George Parker ; which is to say, he had a very 
 clerical appearance. He looked big, benevolent, 
 and thoughtful, and by a stranger might have 
 been easily mistaken for a parson incog. 
 
 Dudley, as well as Topham and Woodfall, 
 edited a paper. With the public abilities of 
 these gentlemen, of course I have nothing to 
 do; but Andrews, who was a friend of Top- 
 ham, used to sneer at the former's qualifications, 
 with the remark, " That if he dealt for twenty 
 years in black and white, he 'd never produce 
 any thing that was read.** 
 
 Dudley, hearing this, returned the compli- 
 ment, by saying, that " Andrews would never 
 make a noise in the world till he blew up his 
 own mills.'** 
 
 The cleverest thing I can remember of Dud- 
 ley was in connexion with his farce of '' The 
 Flitch of Bacon." 
 
BEARCROFT. — WOODFALL. 151 
 
 Lord Townshend, at the Club one night, wa^ 
 in want of a relish with his steak, and cried out, 
 " I M give a hundred pounds for a slice of 
 ham — ay, or lump of bacon."" — " Sir," replied 
 Dudley, " you might have had a " flitch" the 
 other day for half the money !" 
 
 Mr. Bearcroft, our recorder, was another 
 quiet member, who always spoke pointedly, 
 with occasional gleamings of wit. One of his 
 peculiarities was a small admiration for Sheri- 
 dan, who, he used to say, never got between 
 Burke and Fox in a debate, but they crushed 
 him to nothing, like a ship between icebergs. 
 Being asked his opinion upon one of Sheridan's 
 elegant appeals to the ministry, he said, " it put 
 him in mind of an indifferent pudding: there 
 was plenty of spice and sugar, and very few 
 reasons. ^^ 
 
 One of the intelligent men of the Club 
 was Woodfall, who, with little wit and less 
 humour, possessed the faculty of clothing the 
 most common-place subject with a degree of 
 interest. He gave you so much matter in so 
 few words, went so far below the surface of a 
 
152 ANECDOTES. 
 
 question, and expressed himself so clearly and 
 forcibly, yet with such infinite modesty, that I 
 often heard it remarked by visitors, he was a 
 more agreeable companion for the night than 
 many others, whose transcending brilliancies 
 were succeeded by intervals of darkness. He 
 was at this time at the height of his reputation 
 as a reporter, which enabled him one night to 
 say a pleasant thing. 
 
 A certain nobleman was dead, who had been 
 noted for the feminine delicacy of his hands. 
 The circumstance being mentioned at the Club, 
 the members, with their usual waggery, began 
 looking at their digital extremities ; and Merry 
 called for a show of hands, to decide the point 
 of who had the smallest, when Wood fall re- 
 marked, " It should be given in my favour. 
 Gentlemen ; I have more credit for my short- 
 hand, than any man in England." 
 
 Woodfall had a great originality in his ex- 
 pressions, and one evening shone upon us with 
 considerable wit. We were speaking of an ab- 
 sent member of the Club, who was also a mem- 
 ber of the House of Commons (one of the 
 
MAJOR ARABIN. 153 
 
 " horizon tals,""' as Sheridan once called the gen- 
 tlemen who stretch on the benches, in contra- 
 distinction to the " perpendiculars," those who 
 spoke). " Bob's a good fellow,''' said Andrews, 
 " and a good singer, but a d — d bad speaker." — 
 " He'*s a convenient speaker,'"" said Woodfall. — 
 " What do you mean by convenient .P" — '* Why, 
 when Pitt and Fox are on their legs, I am com- 
 pelled to lay my ear close, and fear to lose a 
 syllable ; but when Mr. M. rises, I can take out 
 a book, and understand two persons together." 
 
 There was some fun and much significance 
 in the following: — Sheridan came to the Club 
 in great spirits, after one of his parliamentary 
 flashes, which for a day or two used to dazzle 
 the town, till a greater light broke forth and 
 absorbed it. Seeing Woodfall, he approached 
 him, rubbing his hands, and said, " Well, 
 Woodfall, did not I do last night, eh .?"—" The 
 ' Diary' (WoodfalFs paper) says so," replied 
 the latter, with a smile. 
 
 Last, not least, amongst this " band of bro- 
 thers" was Major Arabin, the best amateur 
 comedian I ever saw, and the most extraor- 
 n5 
 
154 ANECDOTES. 
 
 dinary mimic, after Tate Wilkinson. Garrick 
 had seen him play in private some years pre- 
 vious, and was so impressed with his abiUties as 
 to offer him ten pounds a-week, if he would 
 embrace the profession ; but this he declined, 
 on account of his military expectations ; and 
 these he blasted by the indulgence of his talents. 
 
 Barry, the tall hatter, was a frequent visitor 
 to the Club. Having a cast in his eyes, he was 
 enabled to take off John Wilkes w ith great feli- 
 city. Major Arabin was equally successful in 
 assuming the peculiarities of the King; and 
 when Barry was present, they would give a 
 most ludicrous interview between the beloved 
 monarch and his '' political thorn," of which 
 
 some " d d good-natured friend" carrying 
 
 an account to a high quarter, the Major ex- 
 piated his joke in a temporary but fatal loss 
 of his patronage. 
 
 Among our noble members. Lords Cavan and 
 Say and Sele were of the quiet and intelligent 
 order. Lord Townshend, in his undying hilarity 
 and constitutional support of the dignities of 
 Bacchus, would have out-bottled the heroes of 
 
155 
 
 Londonderry, and Lord Galway exhibited no 
 contemptible pretensions to the character of a 
 wag. 
 
 During one of my Irish itinerancies, I stop- \ 
 ped at a village, where a marriage was celef 
 brating between a man and woman, who were- 
 individually possessed of one leg and one eye. 
 
 The oddity of this circumstance induced a 
 fit of poetical inspiration, and I composed seve- 
 ral verses on the occasion, which I entitled " Peg . 
 Timber-toe, or the Irish Epithalamium.*" This ( 
 was ever after one of my choice comic songs, [ 
 and I sang it on the evening of my first assum- 
 ing the secretary's chair at the Beef-steak. liord 
 Galway, among others, was so pleased with 
 this effusion, that, on going home, he told his 
 family that I had sung an old Irish air, of 
 great sweetness, which enraptured the room. 
 They naturally concluded it was from the 
 stock of Carolin the harper ; and their love of 
 country filled them with a desire to hear it. 
 The Beef-steak, like the Catch Club, was in 
 the habit of giving " Ladies'* nights,'*" and one 
 occurred in the ensuing week. On these occa- 
 
156 LORD GAL way's 
 
 sions it was customary for a certain number of 
 songs to be sung by desire ; and among those 
 particularized by the ladies was Mr. Bernard's 
 " old Irish air/' I could not comprehend them at 
 first ; and as soon as the members learnt it was 
 " Peg Timber-toe,''' a universal shout of laughter 
 was the consequence. Certainly, no song pos- 
 sessed fewer of the attributes they had been led 
 to give it, (pathos and tenderness particularly,) 
 and, for the first time in my life, I felt com- 
 pletely divested of self-command. The ladies 
 stared, the members roared, and it was only when 
 Lord Galway (who, to increase my dilemma, 
 was in the chair) rose up, to join his request 
 to the ladies, that I suspected the cruel hoax 
 he was imposing on the fair ones and myself. 
 
 On such occasions, I have always found hu- 
 man nature to have very little compassion, but 
 rather a propensity to enjoy another's wretched- 
 ness, even at the expense of decorum. The 
 members, who were not before acquainted with 
 his Lordship's waggery, now perceived it, and 
 raised a general murmur for the song, in the 
 full conviction I would never dare to sing it, 
 
WAGGERY. 157 
 
 fixing their eyes on me to feast on my embar- 
 rassment, whilst his Lordship remarked, " he 
 wondered where was my gallantry, to need 
 more than my first solicitation." In proportion 
 to my hesitation, the merriment increased ; 
 but during the last few minutes I had re- 
 covered myself sufficiently to consider the most 
 objectionable passages in the poetry, and to 
 project alterations. The instant I perceived 
 the song would be permissible, I rose, and, with 
 an acknowledgment of the honour they did me, 
 expressed my willingness to comply with their 
 wishes. 
 
 My reader must imagine, for I have no power 
 to describe, the transition which took place in 
 the faces of my companions ; they stared in 
 terrible amazement. It was now my turn to 
 triumph, and I relished the retaliation exceed- 
 ingly. " Why, you are not going to sing it ?" 
 whispered one. " You are joking — what do you 
 mean ?" said another ; and then at a distance, 
 the members hemmed and coughed, and made 
 signs, to all of which, however, I paid a stern 
 disregard, and commenced my long-desired 
 
158 THREE " STAGE GENTLEMEN :" 
 
 song ; the singing of which, whilst it drew forth 
 a smile from all parties, I succeeded in adapting 
 to offend none. 
 
 Lord Galway, after this, was one of my most 
 zealous friends ; at his house I occasionally met 
 William Smith, that most perfect adapter of 
 Lord Chesterfield to the English stage. Smith 
 was not a gentleman by nature (as I have seen 
 many) ; his ease and grace were the results of 
 the most industrious observation. He read the 
 best books, and mixed in the best society, and 
 thus imparted to his expressions their unri- 
 valled tinge of refinement. This, it will be said, 
 redounded more to his credit, but this study 
 generated one ill effect : in subduing himself to 
 the quiet tone of high life, (with his consider- 
 able animal spirits,) there was an occasional 
 effort perceptible, and a coldness and tameness 
 at variance with the character, which strongly 
 contrasted with the vivacity of Lewis. Lewis, on 
 the other hand, was not the gentleman of the 
 higher orders, — he was the Vapid and Parve of 
 the stage, but not the Lord Townley. Lewis had 
 all the edge and fashion of a Damascene blade, 
 
SMITH, LEWIS, AND GARRICK. 159 
 
 but Smith, the polish and temper: their re- 
 spective errors could have been resolved into 
 this ; — the one restrained his animal spirits too 
 much ; the other would not restrain them at all. 
 Stepping between both, and superior to either, 
 Garrick was the only man I ever saw who 
 moved, looked, and spoke like a gentleman 
 from impulse. Sheridan's opinion of Smith, 
 however, awarded him a higher station than 
 either of these competitors ; and he eulogized 
 Smith's acting with his usual conciseness, in 
 reply to a person who asked him what he 
 thought of his Mirabel — " Ad-mirable.'"' 
 ' During this winter, I went to Drury Lane, 
 to see Kemble and Mrs. Siddons in " The Game- 
 ster.*" Standing up in the boxes between the 
 acts, I observed a tall, well-dressed man in 
 the pit bow to me ; but at the distavice was 
 unable to recognise him. The next morning, a 
 rap came to my door, and a Mr. Davis, who 
 supplied my wife with stage-dresses, made his 
 appearance, as the above unknown, to request 
 the favour of my advice upon a strange occur- 
 rence of the past evening. 
 
160 STORY OF A WATCH. 
 
 In the squeeze to get into the pit, he lost 
 his watch ; and, on taking his seat, found him- 
 self next a friend to whom he related his 
 misfortune. His friend informed him that the 
 man who sat before him was a pickpocket ; and 
 he had better whisper the son of Mercury softly, 
 that he suspected him of the robbery, and 
 would give him into the hands of an officer. 
 Mr. Davis did so; and as the curtain was about 
 to rise, the gentleman addressed reached his 
 hand behind him with a watch, which Mr. Davis 
 very eagerly grasped, and slipped into his fob 
 without inspecting. 
 
 On quitting the Theatre, he drew forth his re- 
 covered property, to perceive if it had sustain- 
 ed any damage, and to his surprise discovered 
 that he had not got his own watch, but one of 
 about five times its value. This good fortune 
 disquieted his mind, and having observed me in 
 the Theatre, he thought he would make me a 
 repository of the facts. 
 
 I advised him to read all the day's papers, to 
 ascertain if the watch was not advertised ; and if 
 not, to publish the whole affair on the morrow. 
 
ACCESSION OF CHARACTERS. 161 
 
 as the owner would no doubt be glad to redeem 
 so valuable a property, at double the purchase 
 of the other. This, Mr. Davis did, but no ap- 
 plicant appearing, he kept the watch, and was 
 thus in pocket by his loss. 
 
 Owing to various circumstances this season, 
 my line of business was extended much more 
 than I had engaged for or wished. 
 
 Quick was beginning to play the old men, and 
 threw upon my shoulders his young ones ; and 
 Edwin, then at the height of his popularity, 
 not being forthcoming more than one evening 
 out of three (a singular mode of repaying pub- 
 lic favour), Rider, on such occasions, refused 
 to be his substitute (it was in his article, not 
 to be compelled to play when his name was 
 not announced), and I was the only one in 
 the house who could prevent the change of 
 entertainment. As Edwin was then the ruling 
 favourite of London, such a duty was far from 
 being desirable ; and with me particularly, who 
 had established ray reputation in the gentlemen, 
 and not the vulgarians, of the drama. 
 
 Lewis was always obliged to apologize for 
 
16^ EDWIN'S INDISPOSITION. 
 
 Edwin in person (an office which he grumbled 
 at as much as I did in playing for hinn), and 
 one evening, going forward with the usual for-^ 
 inula, that it was with the greatest regret he had 
 to inform the house Mr. Edwin was prevented 
 from appearing that evening, in consequence of 
 sudden indisposition. — " Gradual indisposition, 
 you mean, Mr. Lewis," said a person in the pit; 
 " for I saw him ten minutes ago, getting drunk 
 under the Piazzas." 
 
 Lewis received this rebuke for his official 
 
 tergiversation with becoming complacency ; and 
 
 observed, that the Piazzas should be instantly 
 
 searched ; but " that Mrs. Edwin had made 
 
 her husband ill, not himself." The Piazzas 
 
 were accordingly inspected, with every adjacent 
 
 house of celebrity; but no Edwin appearing, 
 
 f I was compelled to give up the society of half a 
 
 > dozen fellows from the " Beef-steak,'' put on a 
 
 ) red wig, and play " Darby" in " The Poor 
 
 "^ Soldier." 
 
 Admiral Afflick, whom I had known both at 
 Ipswich and Plymouth, renewed my acquaint- 
 ance in London, and took me with him to the 
 
DINNER OF THE '• MARINE SOCIETY." 163 
 
 anniversary dinner of the '* Marine Society," at 
 the " Crown and Anchor ;*" an institution which 
 had for its object the education of sailors' chil- 
 dren to the avocation of their sires — the forming 
 of incipient crews for the floating bulwarks of 
 Old England. At that stormy period, this idea 
 had an extra degree of popularity. 
 
 The company that assembled was both nu- 
 merous and respectable ; and on the cloth's re- 
 moval, after some particulars had been read, in 
 regard to the state and system of the society, 
 we were gratified with the appearance of the in- 
 fant seamen, who marched in in blue jackets and 
 white trowsers, two by two, and went round the 
 table, singing the national air of " Rule Britan- 
 nia."" The effect was beautiful, it was more — it 
 was elevating ; it made every man, cockney, or 
 actor, feel another Benbow or Blake sitting on 
 his deck, and surrounded by his unconquerable 
 companions ; — and as the plate was very pro- 
 perly sent round the instant after, I would 
 have defied the most Jacobinical rascal that ever 
 breathed to have refused his guinea. 
 
 As I did not recognise any faces in the com- 
 
164 THE " SPANISH AMBASSADOR.'' 
 
 pany, I was in hopes to have sat snug for the 
 evening, but some one presently espied me, and 
 requested a song. When my name was once an- 
 nounced, my acquaintance extended, and the 
 singing of the song became imperative. 
 
 Collins's ditty of " Good Queen Bess" was 
 then in great vogue; and being the first that 
 came to mind, I commenced it ; but on coming 
 to the Hne, 
 
 " And bring you down a Spaniard as easy as a crow, sir," 
 
 a loud hiss ran round the table, which I 
 could not account for ; till a gentleman next me 
 whispered, that the " Spanish Ambassador" sat 
 on the right-hand of the chair. I was a little 
 disconcerted by this unpleasant coincidence, and 
 as the hissing continued, broke off at the end of 
 the verse ; but some sensible person explaining 
 the circumstance properly, the noble individual 
 concerned rose up immediately, and said, " En- 
 corey This good-humoured interference allayed 
 the irritation of my hearers, and my embarrass- 
 ment. "Bernard,'' whispered the Admiral, "now 
 
" ANACREONTIC SOCIETY." 165 
 
 the geese are quiet, the swan can proceed." In 
 justice to his memory, I must add, that the Ad- 
 miral did not commit these things very often. 
 
 During this period, I went very frequently 
 to the "Anacreontic,"" the first musical meeting 
 of the metropolis ; where, with Bannister and 
 others, I was an honorary member. 
 
 Not having the instrumental performances of 
 the " Catch Club," the above was in this respect 
 its inferior ; but I must admit that its singing, 
 whether private or professional, placed it upon 
 
 a par. 
 
 Tom Hewardine was the principal song-writer 
 to the Club,— a man of Httle wit, but wonderful 
 humour. In that species of composition called 
 «' Anacreontics," which in those days were de- 
 voted more to the praise of Bacchus than Venus, 
 Stevens, Morris, and Hewardine were the three 
 cleverest writers : their styles and talents were 
 very different. Stevens wrote with wit, and 
 a truly classical grace ; Morris, with wit and 
 grace, but at times a confounded contamination 
 of indelicacy ; Hewardine, with neither wit nor 
 
166 " LITERARY KIDNAPPING.'* 
 
 grace, but a rich and potent humour that sup- 
 plied the place of both. 
 
 Hewardine was by no means an original 
 talker, — his talent lay rather in the delivery than 
 the invention of a thing ; and as it was a saving 
 of trouble, he preferred resuscitating jokes of 
 the previous century, points which had been 
 dead and buried with the past generation, to 
 producing, in the manner of Merry, his own 
 family. He had a most extensive acquaintance 
 with the offspring of that celebrated philosopher 
 and actor Joseph Miller, and possessed to an 
 eminent degree the faculty of stealing and giv- 
 ing them new dresses and habitations, and call- 
 ing them his own. His conscience, it appeared, 
 had no " compunctious visitings'"* for this species 
 of " literary kidnapping," but was tenderly alive 
 to any other man's sinning in the same way ; 
 whilst he was so well acquainted with the fa- 
 mily, from the number of faces he had disfi- 
 gured, that he was able to detect an attempt 
 on the instant. 
 
 Bate Dudley one evening had been telling 
 a story to the Club, which he purported to be 
 
INCLEDON'S DilBUT. 167 
 
 entirely new, and which caused a good deal of 
 laughter. Hewardine then observed, that the 
 anecdote related by Mr. Dudley put him in 
 mind of another nearly as facetious. He then 
 repeated some venerable affair, which, whatever 
 its point, bore no more resemblance to Dud- 
 ley's, than a white egg to a black hen. When 
 it was concluded, Dudley turned to Hewardine 
 with a stare of surprise, and observed, " That 
 was a very humorous circumstance; but I can't 
 see how my anecdote could remind you of it ?" 
 — " No ! " said Tom. " Why, I '11 tell you,— 
 your story is at the top of the leaf, page 17, 
 Miller's old edition, and mine follows at the 
 bottom !" 
 
 Among the dthuts of this season was that of 
 Charles Incledon, who had been singing several 
 summers at Vauxhall. Mr. Harris had precisely 
 the same indifference to his merits as Mr. 
 Palmer, and tried him with the same slight ex- 
 pectation of his success ; the world knows the 
 result — it was the greatest dramatic triumph 
 of my observation. Incledon soon became not a 
 greater attraction at the Theatre than acquisition 
 
168 PLYMOUTH. 
 
 to the Clubs, where the sentiments of his ballads 
 were always relished from the sweetness of their 
 sounds. 
 
 Covent Garden closed with its usual eclat^ 
 and I procured from the Green-room Quick and 
 Holman's assistance to ensure Plymouth for the 
 next summer ; a little " star"-light. Over this 
 period I pass, from the truly " stage business'' 
 character of its events : there was but one that 
 I can hope for a smile in relating. 
 
 One of my best and most active friends in 
 Plymouth was Benjamin Haydon the printer. 
 He was kind enough, during the winter, to be 
 my agent, communicating with me regularly 
 respecting the Theatre, and meeting Wolf and 
 Jefferson upon all local business. 
 
 His son, the present artist of celebrity, was 
 then a spirited, inteUigent, little fellow about 
 ten years of age, who used to listen to my songs 
 and laugh heartily at my jokes, whenever I 
 dined at his father's. One evening I was play- 
 ing Sharp in " The Lying Valet," when he and 
 my friend Benjamin were in the stage-box ; 
 and on my repeating the words, " I had had 
 
B. R. HAYDON. 169 
 
 nothing to eat since last Monday was a fort- 
 night!" little Hay don exclaimed, in a tone 
 audible to the whole house, " What a wopper! 
 Why, you dined at my father's house this 
 afternoon !" 
 
 It was on this occasion, I believe, Mr. B. R. 
 Hay don first attracted the notice of the public. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
170 THE " ERA OF CLUBS. 
 
 r 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1789-90 London The "Era of Clubs."--The Comedians' 
 
 Club. — Kelly, Dignum, and Sedgwick, the vocal trium- 
 virate. — Sheridan's comments on the two latter, and 
 reply to John Palmer. — Notes of a Club conversation, the 
 " Beef-steak." — Mr. Darley and his song. — Billy Upton, 
 Manager of Astley's Literary Department : his Songs, 
 and Jack Johnson. — Macklin's return to the Stage. — 
 Frank Aiken's age. — Billy Bates' reply. — Colman and Har- 
 ris. — Philip Lewis, the "Crying Philosopher;" his re- 
 mark to Webb; and interruption to Anthony Pasquin; 
 his impromptu on Garrick. — Rider and Rock. — A *' Knife" 
 with a point. — Plymouth. — The three " Ubiquitarians." — 
 Captain Bell and Sir John Jervisw^-Sir John's favourite 
 
 Boatswain The Sailor afloat ; an example of coolness ; 
 
 his devotion to the service. 
 
 THEconvivial spirit of England was certainly 
 never at a greater height than in the times of 
 which I am writing : they might have been 
 called the " Era of Clubs." Whatever may be 
 the talents of the present generation to support 
 
THE comedians' CLUB. 171 
 
 such institutions, it is evident that the dis- 
 position to set them on foot pervaded more 
 largely its predecessor. And this was entirely 
 disconnected with any political motives ; the 
 safety of the country was not at that period 
 threatened. It was the spirit of harmony and 
 fellowship which brought men together of all 
 kinds and classes to cement, once a week, the 
 pleasurable " chains of the heart.'** 
 
 The comedians being among the most soci- 
 able of his Majesty's subjects, (out of the the- 
 atre,) partook of the general sympathy, and in- 
 stituted, at the commencement of this winter, 
 1789-90, their Club, which they entitled " The 
 Strangers at Home;" an appellation that some 
 thought would have been more appropriate for 
 a meeting of travellers. 
 
 Charles Bannister, Edwin, Suett, Jack John- 
 son, Blanchard, Incledon, Kelly, Dignum, and 
 Sedgwick, (that perpetual triumvirate,) and my- 
 self, were among the founders. 
 
 O'Keeffe was our poet, and Dr. Kennedy our 
 physician, who, with all his skill and good- 
 nature, had he been compelled to have cured 
 I 2 
 
17^ KELLY, DIGNUM, AND SEDGWICK, 
 
 some of the members'' " indispositions," would 
 have had his time engrossed and his head 
 puzzled. 
 
 This Club was held at the Garrick's Head, 
 in Bow Street, and had always an overflow of 
 visitors; for, though it attempted no rivalry 
 with the " Beef-steak" and " Anacreontic," in 
 their characteristic distinctions, no meeting was 
 pervaded by a more genuine spirit of humour 
 and harmony. 
 
 In one respect, it was peculiar : it had two 
 distinct sets of glee-singers ; Incledon, Johnson, 
 and Bannister — Kelly, Dignum, and Sedgwick. 
 As they seldom grappled on the same ground, 
 it was difiicult to test their superiority ; but it 
 struck me that the first had the best voices, and 
 the latter the most science, ^rom continually 
 going into company together, the latter were 
 most noted. Kelly was at all times a very 
 gentlemanly fellow and a pleasant companion. 
 Sedgwick was quiet and inoffensive, but his 
 voice was his solitary attraction. Sheridan used 
 to say, with his usual good-nature, that " he was 
 like a Christmas spectacle, — he had more sound 
 
THE VOCAL TRIUMVIRATE. 173 
 
 than sense." Dignum was equally quiet and 
 amiable, but with rather more vanity than 
 Sedgwick. He was desirous of a credit for his 
 intellect, and that people should attribute his 
 frequent fits of vacuity to profound mental ab- 
 straction. He was thus in the habit, in the 
 Green-room, and at the table occasionally, of 
 placing his finger to his forehead, in the man- 
 ner of Lawrence Sterne, as represented in his 
 portrait, and pretending to be unconscious of 
 what was passing around him. Among the ac- 
 tors, this demure hoax succeeded, but not with 
 the gentleman who wrote '* The School for 
 Scandal." It was indeed one of Sheridan's 
 pastimes to analyze his company, and compare 
 them with the livings it was their business to 
 imitate. Some one observing Dignum in his 
 usual meditative posture, remarked it to the 
 manager: — "Look at Dignum ! he's thinking 
 again !"—'' No r* said Sheridan; "he thinks 
 he thinks !" 
 
 One of the most inexplicable beings of Drury 
 Lane Green-room was John Palmer ; his gene- 
 ral fluency upon conversational topics, and the 
 
174 SHERIDAN AND JOHN PALMER. 
 
 modest insinuation of his opinions, led many to 
 place his mental attainments upon a par with 
 Kemble's, " a man who never talked but on the 
 stage ;" whilst his powers of persuasion, in de- 
 feating that tiger of human life — a creditor, 
 have descended to the present day as prover- 
 bial. Sheridan however solved him, with every 
 other dramatic problem of the day. 
 
 On Palmer's return to Drury Lane, after the 
 failure of his speculation at the Royalty The- 
 atre, the first evening he entered the Green- 
 room, he perceived the manager near the fire, 
 and approached him with his usual look and* 
 air, and the most fervent declarations of regret 
 that any differences should have arisen between 
 them. " Come, come, Johiy| said Sheridan^ 
 cutting him short, " I wrote Joseph Surface, 
 rjemember !" 
 '\ In approbation of my services, during the 
 first season of my secretaryship to the " Beef- 
 steak," the Club was pleased to have my por- 
 trait painted by Marshall, (that which faces 
 \ this work,) and hung up in the room. My 
 Royal patron, the Prince, on observing it, re- 
 
CLUB CONVERSATION. 175 
 
 marked, that he had seen many better paint- 
 ings, but never a greater hkeness. 
 
 We commenced and continued our meetings 
 as usual. This is saying every thing. It is 
 one of my greatest regrets, that, considering the 
 many evenings I passed at the Beef-steak, in 
 the converged brilliancy of all the lights then 
 shining, neither memory nor journals can enable 
 me to transfer to these pages the sources of my 
 gratification, — that that is a dream to me now, 
 which was then one of the springs of my exist- 
 ence. I was too much engrossed with enjoy- 
 ment at the time, to wish, or even conjecture, 
 the possibility of imparting my sensations to 
 others who were to follow me ; nor did I ever 
 but upon one oc^sion attempt to take notes of 
 what was passing, though, in my office as Secre- 
 tary, such a design was at all times permissible. 
 
 Those notes however, loose and unconnected 
 as they are, may prove acceptable to my reader ; 
 since, though affording no specimen of the ge- 
 neral cleverness of the conversation, they illus- 
 trate in some measure the different styles of 
 the members. 
 
176 CLUB CONVERSATION. 
 
 Topham. " Fox was very powerful last 
 night." 
 
 Woodfall. " His arguments were unusually 
 clear, and well connected.*" 
 
 Sheridan. " Yes ; his tongue 's like a time- 
 glass ; the longer it runs, the clearer it gets." 
 
 Andrews. " Then, he 's not like a cask of 
 Madeira." 
 
 Sheridan. " No, or he 'd have died long ago 
 by tapping." 
 
 Merry. "And yet he's been tapped pretty 
 often." 
 
 Suett. " Talking of tapping. Gentlemen, — I 
 had an aunt (Heaven rest her bones !) afflicted 
 with the dropsy, who was tapped seventy-five 
 times in one week." 
 
 A general laugh. 
 
 Capt, M. (An M.P.) " Suett, was your 
 father an actor ? '*' 
 
 Suett. '* No ; he was a tailor." 
 
 Merry. " Then he did more for his cus- 
 tomers than the Captain will for the Constitu- 
 tion — he mended their breaches." 
 
CLUB CONVERSATION. 177 
 
 Suett. " To one thing, Gentlemen, may I 
 crave your attention ? I know who was my 
 father." 
 
 Sheridan. " A wise child !" 
 Andrews. " And a true believer." 
 Bearcroft. " We must take his word ; for 
 we can't produce evidence to the contrary." • 
 
 * * * 
 
 Andrews. " Kemble played Hamlet with 
 great effect on Monday." 
 
 Topham. " Once or twice, I thought he 
 forgot himself." 
 
 Sheridan. "• You mistake; he forgot his 
 audience." 
 
 Andrews. " He never forgets yow, Sheridan." 
 
 Sheridan. " Not on a Saturday." 
 
 * * » 
 
 Somebody. " Can't we have a glee ? Here 's 
 Dignum and Sedgwick, but not Kelly." 
 
 Captain Baker, " I like Kelly ; he "'s a so- 
 ciable, manly fellow." 
 
 Andrews. "I question his manhood; he's 
 inclined to Crouch." 
 
 * * ♦ 
 i6 
 
178 CLUB CONVERSATION. 
 
 Somebody. " What could have induced 
 
 to blow his brains out ?" 
 
 Sheridan. " A desire to convict the world, 
 who said he never had any." 
 
 * * ik 
 
 Topham. " Merry, you heard of B 's 
 
 elopement with C , and that her father 
 
 overtook them ?" 
 
 Merry. " Yes; Tom ran after a plum, and 
 the father after a pair." 
 
 WoodfalL " These Gretna Green marriages 
 are decidedly imprudent." 
 
 Merry. " They are on the border." 
 
 In my visits to the " Anacreontic," I became 
 acquainted with a Mr. Darley, a gentleman in 
 the City, possessed of a very strong and melo- 
 dious voice. All the non-professionals were in 
 the habit of getting songs written for them, or 
 writing them themselves, to ensure a peculiar 
 ground to each. Mr. Darley was_ a good singer 
 and a clever calculator, but no poet. Believing 
 that I was one, he asked me to put him on a 
 level with his companions. " The Neglected 
 
MR. DARLEY AND HIS SONG. 179 
 
 Tar" had been thrown aside some time, and 
 I wrote." The Neglected Female," to the same 
 tune. He was much pleased with it, and so 
 was the Club; it was adapted to their meridian, 
 being spiced with appeals to the honour and ge- 
 nerosity of the one sex, with panegyrics on the 
 virtue and loveliness of the other. Moreover, 
 it had a chorus ; and, in Mr. Darley's opinion, > 
 that was as necessary an appendage to a song in 
 a club-room as a tail to a kite. 
 
 The first night he sung it, I went with him, 
 and the first verse he got through with some 
 effect ; but, on coming to the chorus, which ran 
 thus — 
 
 '< Then guard and guide the British fair ; 
 *Tis your exalted duty : 
 May vengeance ne'er the villain spare, 
 Who scorns the chains of Beauty !" — 
 
 he, with stentorian lungs, converted the two 
 V's into W's, and a most roof-rending shout 
 was the consequence. On sitting down, he 
 said to me with a very grave face, " My 
 friend John, do you know what they laughed 
 at ?'''' A fear of offending him made me refrain 
 
180 BILLY UPTON AND 
 
 an answer ; but he was not to be satisfied with- 
 out one. I then replied, " Why, do you know, 
 in the chorus, you said, willin and wengence." — 
 *' And what do you say ?" — " Villain and ven- 
 geance." — "Well, and I say willin and wen- 
 gence too." 
 
 My general acquaintance with the Clubs of 
 the metropolis, and tolerable reputation as a 
 club-singer, led at length to an important 
 consequence — nothing less than an intimacy 
 with Billy Upton, of rhyme-writing memory, 
 whose long attachment to the Muses had at 
 length procured him the honour of wearing 
 their livery — " a coat out at elbows." 
 
 Upton derived his resources chiefly from old 
 Astley, to whom he was poet and interlude 
 writer : indeed, he managed the entire literary 
 department ; for he concocted the puff's, and in- 
 vented the playbills. These latter sciences, I 
 believe it has been generally admitted, were 
 never so thoroughly investigated and establish- 
 ed as by the genius of Upton. Whatever is 
 valuable or beautiful in the present systems, it 
 must be attributed to him, — and this is no small 
 
HIS SONGS. 181 
 
 praise, considering the high powers of judg- 
 ment and fancy they call into play. 
 
 Upton's prose was undoubtedly pure poetry ; 
 unluckily, the very converse of this subsisted also : 
 his poetry was pure prose. His songs were cer- 
 tain sentimental inventions, composed of lines 
 that, like Paddy ""s family, had the same number 
 of feet, and carried rhymes at their tails, which 
 jingled as merrily as the bells of a fly- waggon. 
 
 Astley's employments not affording Upton 
 subsistence throughout the year, he was com- 
 pelled to increase his resources by song-writing. 
 His practice was to make and fit some literar}^ 
 texture to the back of some popular tune, then 
 obtain the aid of some popular singer, to intro- 
 duce to the public their old acquaintance in its 
 new habiliment, and then prevail on the pub- 
 lisher to give him a couple of guineas for his 
 product. These songs were generally of three 
 kinds — patriotic, bacchanalian, and amatory. 
 The " patriotic" usually indulged in the mistake 
 of supposing every hearer to be another Hamp- 
 den, and England to be the " gem of the sea." 
 The " bacchanalian" turned mostly upon the 
 
182 JACK JOHNSON. 
 
 point of that grey-headed gentleman, Care, being 
 drowned in a red goblet ; and the " amatory'' 
 displayed considerable botanical research upon 
 the subject of flowers. Nevertheless, Upton was 
 so inoffensive, industrious, needy, and civil, that 
 every singer was his friend, and not even Jack 
 Johnson had the heart to refuse him. 
 
 There was a musical meeting about to be 
 established in the City, of which Upton wished 
 to become Poet Laureate; and hearing that 
 Johnson was a member, he importuned the lat- 
 ter to sing one of his songs on the opening 
 night, by way of recommendation to his claim. 
 Johnson consented, and Upton sent him what 
 he termed a " Pastoral Cantata," which he de- 
 sired Johnson to put a tune to, as it was en- 
 tirely original. This pastoral, however, hap- 
 pened to be so emblematic of the mountainous 
 part of Arcadia, so up hill and down dale in its 
 construction, so craggy and uneven, (written, 
 no doubt, with a view of electrifying Jack,) 
 that the music must have had the skill of a 
 Welsh goat to have gone over it. Johnson 
 perused the composition several times ; but at 
 
macklin's return to the stage. 183 
 
 length, completely bothered by its irregulari- 
 ties, returned it, saying, "Billy, my darling, 
 you have twisted these words out of shape 
 finely; but if 3'ou can''t twist a tune into shape 
 with them,. I'd defy Matthew Locke, or John 
 Locke, to do it for you I"*' 
 
 It was this season, I believe, that the veteran 
 Macklin attempted his last return to the Stage, 
 with the weight of a century on his shoulders. 
 The result is well known. Whilst his heart glowed 
 with all its early fires, his memory failed him, 
 and he found that even the language of Shak- 
 speare was not sacred to that great robber 
 —Time. 
 
 Walking about the stage during rehearsal, he 
 kept flapping rather ostentatiously his original 
 part of Shylock, which was covered with a bill 
 of his first performance of that character in 
 Ireland. 
 
 The Lady who played Nerissa, was at that 
 time courted by Frank Aiken, who, by means 
 of a good wig, sound teeth, and a slim figure, 
 contrived to sink ten years of his age with- 
 out suspicion. On MackHn's bill, Frank's 
 
184 BILLY BATES. 
 
 name appeared for Bassanio; and Mrs. W., 
 among other ladies, pressing round Macklin, to 
 read his precious vestige of antiquity, natu- 
 rally fixed her eye on her lover's letters ; then 
 glancing at the date of the bill, (some five-and- 
 thirty years back,) exclaimed with a mixture of 
 surprise and disbelief — " Mr. Aiken ! — Mr. 
 Macklin, February the 8th, 1745, — not Mr. 
 Francis Aiken ?" Macklin comprehended her : 
 glaring with his great eyes, he gave a savagely 
 exulting chuckle, and replied, " Yes, Marm, 
 that's Frank!" 
 
 My reader may remember, in the first chapter 
 of this volume, the mention of a certain theatrical 
 peripatetic, Billy Bates by denomination. 
 
 When Macklin played Macbeth at Drury 
 Lane (the occasion which gave rise to the well- 
 known trial), Bates had given up his legitimate 
 propensity, and became stationary on the boards 
 of the Royal house. This ascension in circum- 
 stances was also a criterion of bis powers. He 
 played the characters requiring the most genius 
 to make efi'ective, those that the author had done 
 nothing for, together with the villains of the 
 
COLMAN AND HARRIS. 185 
 
 executive department, and some of the heroes who 
 *' looked more than they spoke.*" But lacking 
 good things to say on the stage, Bates enjoyed 
 no trivial reputation for those he said off. 
 
 Macklin, in his usual ursa major manner, was 
 going round to the actors to stare them full in the 
 face, and then recollect their names — " Oh, oh, 
 — you — you are — Mr. Holland, eh ? — Macduff, 
 eh? — and you — ^you are — Mr. Palmer — Banquo, 
 Banquo ! and, and — ^and you are the King ! and 
 you are Lennox ! and, and — and (coming to 
 Bates) you — you are the first murderer, eh ?" — 
 " No, Sir,'' said Bates promptly, " you are ?"" 
 
 Colman the elder, and Harris, had a quarrel 
 at Covent Garden one day, when Bates was 
 standing by. Colman, disdaining to vituperate, 
 walked out of the theatre ; and Harris, bouncing 
 about the stage, exclaimed, "A little impudent 
 rascal ! I 'd a good mind to double him up, and 
 put him in my pocket.*" — " Then," observed 
 Bates, " you 'd have had more in your pocket 
 than your head, a good deal." 
 
 Among my eccentric acquaintance at this pe- 
 riod was old Philip Lewis (uncle to the comedian), 
 
186 PHILIP LEWIS, AND 
 
 who had obtained from his professional brethren 
 the title of " The Crying Philosopher." He was 
 continually whimpering over the past and the 
 present ; and, though his nephew sheltered and 
 allowed him a comfortable income, looking for- 
 ward to conclude his days within the walls of a 
 workhouse. He considered, nay, he called thea- 
 trical gentlemen collectively, rogues and impos- 
 tors, and himself the most unfortunate and ilU 
 used being in the kingdom of England. It in- 
 volves no paradox to affirm, that Philip Lewis 
 took a pleasure in being miserable ; and the only 
 charitable mode of accounting for a humour 
 which was as ridiculous as ungrateful, (for he 
 murmured at even the good he had received from 
 its not coming in a greater proportion,) was the 
 referring it to a constitutional defect. 
 
 Philip had been an actor of considerable emi- 
 nence in his day at Dublin and Edinburgh ; and 
 the chief source of his misery was to remember 
 how many men who were then his inferiors were 
 now metropolitan favourites. He considered his 
 own age (which was seventy-five) just as little 
 
HIS REPLY TO WEBB. 187 
 
 as their talent. This peculiarity shut him out 
 from the Green-rooms, and indeed closed the 
 doors of most of his acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Webb of Covent Garden had a 
 little cottage somewhere on the banks of the 
 Thames, and Phihp, being one of their early 
 Provincial associates, was invited to spend a 
 Sunday with them. 
 
 Philip had been unusually good-tempered 
 throughout the day, expressing his satisfaction 
 at the snugness and convenience of the house, 
 the pleasantness of its situation, &c.; and Webb, 
 to wind up his comforts, produced after dinner 
 a bottle of excellent Madeira, filled his glass, 
 and asked his opinion of it. Philip put it to his 
 lips, smacked them, looked at Webb for an in* 
 stant, and then, instead of making a reply, burst 
 into one of *his snivelling fits, which distressed 
 his worthy host as much as it perplexed him. 
 
 " My dear Philip," said he, " what can be 
 the cause of this affliction T — " The cause ?"" 
 whimpered Lewis ; " why, to think, Dicky, that 
 such a blockhead as you should have your 
 
188 HIS INTERRUPTION 
 
 country-house, and be able to drink this Ma- 
 deira, when I am forced to live in an attic, and 
 thank my nephew for scraps." 
 
 Those who remember the excellent acting of 
 Mrs Webb cannot forget with what sufficiency 
 her voice used to fill the dome of Covent Gar- 
 den ; and on this occasion she beat such a tattoo 
 on the drums of Phihp's ears, that the unthank- 
 ful cynic was glad to snatch his hat and fly from 
 the retributive infliction. 
 
 But his nephew, who could not close the door 
 on him, was subjected to the severest trials. 
 
 Philip always dined with the family, except- 
 ing Lewis had a party ; he was then restricted 
 to his room, and had his dinner sent up to him, 
 from the fear that, if he sat at table, he would in- 
 sult some of the company. Philip considered this 
 a greater piece of brutality than was to be found 
 in the inhuman records of Hottentot history. 
 He stigmatized his nephew publicly for his 
 unworthy pride ; and on one of these occasions 
 brooded on his ill-treatment, till the gall secreted 
 sufficiently to overflow his heart and send him 
 down-stairs. He reached the drawing-room 
 
TO ANTHONY PASQUIN. 189 
 
 door soon after the cloth had been removed, and 
 at the moment that one of Lewis's literary para- 
 sites, Anthony Pasquin, under the influence of 
 Lewis's Madeira, was beginning to flatter him in 
 that direct manner which, Glenalvon says, " sel- 
 dom disgusts.*' 
 
 " One thing, Lewis, that I esteem you more 
 for, than your talents (said the ingenuous and 
 fanciful author), is your attention to your uncle ; 
 and you may rely on it, it goes a good way with 
 the public in general, to know that you cherish 
 and support his declining years, — that you shelter 
 him from the storms of fortune and the blights 
 of care, — from the winter of the world's forgetful- 
 ness, the cold hearts, and closed hands — '''' — " It's 
 
 a d d lie. Sir," exclaimed Philip, thrusting 
 
 open the door with uncontainable vexation ; " he 
 doesn't even allow me to sit at his table !" 
 
 The scene that ensued must be imagined. 
 There were times, however, when wine could 
 calm Philip's troubles as oil is said to do the 
 ocean's, — when it could lock up his conscious- 
 ness of the present, and open to only what was 
 rare and beautiful in the past. He was the 
 
190 HIS IMPROMPTU ON GARRICK. 
 
 only man besides Macklin, of my acquaintance, 
 who remembered the debut of Garrick ; and it 
 was on one of the above occasions, when sit- 
 ting at my table with Charles Bannister and 
 Merry, he uttered an impromptu I have since 
 heard attributed to others : 
 
 " I saw him rising in the East, in all his energetic glows : 
 I saw him sinking in the West, in greater splendour than 
 he rose." 
 
 The Benefits at Covent Garden this season 
 were numerous and well supported. Miss 
 Brunton took '* The Trip to Scarborough,"" to 
 give her sister an opening in Miss Hoyden. 
 
 Rider on this occasion, to strengthen the 
 cast, consented to perform " Sir Tunbelly." 
 His comparative failure in London had soured 
 his temper, without convincing his judgment. 
 He believed in the soundness of Dublin criti- 
 cism, and the existing vigour of his powers ; he 
 was rather consequential, therefore, whenever he 
 played an inferior part to oblige, being secured 
 from such an indignity in the regular business 
 by his article. 
 
 Sir Tunbelly happens to be (even in the adap- 
 
RIDER AND ROCK. 191 
 
 tation of Sheridan) " one of the worst elderly 
 gentlemen on the stage,""* — that is, in a mental 
 not a moral respect ; in the theatrical vocabulary, 
 wit and goodness are synonymous. 
 
 Rider knew of old the stage villainy of this 
 character, and walked about during rehearsal 
 taking snuff and cursing Sir Tunl^elly, as 
 though he had been a Saracen. " Here," said 
 he to Rock, his countryman, — " here's a part to 
 put a leading comedian into! Why, Sir, there's 
 not the shadow, not the ghost of a good line in 
 it."' — " True enough, my darling,"" replied Rock, 
 '' the author hasn't bothered his head about you ; 
 but sure, you can put in a good thing for your- 
 self r—" In what place ?"" said Rider: "I see 
 none." — " Oh yes, love your soul ! — listen : when 
 you say to me (Rock played the priest), ' Then, 
 you have really married this young couple.'^' 
 and I say * I have;' you must answer, (and by 
 the powers ! the author might have said it him- 
 self,) ' Well then, d— n me if ever you stick knife 
 in pudding of mine again !" " — " Hum !"" said 
 Rider; "that might produce a laugh, sure 
 enough ; — thank ye, Rock :" and he deliberately 
 
l&Sl A KNIFE WITH A POINT. 
 
 noted down this gratuitous good thing in the 
 margin of his part. But the shade of Vanbrugh 
 most likely had overheard this wicked conspiracy 
 of the Irishmen to enrol among his legitimate wit- 
 ticisms this spurious offspring, and determined 
 to defeat the iniquitous attempt, yet nevertheless, 
 in doing so, produced the desired result. 
 
 At night, when they came to the situation. 
 Rider, who had been working himself to make 
 his solitary hit, bawled out with the utmost 
 
 power of his lungs, " Then, d me if ever you 
 
 stick pudding into knife of mine again !" This 
 blunder elicited an universal shout of laughter, 
 which was renewed and prolonged till the actors 
 were infected, and the scene stood still ; during 
 which, Rider, who (to enhance the joke) was ig- 
 norant of the true cause, turned to me (pinioned 
 beside him as Lord Foppington), and observed, 
 " Well, John, my knife had a point to it ?'* 
 
 On quitting the stage he was in perfect good 
 humour, but on explaining to him his mistake, 
 he soured directly ; he did not believe a word 
 that we said ; called it pitiful envy at his success ; 
 and if the whole audience had come forward 
 
THE THREE " UBIQUITARIANS." 19-3 
 
 with their united testimony, I think he would 
 have persisted in believing that it was the line 
 they laughed at, and not its perversion. 
 
 My Benefit sent me in spirits to Plymouth, 
 whither I carried a few new faces to meet my 
 old friends. 
 
 Amongst my nautical acquaintance, (with 
 whom I chiefly passed my convivial evenings,) 
 I this summer numbered Captain Hobbes of the 
 Marines. 
 
 Sailors, like soldiers and actors, are itine- 
 rants ; they are the three great professors and 
 inculcators of the " ubiquitarian" system, and 
 afford daily demonstrations of the truth of that 
 position, with which Corporal Trim enlightened 
 the whimpering servant-maids — " Man is here 
 to-day, and gone to-morrow." But, my reader 
 will say. What has Corporal Trim to do with 
 Captain Hobbes .? 
 
 At this gentleman's table I was introduced to 
 General Collins and Captain Bell,* and among 
 
 * The same that was afterwards lost in the " Centaur," 
 when Captain Inglefield and the crew escaped in the long- 
 boat, and made good their return to England. 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
194 CAPTAIN BELL AND 
 
 a variety of anecdotes that were circulated after 
 dinner, the latter favoured us with some amus- 
 ing notices of Sir John Jervis. 
 
 He and Sir John sailed in the " Foudroyant,'"' 
 that celebrated ship which was built by the 
 French to be converted into one of the most 
 formidable defenders of British dominion. One 
 day, during a brisk gale. Sir John and the 
 Captain were playing " picquet" in the aft-ca- 
 bin, when the sea struck the ship with such vio- 
 lence as to carry away the larboard-quarter-gal- 
 lery, leaving an aperture behind, apparently 
 large enough to admit the next wave entire. 
 The shock nearly threw them from their seats : 
 when righted. Sir John eyed the mischief with 
 unconcern, threw his legs upon a chair to keep 
 them out of the wet, and, turning round, pro- 
 ceeded with his game as though nothing had 
 happened. " Tierce to your Queen, Captain."" 
 The Captain, though accustomed to dangers, 
 looked upon this with some uneasiness ; but it 
 would have been a species of insubordination 
 for him to have expressed fear when his Com- 
 mander did not. As the game proceeded, the 
 
SIR JOHN JERVIS. l9o 
 
 cabin floor swam with water, and, at its conclu- 
 sion, Sir John threw down his cards with a 
 smile, saying, '* You don't play to-day with 
 your usual ' good fortune,"* Bell, or your usual 
 judgment."" He then called the sentry at the 
 door, and bade him pass the word for the car- 
 penter. 
 
 Sir John had a favourite boatswain, one of 
 those broad-backed, limber-legged, leather-skin- 
 ned lovers of pigtail and shag, whose sayings and 
 doings have contributed to raise the character 
 of English seamen to the popularity it enjoys 
 on the stage and with the world. This Jack's 
 "ja wing-tacks" slipped so easily, that he was 
 always employed on the '" press-gang" expedi- 
 tions, being able to seduce more men into the 
 " sarvice," than others to compel. 
 
 One of the unfortunates that fell into his 
 toils was a Methodistical tailor, " who,'"* to use 
 Merry's joke, "not being able to get his bread, 
 was willing to live upon water.'"* The first 
 morning he was afloat, an enemy hove in sight, 
 and all hands were pi])ed ; all hands appeared 
 but the particular individual who is supposed 
 K 2 
 
196 ANECDOTES OF 
 
 by some to constitute a connecting link between 
 the two sexes. Jack instantly sprang down the 
 forecastle, and found the tailor in his berth, 
 with no intention of rising. "Why, you swab !*" 
 exclaimed Jack, ''what do you do there.?" 
 — '* Thinking of my soul !" murmured he. "Your 
 soul ! — I tell 'e what, Jerry Thimble, if you 
 don't bouse up and rig away, afore we 're called 
 to quarters, I '11 clap my knee upon your 
 breast-bone, and bark at your soul like a house- 
 dog!" 
 
 The engagement that ensued proved to be 
 both long and sanguinary ; during which, the 
 boatswain was very active in doing his own 
 duty and every body's else. He had been car- 
 rying a wounded officer below, and running up 
 the cabin-stairs, plunged his head into the sto- 
 mach of Sir John, who, covered with smoke and 
 perspiration, his face smutted, and his lace 
 trimmings tarnished, was running down. The 
 collision nearly carried the latter to the deck, 
 who, gasping for breath, roared out, " You 
 rascal ! what do you mean by that .?" The boat- 
 swain's eye was riveted by his commander's 
 
HIS FAVOURITE BOATSWAIN. 197 
 
 whimsical appearance, and bursting into a loud 
 laugh, he replied, " I beg your Honour's par- 
 don, but your Honour looks for all the world 
 like a chimney-sweep on May-day r 
 
 Sir John said that, considering the enemy's 
 fire was then strewing dead bodies about them, 
 this was the greatest specimen of coolness he 
 had ever witnessed. 
 
 The following was equally illustrative. Sir 
 John's crew had been paid off at Plymouth, and 
 the ship put in dock ; but immediately after, he 
 received an order from the Admiralty to refit 
 for sea. Walking one day in the neighbourhood 
 of Plymouth, he encountered Jack with a lass 
 under his arm, and a large dog running before 
 him with a watch round his neck. Jack saluted 
 his Commander, and made Poll and the dog do 
 the same. Sir John then asked him if he would 
 go to sea with him again, stating the orders 
 he had received. Jack inquired the period Sir 
 John was given to refit. " Only a fortnight,'' 
 was the answer. '' That 's unfortunate," said 
 Jack, "for I 've been kalkylating, your Honour, 
 that with Poll, and the dog, and the watch, my 
 
198 DEVOTION TO THE SERVICE. 
 
 money will jist last me a month ; howsomever, 
 I can do this eer, your honour — (aside) — I 
 can keep two marms, two dogs, and two 
 watches ; and then I shall have unloaded the 
 shiners in a fortnight, sure enough!" 
 
 This was " devotion to his Majesty's service,"** 
 with a vengeance. 
 
LONDON. 199 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1790-1.— London.— Holman on Cooke.— The Science of 
 Story- telling. — Theatrical Story-tellers. — Parker ; Wil- 
 kinson ; Tommy Hull ; Dodd and Pilon ; Suett ; Mack- 
 
 lin ; and Dr. Wolcot Aiken and Kemble's Duel — A cool 
 
 Reproof. — Mr. Bradelle Gentleman Humphreys and the 
 
 Blacksmith. — Lord Barrymore and the *' Blue-bottle 
 Club;" or, the "Humbugs." — Incledon's Humbug — The 
 Hibernians. — Anthony Pasquin, his Lordship's favourite 
 and secretary. — Anecdote of a gentlemanly Dog. — Lord 
 B.'s eccentricity and reply. — " Going his rounds." — A Lon- 
 don Blood's ramble The "Two o'Clock Club."— The 
 
 Finish. — Robin Hood. — Mr. Bowden and his " nose." — 
 Dublin scepticism; innocent revenge. — Mrs. Abingdon 
 and her " teeth ;" a gallant controversy ; her juvenility. 
 — Edwin's death. — Retirement from Covent Garden. 
 
 On returning to town, one of the first per- 
 sons I encountered was George Holman, who 
 had been to Manchester. I inquired the ta- 
 lents of the company, and he answered, " There 
 was one clever man amongst them, a Mr. 
 
200 STORY-TELLING. 
 
 Cooke, a good country actor, John, — but he 'd 
 never do in London !" This was precisely 
 Garrick's opinion of Henderson. 
 
 It was at the " Beef-steak," this winter, I first 
 saw Dr. Wolcot, and had the gratification of 
 hearing how he could tell a story. It is rather 
 gratuitous for me to inform my reader, that 
 the telling of a story has often constituted the 
 worth of it ; he must be aware how frequently 
 the palest ground has received a brilliant co- 
 louring ; the merest " Master Slender" of an 
 outline has been embodied with the jovial suf- 
 ficiency of Sir John Falstafil As, on the other 
 hand, the sharpest blade of wit has been often 
 blunted in its manner of handling, and the most 
 effervescent of jokes become vapid in the mode 
 of uncorking and pouring out. 
 
 It is a different thing to tell a story, and an 
 anecdote. The latter depends but upon one 
 point, and, being short, may be cleverly deli- 
 vered by a common-place talker. The former 
 is made up of a number of points, each of 
 which requires to be so placed and connected, 
 that the whole may form a regular gradation to 
 
PARKER AND WILKINSON. 201 
 
 the climax. Thus, as its effect depends on cer- 
 tain rules, story-telling ought to be numbered 
 among the elegant sciences, in which practice 
 alone can give a man proficiency. But a clever 
 story-teller must nevertheless possess certain 
 natural qualifications: he must have a good 
 fund of humour, if not wit, with some powers 
 of mimicry, to give vitality to his dialogues. 
 
 Among the theatrical story-tellers of my 
 experience, George Parker must be mentioned 
 as the first, both in point of time and of excel- 
 lence ; but he had an advantage in his collection 
 of stories, which were altogether original ; any 
 one of them was a specific for the spleen, that 
 might have put to the blush half the grave 
 advice of the " Materia Medica." 
 
 Next was Wilkinson : he was a better mimic 
 than Parker; but he made too many digres- 
 sions ; and by the time he had unravelled his 
 joke, he would sometimes have forgot what it 
 pertained to. 
 
 Then there was Hewardine ; whose practice I 
 have already noticed, of drawing all his truth 
 from the well of Joseph Miller. The humour 
 K 5 
 
202 TOMMY HULL. 
 
 of these relations used to consist in the grave 
 impudence of his referring their circumstances 
 to himself; in his avowing he had actually 
 seen, or performed every thing he told, though 
 all such were among the most cherished recol- 
 lections of his companions' childhood. 
 
 Tommy Hull (the well-known apologist of 
 Covent Garden) was very fond of story-telling, 
 but he was an intolerable drone. He would 
 divide the most insignificant circumstance into 
 as many heads as a methodist sermon, — and 
 pause long enough between each, for a servant to 
 have run out and called a coach. HulPs age and 
 amiableness always procured him attention, but 
 this led him to presume. One evening at the 
 " Strangers at Home," he was dozing, as usual* 
 over one of his wearisome narratives, (one of 
 our established wet blankets,) which the Club 
 always applauded at the conclusion; when Mer- 
 ry turned to Charles Bannister, and said, " Does 
 Hull think he 's now telling a story ?" — " No," 
 replied Charles, — *' making an apology." 
 
 Dodd and Pilon were terrible ramblers : — the 
 first would begin to give an account of an elope- 
 
SUETT AND MACKLIN. 203 
 
 ment, at about nine in the evening, and by the 
 time the clock struck twelve, he had got the 
 happy couple as far as the first stage ; — Pilon 
 would set out with a circumstance that oc- 
 curred in Covent Garden, and before he con- 
 cluded, would have passed through all the 
 principal towns in the three kingdoms. 
 
 Suett used to follow in the wake of Hewar- 
 dine. He would tumble on some vestige in 
 antiquity, which, with alterations and additions, 
 he was enabled to study and deliver like a part. 
 He had the modesty, certainly, not to relate it of 
 himself, — but the bronze at all times to affirm 
 its modern occurrence. When the imposition 
 was discovered, (generally by two-thirds of the 
 room,) he would stare around him with the 
 most profound look of surprise, murmur his 
 Puck note, " Oh la !" and exclaim, " I thought 
 it was new !" 
 
 Macklin was a drawler in the superlative 
 sense ; John Kemble tortured words ; Garrick, 
 ideas ; but Macklin, both ; and the worst of it 
 was, that however he lulled you, he would not 
 suffer you to sleep ; you were not permitted to 
 
204 PARSONS AND DR. WOLCOT. 
 
 hear him and think of any thing else. He 
 grasped you by the arm or the button whilst he 
 was talking, and then lowered his shaggy brows, 
 and fixed his large eyes on you, like a tiger 
 peeping out of a bush. 
 
 Parsons could tell a story with some tact; 
 but no man perhaps was more amusing than 
 BensJey, who sat at table like the Ghost in 
 " Hamlet," looking blue and sulphureous, and 
 relating jests with all the ease and smartness 
 that an elephant would perform the manoeuvres 
 of a fandango. 
 
 Equal if not superior to the cleverest of these 
 was Dr. Wolcot, whose judgment in husbanding 
 his points where the subject was luxuriant, I ad- 
 mired quite as much as his genius in inventing 
 where the groundwork was threadbare. 
 
 It was during this season Mr. James Aiken 
 of Drury Lane called out my friend John 
 Kemble, for some supposed insult extended 
 by the latter in his official capacity. John dis- 
 played in this aifair his uniform coolness. The 
 challenge was given at rehearsal ; at night, the 
 two played together; and on the morning, at an 
 
AIKEN AND KEMBLE'S DUEL. 205 
 
 early hour, they met with pistols. On taking 
 their ground, Kemble said to Aiken, as he was 
 the aggrieved party, he should fire first; but 
 the latter was disinclined ; and the seconds pro- 
 posed that they should discharge their pistols 
 together. This arrangement Kemble refused, 
 saying, " He had come out for Mr. Aiken's 
 satisfaction.*' Aiken became unnerved at con- 
 duct so honourable, and raising his pistol 
 three times to take aim, trembled, and dropped 
 it. Kemble at length lost his patience, and ex- 
 claimed, " For God's sake ! Mr. Aiken, do you 
 intend to fire to-day ?" Aiken then fired, and 
 missed him. Kemble discharged his pistol in the 
 air, and asked him if he was satisfied ? " Per- 
 fectly." — " Then I hope there is an end and 
 forgiveness to the matter.?" said he, extending 
 his hand. Aiken grasped it in silent conviction 
 of his worthiness, and they returned to town 
 better friends than they had ever been before. 
 
 At parting, they promised to keep the 
 aff'air a secret ; but somehow it found its way 
 to the Theatre, and during the rehearsal was 
 buzzed about by the ladies particularly. A 
 
206 GENTLEMAN HUMPHREYS 
 
 new play was on the stage, and Kemble was 
 immersed in the consideration of its " business ;"" 
 a delay at length occurring, one of the ladies, 
 not less noted for her nonchalance than her 
 presumed influence with the manager, tripped 
 up to him and said, " I hear, Mr. Kemble, 
 you did not discharge your pistol at Mr. 
 Aiken ?" — " No, Madam," he replied ; " I have 
 brought it here in my pocket, to level at the 
 first person that interrupts me." 
 
 Among my acquaintance at this period, I 
 had the pleasure of numbering Mr. Bradelle, a 
 gentleman of some repute in the fashionable and 
 sporting circles of the day, at whose house I 
 encountered the gentleman-boxer Humphreys, 
 a man, not only in manners but ideas, far above 
 the generality of " Modern Gladiators." Mr. 
 Bradelle told me an anecdote of this person with 
 great animation. 
 
 In the village near his country-house lived 
 a blacksmith, who was not less distinguished for 
 his bodily strength, than his proficiency in the 
 art of cracking crowns, or, as it is classically 
 termed in the present phraseology, " Pugilism." 
 
AND THE BLACKSMITH. 207 
 
 This blacksmith was a sore annoyance to all the 
 young men and women of the parish, as he 
 made it a point to tumble one sex and thump 
 the other, whenever an opportunity offered. To 
 Mr. Bradelle's family he had been particularly 
 unpleasant, and that gentleman was for some 
 time considering how he could give a check to 
 his insolence. Its secret was this : the blacksmith 
 had never yet been beaten ; the most probable 
 specific was, therefore, the novelty of a sound 
 thrashing. When Mr. B. next went to town, 
 he mentioned the matter to Humphreys, and 
 prevailed on him to visit his residence, with 
 the view of trying the experiment. The black- 
 smith's assistance was immediately required for 
 some trifling repairs ; and on passing through 
 the kitchen, he conducted himself as rudely as 
 usual towards the maids. Humphreys sat in 
 one corner of the room, dressed like a servant, 
 and called out to him in a broad Devonshire 
 dialect to " let un alaune." John Forge turned 
 round on him in surprise, and inquired who he 
 was. The maids (who had been instructed) 
 said he was " Cousin Jemmy from Taunton, 
 
208 " COUSIN JEMMY." 
 
 just come into service." Mr. Bradelle, during 
 this, had posted himself in a convenient situation 
 to witness the scene. The blacksmith surveying 
 Cousin Jemmy's slim figure with a smile of 
 contempt, asked him whether he would pre- 
 fer being placed on the mantelpiece, or thrown 
 out of the window. Humphreys played his part 
 admirably as a raw country lad; and by his 
 sneering reply irritated the smith to that degree, 
 that the latter struck him, though not violently. 
 In an instant Humphreys threw out, and by a 
 well-directed blow laid his gigantic antagonist 
 on the floor. The latter soon regained his legs, 
 and kicking chairs and tables aside, prepared to 
 attack and hammer " Cousin Jemmy," in the 
 manner of a horseshoe on his anvil. Humphreys, 
 to carry on the deception, stood awkwardly and 
 unconcerned, with his hands dangling beside him, 
 till the blacksmith approached ; when he again 
 knocked him down, and so continued to do 
 every time he got up, till Mr. Bradelle could 
 contain his satisfaction no longer, but laughed 
 aloud, and betrayed himself. John Forge, over- 
 whelmed with shame, caught up his basket of 
 
LORD BARRYMORE. 209 
 
 tools directly, and limped away to his work, 
 being perfectly satisfied with Cousin Jemmy's 
 acquaintance. This expedient had its desired 
 effect, at least as far as it concerned Mr. Bra- 
 delle's family. 
 
 I know not in what particular place or on 
 what occasion I was honoured with an intro- 
 duction to Lord Barrymore, but we were thrown 
 together in various convivial societies ; and his 
 Lordship was pleased to express so much satis- 
 faction in my company, that I became a fre- 
 quent guest at his table. 
 
 His Lordship was the most eminent com- 
 pound of contrarieties, the most singular mix- 
 ture of genius and folly, — of personal endow- 
 ment and moral obliquity, which it has been 
 my lot in life to encounter. Alternating between 
 the gentleman and the blackguard, — the refined 
 wit, and the most vulgar bully, he was equally 
 well known in St. Giles's and St. James's, and 
 well merited the appellation he received in noble 
 quarters, of the " Modern Duke of Bucking- 
 ham," who was " every thing by turns, and 
 nothing long." 
 
210 THE " BLUE-BOTTLE CLUB.'* 
 
 His Lordship could fence, dance, drive or 
 drink, box or bet, with any man in the kingdom. 
 He could discourse slang as tripplingly as 
 French; relish porter after port; and compliment 
 her Ladyship at a ball, with as much ease and 
 brilliance, as he could bespatter " a blood" in 
 a cider cellar. Had he lived some centuries 
 previous, there is no doubt he would have 
 been a prime favourite with Prince Hal, and 
 the "maddest wag'' of Sir John FaltsafF's 
 acquaintance. 
 
 To keep around him a choice collection of 
 convivial and eccentric spirits, his Lordship 
 instituted the " Blue-Bottle Club," or, as it 
 was more commonly termed, " The Humbugs," 
 which numbered Hanger, Morris, Arabin, Tay- 
 lor, Carey, Hewardine, and many others, and 
 was held at a tavern under the Piazzas. 
 
 The name of " Humbugs" was given it on 
 account of the manner in which every new mem- 
 ber was initiated. The system was to intro- 
 duce two candidates at a time, and to set them 
 quarrelling as soon as they were seated. It did 
 not signify in how trivial a point the difference 
 
incledon's humbug. 211 
 
 originated : the members, expert in roguery, 
 would, by taking opposite sides, aggravate the 
 matter till it assumed the aspect of insult ; and 
 the disputants were urged from arguments to 
 proceed to epithets, and from epithets to blows ; 
 when the noble supervisor of this farce inter- 
 fered, took the strangers by the hand, and told 
 them " they were both humbugged,'* and had 
 become members. 
 
 My reader can infer the Spirit of a Club pos- 
 sessing this for one of its regulations. The most 
 whimsical effects I ever witnessed were pro- 
 duced by Charles Incledon's introduction, who 
 had the honour of being proposed alone. 
 
 Barrymore was extremely pleased with In- 
 cledon's conversation as well as singing, and had 
 long wanted to enrol him among the members. 
 The " Son of Song" expected therefore an un- 
 usual degree of attention when he came. He was 
 then extremely popular in the ballad of " Black- 
 eyed Susan," for which the first call was unani- 
 mous ; but he had not finished the first line, 
 before a member exclaimed, " Oh I Charles, 
 Charles ! come, it 's too bad to fool us in this 
 
^2 incledon's humbug. 
 
 way !" Incledon stared, and asked what his 
 friend meant. The person beside him joined in 
 the inquiry : others however interposed, and 
 begged Incledon to proceed : — 
 
 " All in the Downs the fleet was moored" — 
 
 ••' Incledon, Incledon," cried a dozen voices, 
 " recollect, you are singing to gentlemen, not 
 the Covent Garden gallery." 
 
 Incledon looked round in the utmost be- 
 wilderment : the manner of the members was so 
 judicious, that he could not suspect the motive; 
 they were all good comedians at table — not a 
 face betrayed a double meaning ; whilst a roar 
 of voices round him whelmed those of the mal- 
 contents. — " It's a d d shame — Ungentle- 
 manly interruption — Order, order !*" &c. &c. 
 At their request, Incledon was persuaded to 
 proceed again. 
 
 ** All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd" — 
 
 " Stuff, stuiF— (hiss) — Incledon, Incledon, you're 
 drunk!" — "Who says I'm drunk.?" shouted 
 Incledon. Twenty voices espoused his cause, 
 and twenty swelled the chorus of reprehension ; 
 
incledon's humbug. 213 
 
 whilst the cries of " Order, order !" tended only 
 to increase the confusion. " I ll give any man 
 twenty pounds," said Incledon, " who '11 say I 'm 
 drunk, or give me the lie." — "You're drunk — 
 you lie." In another instant Incledon had quitted 
 his seat, stripped his coat, and was offering to 
 fight any man in the room for the value of his 
 Benefit. Lord Barrymore had now his cue to 
 interfere,— and sufficient cause, for Incledon was 
 wrought up to the fury of a foaming bull, and 
 nothing under broken bones and bloody noses 
 appeared likely to satisfy him. 
 
 The instant, however, that his Lordship said 
 " he was humbugged,"" the Club, which before 
 presented a state of universal irritation, burst 
 into a roar of deafening laughter ; the rule was 
 then explained at large, and every member 
 came up to shake hands with him. 
 
 '*Why, Incledon," said Barrymore, " didn't 
 you know we were called the Humbugs .f'" — 
 " Humbugs," he replied, with a returning smile 
 — " yes, (using his favourite substitute for san- 
 guinary) Humbugs." 
 
 This amicable result, however, did not always 
 
214 THE HIBERNIANS. 
 
 ensue. Major Hanger one evening brought two 
 friends to be " humbugged,*''' who were both 
 natives of the " Sister Isle." The members 
 succeeded in setting them at variance, as usual; 
 but the Hibernians, having been drinking pretty 
 freely before they came, were in that critical 
 condition when a sliglit thing will put a man 
 in the best humour in the world,— or the worst. 
 The convivial feeling being therefore changed to 
 the pugnatory — when the members explained 
 that they had been humbugged all this while ; 
 their indignation was excited in a tenfold de- 
 gree towards the Club for the liberty it had 
 taken. Vengeance was denounced on the whole 
 assembly, and a riot a la Donnybrook com- 
 menced, which involved every thing animated 
 and tangible in the room. Tables were upset, 
 bottles flew about in every direction, and *' such 
 method " had the strangers in their madness, 
 that in less than five minutes the apartment was 
 completely cleared. On the servants running 
 up, they found Lord Barrymore and one of the 
 Hibernians stripped to their shirts, to dispute 
 their respective prowess, — the floor covered with 
 
ANTHONY PASQUIN. 215 
 
 a mass of plates, fruits, and glasses, and Dicky 
 Suett in one corner of the room entrenched 
 under a table, ejaculating his everlasting — 
 Oh, la ! 
 
 On the evenings, however, that I paid these 
 laughing bacchanals a visit, nothing of this de- 
 scription occurred. I found every thing in the 
 greatest harmony when I went — and so it con- 
 tinued; and few such evenings as these have I 
 numbered. There was Barry more in his glory, 
 the grand luminary of the night, with all his 
 satellites and eccentric bodies shining about 
 him. 
 
 The secretary to this institution, for some 
 time,was Anthony Pasquin ; which was one of 
 the strongest evidences of the eccentricity of its 
 founder. 
 
 Anthony had given up his itinerant pro- 
 fession of portrait painting, and now edited " The 
 Star,*" which under him, it was justly said, 
 " began to twinkle." With talents for this 
 vocation, which were thus attested, Anthony 
 proved to be a disciple of the '' Weathercock 
 Willow-tree School," who could challenge com- 
 
216 ANTHONY PASQUIN. 
 
 petition with all the statesmen of Europe. He 
 wore his conscience in his pocket, and wore 
 them both out together. Mone}^ was his only 
 principle ; and he fitted praise to the backs 
 either of ministers or actors, as he would have 
 done a coat, agreeably to price and order. 
 
 Passing over this unpleasant ground of no- 
 toriety, (which made its object walk continually 
 between the twofiresof horsewhip and pillory,) in 
 his person he presented a greater. Daniel Dancer 
 himself was a clean and decent individual, com- 
 pared to Anthony Pasquin. He seemed to have 
 a passion for dirt and negligence. With suf- 
 ficient means to procure him luxuries (without 
 being addicted to gambling or drinking), he 
 always looked as if he had just been expelled 
 from a poor-house or a prison. His clothes 
 would have shamed Monmouth Street ; his 
 shirt had always a particular mystery about it ; 
 and his face appeared as if it had not been 
 washed since he quitted his mother's knees. 
 
 I can give my reader an amusing proof on 
 this point. I was at that time in possession 
 of a very fine house-dog, which had formerly 
 
A GENTLEMANLY DOG. 217 
 
 belonged to Covent Garden ; but for killing a 
 man accidentally in the dark, was discharged. 
 Pasquin came to my house one Saturday morn- 
 ing, to get " my bones ;" but Mrs. Bernard and 
 myself were out, to give the servants free do- 
 minion with their mops and buckets. The door 
 being open, Pasquin walked in, and intended to 
 enter the parlour ; but the dog was lying on the 
 mat before it, who, mistaking the former either 
 for the dustman or a coalheaver, rose on his 
 hind-legs, with a sense of the impropriety, and 
 placing his paws to the stranger's shoulders, 
 actually walked him back to the threshold, 
 where he dropped to the ground, and looked 
 him up in the face. The maid was descending 
 the stairs at this instant, and perceived the whole 
 affair. Now, this was not a more extraordinary 
 proof of the good-breeding of the dog, than the 
 unpleasantness of Pasquin's appearance ; — here 
 was a gentlemanly dog turning out a dirty one. 
 
 Pasquin's powers of conversation were un- 
 questionably great ; he was well-informed upon 
 all subjects, and there was a tincture of wit and 
 the evidence of reflection in every thing he said. 
 
 VOL. n. L 
 
218 LORD barrymore's eccentricity : 
 
 This might have been a sufficient inducement to 
 his Lordship, in making him his secretary, and 
 smuggling him in to his table ; but nothing but 
 the last stage of the disease called " eccentri- 
 city," could have induced any man to single out 
 such a person as his street-companion. Yet, 
 in the full blaze of fashion, down its most legiti- 
 mate channel, the pavement of Bond Street, did 
 his Lordship delight to lounge, arm in arm, 
 with his favourite, presenting the greatest pos- 
 sible contrast, in the splendour of his dress and 
 person, the eye of the caricaturist could have 
 wished to see. 
 
 His Lordship could say his original things at 
 all times ; but he found it convenient to have a 
 butt at table, like Pasquin, who, with a most 
 Christian-like absence of pride, submitted not 
 only to provoke his mirth, but to laugh at the 
 most cutting personalities his patron could level 
 at him. 
 
 One evening. Lord B. made a remark which 
 transported Anthony so much, that he vocife- 
 rated for writing materials^ to note it down. 
 The former called him to order, and asked 
 
"GOING HIS ROUNDS.'' 219 
 
 what he wanted. " Ink — ink — ink, my Lord !"" 
 he replied, striking his hand on the table.— 
 "Do you?" said his Lordship: "wash your 
 hands, then, and you '11 get a quart." 
 
 On the first occasion I paid a visit to the 
 " Humbugs," about midnight we were reduced 
 to a dozen persons ; and then, when I expected, 
 after passing a sociable evening, we should go 
 soberly home, his Lordship gave a signal, and 
 two members took my arm to the door, where I 
 perceived a dozen chairs in waiting. Into one 
 of these I was crammed willy-nilly, and then 
 informed his Lordship was " going his rounds." 
 Opposition was now useless, and I submitted to 
 become a " humbug" out of doors. 
 
 On this memorable night, or rather morning, 
 we stopped at a dozen different cellars and 
 houses, in the most secret and seductive re- 
 cesses of St. Giles's and Drury Lane, his Lord- 
 ship acting as conductor to the fleet, and mani- 
 festing, by the ease and distinctness of his di- 
 rections, his familiarity with the navigation of 
 these regions obscure. Punch and mulled cla- 
 ret with eggs were our potations, and his 
 l2 
 
220 
 
 Lordship made himself at home with the va- 
 rious barmaids and hostesses, smoking his pipe 
 meanwhile, and spouting " Bobadil '" with good 
 effect — 
 
 " The cabin is convenient, Master Matthew." 
 
 At about four in the morning, we had accom- 
 plished the circumference of this " lower world,"'"' 
 in a tavern at the " Seven Dials,*' where we 
 were obliged to disguise ourselves as much as 
 possible, give false names, and pay a " footing" 
 of sixpence each, to be admitted members of the 
 " Two ©■'Clock Club;" a society which met at that 
 early hour every morning, and was composed, as 
 it appeared to me, of all the unemployed " artists 
 of the night," in London. Certainly, I had no 
 correct idea of a " Macheath's Gang," till on 
 that occasion. Having emptied my pockets, 
 however, I had nothing to fear, particularly as 
 his Lordship was installed in the chair for the 
 time he remained, with the greatest honours 
 and acclamations. I did not learn that he was 
 the founder of this meeting ; but, by an inspec- 
 tion of the " footing-book," I perceived that he 
 
A SUDDEN EXIT. 221 
 
 was in the habit of supplying twice a-week two- 
 thirds of its visitors. 
 
 When the signal was at length given for our 
 departure, I, being an " uneducated" fellow, 
 expected it was to turn our steps homeward ; 
 but my companions kindly dispelled the mists 
 of my ignorance, by saying, that the orthodox 
 conclusion to every London night's ramble 
 was the ''Finish," that being the established 
 point where all the " bloods" of the metro- 
 polis, after their respective courses, coagulated. 
 I was however as vulgar as uninformed, and 
 feared that this " finish" to my night might 
 prove one to my days. I accordingly made a 
 sudden exit at the door, dispensing with the 
 ceremony of a farewell; but his Lordship was 
 bent on completing my experience ; — a pursuit 
 was instantly commenced, and " Stole away, 
 stole away !" was the cry, my companions run- 
 ning, yoicking and whooping, like a pack of 
 huntsmen after an unfortunate fox. The sounds, 
 " stole away !'* struck on the watchman's ears, 
 who, taking me for a pickpocket, stopped me 
 till my pursuers arrived ; and then, as I was 
 
THE " FINISH.**' 
 
 about to "charge" the whole company, his 
 Lordship's presence elicited from the " guar- 
 dians of the night" a shout of welcome and ap- 
 plause. A few words explained my situation 
 and his intentions, and the remaining contents 
 of his purse secured from the aged traitors the 
 most cordial obedience. I was abandoned to 
 my fate ; and the chairs coming up, in spite of 
 entreaties or struggles, was thrust in again, and 
 carried off to the " Finish." 
 
 Upon the scene that presented itself here I 
 am not willing to dwell; for if it were agree- 
 able, I should require the pen of a Fielding or 
 a Smollett to trace its lineaments with any truth. 
 The number of the depraved and dying that 
 lined the seats of this receptacle, the contrasts 
 of dress and countenance, the faded finery and 
 sunken eye of one, the inebriated madness of 
 another, and the still, settled aspect of despair 
 of a third, were sights I could not then, under 
 the combined powers of punch, claret, and 
 brandy, behold with indifference: to say no- 
 thing of the maniac medley of sounds, the 
 laughter, crying, and imprecations of numerous 
 
ROBIN HOOD. 223 
 
 beings in the most fearful state of excitement, 
 which gave the whole perhaps the closest re- 
 semblance to our ideas of the infernal regions. 
 Suffice it, that at about half-past six I effected 
 my escape, leaving Lord Barrymore in all his 
 glory, to go home for an hour'^s rest, and half 
 an hour's lecture from Mrs. Bernard. 
 
 The opera of " Robin Hood " was not less 
 successful at Covent Garden this season than on 
 its original production. Mrs. Billington would 
 have attracted the public in any entertainment. 
 Incledon had superseded Johnson in the " Her- 
 mit;" Bowden, Charles Bannister, in " Robin;"" 
 and, owing to Edwin's frequent indispositions 
 in public-houses and night cellars, I was put 
 forward, as his substitute, in the " Tinker." 
 
 Bowden the singer was in some request at 
 this time ; but he did not maintain his standing. 
 Charles Bannister, being told of his success, re- 
 marked, "Ay, ay ! it's ' Robin Hood' this year; 
 but next, it will be robbing Harris." He had 
 a voice sufficiently pleasing for the generality 
 of an audience ; but he had little science and 
 less taste, whilst his figure and acting were 
 
2J24 BOWDEN AND HIS NOSE. 
 
 equally mean ; and he had a face calculated for 
 no character in the drama but " Bardolph." 
 My reader may infer the commanding feature 
 of this face — it was a nose, like which, either in 
 longitude or outline, the stage presented no paral- 
 lel ; it stood out from his head like the hanging 
 peak of Teneriffe : moreover, it was of the co- 
 lour of the best vermilion. In the day-time, 
 any physiologist would have called it a natural 
 curiosity ; at night, it looked artificial — people 
 took it for a mask. 
 
 When Bowden went to Dublin, his nose, 
 strange to say, destroyed his voice ; the former 
 absorbed the public attention, and at night led 
 their eyes to suspend the use of their ears. 
 In characters where he could slouch a hat over 
 his face, (as in " Robin Hood,'') this nasal pro- 
 montory was not so remarkable ; but when inca- 
 pable of shading its red dimensions, the light of 
 the house seemed to converge upon its tip, as 
 did the eyes. The Smock Alley house was 
 long and narrow, and whenever he came on, the 
 audience were in the habit of holding conversa- 
 tions from the opposite stage-boxes, as to the 
 
DUBLIN SCEPTICISM. 225 
 
 authenticity of his great feature. " Captain 
 Flynn, Captain Flynn ! — Mr. O'Grady, what is 
 it .?— is that a nose .?''—" A what .?"— " A nose ! 
 to be sure." — " No, by the powers! it isn't." — " It 
 is." — " I '11 bet you ten pounds it isn't ; there 
 never was such a nose !" Such an interruption, 
 in the midst of a sentimental song, must have 
 been vastly pleasant to the singer. 
 
 Bowden, like Sedgwick, had merely his voice 
 to recommend him : he was a dull companion ; 
 but, unlike Sedgwick, he had a bad temper ; he 
 was envious and fretful, and with a second-rate 
 reputation, used to give himself first-rate airs. 
 
 One evening, in " Robin Hood," I was en- 
 cored in my song, and returned to the stage 
 just as Bowden and Mrs. Billington were about 
 to enter in their succeeding scene. The former, 
 on going into the Green-room, began to remark, 
 in a very contemptuous manner, the folly of 
 comedians singing their songs twice in an opera, 
 when the audience come to hear the singers 
 themselves. 
 
 I was told of this a few days afterwards; but, 
 in the mean time, very innocently retaliated. 
 l5 
 
226 INNOCENT REVENGE. 
 
 Charles Bannister and myself were invited to a 
 City dinner, and to a supper party the same 
 evening, in the same quarter ; and we determined 
 to visit both, for the good cheer of the one, and 
 the merriment of the other. On arriving at the 
 latter, we found the room very full, and were 
 smuggled into a corner by a party of " Beef- 
 steakers." The host was pleased to call upon 
 me for the first song ; and, as a favourite ditty, 
 I gave my " Panegyric on Noses," which elicit- 
 ed more than an usual degree of laughter, parti- 
 cularly its burthen — 
 
 " For there *s nothing so grand as your nose that is long." 
 
 When it was about half over, a gentleman at 
 the other end of the room rose up and went 
 out ; and at the conclusion, I was told this was 
 Mr. Bowden, to whom the company had been 
 applying my song throughout. 
 
 It was during this or the preceding season 
 that Mrs. Abingdon, previous to quitting the 
 stage, played a few nights at Covent Garden. 
 This event gave rise to a gallant controversy 
 at the Club. 
 
MRS. ABINGDON AND HER TEETH. 227 
 
 One of the members, in admitting all her me- 
 rits, (which was to admit that she possessed all 
 the merit an actress could,) nevertheless found 
 a great defect in her having false teeth ; every 
 thing else, he allowed, was entirely her own. 
 Mrs. Abingdon had always been distinguished for 
 this particular feature ; yet now, being on the 
 border of sixty, it was not so much to be com- 
 plained of, if in this respect, as well as others, 
 she agreeably deceived the public. However, 
 she had some admirers in the Club, who espous- 
 * ed the cause of the genuine condition of her 
 " ivories :*" a wager was laid, and the decision 
 was referred to me. I was unprepared with an 
 opinion, (though, I confess, my ideas on this 
 point had always tended to scepticism,) and pro- 
 mised to give my friends an answer the succeed- 
 ing night. 
 
 For the first and second evening, though I 
 repeatedly engaged her in conversations, my ex- 
 periments failed. With her very brilliant eyes, 
 it was impossible that I could keep mine al- 
 ways fixed on her mouth ; yet, when I sat by 
 
228 MRS. ABINGDON'S JUVENILITY. 
 
 her, and others attracted her attention, my mi- 
 nutest observation left me in a state of conscien- 
 tious indecision. 
 
 The third evening, I played ' Dupely' to her 
 ' Lady Bab Sardoon,' in General Burgoyne's 
 comedy of " The Maid of the Oaks." Having 
 neglected the rehearsal, she requested me to run 
 over the words with her in the Green-room. 
 Leading her to a sofa for that purpose, I made 
 use of some predetermined witticism, either on 
 the play or the part, which induced Mrs. Ab- 
 ingdon to laugh heartily, and then — (as Sterne 
 says) — and then (looking her full in the face, or 
 rather the mouth) I was positively assured that 
 her teeth were her own. 
 
 This perpetuated evidence of youth was in 
 character with her person and her powers ; the 
 slimness of her figure, the fulness of her voice, 
 the freshness of her spirits, the sparkle of her 
 eye, and the elasticity of her limbs, savoured 
 alike of a juvenility that puzzled the mind, 
 whilst it pleased it : of her it was justly said, that 
 *' she had been on the stage thirty years ; she 
 
EDWIN'S DEATH. 229 
 
 was one-and-twenty when she came, and one- 
 and-twenty when she went !" 
 
 This season died that eccentric child of ge- 
 nius, John Edwin, in his forty-fifth year ; the 
 most original actor of my remembrance in the 
 old world, or the new, — a man that, if his prin- 
 ciples had but equalled his talents, might have 
 lived many years longer, and enjoyed the 
 world's esteem, with its munificence ; but dying 
 as he did, his fate created no sympathy, and his 
 name is now only recognised on the front leaf of 
 O'Keeffe's farces. 
 
 Pasquin soon after published his '* Life and 
 Eccentricities," for which I supplied him with 
 the chief materials. 
 
 At the close of this season, my article ex- 
 pired ; and Mr. Harris offered to renew it on 
 the terms I now received, with the choice of 
 Edwin's characters, in addition to my own. To 
 this very agreeable proposal, there was but one 
 obstacle — but that was not contemptible,— my 
 wife. 
 
 For the last two seasons, through the caprice 
 
230 RETIREMENT FROM COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 or necessity of my manager, she had been laid 
 on the shelf; and, being a woman in the prime 
 of her powers, she could not content herself with 
 getting her salary for nothing. Such treatment 
 was not to be borne without murmuring ; and I, 
 being her husband, was the lawful object to 
 hear and alleviate her sorrows. Married women 
 that are not actresses, possibly may not sympa- 
 thize in Mrs. Bernardo's situation ; but all mar- 
 ried men are capable of estimating the extent of 
 my sufferings. In short, I was compelled to make 
 it a condition of my re-engagement at Covent 
 Garden, that Mrs. Bernard was permitted a 
 due share of business ; but as this was an 
 arrangement Mr. Harris was precluded from 
 making, I had no alternative, for the security of 
 my domestic peace, but to quit the Theatre till 
 circumstances permitted our return. 
 
 The struggle on this occasion was not to give 
 up the favour of a public with whom I was 
 firmly established ; against this, I balanced the 
 pleasures of country management : but it was 
 to surrender my office at the Club, and sunder 
 all the ties of my private connections. I certainly 
 
THEATRICALS AT GUERNSEY. 
 
 did more than Antony on this occasion. All 
 my world I gave up for love ; but being a hus- 
 band, I not only set a better example, but acted 
 in a more singular manner. 
 
 To form a circuit in addition to Plymouth, I 
 engaged the Dover Theatre, then to let for two 
 seasons ; and being advised to connect with it 
 another depot attainable by water, (in order to 
 Hghten the dead weight of country schemes, the 
 expense of carriage,) I fixed on the island of 
 Guernsey. From my gracious patron the Duke 
 of Clarence I obtained a letter to General 
 Brown, and through his instrumentality pro- 
 cured leave to provide the island with the- 
 atricals. 
 
232 PLYMOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1791. — Plymouth — Jefferson and the prawns Lostwithiel 
 
 and the lace. — Mrs. Canning : her character, and anecdote 
 of her great courage.— A ghost story.— Eccentricities of 
 Becky Wells : her royal attachment. — Killing with kind- 
 ness ; and " Hav'n't you heard of a jolly young waterman ?'* 
 — Siege of Plymouth. — Dover. 
 
 1791-2 — Charles Mate.— Guernsey : my new theatre.— Mr. 
 
 Hargrave, Jemmy Fotterel, and his patrons Teignmouth. 
 
 — John Emery's introduction to the Stage : symptoms 
 of the future Comedian — The patient Farmer. — Lord 
 Howth, and the Landlady's mistake. — Passage to Dover 
 in the Pomona Frigate — Mr. Lee Sug, and Captain Sa- 
 vage. — Mr. and Mrs. Fox Dover. 
 
 1792-3.— D6but of Mr. Hunn, and his legs — Anecdote of a 
 spaniel. — Return to Covent Garden. — Fracas at Plymouth. 
 — G. H. Barret's last favour. 
 
 On arriving at Plymouth, I found, to my 
 great surprise, the Company collected, but no 
 preparations for the opening of the Theatre. 
 Wolf and Jefferson were away on one of their 
 temporary schemes, and their precise point of 
 
JEFFERSON AND THE PRAWNS. ^S3 
 
 destination I could not ascertain, till Jefferson 
 came over from the little town of Lostwithiel, 
 bringing with him the pleasing intelligence, 
 that the result of the speculation had placed all 
 our scenery and wardrobe in jeopardy. I agreed 
 to go back with him and play for his benefit, 
 taking with me our singer, a very pleasant fel- 
 low of tlie name of West. 
 
 On crossing the ferry, we bought a quantity 
 of prawns, which we agreed to reserve for a 
 snack at an inn, where Jefferson said there was 
 some of the finest ale in the county. West and 
 myself, however, could not resist our propen- 
 sities towards a dozen of the prawns, which 
 lying at_the top, happened to be the largest, in the 
 manner of pottled strawberries, to cover a hun- 
 dred small ones. Coming to a hill. West and 
 I jumped out of the coach to walk up, leaving 
 Jefferson to take care of the fish. We had just 
 reached the summit, when we heard a great 
 bawling behind us, and looking round, per- 
 ceived the coach standing still at the foot of the 
 ascent, and Jefferson leaning out of the window 
 and waving his hand. Imagining some accident 
 
234 LOSTWITHIEL. 
 
 had happened, down we both ran at our utmost 
 speed, and inquired the matter, Jefferson held 
 up thehandkerchief of diminutive prawns to our 
 view, and replied, " I wished to know if you 
 wouldn't hke a few of the large ones." 
 
 There was so much pleasantry in this re- 
 proof, that we could only look in each other's 
 face, laugh, and toil up the hill again. 
 
 We got into Lostwithiel scarcely in time for 
 the performance, which was " The Beaux Stra- 
 tagem." As an evidence, I may be permitted 
 to record, of my popularity in the West of 
 England, the temple of Thespis in this place 
 was for once so beset with visitors, that the 
 gentlemen paid box prices to sit on the beams 
 over the stage, and the ladies were accommo- 
 dated with chairs and benches down its sides. 
 As its dimensions, however, did not exceed 
 those of a moderate-sized parlour, we were put 
 to some inconvenience in our business, — to say 
 nothing of the novel effect this transition from 
 the wide space of Covent Garden produced 
 on my mind. Nevertheless, the effect was 
 pleasing : the proximity of so many beauteous 
 
MRS. CANNING. 235 
 
 forms and faces led me to forget I was before 
 the public, but rather contributing to the 
 amusement of a private circle of friends. 
 
 In my first scene with Aimwell, I stood near a 
 young lady, who, with all the innocence of her 
 years, but curiosity of her sex, took up my 
 hand, and inspecting its ruffle, looked at a fair 
 friend, sitting opposite, and exclaimed, " Law ! 
 Jemima, it's lace, I declare !" 
 
 The lady that led our tragic business this 
 summer at Plymouth was my old friend Mrs. 
 Reddish, formerly Mrs. Canning, and now Mrs. 
 Hunn. On the decease of her second husband 
 (the tragedian of Drury Lane), she had mar- 
 ried a respectable merchant of Plymouth, and 
 retired from the stage; but the latter gentle- 
 man'^s misfortunes in business threw her again 
 on the profession as her only resource. 
 
 As an actress, the efforts of Mrs. Hunn 
 were more characterised by judgment than ge- 
 nius ; but Nature had gifted her in several re- 
 spects to sustain the matrons. As a friend and 
 a companion, she possessed all the intelligence, 
 with the accomplishment to be desired in a 
 
^86 CHARACTER OF MRS. CANNING. 
 
 woman, surrounding her talents with the halo 
 of her becoming principles. It was at all times 
 in her domestic, rather than her public charac- 
 ter, that Mrs. Hunn secured the public admi- 
 ration, and met with a patronage which talent 
 might not have obtained. I had peculiar op- 
 portunities of seeing this, as well as of noting 
 her great affection for her children. She had 
 two little girls with her, (the Miss Hunns,) and 
 a son, George Canning, then at Lincoln's-Inn, 
 I believe, preparing for the bar. Upon the latter 
 all her hopes rested for the ultimate recompense 
 of her struggles and disappointments; hopes that 
 were singularly realized. I had the pleasure of 
 reading many of his letters to his mother, in 
 which, describing the progress of his studies and 
 his prospects, the enthusiasm of genius was lost 
 in the glow of filial tenderness : his acquirements 
 and his connections he valued only as the means 
 of enabling him to provide for a mother, who, in 
 his person, had made so many sacrifices to re- 
 vive the character of his father. These letters 
 were Mrs. Hunn's greatest treasures. She read 
 
ANECDOTE OF HER COURAGE. 237 
 
 them going to bed, and carried them in her 
 bosom as amulets against the poison of care or 
 despondency. 
 
 But Mrs. Hunn was not more distinguished 
 by this maternal affection, than a moral courage 
 and a self-possession which are the usual con- 
 comitants of sterner and colder dispositions. 
 Upon this point I can give my reader a remark- 
 able proof. 
 
 Mrs. H., on reaching Plymouth, applied to 
 me to aid her in procuring lodgings, which she 
 required to be on a respectable but economic 
 scale. The only ones I knew of belonged to 
 Symmonds, our carpenter, which were near the 
 Theatre, and possessed many conveniences ; but 
 some person having reported that the house con- 
 tained a lodger already, a perturbed and peram- 
 bulating spirit, other occupants it had latterly 
 wanted. Symmonds, therefore, offered them 
 to Mrs. Hunn for a nominal rent, if she would 
 be the means of putting to silence this un- 
 founded and ruinous rumour. The latter was 
 happy to take them on such easy terms, and 
 
288 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 said with a smile, that " it was not the first 
 time she had been concerned in the ' Haunted* 
 House.''' 
 
 On the first evening of her entering these 
 lodgings, after her children were in bed and 
 the servant was dismissed, she resolved to sit 
 up a few hours, to ascertain whether any sounds 
 or noises were to be heard. What she antici- 
 pated in this attempt, I cannot say, but it would 
 have been excusable in the wisest of either sex, 
 if in the stillness of that time, and the loneli- 
 ness of her situation, (a book and a pair of can- 
 dles her only companions,) the powers of the 
 imagination received a stimulus to overthrow 
 those of the reason. The carpenter's shop, on 
 the ground-floor, comprehended the width of the 
 house, and was barred and bolted on the inside. 
 As the workmen made their exit at night 
 through a door which opened into the private 
 passage leading to Mrs. Hunn's apartments, 
 this door was usually left on the latch. About 
 half an hour after Mrs. H. sat down to her 
 
 ♦ Addison's. 
 
A GHOST STORY. 239 
 
 book (between eleven and twelve), she actually 
 heard a low but quick noise in the room be- 
 neath, as if some one had taken up an extra- 
 sized plane and chipped off the entire side of 
 the carpenter'^s bench. 
 
 This was the sounding note to the diabolical 
 chorus to follow : the noise ceased, but soon re- 
 commenced, and rose up with an accompani- 
 ment of all the tools in the shop; — a loud and 
 vigorous concert of machinery, from the vio- 
 loncello-movement of the saw, to the fife- 
 squeaking rasp of the file, kept in tune by the 
 time-beating thump of a heavy axe. It seemed 
 as if all the deceased artificers of the district 
 had assumed their places at the bench, and were 
 executing a piece of carpentry for his infernal 
 majesty. Mrs. Hunn no sooner received this 
 auricular, than she determined to have ocular 
 evidence of the fact. Few women in such a si- 
 tuation would have been troubled with their 
 sex's common feeling (or failing)— curiosity ; 
 and fewer would have possessed the courage, 
 equally uncommon, to have attempted its satis- 
 faction. Laying down her book, and taking up 
 
240 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 a candle, she opened the staircase-door and hs- 
 tened ; the sounds were still audible, and pro- 
 ceeding from the same quarter. Taking off her 
 shoes to prevent the slightest alarm, she lightly 
 and cautiously descended the stairs, and placed 
 her hand upon the latch of the shop-door. She 
 assured me that at this moment she heard the 
 sounds as distinctly as in her own apartment, 
 and felt convinced they were produced by hu- 
 man agency. In a second, the latch was lifted 
 — the door thrust open, and her head and can- 
 dle thrust in ; — when, lo ! all was still and 
 stationary ; not a tool was out of its place, and 
 not a carpenter to be seen, spiritual or material. 
 To be assured of the truth, she even entered 
 the shop, walked round the benches, and exa- 
 mined the fastenings of the doors and windows ; 
 every thing appeared in order and security. She 
 then returned to her room, doubting the reality 
 of her recollections, when the sounds recom- 
 menced, and continued for about half an hour, 
 till they ceased altogether ; she then retired to 
 rest. The next morning, her impressions of 
 the above were seemingly so monstrous, that 
 
A GHOST STORY. 241 
 
 she resolved to say nothing, till the events of 
 another night either set aside or confirmed 
 them. Between eleven and twelve the same 
 noises occurred, and she repeated her experi- 
 ment, which resulted in the same manner. The 
 next day the landlord and myself were fully 
 acquainted with the matter, and invited to par- 
 take in her conviction. I was willing to take 
 her word, but the carpenter was not ; he sat 
 up with her the ensuing evening; heard the 
 sounds, and when Mrs. H. prevailed on him to 
 descend the stairs with her, he was so fright- 
 ened, that, instead of entering the shop, he ran 
 out of the front-door. Mrs. H. was now given 
 the apartments rent-free, and continued to re- 
 side in them throughout the summer; the noises 
 occurred every night for about half an hour, 
 till at length they grew so familiar, that she 
 heard them with indifference. " Habit,'^ she 
 said to me, " is second nature, Mr. Bernard : 
 if I didn't hear the carpenters at work every 
 night, I should begin to fear they were com- 
 ing up-stairs!" 
 
 These are the facts of this truly singular cir- 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
242 ECCENTRICITIES OF 
 
 cumstance ; they occurred in the knowledge of 
 a hundred persons besides myself; my reader, 
 upon this assurance, may account for them as 
 he pleases ; all I wish or care to establish, is 
 the courageous character of Mrs. Canning. 
 
 Among the number of pleasure-yachts that 
 sailed into Plymouth this summer, (1790,) was 
 one bearing that dramatic Cleopatra — Becky 
 Wells ; who, in the flying finery of her dress 
 and the buoyancy of her person, was no bad 
 emblem of the boat itself. She was attended 
 b}^ a female friend tolerably old and ugly, as 
 an object of contrast, and whom she never per- 
 mitted to say more than monosyllables, in order 
 to prove agreeable company. 
 
 In the course of these recollections it has 
 been my necessity to speak very often of that 
 peculiar species of moral being, termed an ec- 
 centric ; obviously, because theatrical life more 
 abounds with it than any othen Eccen- 
 trics are plants that spring up all over the 
 world ; but the Stage is a hot-house, where we 
 see the greatest collection. Parker, Whitely, 
 
BECKY WELLS. 
 
 Bowles, and some others, have been embalmed 
 in these pages, to the knowledge, I should 
 hope, of five generations to come; but if my 
 reader has conscientiously decided on the re- 
 spective claims of these worthies to preemi- 
 nence, Mrs. Wells must now walk into his ac- 
 quaintance, and bid them all hide their dimi- 
 nished heads. 
 
 I must admit, however, I have heard my own 
 opinion disputed, that eccentricity is any peculiar 
 constitution of the mind, but rather a disease ; 
 if so, as it is utterly impossible, either in a 
 moral or physiological manner, to give any ac- 
 count of its nature and origin, I shall do no 
 more than lay before my reader a few of its ef- 
 fects, as evidenced in the life of Mrs. Wells. 
 In doing this I propose my reader's instruction as 
 well as amusement ; for I shall avail myself of 
 an old " Beef-steak" opinion, which corrected 
 Pope (not the actor) upon two points: — First, 
 where he says, " An honest man 's the noblest 
 work of God !'' deciding that it is rather " an 
 honest woman !" (that being the more wonder- 
 M 2 
 
244 ECCENTRICITIES OF 
 
 fill), and next, that the " proper study of 
 mankind is" not "man," but "woman!" she 
 being the much more complicated machine of 
 the two. 
 
 I have already mentioned that my acquain- 
 tance with Mrs. Wells commenced at Exeter, 
 in 17T6 ; where, being yoimg and pretty, she 
 was playing the second-rate " walking ladies," 
 or rather "jumping girls," in the farces, who 
 have merely to say, " they love Charles dearly;" 
 — " they won't marry Mr. Higginbottom, and 
 don't mind being locked up." Taking " The 
 Author'* for my benefit, I selected her to play 
 Becky Cadwallader, who is a simpleton in the 
 superlative sense. She was rather afraid of the 
 undertaking, till I encouraged her by saying, 
 " if she would merely put her thumb in her 
 mouth, and look as usual, she would fulfil 
 Foote's ideas to perfection." Her success in 
 this character obtained her an opening at the 
 Haymarket; where her performance of Becky 
 established her fame, and gave her a cognomen 
 for the rest of her days. Surrounded by a le- 
 gion of gallant editors, who, in those days, were 
 
BECKY WELLS. 245 
 
 all Majors of the Guards, or Captains of Artil- 
 lery, she was led to think that their efforts to 
 maintain her reputation would not tend to un- 
 dermine it, and put herself under the protection 
 of Topham, who, though a very worthy fellow, 
 rather too strenuously advocated the " Liberty 
 of the Press." 
 
 It was then her disease (if such it be ad- 
 mitted) began first to display itself. — Becky 
 loved to oppose all the tastes and customs of 
 the world ; to wear furs in the summer, and 
 muslins in winter; to improve her health by 
 riding down to Oxford or Cambridge in Hack- 
 ney coaches, and to relieve the ferment of town 
 society, by incurring premeditated debts, and 
 getting into sponging-houses, where she might 
 enjoy her reflections undisturbed ; — of all of 
 which vagaries the gallant editor supplied the 
 means with his purse, and defended the pro- 
 priety with his pen. That amiable creature 
 Miss Pope, endeavouring one day to reason 
 with her, observed — " Think, Mrs. Wells, 
 what the ' world** says of such conduct T — Becky's 
 head only ran upon Topham''s " World ;" and 
 
246 BECKY WELLS: 
 
 she answered, " I beg your pardon, Ma'am, 
 the "world" never abuses me T^ 
 
 Of all Becky's peculiarities, perhaps the 
 greatest was her imagining that every man 
 she saw or spoke to, fell in love with her. 
 As she visited the public places, the conse- 
 quence was, that she set down all his Majesty's 
 ministers, and half the nobility of the land, as 
 her dying innamoratos. But she went farther, 
 and wanted to make Topham call them all out 
 (six at a time, in the manner of Bobadil,) to 
 revenge the insulted dignity of her feelings. 
 But this depopulation of all the squares at the 
 West end, was a task he declined. Becky's ma- 
 lady reached its climax in her supposing that 
 our late beloved and most virtuous monarch 
 was among the number of her victims — she 
 having been pointed out to him in the Park, 
 shortly after his recovery from his first mental 
 attack. When the Sovereign was advised to 
 try sea-air and wateV at Weymouth, Becky fol- 
 lowed him, hired a yacht at a guinea a-day 
 (for which Topham paid), and attended him 
 in all his excursions. This evidence of loyalty. 
 
HER ROYAL ATTACHMENT. 247 
 
 when first observed, was grateful to the bosom 
 of the man who was indeed " a father to his 
 people;" and he used to exclaim—" Mrs. Wells 
 — Wells — Wells! — Good Cowslip — fond of the 
 water, eh .?" — But the daily demonstration of 
 her attachment grew at length to be very 
 singular, if not serious. Whenever his Majesty 
 cast his eye over the blue element, there was 
 the bark of Becky careering in pursuit of 
 him ; the infatuated woman reposing on the 
 deck, in all the languor and sumptuousness of 
 Cleopatra. The Royal attendants now began to 
 suspect her motives ; and the Sovereign became 
 so annoyed at his eternal attendant, that, when- 
 ever he espied a sail, he inquired eagerly, — 
 " It 's not Wells, is it P'' or, on perceiving the 
 dreaded boat, — "Charlotte, Charlotte, here's 
 Wells again !" 
 
 A few days before his Majesty visited Ply- 
 mouth, Mrs. Wells arrived as above mentioned, 
 and offered her services to the Theatre, which 
 were cordially accepted. We naturally expect- 
 ed, that on one or two nights the King would 
 honour his favourite amusement with attention 
 
248 " WELLS AGAIN ! " 
 
 here as well as elsewhere : knowing that such 
 nights would be overflows, we resolved to make 
 the most of this harvest, and went to the ex- 
 pense and trouble of enclosing the entire pit 
 as boxes. As soon as his Majesty arrived, I 
 penned an appropriate address, to which I ob- 
 tained the signatures of all the principals in 
 Plymouth. This address was received by Lady 
 Edgecombe, (one of my best patrons,) to be laid 
 before the Queen, who was pleased to express 
 a gracious approbation of my exertions, and to 
 inquire the entertainments I proposed. I enume- 
 rated the pieces, and (little suspecting the rock 
 I should split on) said, "that in addition to 
 the strength of the company, Mrs. Wells, of 
 Covent Garden, had volunteered her services V 
 This was reported to his Majesty, who, congra- 
 tulating himself most likely on his escape from 
 her attentions, heard the name with surprise 
 and vexation : " Wells, Wells ! Wells, again ! 
 —Cowslip's mad ! — on sea, on land, haunts me 
 every where !" 
 
 Lady Edgecombe was then instructed to in- 
 
HER HUSBAND. 249 
 
 form me that his Majesty would not visit the 
 Plymouth Theatre during his stay ; though the 
 cause I was left to surmise or glean elsewhere ; 
 our expenses were therefore thrown away, and 
 our expectations laughed at. Thus Mrs. Wells, 
 by her eccentricity, this summer cost me at 
 least a hundred pounds, and Topham two. 
 
 The last time I encountered this lady was 
 about a year after my return from America, 
 (1821,) in the street leading to Westminster 
 Bridge: though old and faded, she was still 
 buoyant and loquacious : a young, rough-look- 
 ing male companion was with her, whom she 
 instantly quitted to welcome me home. After 
 about five minutes'* conversation on past and 
 present times, I begged not to keep her from 
 her friend any longer. '* Friend !" she replied, 
 putting a construction on the word which I by 
 no means intended — "he's no friend ! — he^^s 
 my husband !" It was now my turn to stare; 
 and I inquired whether he was in the pro- 
 fession. She took him by the hand, and danc- 
 ing up to me, through the stream of coal- 
 M 5 
 
250 SIEGE OF PLYMOUTH. 
 
 heavers, porters, and men of business that were 
 passing, sang with great humour^ — 
 
 " And hav'n't you heard of the jolly young waterman, 
 That at "Westminster Bridge used to ply ?*' &c. 
 
 Vale— Becky. 
 
 Governor Campbell, who had always held out 
 a very friendly hand to me, had by him a ma- 
 nuscript account of the Siege of Plymouth, dur- 
 ing the memorable conflicts of the Cavaliers and 
 Roundheads. He obliged me with a perusal of 
 the papers ; and the incidents they detailed were 
 of so dramatic a character, that I obtained his 
 permission to adapt them for our boards. Ben- 
 net the organist, who was a pupil of Dr. 
 Jackson with Incledon and Davy, set the mu- 
 sic to this drama, (deserving of a worthier ve- 
 hicle,) and its attraction throughout the season 
 amply recompensed the undertaking. 
 
 From Plymouth we proceeded to Dover, 
 where Charles Mate, my stage-manager, had 
 got the house in readiness to receive us. Mate 
 was the Margate patentee, at that time a clever 
 actor, and at all times one of the worthiest and 
 
GUERNSEY. 251 
 
 honestest men that have been mixed up in the 
 turmoil of theatricals. Major Arabin had fa- 
 voured me with a letter to Mr. Fector, a great 
 patron of the Drama, by whom I was intro- 
 duced to Dr. Mantel, Mr. Osborne, and other 
 influential persons. 
 
 The season proved highly successful from 
 the patronage thus obtained, and I chartered a 
 brig to carry the company, wardrobe, and some 
 scenery to Guernsey, where a theatre had been 
 reared during the past summer, for which I 
 supplied the entire funds, and had occasionally 
 inspected in flying visits from Plymouth. 
 
 Among the novelties of the company was a Mr. 
 Snow, under the name of Hargrave, who played 
 my principal tragedy with considerable talents. 
 He possessed a little independency, which se- 
 cured him from the personal submissions of the 
 Stage, and was one of those few instances where 
 an educated and refined man had chosen it as 
 his profession from a love of its genius. He 
 was thus the most calculated to elevate and 
 adorn it. On quitting me, I gave him a re- 
 
252 JEMMY FOTTEREL 
 
 commendation to Daly, in Dublin, from whence 
 he went to Covent Garden, but soon after re- 
 tired from the Stage, and entered the Church. 
 
 My leave to perform in Guernsey was but 
 once in two years ; and at the fall of the curtain, 
 I let the house to a tobacconist, to be employed 
 ad interim as a warehouse. We then returned 
 to Plymouth, where I was joined by Johnny 
 Quick, and my old Belfast acquaintance, Jem- 
 my Fotterel. 
 
 Ten years had wrought no change in this 
 well-known itinerant : he was as great a hu- 
 morist as ever, and as bad an actor. Being 
 bent on taking a benefit, (though totally un- 
 known in Plymouth,) I made the charges as 
 moderate as possible, and he gained about five 
 shillings by the experiment. With this, how- 
 ever, he contrived to make himself comfortable, 
 (which was making every one else very un- 
 comfortable,) and went round to the principal 
 houses to return thanks to his patrons who had 
 not been to the play. This was about two 
 o'clock in the morning. The first person he 
 waited upon was the Governor, at whose door 
 
AND HIS PATRONS. 25B 
 
 in the citadel he played such a thundering tune 
 with the knocker, that two or three servants 
 looked out of the upper windows together. He 
 desired them to inform their master, that a 
 gentleman was waiting without, who had busi- 
 ness to communicate of importance. The do- 
 mestics, not being able to glean it themselves, re- 
 tired with the conviction that, from his abrupt- 
 ness and mystery, he bore the news of an im- 
 portation of Parisian Jacobins. The Governor 
 soon after thrust his head from a window, and 
 demanded of Fotterel who he was, and what he 
 wanted. 
 
 " Good morning to your night-cap!*' sung 
 Jemmy in reply. — " Who are you ?" repeated the 
 Governor. — " There 's a question !" replied he ; 
 " now, darling, if you had been to the play, 
 you would have known who I was!— Jemmv 
 Fotterel, to be sure.""* — " And what the devil do 
 you want. Jemmy Fotterel .?"" — " Just to men- 
 tion to your honour that my benefit took place 
 at the Theatre last night, and there was but 
 a paltry ten pounds in the house, which was 
 just the expenses, and only five shillings over." 
 
254 JEMMY FOTTEREL. 
 
 — " But what has that to do with mer— "Oh, be 
 asy, and you '11 find it 's a great deal. Now, if 
 your Excellency had taken your family to Jem- 
 my Fotterel's benefit, as you ought to have 
 done, he would have had thirteen in the house, 
 and that would have been just three in his pocket ; 
 think of that !'' — " And is that all you wanted ?" 
 said the Governor, closing the window with vex- 
 ation. " All I wanted !" iterated Jemmy in a 
 key which must have been audible in every 
 cranny of the citadel ; " by the powers ! it 's a 
 great deal more than I have got. — I tell you 
 what, Mr. Alexander the Great ; if you don't 
 know a good actor when you Ve got him, all 
 I can say is, you shan't patronize Jemmy Fot- 
 terel again, — and so good-night to you !" 
 
 He then visited the domiciles of a dozen 
 principal families in Plymouth, and roused their 
 superiors in a manner equally whimsical ; but 
 was at length seized and brought up in the 
 morning to the Town-hall, to answer the charges 
 preferred against him. Mr. Winn, the Mayor, 
 was both diverted and puzzled at the circum- 
 stance, being unable to determine what punish- 
 
JOHN EMERY. 255 
 
 ment was appropriate for an offence so novel. 
 Jemmy was at length dismissed, (through my 
 interference,) but not without a suitable ad- 
 monition. 
 
 The summer of 1792 was a short season at 
 Plymouth, and the company divided — ^part of 
 it to go into Cornwall under the management ; 
 of Mrs. Bernard and Charles Mate, and the \ 
 other to Teignmouth with myself. On this oc- / 
 casion I very unwittingly took my last embrace 
 of Mrs. Bernard, whom I had the misfartune ( 
 to lose a few weeks afterwards at Lostwithiel, ( 
 
 in the forty-third year of her age. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Emery were with me at this 
 period, and their son John, a lad of about seven- 
 teen, who played a fiddle in the orchestra, and 
 occasionally went on for small parts. This was 
 purely as a matter of convenience to me, and 
 not of inclination on the part of the parents. 
 One thought that he might make a fiddler; but 
 both believed he would never be an actor. 
 It is therefore with some pride I recollect that 
 it was through my means John Emery owed his 
 introduction to the Stage ; I perceived the first 
 
256 TEIGNMOUTH. 
 
 distinct marks of genius about him on the fol- 
 lowing occasion : — 
 
 Our visitors at Teignmouth were in the habit 
 of walking on the sands during the fine summer 
 evenings till about nine o'clock, and then drop- 
 ping into the Theatre at half-price, by which 
 economical arrangement they proved to be like 
 a paste buckle, more brilliant than valuable. 
 We frequently commenced the performance with 
 half a dozen spectators, and by the fall of the 
 curtain had the house crowded. One evening, 
 " She Stoops to Conquer*' was the fare; and 
 at the conclusion of the music a solitary indivi- 
 dual was before us, — a broad-breasted, rosy- 
 faced farmer on the first bench in the pit. To 
 the public demands no man could be more 
 respectful than myself; but I certainly indulged 
 in a doubt on this occasion, whether one man 
 constituted the public, though we sometimes 
 hear them spoken of in the singular number. I 
 could not turn our one auditor out, from my 
 assurance that others would eventually drop in ; 
 but it seemed to me a species of slavery, never- 
 theless, that a dozen persons should exert and 
 
THE PATIENT FARMER. 257 
 
 excite themselves for the space of two hours to 
 please this solitary rosy-faced farmer. When 
 I had come to a determination, I saw John 
 Emery behind the scenes, dressed for Diggory, 
 and instructed him to deliver a message to the 
 aforesaid spectator. Peeping through the cur- 
 tain, to observe the result, I perceived a mani- 
 fest gleaming in John of the future comedian. 
 
 Entering from the stage-door in the dress, 
 and apparently in the character of Diggory, he 
 approached the farmer, — " Zurvent, Zur," — the 
 tone and manner of which appeared to be in- 
 stantly recognized ; — " Measter ha' zent I, 
 to knau, if thee shouldst loike to ha' tha 
 mooney back again, and go whoam, or wilPt 
 zit a bit till the gentlevolks do coum in vrom 
 the town, and zo ha' the play zurved up to'ee 
 at once .?'' 
 
 The farmer rose from his seat, and after 
 twirling his hat and scratching his ear, (those 
 invariable stimulants to the intellectual facul- 
 ties of a rustic,) he replied, — " Why, make my 
 duty to your measter, young man, and zay as 
 how I be coam zome distance to zee all your do- 
 
258 LORD HOWTH, AND 
 
 ings, — but I ben't in no hurry ; and as I think 
 it would be unzivil in me to ha' all the play to 
 myzelf, I '11 zit down and wait a bit till the gen- 
 tlevolks coam." — John now made a scrape and 
 his exit. The farmer " waited a bit," till it was 
 past nine, (with an occasional tune from the 
 orchestra,) and some company then assembling, 
 we commenced the comedy at its fourth act, 
 and by eleven o'*clock sent our visitors home, 
 the farmer included, — in good spirits. 
 
 My principal patron at Teignmouth was the 
 Earl of Howth, who had been a member of the 
 Bath *' Catch Club." Of his convivial charac- 
 ter I have no occasion to speak. He was one 
 of the many noblemen of that period who 
 could give their guests a double entertainment. 
 Besides theatricals, his favourite amusement 
 was driving, and, with the office, he was addicted 
 to assume on the box the dress and manners of 
 his coachman. To be precise to a hair, he wore 
 even a wig, which was then especially confined 
 to the Jehus, as a constituent of their livery. 
 
 Arriving in Bath one season with his family, 
 he drove up to an hotel, and went, whip in 
 
THE landlady's MISTAKE. 259 
 
 hand, to see some apartments on the parade, 
 which a friend had previously engaged. Knock- 
 ing at the door, the landlady made her appear- 
 ance ; and he inquired if her principal floors were 
 not taken for Lord Howth. " Yes," she repli- 
 ed, '' and I expected the honour of his Lord- 
 ship's company yesterday !*" — - " Well, let me 
 look at them." — " You look at them ! -— Umph, 
 — clean your boots then, good man." 
 
 His Lordship complied with this request, 
 though somewhat surprised at its tone and 
 manner. Following her up into the drawing- 
 room, which was very elegant, he expressed his 
 satisfaction, but in terms of such coolness that 
 the lady stared. He then flung himself on the 
 sofa, boots and all, and desired her to fetch him 
 a glass of water. — " Fetch you a glass of water, 
 Mr. Whipcord !" said she, " get off of that sofa 
 directly, you dirty fellow ! and depend on^t, his 
 Lordship shall know of your impertinence the 
 instant he arrives !" 
 
 His Lordship related this mistake with infinite 
 humour. 
 
260 CAPTAIN SAVAGE AND 
 
 Mate having failed to make the Cornwall 
 scheme pay more than the salaries, I wrote 
 to him to strike his tents, and put the company 
 in motion for Plymouth, where I intended to 
 re-unite our forces, and ship the whole for 
 Dover. The day before we reached our des- 
 tination, the Pomona frigate came in, on board 
 of which was my schoolmate, Lieutenant Ross : 
 he introduced me to Captain Savage, his com- 
 mander, (a most gentlemanly and conversable 
 person,) and the latter, on ascertaining my 
 views, was kind enough to say, that as he was 
 passing up the Channel, he would save me the 
 expense of hiring a sloop to Dover, if the com- 
 pany would put up with a few inconveniences. 
 
 The company were delighted at the idea of 
 going by this Government conveyance, and the 
 next day we were all shipped, human beings 
 and boxes, on board of the Pomona; the 
 wardrobe, &c. proceeding by land. 
 
 This was an extremely pleasant sail part of 
 the way, and truly theatrical the whole. There 
 were some wags in the company, and one or two 
 good singers (Williamson of Covent Garden, 
 
MR. LEE SUG. 261 
 
 for instance, the well-known " Bob of the miir). 
 Ross acted as Master of the Ceremonies ; and 
 the Captain was so engrossed with the oddities 
 of his visitors, that he sometimes forgot the ship. 
 On passing Chichester, however, the weather 
 changed, and the vessel beginning to roll, the 
 company began to heave, which, though it 
 checked their mirth, afforded infinitely more 
 merriment to the sailors; — our conveyance then, 
 to make the most of the wind, began to go 
 upon its side, and the larboard railings were 
 lined with the actors yielding over to Neptune 
 the good things they had received from the 
 captain. One of my worthies, a Mr. Lee Sug, 
 (since a well-known itinerant ventriloquist,) not 
 being provided with standing-room, would not 
 do that on the deck which he could not do on 
 the stage — give way to nature, lest he should 
 have committed a breach of ship discipline, but 
 staggered up to the captain at the moment he 
 was giving a command, grasped him by the 
 arm, and said he should " feel particularly 
 obliged if the latter would bring him a bason !*" 
 On coming up to Dover, we found it impos- 
 
262 MR. AND MRS. FOX. 
 
 sible to land, owing to the serious strife of those 
 warring deities iEolus and Neptune, and the 
 captain carried us on to Deal, where the beach 
 and the current afforded greater facilities. Here 
 a pilot-boat was hailed ; and in a few hours we 
 were all comfortably introduced to Mrs. Fox's 
 parlour, at the " Hoop and Griffin." 
 
 This lady and her husband presented a sin- 
 gular contrast to each other, not less in mind 
 than in person: she was a woman that could 
 have conducted herself with credit in the high- 
 est circles, such was the propriety of her feel- 
 ings and manners. He was a Cockney, but a 
 greater realization of the vulgar and brutish 
 than that word mostly implies. Their mar- 
 riage had been occasioned not by affection, but 
 obedience to a paternal agreement. Some noble 
 company having driven off, at the moment Fox 
 entered the door, Mrs. F. remonstrated with 
 him on his not being in the way to pay his re- 
 spects to their guests. This modern centaur, 
 half man and half horse, looked at her an 
 instant in stupid irritation, and then exclaimed, 
 " Vy, here 's a pretty rig ! — vy, I vants to 
 
DOVER. 
 
 know, marm : don^t you make a nigger on me 
 at vonst.'" 
 
 At Dover, this season, John Emery played 
 my principal country boys (though his father 
 constantly asserted, that going on the stage 
 would be his ruin) ; a Mr. Mervin was my light 
 comedian (who afterwards made his appearance 
 in London) ; and I was joined by a Mr. Whit- 
 field, from Exeter, who told me a very hu- 
 morous story of my old friend Mr. Hunn. 
 
 I had known this gentleman for several years 
 in Plymouth, where he was a silk-mercer, car- 
 rying on business to a great extent : he had 
 received a good education, and could wield his 
 pen with nearly as great facility as his measure. 
 Being devotedly attached to theatricals, he as- 
 sumed the chair of criticism, praised Shak- 
 speare, advised me, and castigated the actors. 
 Soon after his marriage with Mrs. Canning, he 
 failed in business, and went on the stage ; but, 
 in doing so, discovered that there was a dif- 
 ference between the capabiHty of appreciating 
 the merits of a dramatic picture, and the power 
 of producing one. It is a difficult thing for 
 
264 D^BUT OF MR. HUNN. 
 
 critics at all times to exemplify their precepts. 
 His debut was at Exeter, where, there being 
 some of the actors he had formerly satirized at 
 Plymouth, they resolved on revenge, and circu- 
 lated among their friends such reports of his 
 talents as to prejudice the town against him. 
 His opening character was " Marc Antony." 
 Though a well-made, handsome man from his 
 hip upward, he stood upon a pair of pedestals 
 even more delicate than those of the never-to- 
 be-forgotten Dicky Suett. These were the first 
 things to attract the pubhc eye, and the sarcasm 
 of his enemies. His acting, unluckily, not 
 being of an order to array the favour of the 
 many against the pique of the few, so much dis- 
 pleasure was evinced, that he required the inter- 
 ference of his wife (a ruling favourite at Exe- 
 ter) to enable him to proceed. His efforts, how- 
 ever, tended only to produce another tumult, 
 and a second time his amiable partner came on 
 to entreat their indulgence, when a country- 
 man rose up in the pit, and in a broad dialect 
 replied, " I tell 'ee what, marm ; it doesn't zig- 
 nify talking, if Mr. Mark Antony doan't go 
 
ANECDOTE OF A SPANIEL. 265 
 
 whoam directly, I '11 throw my hat at un, and 
 break both his legs ! *" 
 
 Hunn, I believe, quitted soon after a pro- 
 fession for which he was so ill qualified, and 
 entered the employ of some country merchant, 
 whose fortune he had been the means of making. 
 
 One morning, I was agreeably surprised by a 
 Folkstone fisherman bringing me a favourite 
 spaniel, that I had entrusted to the company 
 when they sailed from Dover to Guernsey, but 
 who had gnawed his rope, jumped overboard, 
 and swam to shore. Our servant girl (who was a 
 native of Folkstone) had been very kind to this 
 dog, and on his returning to our lodgings, he 
 found her preparing her bundle to go home. 
 Without her knowledge he followed her ; and 
 when she had proceeded about half-way across 
 the cliffs, she was met by a gentleman in dis- 
 tress, who demanded her bundle and money. 
 The girl screamed, and the villain (I must now 
 call him) proceeded to violence, when this little 
 spaniel, trotting behind, (who till then had ne- 
 ver been reputed for sufficient courage to attack 
 a rat,) flew at his leg, and bit it so severely, 
 
 VOL. II, N 
 
^66 ANECDOTE OF A SPANIEL. 
 
 that the footpad was obliged to release the girl 
 to defend himself. She instantly bounded away, 
 screaming " Murder !" loud enough to have 
 been heard on board ship, till her lungs and 
 legs were exhausted, and she sank down on the 
 ' road. In a few minutes her little preserver ran 
 up to her, covered with the blood of her assail- 
 ant, whom he had most likely left rubbing his 
 shins under a hedge. The dog followed her 
 home, where her parents, in gratitude for thi s 
 service, built a kennel for him, and fed him like 
 an alderman. Hearing I was again in Dover, 
 they returned him by the hands of their son. 
 The spaniel seemed pleased to recognise me, 
 remained at home, and took his dinner that day 
 very comfortably ; but by the evening he had 
 trotted off to Folkstone. He was again brought 
 back to me ; but J, justly considering that he 
 had got well settled for life, and moreover was 
 not a proper dog for the profession, being em- 
 bued with no sound peregrinative principle, re- 
 solved not to make a vagabond of so domestic 
 an animal, and consigned him to his recent pos- 
 sessors for the rest of his days. 
 
RETURN TO COVENT GARDEN. 267 
 
 Before the close of the season, I received an 
 offer from Mr. Harris to resume my post at 
 Covent Garden, upon a five years'* article, and 
 ray former terms, which (being now under no 
 restraints) I accepted. Taking a grateful fare- 
 well of Dover, remembering the many pleasant 
 hours I had spent in it, my ensuing summer 
 was as usual passed at Plymouth, where only 
 one circumstance occurred that demands an al- 
 lusion. Mr. Wolf, whose character correspond- 
 ed very strongly with his name, having by me 
 the previous summer been excluded from the 
 licence, took the liberty of seizing the Theatre, 
 on account of some scenery belonging to him, 
 (which he had formerly acknowledged was not 
 worth house-room,) and opened it with a com- 
 pany. As the verdict of a jury was necessary to 
 eject him, I was compelled to erect a temporary 
 edifice, for which my good friends Major Haw- 
 ker, Dr. Gaskin, and Haydon, supplied me with 
 the ground and assistance. 
 
 Plymouth could never support two theatres; 
 and mine, though the smallest and least conve- 
 nient, having the best company, and the best pa- , 
 N 2 J 
 
A LAST FAVOUR. 
 
 tronage, secured the best attendance. Wolf 
 involved himself considerably by this rash ex- 
 periment, being cast by the jury in the whole 
 amount of my expenses, besides those of the 
 Court. 
 
 One of his accomplices in this affair was a 
 Mr. G. L. Barret, who, when called on for his 
 defence, raised some laughter in the Court, by 
 saying that " he had had the pleasure of being 
 an old friend and companion of mine for many 
 years.*''* 
 
 About fifteen years after this, he rode up to 
 my door in Boston (America) in a coach, and 
 asked me if I would do him a last favour. I 
 said, " Yes."—" Well, then," he added, " John, 
 I am dying ; when I am dead, put me under 
 the turf, and I will never trouble you again." 
 
 He kept his word, and I mine. 
 
LONDON. 269 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1793-4. — London. — Club. — Captain Clark, Macklin's Goose. 
 — Merry, and my Lapsus. — How to speak a Prologue. — 
 Eccentricities of Jemmy Wilde, with Cubit, with Mrs. Mat- 
 tocks, with a City Club The two John Bernards. — A 
 
 Lawyer's munificence. — The " Poor Sailor." — Munden's 
 acting. — Plymouth.— John Emery and Dr. Gaskin. — Mr. 
 Prigmore. — Comicalities of Billy Lewis. — Lord Edgecombe's 
 Ale.' — The Dog-Coach, &c. — The Comedian's Recollections. 
 — A " Comical Dog." — London. — " Beef-steak" Members 
 abroad. — Curious circumstances of the deaths of Colonels 
 Boswell and Elde. — The Elegy and Incledon's ear. — Lon- 
 don Characters " Barrington" a judge of Theatricals. — 
 
 Count Bibb. — The original of "Jeremy Diddler." — Gen- 
 tleman Harry. — The Pickpocket of high hfe. — A singular 
 Anecdote — Scene in a flash house Incident.— Brighton. 
 
 In the autumn of 1793 I returned to Co- 
 vent Garden, and made my bow in " Lord 
 Ogleby f my reception led me to perceive that 
 by my old friends and patrons I was not for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The first club-night I paid a visit to the 
 
270 macklin's goose. 
 
 " Beef-steak," which (to use Merry's pun) had 
 
 not been cut by the pubhc, and was reinstalled 
 
 in the secretaryship by the unanimous consent. 
 
 The duties of this office had been performed in 
 
 my absence by various persons. I perceived 
 
 , many new faces in the Club, and the absence of 
 
 ) many old ones ; but though no such enemy to 
 
 I change as some of my companions, I cannot say 
 
 / that in this case the change was for the better. 
 
 \ One of my most intimate acquaintance among 
 
 / the " Beef-steakers" was a Captain Clark of the 
 
 { Guards, a soldier and a bon-vivant of equally 
 
 high standing. He was many years older than 
 
 myself, but possessed a twin temper and taste, 
 
 and, being a bachelor, agreed to furnish a 
 
 house with me, near the Haymarket, that we 
 
 might pass the winter under the same roof. 
 
 This was the gentleman that hissed Macklin 
 in " Macbeth," and was condemned to pay 
 700/. for " his whistle," in the Court of King's 
 Bench. Macklin, my reader may remember, 
 waved acceptance of the sum, upon a trifling 
 condition, which induced Lord Mansfield to re- 
 mark, " I have always seen you play with merit, 
 
MERRY, AlND my LAPSUS. 271 
 
 Mr. Macklin ; but you never acted so admira- 
 bly as you have done to-day." 
 
 Captain Clark had the candour to tell me the 
 whole affair, as on one occasion Macklin had the 
 vanity. 
 
 Among the early novelties of the season, a 
 comedy was produced, to which Merry wrote a 
 Prologue that I was to speak. In the piece 
 itself I was not concerned, and by some strange 
 lapsus, confounded the night of its production 
 with another performance. I was therefore 
 regaling at the Rainbow in King Street, with a 
 party of friends, when George Peirce (the vocal 
 amateur) happened to come in, who, staring at 
 me, took out his watch and said, " Bernard, 
 do they cut out the Prologue to-night ? it 's five 
 minutes to seven." 
 
 I made but two steps from the stairs to the 
 street, and about a dozen through the Piazzas 
 to the stage-door. The overture was over, and 
 my name was echoing behind the scenes, from a 
 dozen persons, besides Lewis and the call-boy. 
 Compunction at my neglect, and the bustle it 
 had occasioned, confused me so much, that on 
 reaching the first wing, the Prologue had eva^ 
 
272 HOW TO SPEAK A PROLOGUE. 
 
 porated, leaving an indistinct outline in my 
 memory, with one or two points, and half a 
 dozen rhymes. But the Stage was waiting, and 
 it was no time to pause. Luckily, I had made 
 up my mind that day to dine in breeches, and 
 my head and throat were consequently in order. 
 Snatching a hat from Holman, on I went, to the 
 infinite amusement of Wilde the prompter, who 
 had rung up the curtain directly, to increase 
 my embarrassment. However, being now on my 
 mettle, I dashed into a dozen extempore coup- 
 lets, about wars and tars^ fears and tears^ 
 charms and alarms^ beams and dreams ^ cause 
 and applause ; and by now recollecting a line of 
 the author, and then devising one of my own, 
 with a very animated manner and indistinct 
 voice, I was enabled to spin the Prologue out 
 to a tolerable length, and made my bow (will 
 it be believed ?) to a peal of applause. My 
 triumph over Wilde, Quick, Munden, and the 
 rest, who were watching the result at the wings, 
 was nothing in comparison with that of the next 
 day. Merry ran up to me in the street, and 
 seizing my hand violently, said, " I was the 
 
WILDE THE PROMPTER. 273 
 
 only man on the stage who knew how to speak 
 a prologue ; — at least," he added, ^' you are the 
 only man, Bernard, that has done justice to 
 mine."" 
 
 Among the wags of Covent Garden, Wilde 
 the prompter was unquestionably the greatest. 
 He could occasionally say good things ; but his 
 talent for practical jokes distanced all compe- 
 tition. A few proofs upon this point may 
 be amusing. 
 
 Cubit the singer was frequently teazing 
 Wilde, by mislaying his snuff-box or the 
 prompt-book ; and the latter concerted with 
 Johnny Quick (a willing agent in such ro- 
 gueries) a piece of revenge. He got the car- 
 penter to fix a bucket on a swivel, over the 
 stage-entrance of the Theatre, but so as to be 
 concealed from notice; which was then filled 
 with water, and had a cord tied to its handle. 
 The next morning, Cubit had to attend re- 
 hearsal earlier than usual to superintend a cho- 
 rus, and found Quick and Wilde in the pas- 
 sage expecting his arrival ; the former with his 
 coat off jumping vigorously, but ineffectually, 
 n5 
 
274 wilde's eccentricitirs with 
 
 to grasp the suspended cord. — " Cubit," said 
 Wilde, " I have bet Johnny Quick a beef- 
 steak and a bottle of porter, that he doesn't bite 
 the knot of that cord in five times." — " In five 
 times !" replied Cubit, in surprise — " why, I '11 
 bring one of my boys to do it the first time." 
 Quick desisted, saying he had lost his wager ; 
 and Wilde proposed to renew it with Cubit, 
 who, scorning a reply, put himself under the 
 cord immediately, to shame them with his superior 
 agility.' His companions took this desired hint 
 to steal away a convenient distance, where there 
 were about twenty other spectators secreted. 
 Cubit jumped, clutched the cord, and succeeded 
 in drawing over him the entire contents of the 
 bucket. 
 
 His dismay and indignation must be imagin- 
 ed, as well as the sudden shout of the rascally 
 carpenters. 
 
 On another occasion, a comedy by Lady 
 Wallace being read in the Green-room, a num- 
 ber of her fashionable acquaintance attended 
 to hear it. The room was prepared with ap- 
 propriate attention, and the ''company'* came in 
 
CD BIT AND MRS. MATTOCKS. 275 
 
 full dress. Lewis read the piece, and I acted as 
 master of the ceremonies. At the end of the 
 first act, when the refreshments (which were 
 liberally supplied by Mr. Harris) were handed 
 round, a jelly to Lady This, and cake and noy- 
 eau to the Countess of That, a dirty little pot- 
 boy pushed open the door, and presenting a 
 pewter mug, exclaimed, " A pint of porter for 
 Mrs. Mattocks !" Mrs. M. shrieked better than 
 Belvidera in the mad-scene, and the cruel 
 laughter of the company, I thought, would never 
 have ceased. The young son of the spigot was 
 speedily kicked out, but not before he had com- 
 municated that " Mr. Wilde ordered it." 
 
 Jemmy expiated this offence, however, by a 
 persecution to which the only limit seemed to 
 be that of Mrs. Mattocks' days. 
 
 Wilde was once invited to a club in the 
 City ; and the first evening he paid it a visit, by 
 mistaking the time, he found himself the only 
 person in the room. These convivialists com- 
 menced their proceedings always with a supper, 
 agreeably to the very sound notion, that the 
 rearing of a night's harmony is like that of a 
 
276 A CITY CLUB 
 
 building,—" you must lay a foundation before 
 you go upward ;" that is, " attend first to the 
 stomach, and then to the head^'' 
 
 The fare at this place was Welsh-rabbits, 
 which were served up plain, that the members 
 might pepper them to their liking. Wilde could 
 not restrain his passion, when so favourable an 
 opportunity offered. Taking up the pepper- 
 ^ castor, he slipped off its top, emptied it into his 
 hand, and refilled it with the contents of his 
 snufF-box. To enhance his roguery, he secreted 
 the other castors in a closet. The company 
 soon after assembled, and sat down to the con- 
 sumption of their viand. There being but one 
 pepper-box on the table, that necessarily per- 
 formed its circuit, (missing Wilde's plate, who 
 on that occasion " never used pepper,") and the 
 snuff, being genuine " blackguard," so much re- 
 sembled its supposed nature, as to prevents us- 
 picion. By about the second mouthful, every 
 gentleman felt an unaccountable tickling in his 
 throat, (no doubt the ground glass this mixture 
 is said to contain,) which called for as many 
 glasses of porter; but every swallow of the rabbit 
 
AND WELSH-RABBITS. 277 
 
 increasing the irritation, the words *' d — d hot 
 pepper"" ran about, " some more beer," &c. till 
 presently every throat was on fire ; liquid would 
 not cool them, and their mouths began to run, 
 as though in the extreme stage of a salivation. 
 Wilde pretended to be affected like the rest, to 
 avoid suspicion. The waiters were now sum- 
 moned, charged with having poisoned the Club, 
 and kicked down-stairs. The landlord then 
 made his appearance, and found his guests 
 " drinking, cursing, and spitting," with fearful 
 avidity. Showering him with oaths, they de- 
 manded to know what deleterious pungent he 
 had infused in the pepper. He declared his 
 innocence, inspected the castor, and discovered 
 the substitution. It was now evident the evil 
 one was among: themselves. Mr. Wilde was a 
 stranger; but he expressing himself alarmed 
 ten minutes before, had run down to the bar, 
 where paying for his rabbit and porter, the 
 " alarm" continued, and he had gone home. 
 
 One morning, on descending to breakfast, I 
 found a letter on my table, containing a cheque 
 for two thousand pounds— it was from a noble 
 
278 THE TWO BERNARDS. 
 
 Duke in the country, to his solicitor, a Mr. J. 
 Bernard, for the defrayal of expenses in repair- 
 ing his town-house. The mistake was occa- 
 sioned by my namesake living in the same 
 street, and the number having been carelessly 
 omitted in the superscription. Aware of the 
 above, I immediately dressed myself, and called 
 on the solicitor, whom I found at home : the 
 production of the letter and the cheque (which 
 he had been some days anxiously expecting) 
 threw him into a fit of ecstatics, which I thought 
 would have prevented my departure for the 
 day. His last words were, " Depend on it, Mr. 
 Bernard, I shall return this call.*" 
 
 When I related this circumstance to my 
 friends, they were all of opinion that my 
 conduct (however I might conceive myself re- 
 munerated by my conscience) would procure 
 me important patronage from a new quarter. 
 On my benefit day, as I was finishing dinner, 
 Mr. Bernard returned my call ; and, being 
 shown into the room, bustled up to me with a 
 smiling face and extended hand, exclaiming, 
 " You see, Mr. Bernard, I have not forgotten 
 you : it 's your benefit to-night : I want four box- 
 
A lawyer's MUNIFICENCE. 279 
 
 tickets for myself and family ; — never mind seats, 
 Sir; we '11 take our chance." He then drew out 
 his purse, and with great formality tendered 
 me a guinea! (the box-tickets were then five 
 shillings a-piece). I looked at the gold an in- 
 stant, with a small selfish twinge of surprise, but 
 gave him his tickets, and then with equal for- 
 mality produced my purse, from which ex- 
 tracting a shilling, I off*ered it in return. Draw- 
 ing himself up with laughable ostentation ; 
 " No, my good friend," said he; " I must insist 
 on your keeping the shilling." — " Indeed, 
 Sir," I replied, " I must insist on your accept- 
 ing it." 
 
 Piqued at my manner, which was tolerably 
 sarcastical, he looked in the faces of Bannister, 
 Brandon, and others, who were sitting round 
 the table, and perceived in each a significant 
 smile. Seizing his hat, with the shilling, he 
 exclaimed, " I see how it is. Sir ; you are the 
 very man I supposed you to be— Good day !" At 
 this opinion, my companions replied for me with 
 a shout, that seemed to blow the munificent 
 lawyer from the top of the stairs to the street, 
 — he vanished instantaneously. 
 
280 THE " POOR SAILOR." 
 
 During this season, I presented to Mr. Harris 
 a petit comic opera, called " The Poor Sailor ; 
 or, Little Bob and Little Ben;" which being 
 approved of, Atwood composed the music, with 
 much character and variety. Master Standen 
 and Miss Poole were allotted Bob and Ben. 
 Incledon in the " Poor Sailor,'' drew on the 
 coat I had cut for him ; and my friend Joseph 
 Munden played a sea-captain, in that genuine 
 spirit which perpetuated to a late day the ge- 
 nius of Shuter: — in that rich and racy humour, 
 which (if there is any thing characteristic in 
 our Stage) may be said to constitute the national 
 comedy of England, Shuter, Parsons, and Mun- 
 \den were a happy triumvirate, " whose like we 
 may not hope to look upon again." 
 
 Mate, my acting manager, had carried the 
 company to Cornwall, during the winter, in a 
 sharing scheme ; and as the summer advanced, 
 dropped down to Plymouth, where I joined him 
 with Incledon and Munden. 
 
 Old Emery and wife had quitted the com- 
 pany ; but John remained, in his double capacity 
 of fiddler and actor. Soon after we opened, an 
 
EMERY AND DR. GASKIN. 28l 
 
 incident occurred which induced me to take 
 him from the orchestra altogether. A Mr. 
 Prigraore (already noticed in these pages), who 
 very candidly styled himself " a low comedian,"" 
 had to play an old man in the last act of " He 
 would be a Soldier :" but at the time of per- 
 formance was nowhere to be found, having se- 
 creted himself on board of an American brig, 
 which was carrying out that provincial Garrick, 
 John Hodgkinson. Search having been made 
 for him in vain, I gave the part to John 
 Emery to read over, and get through as well 
 as he could. The latter retired to his dressing- 
 room, made himself master of the words ; then 
 carefully arrayed, and when his scene arrived, 
 went on, and played with such striking effect, 
 that Dr. Gaskin came behind to inquire " who 
 was the new actor in the last act ?'''' — " Young 
 Emery," said I, "the musician." — "You mean," 
 replied the Doctor, "young Emery, the co- 
 median V 
 
 Mr. Prigmore above mentioned was a poor 
 man, and a very poor actor; and moreover 
 was some ten or twelve pounds in my debt, for 
 
28£ MR. PRIGMORE. 
 
 an affair at Guernsey : he had no doubt been 
 seduced to this act of desertion by the pros- 
 pects which America then held out, of making 
 the fame and fortune of every dramatic adven- 
 turer. But the captain of the brig, on disco- 
 vering him amongst the bales and boxes, not 
 dealing in human beings, and being a compunc- 
 tious man, came to me to explain the circum- 
 stance an hour before he sailed, and know 
 whether his departure would be a loss to me. I 
 had my ten pounds to sacrifice ; but fearing, if 
 he stayed with me, the amount would be in- 
 creased, I presented the captain with the debt 
 in part payment of his passage ; and thus enti- 
 tled myself to the gratitude of all country ma- 
 nagers. I little thought, however, in thus ship- 
 ping him abroad, how soon it would be my own 
 lot to follow his example. 
 
 During this season, Billy Lewis and his wife 
 came down to Plymouth, on a visit to me ; and 
 it lay in my power to make their time pass 
 agreeably. I wrote a note to the Commissioner of 
 the dock-yard to obtain an entre for a party the 
 next morning ; and when we had surveyed its 
 
LORD EDGECOMBE'S ALE. 283 
 
 various purposes and preparations, we crossed 
 the ferry to Edgecombe, ordered a dinner at the 
 tavern, and then passed on to Maker Tower, 
 from whence we had a view of an outward- 
 bound fleet of merchantmen ; and the Cornish 
 militia on the land, reviewing by their Colonel, 
 Lord Edgecombe. As*we were returning to the 
 tavern, Jefferson proposed caUing at the man- 
 sion to obtain Lewis a view of his Lordship's 
 pictures, a favour that either my partner or 
 myself could have commanded. On reaching 
 the hall-door, however, his Lordship and attend- 
 ants rode up, and in a most cordial manner 
 begged we would sit down to dinner with him. 
 This pleasure our previous arrangement pre- 
 vented ; but in taking our leave, we were con- 
 strained to taste the family ale, for which 
 Mount Edgecombe enjoyed some celebrity. It 
 had been brewed on the birth-day of Lord Valle- 
 tort, and was not broached till he came of age : 
 it was more mild than the eulogised liquor of 
 Boniface, but equally potent. Jefferson incau- 
 tiously smacking his lips after emptying his 
 glass, induced his Lordship to fill it again ; and 
 
THE DOG-COACH. 
 
 this being a precedent not to be overruled in 
 regard to ourselves, we all found it a difficult 
 matter to pursue our path to the tavern with 
 that due preservation of the perpendicular which 
 people usually maintain before dinner. The 
 dinner, however, we found to be spoiled from 
 the delay thus occasioned, and the flavour of the 
 wine undistinguishable from the ale. Never- 
 theless, we returned to Plymouth in very good 
 humour, and carrying Mrs. Lewis home in a 
 " dilly," turned it round, to pass our evening 
 in merriment, at a pre-appointed spot. 
 
 Half-way between Dock and Plymouth was a 
 small public'house kept by a man who, many 
 years previous, had gained some notoriety by a 
 " Dog-coach.*" He had trained six large mas- 
 tiffs to run in a chariot of an appropriate size, 
 harnessed like horses; and as the best substitute 
 for human beings, he had taught two apes to 
 act as coachman and postilion ; the former com- 
 bining the duties of footman, and both clothed 
 in correct costume: the one, in jockey-cap, buck- 
 skins, and boots ; the other, in coat, waistcoat, 
 breeches, cocked-hat, and wig. 
 
COMICALITIES OF BILLY LEWIS. 285 
 
 With this establishment he travelled over the 
 kingdom, publishing hand-bills to the children, 
 whom he used to ride about agreeably to the 
 way and the weather, at so much per mile. 
 
 On mentioning this circumstance to Lewis as 
 we passed the inn in the morning, he said that 
 this equipage was in Dublin at the time he was 
 playing at the Smock Alley Theatre, where 
 a pantomime being in preparation, the manage- 
 ment engaged the " Dog-coach" to appear in it. 
 In one of the scenes was an elopement to Gret- 
 na Green of the Harlequin and Columbine ; and 
 this vehicle was employed as their means of 
 flight. It accordingly circuited the stage once 
 or twice, the Clown and Pantaloon pursuing, 
 and " contributed by its run," said Lewis, " to 
 that of the pantomime." 
 
 This tavern was the destination to which we 
 proceeded in the evening. Lewis entered the 
 house with Jefferson's three-cornered hat stuck 
 on one side of his head, and called for some 
 brandy and water. Billy was this evening ex- 
 tremely elate. His Lordship's ale had drawn 
 forth his humour to an extent which, in the 
 
286 lewis's early days. 
 
 perfection of his acting, I never saw surpassed. 
 He had all the exhilaration of Vapid, with the 
 quaintness of Petruchio. The host brought in 
 the liquor, who was himself an eccentric of no 
 contemptible quaUty. He attracted the prin- 
 cipal custom to his tap-room, by the whimsical 
 accounts he used to give of his peregrinations 
 about the kingdom. To this ** stock" subject 
 Lewis immediately referred, and carrying him 
 to Dublin, inquired if he did not remember the 
 circumstance of the pantomime. A most whim- 
 sical dialogue now ensued, acquainting us that 
 Lewis had amused himself by playing all manner 
 of tricks with the dogs and monkeys, such as 
 tying crackers to the tip of the postilion's tail, 
 (permitted to poke out through a hole in his 
 buckskins,) which generally unhorsed him by 
 their startling explosion. Lewis was thoroughly 
 unknown to the landlord, till he alluded to 
 those circumstances; but the latter amused us 
 quite as much by pretending, in the manner of 
 FalstafF, that he recognised Lewis the moment 
 he saw him. When we were therefore roaring 
 at one of the above rogueries, the host clapped 
 
THE comedian's PHILOSOPHY. 287 
 
 his knuckles in his sides, rolled about his head, 
 and, with a truly Henderson significance of 
 smirk, exclaimed, " And do you think I didn't 
 know ye, Billy Dawson P"'* 
 
 As a more convivial beverage, we now called 
 for some punch, and round a three-legged table 
 in a tenebrious back-parlour, sat down to drink, 
 and recollect the most whimsical portions of our 
 lives. These happened to be with Jefferson, 
 Lewis, the dog-driver, and myself, — those in 
 which we peripateticised, — the times in which we 
 followed the example of our great founder, and 
 strolled and spouted in plenty and poverty, 
 under sunshine and cloud, content with the 
 day, never fearing the morrow, realizing of life 
 what philosophers have merely propounded, — 
 that it was indeed a jest, and that he was the 
 most enviable whose laugh could last longest. 
 
 • The name that Lewis then went by. His mother's second 
 husband was a Mr. Dawson, by whom she gave birth to 
 George Dawson, a comedian, that was the twin of Lewis in 
 appearance, and, without hesitation I will add, in talent. Of 
 iall the histrionic flowers that were <' bom to blush unseen," 
 in my recollection, George Dawson and Vandermere were the 
 most eminent instances. 
 
288 CANINE COMEDIANS. 
 
 In this manner the evening rolled away, and 
 the "dilly" arrived at the time it was engaged, 
 but about six hours before it was wanted. We 
 then ordered another bowl, to seal up the above 
 recollections ; and whilst it was preparing, Lewis 
 rose from his chair, staggered into an adjoining 
 room which was used for shaving and dressing, 
 and laid himself at full length on the table, 
 where some wigs had been powdered in the 
 morning. When the punch was brought in, 
 we could find him nowhere, and every room in 
 the house was searched before the right one ; at 
 length we discovered and raised him from the 
 table, where having rolled about in his slumber, 
 he looked more completely and comically pow- 
 dered than Lawyer Endless when extricated 
 from the sack. 
 
 It was some sort of coincidence with the 
 above, that I should this summer have engaged 
 for one evening from an Italian a company of 
 dogs, who performed the ballet of " The De- 
 serter of Naples" in a most surprising manner. 
 The canine comedian that enacted " Skirmish" 
 was so full of characteristic fun, that I don't 
 
" beef-steak"" members ABROA.D. 289 
 
 think my old friend Vandermere, the richest 
 colourist of this part in the opera I ever wit- 
 nessed, could have looked at the "Comical 
 dog," and sat with complacency. 
 
 The season concluded successfully, and making 
 arrangements with (my) Mate to carry the com- 
 pany to some towns in Cornwall, I returned to 
 my post at Covent Garden. 
 
 The *' Beef-steak" this winter lost several of its 
 valuable members. Lord Cavan, Colonel Bos- 
 well, and others, were abroad on service. We 
 frequently received letters from them, detailing 
 the private circumstances of the campaign, which 
 on club-nights were read aloud to the company. 
 On one occasion, our recorder opened a packet 
 of two letters, the first of which was from Co- 
 lonel Elde, conveying the melancholy intelligence 
 that Colonel Boswell had been shot before the 
 walls of Valenciennes the morning previous; 
 and that the singular remark had dropped from 
 his lips, before proceeding to the attack, that 
 " he knew he should be the first to fall, as he 
 was a head taller than any man in his regiment, 
 and the enemy would take him for a mark !" 
 VOL. II. o 
 

 290 THE ELEGY, AND 
 
 Colonel Elde concluded by observing, " Who 
 will communicate this to poor Mrs. Boswell?'' — 
 an amiable and beautiful woman, to whom the 
 Colonel had been united but a few days when 
 he quitted the country. The other letter, singu- 
 larly enough, was from another member of the 
 Club, who was also in the service, transmitting 
 the intelligence that Colonel Elde himself was 
 shot the day after Colonel Bos well, and that the 
 letter to the Club was found in his pocket. 
 
 These events naturally darkened for that 
 evening the gaiety of the meeting: we broke 
 up early, and in testimony of our respect for 
 the gallant and the generous, whose presence 
 had so often illumined and gladdened our board, 
 we passed a resolution that an Elegy should be 
 written and composed, and sung on the ensuing 
 club-night. Merry, or Bearcroft, I forget which, 
 produced the poetry ; Shield set the music, and 
 Kelly, Dignum, and Sedgwick, were appointed 
 to sing it. When the night came, the two latter 
 were in readiness, but Kelly did not attend ; it 
 was therefore presumable that we were to lose 
 our expected treat, (a mournful pleasure, it is 
 
INCLEDON'S EAR. 291 
 
 true, but one that sincerely concentrated the 
 sympathies of the members,) when Incledon 
 started up and offered to supply Kelly's place, 
 if Dignum and Sedgwick would try over their 
 parts. This they accordingly did, and Incle- 
 don, without foreknowledge or even a present 
 sight of the music (being merely given a copy 
 of the words), by ear only, struck into the 
 inner part, and made it appear as correct and 
 beautiful as either of the others. This was 
 one of Incledon's every-day wonders. 
 
 Shortly after I came to town, I went to 
 Peel's Coffee-House to look over a file of coun- 
 try papers, and finding every box in the room 
 occupied but one, in which sat a very well- 
 dressed man taking some refreshment, I ac- 
 cordingly entered it, calling for what I wanted. 
 In a few minutes the stranger addressed me 
 by name, (claiming no more acquaintance, how- 
 ever, than every private individual holds with a 
 public character,) and entered into some re- 
 marks on the Theatres with equal spirit and 
 judgment. 
 
 On looking round, I recognised my friend 
 2 
 
292 BARRINGTON THE PICKPOCKET. 
 
 George Pierce in the room, beckoning and nod- 
 ding to me with an earnestness I could not 
 account for, and in the interest of my com- 
 panion's conversation did not attend to. Soon 
 after, the stranger rang the bell, paid for his 
 refreshment, and, politely wishing me good- 
 morning, took his departure. I now observed 
 I was the stare of the whole room, and Pierce 
 cried out, " Bernard, what 's o'clock ?'" I point- 
 ed to the time-piece in the room. "No, no — 
 by your watch !" I took it out and told him. 
 A hum of surprise and merriment ran through 
 the boxes, which I thought either very strange 
 or very rude, and inquired of Pierce his motive 
 in asking me. " Did you think, Pierce, I had 
 not got a watch ?'' said I. " Yes,'* said he, " I 
 did, for you have been talking this half-hour 
 to Barrington the pickpocket." 
 
 " Odds tremors !" as Acres says : I felt, and 
 finding that my purse was safe, grew charitable 
 in an instant. My reply happened to amuse the 
 company as much as my escape : — " I don't 
 know whether the man's a pickpocket or not, 
 but he's a devilish good judge of theatricals." 
 
COUNT BIBB. 293 
 
 Receiving an invitation to pass a day at Rich- 
 mond with a party of amateur aquatics, I ex- 
 tended my acquaintance by the knowledge of 
 another London character, the well-known 
 '* Count Bibb,"" son of a Mr. Bibb, a cutler in 
 Covent Garden, who, having run through his 
 means, was now living on his wits, and proving 
 himself to be about the keenest blade his fa- 
 ther had manufactured. 
 
 He was the first chevalier d'^industrie of 
 his day, and by his success and reputation con- 
 tributed not a little, I believe, to the propagation 
 of the race. He was well-educated, and had 
 some talents for conversation; but his princi- 
 ples were as plastic as his hat, and, like his 
 costume, of that sans souci order, that impUed 
 a sans six-sgus value. In his manners he was 
 insinuating and genteel, even to refinement, — for, 
 though requiring a slight dash of impudence tb 
 give spirit to his exertions, they were always 
 restricted to the bounds of propriety. With 
 the women universally, Bibb was a favourite: 
 he was a clever small-talker, a good hand at 
 whist, and a connoisseur in tabbies and parrots. 
 
294 THE ORIGINAL "JEREMY DIDDLER.'^ 
 
 To the men he made himself useful in parti- 
 cular ways, and was one of the most obliging 
 and convenient animals that ever ran upon two 
 legs. He had his seven staunch dining acquaint- 
 ance, whom he numbered, (Monday, Tuesday, 
 Wednesday, &c.) and stuck to with instinctive 
 fidelity. He used to supply his wardrobe by 
 borrowing in a hurry coats and boots, ow^ing 
 to a sudden invitation to dine or go into the 
 country — and his immediate necessities, by ob- 
 taining the " trifling loans" of shillings and half- 
 crowns to pay for letters and parcels of game 
 which he never received. The only game on 
 this occasion was that he made of his friends. 
 To bring him more immediately before my rea- 
 der's eye, he was the original of Kenny's " Je- 
 remy Diddler ;" and Lewis, whom he had pa- 
 tronized for " orders'*' and half-crowns innume- 
 rable, knew how to colour the picture with tints 
 the more striking because the more true. 
 
 I had an acquaintance at this time by the 
 name of Higginbottom, a vtine and spirit mer- 
 chant, who supplied Newgate prison, and seve- 
 ral of what were termed the " flash-houses." 
 
GENTLEMAN HARRY. 295 
 
 On one occasion, when he was going to receive 
 his money from these places, he invited William 
 Farmer the coachmaker and myself to accom- 
 pany him, as it would afford us an insight into 
 low life, not every day to be obtained. 
 
 At Newgate, after a pretty general survey of 
 the prison, we were conducted into the room of 
 that elegant child of Mercury, " Gentleman 
 Harry," who was then in " durance vile" for 
 his attempt to pluck the " George" from the 
 breast of a Royal Duke, in the pit of the Opera 
 House. 
 
 We found him walking about, humming a 
 fashionable tune, in an elegant rohe de cham- 
 bre^ with his hair in papers, as if preparatory 
 for a dress-party. This person enjoyed a pe- 
 culiar celebrity ; — he was the pickpocket of high 
 life. His sphere was the '* West End ;" his re- 
 sorts, the Opera, the Concerts, and Tattersal's ; 
 and in his appearance and deportment he was 
 well calculated to escape the suspicions of the 
 beings he encountered. He aped the fashion- 
 able accent in his speech, fashionable modes in 
 his living, and fashionable vices in his plea- 
 
296 GENTLEMAN HARRY. 
 
 sures. Had Lord Chesterfield been a Chief 
 Justice, " Gentleman Harry" would never have 
 been punished. 
 
 When the keeper introduced us, he bowed 
 with the utmost affabihty, told my friend that 
 he sold the best wine in London (a hint that 
 a bottle might be sent for, which was complied 
 with), and assured me that he had often had 
 the pleasure of sitting down with me at the 
 " Beef-steak" and the " Anacreontic." He then 
 dashed with much sprightliness into all the 
 topics of the day, touching upon his own si- 
 tuation (which was a fearful one) in a tone of 
 levity and contempt. After relating many of 
 the adventures of his past life, he produced an 
 instrument from a drawer, which he gave us to 
 examine ; it was a narrow tube of polishe'd steel, 
 about five inches long, from the end of which 
 issued, by pressure, a kind of barb. This was 
 an implement of his own invention for pick- 
 ing pockets, and the means, as he asserted, of 
 obtaining him many hundreds: respecting it, 
 we were favoured with the following anecdote. 
 The circumstance which led to its invention 
 
A SINGULAR ANECDOTE. 297 
 
 was the fashion of tight buckskins, which 
 clinging round the thigh like a second skin, 
 rendered the insertion of a hand in its pocket 
 extremely difficult, if not hazardous. Making 
 a drawing of his design, he carried it to one 
 of the first cutlers in the metropolis, and in- 
 quired if he had a workman skilful enough 
 to construct the implement. He was told that 
 it should be executed in a week, and the 
 price would be five guineas. Leaving a de- 
 posit, he called again at the time appointed, 
 was shown the tube, and perceived that it 
 strictly accorded with the drawing. He then 
 completed the payment very cheerfully, and 
 was about quitting the shop, when the cutler 
 stepped up to him, and in a most polite man- 
 ner said, " If it was not a liberty, he should 
 feel extremely obliged to be informed for what 
 use so curious and expensive an article was in- 
 tended.'' — "If you will step into your par- 
 lour, I will tell you with pleasure,'' said Harry. 
 The cutler opened the door, rubbed his hands, 
 and smirked him in with the utmost alacrity. 
 " Plainly, then," said his customer, " this instru- 
 05 
 
298 THE ASTONISHED CUTLEIt. 
 
 ment, which you have finished so highly, is in- 
 tended for the purpose of picking pockets." The 
 honest mechanic surveyed Harry from head to 
 foot, and doubting his words from his appear- 
 ance, attempted to laugh, and expressed his 
 disbelief. The latter however repeating the 
 assertion, the cutler begged to doubt the utility 
 of the device. — " I — I should imagine, Sir," said 
 he, '* that — that instrument could not be applied 
 to the purpose you mention, with any degree — 
 of — of certainty."*' — "Yes,*" replied Harry, "with 
 certainty ! for, in proof, there is your purse, 
 which I drew from your pocket as we enter- 
 ed the room." 
 
 The cutler's astonishment Harry left to our 
 imaginations. When reflection returned, the 
 former opened his restored purse, took out of it 
 the five guineas, and begged to make his cus- 
 tomer a present of the article, on condition 
 that, whenever he wanted any thing more of 
 that sort, he would be good enough to go to 
 another shop. 
 
 We were not more pleased with the points 
 of the above circumstance, than Harry's manner 
 
"NEWGATE ACADEMIES." 299 
 
 of giving them. He certainly possessed all the 
 external characteristics of a gentleman (with 
 more than the usual talent that is displayed 
 in telling a story), whatever his education, or 
 the portion of sense which his unprincipled ha- 
 bits had so fatally perverted. 
 
 He was soon after condemned for the cause 
 which now imprisoned him ; but, about a week 
 before his execution, contrived to obtain a dose 
 of poison and destroy himself. 
 
 From the prison we proceeded to one of 
 those houses in the neighbourhood termed, by 
 Captain Grose in his Dictionary, " Newgate 
 Academies," and went into a long room well 
 lighted up, which was filled with chairs and ta- 
 bles, and had a bar at one end. If the occupants 
 of these chairs and tables bore any striking resem- 
 blance to Macheath's gang, it was because there 
 happened to be a Peachum in this bar, who re-^ 
 ceived their stolen contributions, paying them a 
 trifling sum on the value, which goods he re« 
 tained till rewards were offered, from persons 
 that were willing to get back the property with- 
 out asking questions. As Higginbottom''s busi- 
 
300 SCENE IN A FLASH-HOUSE. 
 
 ness led him up to the bar, we overheard the con- 
 versation that took place between the gang, (as 
 they one by one dropped in with watches, rings, 
 handkerchiefs, &c.) and Peachum certainly dealt 
 with them too much like a pawnbroker. We 
 could here remark all the peculiarities of their 
 language and the varieties of their appearance, 
 an employment that was certainly amusing if not 
 edifying. After taking some refreshment, Hig- 
 ginbottom walked Farmer and myself round 
 the room to survey its occupants more nearly, 
 Peachum crying out in a clear sonorous voice, 
 *' All right !'' in order to satisfy the company, as 
 it appeared, that they were in no danger of our 
 robbing them ; some were engaged at cards, 
 others at dice, and all in drinking. Here was 
 the depredator to be espied in all his species ; 
 though the distinction lay not so much, I ima- 
 gine, in dress as in manner. This was a fine 
 field for speculation, to have recognised the 
 highwayman by his bullying abruptness — his 
 stand-and-deliver decision ; the housebreaker, 
 by his scientific phrases ; and the pickpocket. 
 
AN INCIDENT. . 301 
 
 from his shabby genteel pertness and noncha- 
 lance ; — a collection of nothing else, to use their 
 own terms, but " Gemmens and Genuses."" 
 
 This assembly and its purposes the Govern- 
 ment permitted to exist, as it enabled the " Run- 
 ners'*' from the public offices to obtain a fami- 
 liar knowledge of the thieves, and information 
 as to the manner in which stolen property was 
 disposed of. This practice, I believe, is no 
 longer in being ; but as evidence of the good 
 effects it occasionally produced, a circumstance 
 occurred in the room before we quitted. 
 
 A man had just taken his seat at one of the 
 tables, and begun to get social with his compa- 
 nions, when Townsend came in, who, having 
 missed him for some time from his accustomed 
 resorts, went up and slapped him familiarly on 
 the shoulder — " Ah, Billy, my buck, how are 
 you ? give us a grip of your daddle !" — The 
 compunctious rogue dropped the cards he was 
 sorting in astonishment, and staring in the for- 
 mer's face, exclaimed, " What ! already, Master 
 Townsend ! Why, you must be a conjuror ! why, 
 
302 . BRIGHTON. 
 
 it arVt above an hour since it was done ! But 
 never mind ; let me finish the rubber, and I '11 
 go with you." 
 
 Townsend, with his usual presence of mind, 
 assented, and coming up to me, of whom he 
 had some knowledge, declared, with a smother- 
 ed laugh, how the rogue had committed him- 
 self, as he had no charge against him whatever. 
 The next day, when the robbery was adver- 
 tised, the perpetrator was already in custody. 
 / For the summer of 1795, several of my best 
 f friends advised me to apply for the Brighton 
 j Theatre, as, in consequence of a late Royal 
 I marriage, the town was expected to overflow ; 
 \ and from the patronage I was sure of receiving 
 in the highest quarter, the season could not fail 
 [ in proving successful. Seizing the suggestion, 
 I rode down to Brighton directly, called on 
 Moody, and secured the house for £4iOO, and a 
 benefit for the Widow Fox. I now made the 
 I best arrangements I could to obtain an attrac- 
 I tive company. Holman, Munden, and Incle- 
 don I engaged to succeed each other, and the 
 Honourable Mrs. Twiselton (the best provin- 
 cial actress in England) to lead the business for 
 
AN UNSUCCESSFUL SPECULATION. 303 
 
 the season. Atwood superintended the musical, 
 and Byrne the terpsichoric department, and 
 Tommy Hull was my stage-manager. I forget 
 the names of their coadjutors, a dozen clever 
 persons, whose talents collectively constituted 
 a strength fit for Bath, in its best days. It is 
 sufficient to inform my reader, that the specula- 
 tion was a failure. Owing to peculiar causes, 
 the sea-seeking public that summer, instead 
 of flowing to Brighton, ran away to Mar- 
 gate. No one stayed at the former but a few 
 citizens and blacklegs ; the first of whom came 
 to save money, and the other to find it. Owing 
 therefore to my expensive preparations, the cur- 
 tain dropped to a loss of £510. 
 
 I had not been in London a fortnight, when 
 my friend Mr. Morton, the coach-maker, to 
 whom I had advanced a considerable sum, failed, 
 which, with pther circumstances not necessary 
 to mention, in the short space of three months, 
 swallowed up the entire amount of my profes- 
 sional savings; so that, with the exception of 
 my furniture in town, and my share in the Ply- 
 mouth Theatre, I was literally a poorer man 
 now than when I entered London. 
 
304 " A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1795-6. — Guernsey. — Royal condescension and kindness. — 
 A Compliment. — Anecdotes of Governor Small. — Royal 
 interference — Sir Sidney Smith's Boatswain. — Event at 
 the death of Governor Small. — General Dalrymple, and my 
 Guernsey Vauxhall.— A " Double Entendre" on the open- 
 ing night. — Reasons of its failure. — Plymouth. — Captain 
 Clark. — Charles Mate — Anthony Pasquin. — The public 
 mistake. — liord Barrymore's Advice. — Rossignolle the Ven- 
 triloquist : his powers : Adventure in a Night Coach : 
 JHis improvement of Joe Miller — Anecdote of Quin and an 
 Innkeeper. — Falmouth. — Mendoza and the Sailor. — The 
 Jack and the Jew. — Colonel George. — Offer from Ame- 
 rica. — Farewell to the " Beef-steak." — Manager and 
 Friends. — Departure for the New World, 4th June, 1797. 
 —A word to the Reader. 
 
 " A FRIEND in need," says the old proverb, 
 " is a friend indeed." Having hitherto lived upon 
 a level with my London acquaintance, I was 
 incapable of ascertaining till on the present occa- 
 sion who were really my friends. It was per- 
 
SOB 
 
 haps worth all the misery of my 'situation, to 
 find that the kindly feelings they entertained 
 were not of that species which is generated by 
 the bottle, — to be dissipated by the daylight ; 
 — that wine-friendship, which, with all its ex- 
 hilaration and warmth, is but one of the fumes 
 of the liquid, destined to be slept off; — 'a kind of 
 sky-rocket sympathy, however high and bril- 
 liant at night, altogether unavailable by day. 
 Yet such but too often is the valueless tie that 
 links the comedian to the hearts of the com- 
 munity. 
 
 My case was fully canvassed at a committee 
 of the Club, and a resolution passed to advance 
 me £500 for two years, from their own funds, (re- 
 payable by instalments,) as a means of quieting 
 my London claimants, and giving me another 
 chance in the lottery of management. The 
 Guernsey Theatre was this winter available, 
 where the success of my first season led me to 
 anticipate that the feeble health of my purse 
 might be invigorated, if I repeated the visit. 
 Colonel Arabin, Captain Clark, and Mr. Bear- 
 croft, three members of the committee, then 
 
306 ROYAL CONDESCENSION 
 
 waited upon Mr. Harris, to obtain his consent 
 to my quitting him for the term of the Guern- 
 sey season. There was no want of sympathy in 
 this quarter : I was sent for immediately, and 
 given, in addition to his consent, the free use of 
 manuscripts and music from the stock. 
 
 My course being thus decided, I determined 
 to start under the most favourable auspices, 
 and accordingly wrote a letter to my gracious 
 patron, the Prince, requesting the favour of an 
 introduction to the present Governor of Guern- 
 sey, who was General Small. 
 
 I found that H. R. H. was confined to his 
 bed by severe indisposition, and was informed 
 by his gentleman, it was impossible he could 
 attend to any business whatever. Nevertheless 
 I resolved to send up my letter, and wait the 
 result. The Duke of Clarence was with his 
 royal brother, and read my epistle. To the 
 latter (whose notice I first attracted at Ports- 
 mouth) I was under obligations nearly equally 
 important, and amongst others, that of obtain- 
 ing leave to visit Guernsey in the first instance. 
 In about half an hour, a letter was brought 
 
AND KINDNESS. 307 
 
 down to me by the attendant, to look over and 
 approve, before sealed. It was sufficient to 
 answer every purpose I required, and more 
 than adequate to the claims I had ever pre- 
 sented to the favour of its author. 
 
 I may be here permitted to mention, that on 
 my return to England, after renewing my ac- 
 quaintance with all the friends who had sur- 
 vived the period of my absence, I paid a visit to 
 Bushy Park, to make my acknowledgments to a 
 person who had not been the least instrumental 
 in forwarding my fortunes on this side of the 
 Atlantic. I was received with all the friendli- 
 ness of early years; the circumstances of my 
 career abroad were inquired into ; and his Royal 
 Highness turned his eye, with a degree of en- 
 thusiasm, to the times which were marked with 
 a spirit 'of conviviality long since departed. 
 Among other matters, when touching upon the 
 causes that led me abroad, I related the above 
 circumstance of the Prince condescending to 
 write me a letter of introduction when on a 
 sick-bed. The Duke corrected me, by saying, 
 " No, no ; I remember the circumstance per- 
 
308 GUERNSEY. 
 
 fectly ; the Prince suggested the letter, but I 
 wrote it." Considering that six-and-twenty years 
 had since elapsed, with the respective situations 
 of myself and his Royal Highness, this tenacity 
 of memory was a compliment which I could not 
 but feel the full force of. 
 
 On arriving in Guernsey, my reception by 
 Governor Small was all that my letter could 
 command, or I desire. He treated me at first 
 more like a friend than an acquaintance, and 
 subsequently, more like a relative than a friend. 
 He went in person to the court, to renew my 
 licence to perform, and facilitated, in a dozen 
 ways, my preparations for opening. He then 
 became a constant visitor to the house ; and in 
 return begged I would seek his as frequently. ^ 
 
 With the public character of this gentleman 
 I have necessarily nothing to do. It is the pro- 
 perty of the history of his country ; and the 
 page that it occupies is not the least conspicu- 
 ous amongst those mighty records of human 
 nobility. In a social light I may be permitted 
 to speak of him, and to point out a few of those 
 qualities which founded his claim to a reputa- 
 
GOVERNOR SMALL. 309 
 
 tion nearly as enviable,— qualities that, like 
 the tints of a miniature, were perhaps the 
 less known and esteemed by the public, be- 
 cause requiring a near inspection to observe 
 them. 
 
 In his manners, his affability was only limit- 
 ed by the becoming sense of his station. His 
 mind was naturally powerful, and he had stored 
 it with the riches of an extensive experience. 
 He had many original conceptions, but more 
 practical inferences. All his sentiments ran 
 upon an even ground of liberality, and he tinc- 
 tured them with the entertaining flavour of a 
 delicate humour. 
 
 To fill a public office with efficiency, it is as 
 requisite that a man possess the virtues which 
 guarantee the non-abuse of his power, as the 
 talents which insure the due discharge of his 
 duty. Governor Small was such a man, equally 
 envied and loved : his heart was an unfathomed 
 depth of benevolence. It had been his fortune 
 through life to do many great actions ; but I 
 believe his real ambition was to do good ones. 
 This was his noblest characteristic ; for in this 
 
310 ANECDOTE. 
 
 he reflected his Sovereign. A few proofs upon 
 this point perhaps will interest my reader. 
 
 Guernsey was at this time a point of refuge 
 for various French families of distinction, some 
 of whom had come over with small remnants of 
 their property, but many comparatively re- 
 sourceless. The Governor being informed by 
 a friend, that one of these famihes were suffer- 
 ing the greatest privations, yet, from their 
 pride of birth, were unwilHng to make their 
 case known, he came to me one morning, and 
 inquired whether I would be willing to give an 
 evening's receipts to their relief, after deducting 
 the ordinary charges. I had no hesitation in 
 consenting, and put his name for the next 
 night at the top of the bills. By means of his 
 exertions, the house was crowded, and the sur- 
 plus of the proceeds, amounting to a considera- 
 ble sum, the Governor conveyed to the dis- 
 tressed family, without giving them the slight- 
 est knowledge how the assistance had been 
 raised, or from whom it came. 
 
 On another occasion, he sent for me to look 
 at a pair of pistols, which for quality and work- 
 
ANECDOTE. 311 
 
 manship surpassed any thing of the kind I had 
 ever witnessed. He told me that they were the 
 property of a distressed individual on the island, 
 who was forced to have them raffled for as a 
 last resource ; that he had taken three shares in 
 the raffle, and I must take one, and then our 
 fortunes should be thrown for together. To 
 this I made no other reply than by depositing 
 my guinea, and wishing him success. I did not 
 attend the raffle ; but he sent for me, in great 
 glee, to let me know that the pistols were ours. 
 " And now, my dear Sir,'*'' said he, " what 
 would you like to do with them .?" — " Why, 
 Sir," I replied, *' as they are of such a costly 
 and beautiful description, I should like to pre- 
 sent them to His Royal Highness the Duke of 
 Clarence, as a trifling mark of my respect and 
 gratitude ; but as you had three chances in the 
 raffle to my one, I think you are entitled to a 
 priority of choice."" — " Well, well," said he, 
 " I '11 tell you how His Royal Highness will be 
 better satisfied ; send the pistols back to the un- 
 fortunate gentleman that owned them, and they 
 may serve him for a raffle another time." 
 
312 ROYAL INTERFERENCE. 
 
 My success at Guernsey was commensurate 
 with my expectations, and when my leave of 
 absence had nearly expired, (three months,) I 
 wrote to London for actors to supply my place, 
 and began to make arrangements to return. My 
 intention however getting wind, the Governor 
 called on me, and said I must not think of 
 quitting the island till the season concluded, 
 as I was marring my own harvest ; and the au- 
 thorities would not consider any substitutes re- 
 sponsible. Acquainting him with the obliga- 
 tion I was under, he offered to trouble my 
 Royal patron with a letter, stating the prospect 
 now before me of speedily re-establishing my 
 circumstances, if permitted to remain ; and 
 craving the interference of His Royal Highness 
 with my manager, to that effect. This was a 
 proposal I could not refuse, and by the return 
 of the packet he called on me with much sa- 
 tisfaction, to say that His Royal Highness had 
 graciously honoured the appeal with attention, 
 and that Mr. Harris was agreeable to my con- 
 tinuing in Guernsey till the close of the season. 
 
 One day, when I was dining with the Gover- 
 
SIR SYDNEY SMITH. 313 
 
 nor, Sir Sydney Smith made his appearance.] 
 His ship lying off Guernsey with an unfavour- 
 able wind, he had taken the opportunity of 
 stretching his legs upon terra firma, and shak- 
 ing his friend's hand. The Governor intro- 
 duced me to this distinguished officer, with 
 many flattering remarks on my character in 
 public and private. Sir Sydney observed, that 
 if the wind did not shift, he should be happy to 
 attend a performance the next evening, and in 
 that event, would bring his crew with him. I 
 took my leave soon after, and, going to the 
 printers, prepared an appropriate bill, which I 
 headed with the line, " Under the Patronage of 
 Sir Sydney Smith,"*' running the risk of the wind 
 changing. At night it was given out to the 
 audience, and half the boxes were taken before 
 they quitted them. 
 
 King JEolus, on this occasion, though noted 
 as one of the most fickle potentates going, 
 luckily stuck to his point with the pertinacity 
 of a special pleader, and my boxes in conse- 
 quence were favoured with an assemblage 
 which reminded me of Plymouth. Sir Sydney 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
^14 SIR sydney'8 boatswain. 
 
 and his officers occupied a box, whilst the pit 
 was entirely taken up by the crew and marines, 
 over whom a tall boatswain presided, taking his 
 stand by the orchestra, to " look arter" their 
 manners and expressions. To gratify the nau- 
 ticals, I fixed upon the musical farce of " The 
 Purse," as it contained a sailor, (Will Steady,) 
 who, in that day, pretty faithfully represented 
 his species; namely, a lover of grog, glory, 
 pretty girls, and tobacco. This hero I enacted, 
 and on concluding the first verse of the famous 
 drinking song, " Tol de riddle, dol de rido," I 
 gave a toast to my messmates on the stage — 
 " The King !" with three cheers, which the tall 
 boatswain in the pit, conceiving to be equally 
 addressed to himself and companions, sung out, 
 " Ay, ay ;" and, clapping his whistle to his 
 lips, brought all the tars on their legs, with an 
 ear-splitting hurrah. At the end of the second 
 verse, my toast was " The Duke of Clarence 
 and the Navy !" The boatswain piped, and the 
 hurrahing again ensued with equal enthusiasm. 
 Concluding the third verse, I hesitated a little, 
 and asked my brother tars whom I should give 
 
DEATH OF GOVERNOR SMALL. 315 
 
 next (intending to propose Governor Small 
 and the authorities of Guernsey), when the tall 
 boatswain, leaning over the stage-rail, replied, 
 " Sir Sydney Smith, to be sure ! " I bowed, 
 and the whistle going to work, the shouting 
 now was ten times more uproarious than ever. 
 
 The season proceeded very prosperously, till 
 an event occurred that gloomed the gaiety of 
 tlie island for the rest of the winter — the death 
 of my generous and much-esteemed friend, the 
 Governor. 
 
 One evening, when the house was very full, 
 I observed him come round and take a seat 
 near the wings. When I was able to join him, 
 I inquired if any thing unpleasant had occurred 
 to occasion his quitting the boxes. He said 
 that he had resigned his seat to some ladies, who 
 
 were strangers ; and felt slightly unwell. At 
 
 I 
 his request, I procured a cordial for him ; but, • 
 
 getting worse, he ordered his equipage, and 
 
 drove home to the castle, from whence in three ?, 
 
 days he came forth to be conducted to his last J 
 
 abode. 
 
 On this occasion I closed the Theatre for a / 
 
 p 2 / 
 
316 AN AFFECTING INCIDENT.' 
 
 week ; and many of the respectable inhabitants 
 of the island went into mourning. The mourn- 
 ing, which had no outward evidence, was univer- 
 sal : domestic losses were seemingly absorbed in 
 the public one. On the day of his interment 
 an incident occurred, at once singular and in- 
 teresting. 
 
 A Government vessel, on its way home from a 
 foreign station, dropped anchor at Guernsey, 
 the captain of which had been placed in the 
 Navy and promoted to his present rank through 
 the sole interest of Governor Small. The feel- 
 ings of this officer may be slightly surmised, 
 when, going on shore to meet his friend and se- 
 cond father, the object that his eye first fell upon 
 was the coffin which contained him, attended by 
 its multitude of mourners. He heard the news 
 as he would have received a flash of lightning ; 
 it scorched and withered him, suspending for 
 the moment all the faculties of thought, and 
 apparently of sensation. When reflection re- 
 turned, the agony it brought with it over- 
 powered him : he rushed into a shop-door which 
 stood open, threw himself at full length on the 
 
GENERAL DALRYMPLE. 317 
 
 counter, and gave way to his humanity in a man- 
 ner not less honourable to the dead than the 
 living. 
 
 My boxkeeper, Roberts, who was an artist, 
 took a faithful likeness of the General as he lay 
 in state, which I framed and sent to the Royal 
 personage who had been the means of my be- 
 coming known to him. Except his picture in 
 Trumbull's " Battle of Bunker's Hill," I am 
 not aware that there is any other resemblance 
 extant. In that, however, he was character- 
 ised more expressly by his attitude than his face. 
 He was drawn in the act of interposing between 
 an armed soldier and a fallen enemy. 
 
 On re-opening the Theatre, I found the public 
 spirit so completely deadened, that I put up the 
 benefits, and brought the season to a close ; 
 commencing however another matrimonial cam- 
 paign, by my union with Miss Fisher, a young 
 lady in the company. 
 
 General Dalrymple succeeded to the gover- 
 norship of Guernsey, and treated me with much 
 politeness. At a party at his house, it was pro- 
 posed to me to establish, for the summer, a 
 
318 GUERNSEY VAUXHALL. 
 
 Vauxhall, in the vicinity of St. Peter's, the out- 
 lay of which to be partly defrayed by a sub- 
 scription from the town. As the Governor and 
 suite headed this list upon the spot, I had no 
 grounds for declining to carry the object into 
 effect. I accordingly purchased a cottage half 
 a mile from the town, which was surrounded by 
 about four acres of meadow-land ; the former 
 being small enough for a refreshment saloon, 
 the latter large enough to contain all the com- 
 pany I could count upon. Sketching a plan of 
 the erections and improvements, I then turned 
 upon it a master-carpenter, painter, and a score 
 of gardeners, and set off for London to purchase 
 fireworks and engage singers. 
 
 The first person I called upon in town was 
 Mr. Harris, who told me, with a very long face, 
 that, on account of my delay at Guernsey, he 
 had been obliged to engage a person to sustain 
 some of my business ; that my situation for the 
 ensuing season might not therefore be agreeable ; 
 and if I pleased, I could continue my country 
 speculations till the next year — an offer which, 
 as it was likely to double my profits^ I was glad 
 
A " DOUBLE ENTENDRE." 319 
 
 to accept. Disposing of my furniture, books, 
 prints. Sec. to ray friend Captain Clark (by which 
 I was enabled to make the Club a large pay- 
 ment), I made all the arrangements for my 
 Guernsey Vauxhall, and returned to find it in a 
 state of completion. On the opening night, a 
 ludicrous incident occurred. 
 
 Among other things, I had purchased some 
 rockets in London to wind up the nightly fire- 
 works ; but they were not mentioned in the bill, 
 in order to give the visitors an agreeable sur- 
 prise. About half an hour after their dis- 
 charge, we heard drums beating in every direc- 
 tion, and the whole island seemed to be in a 
 state of alarm. The Governor dispatched one 
 of his aids to make inquiry, who on his return 
 informed us, that a discharge of rockets having 
 been fixed upon as a signal to the outposts in 
 case of a descent by the enemy, my display 
 (of which no notice had been given) was as- 
 sumed as the appointed proof that the Revolu- 
 tionists were on the island playing the devil 
 with the maids and the magazines. The sol- 
 diery were accordingly hurrying in to St. Peter's, 
 
320 FAILURE OF THE SPECULATION. 
 
 to let England, the French, and General Dal- 
 rymple know they were ready to a man to do 
 their duty. 
 
 Notwithstanding its numerous and novel at- 
 tractions, Williamson and Mrs. Richards, two 
 very pretty singers ; supper-boxes and summer- 
 houses ; some thousands of variegated lamps ; a 
 loyal French band (who had run over to Guern- 
 sey, from their devotion to Louis) ; fireworks, 
 patronage, and other fanciful matters, this spe- 
 culation failed. 
 
 Three weeks had not elapsed before I was 
 informed that all the old maids of the island were 
 very industrious at their tea-parties, in com- 
 menting upon the indecorum of the promiscu- 
 ous assemblage of the gardens, by which the 
 wives and daughters of respectable tradesmen 
 were brought within reach and speech of 
 General Dalrymple's officers ; moreover, that 
 the old citizens declared they could drink their 
 wine and coffee at their own doors for one-half 
 they paid me, and see all my grand fireworks iii 
 the bargain. 
 
 Against this conjoint attack it was impossi- 
 
PLYMOUTH. — CHARLES MATE. 321 
 
 ble to stand : greater speculators than I was 
 have been ruined by less means ; a venomous 
 old maid and an economizing country squire 
 would ruin any institution in the world. 
 
 Owing to the above experiment, the season 
 was pretty far advanced before I could open at 
 Plymouth, where, the favourable weather having 
 gone by, the heavens were in the habit of 
 getting into a lachrymose disposition every other 
 night. There is no such effectual method to 
 damp the spirits of an audience, as by damping 
 their clothes. Captain Clark came from Lon- 
 don to spend a few weeks with me ; and 
 Charles Mate quitted me to go home to Dover, 
 (where his wife was in business,) and after his 
 long voyage of life — ^like a ship which had sailed 
 in all weathers and waters — to lay up his tim- 
 bers by his family fireside, and go easily to 
 pieces. Mate was another Macklin. He left 
 me, as I conceived, a very old man, in whom the 
 flame of life flickered feebly ; yet thirty years 
 after this, we met again in Dover (1825), and 
 he was in possession of all his faculties as well 
 as his feelings. 
 
 P 5 
 
322 ANTHONY PASQUIN. 
 
 Another visitor at Plymouth this summer 
 was Anthony Pasquin, who found his way to 
 my lodgings instead of an inn. He told me 
 that he was writing a history of Cornwall and 
 Devon, and had come on a tour to collect ma- 
 terials. Receiving an invitation to dine at the 
 camp, I took Pasquin over with me in my gig ; 
 and such was his appearance, that, happening 
 to meet various acquaintances on the road, it 
 was reported throughout Plymouth, " I was in 
 custody of a London bailiff I'* My good friends, 
 Major Hawker, Dr. Gaskin, and Haydon, no 
 sooner heard the news, than they came or sent 
 to ascertain its truth and tender their assistance. 
 Haydon actually encountered Pasquin in my 
 parlour, and asked him if it was a fact that the 
 stranger in my house was a London bailiff. 
 When the mistake was discovered, (though the 
 most natural and pardonable that ever was 
 made,) Anthony could brook the laugh so lit- 
 tle, that, to my infinite relief, he borrowed five 
 pounds of me, and got into a coach or a wag- 
 gon to pursue his journey. 
 
 I have given my reader a clue to the above 
 
in a preceding chapter, where I alluded to 
 Anthony's habits as being reprehensible in a 
 double sense. Certainly no man, in my expe- 
 rience, presented so hardened an indifference to 
 the established decencies of society. No man 
 was such an infidel in taste. His principles 
 were the only things he shifted — his consistency 
 lay altogether in his costume, and the aspect of 
 St. PauPs was not more enduring. Not even 
 Peruvian Rolla was a greater enemy to change 
 than Anthony Pasquin. 
 
 When a masquerade was to take place, for 
 which his eccentric patron Lord Barrymore 
 on one occasion gave him a ticket, he requested 
 the latter to suggest an easy disguise. " Oh !'*'' 
 replied Lord B. " go in a clean shirt, Anthony, 
 and nobody will know you.*" 
 
 The " legitimate''' drama proved so little 
 attractive this summer, that I was induced to 
 forego my allegiance to Thespis, and listen to 
 that financier of the infernal regions. Mam- 
 mon, who presented himself to my notice in 
 the person of Mons. Rossignolle the ventrilo- 
 quist, from Covent Garden. 
 
324 ROSSIGNOLLE THE VENTRILOQUIST. 
 
 This person was the most wonderful of all the 
 species which in my experience have flooded the 
 Stage. His ability lay not in simply imitating 
 the human voice, (the common province of ven- 
 triloquists, and the most attainable,) but those of 
 all birds and beasts, and all noises whether 
 natural or mechanical. It was difficult to say 
 which was most to be admired in his organ — its 
 astounding power, or its minute liquidity ; for 
 he could give you as correct an idea of the 
 sawing of a huge piece of timber, as of the song 
 of a linnet. 
 
 His entertainment was divided into three 
 parts, with two appropriate scenes, which he 
 carried with him: the first represented an 
 aviary and menagerie, in which he personated 
 the keeper, and as h^ approached every animal 
 or bird, gave its distinct growl or whistle ; . 
 the next was the interior of a workshop, in 
 which he pretended to be making a box, and 
 imitated the sounds of all the implements em- 
 ployed. These were rendered characteristic by 
 his dress, and somewhat humorous by his 
 broken-English exclamations. But the third 
 
STAGE-COACH ADVENTURE. 325 
 
 and perhaps most extraordinary scene was his 
 performance on a viohn without strings, of a 
 variety of difficult music. Here the illusion 
 exceeds conjecture; and, what to me was more 
 delightful, all Plymouth came to partake in it. 
 
 Rossignolle was a fellow of very humorous 
 ideas ; he had met with adventures in all quar- 
 ters of Europe, which it was his sole amusement 
 to recount. Among the number, one that oc- 
 curred to him on the road from Exeter to Ply- 
 mouth was not the least whimsical. 
 
 He had taken his place in the night-coach, 
 but by a mistake or connivance was expelled 
 to the outside. The night was very dark, and 
 soon after the coach set off it began to rain, 
 which, in regard to Devonshire, is to say that 
 the water came down like a cataract. Being 
 neither provided with great-coat nor umbrella, he 
 naturally envied the situation of those who sat 
 under him. To desire their comfort, was but 
 another throb with him to endeavour to obtain 
 it ; and in the depth of his roguery therefore, as 
 well as distress, he resolved upon the following 
 expedient. He was the only passenger outside, 
 
326 STAGE-COACH ADVENTURE. 
 
 and his location being the dicky, the coachman 
 at the other extremity of the vehicle was in- 
 capable of " peeping through the blanket of 
 the dark" upon his doings. 
 
 He pretended to hug and hush a child in his 
 arms, whose fretful whine he commenced and 
 increased till it cut the drums of the other pas- 
 sengers' ears like a razor. Two of these per- 
 sons happened to be females, one of whom was 
 a mother, and the other expected to be. They 
 instantly exclaimed, '* Dear me ! there 's a poor 
 child on the roof, in this rain ; let "'s take it in." 
 The males, as gentlemen and Christians, were 
 compelled to acquiesce ; so down went the sash, 
 and out went a lady''s head and shoulders to ad- 
 dress RossignoUe. " Here, my good woman, 
 give me the child." — " No, no !"" said the latter, 
 mimicking the voice of a female ; " mine littel 
 dear Adolphine sal not go from her mamma;" 
 and then he commenced another series of so- 
 prano notes (interspersed with an abundance 
 of basso hush-a-byes) more intolerable than 
 the former. " Good heavens !" said the humane 
 female to her companion ; " it ""s a barbarous 
 
STAGE-COACH ADVENTURE. 327 
 
 Frenchwoman ! She'll kill the poor little thing." 
 Then leaning out of the window again, " Give 
 me the child, good woman, will you .'* it 
 will catch its death! — Here, coachman, stop, 
 stop !"—" Stop, Ma'am!" said Jehu; "bless 
 your soul ! did you ever hear of sich a thing 
 in sich a rain as this ? And if I did stop, the 
 young un on the dicky would frighten the 
 cattle.'' 
 
 RossignoUe now pretended to get into a pas- 
 sion with the child and scold it ; at which the 
 women opened upon him ; the gentlemen swore ; 
 and between the squaUing, growling, scream- 
 ing, and threatening, a delightful tumult ensued. 
 The dialogue, as he described it, then ran in the 
 following manner : — 
 
 Child, squalling.— '^Y a, ya !" 
 RossignoUe. — " Hush, hush, child, child !" 
 Women within. — " Don't use it so, good 
 woman." 
 
 Child. — " Ya, ya, ya !" (a crescendo.) 
 RossignoUe. — *' You von littel devel ; you 
 cry so much." 
 
 Women.— ^' There 's a brute, Mr. Wiggins !'" 
 
328 STAGE-COACH ADVENTURE. 
 
 Gentleman. — *' All owing to the French Re- 
 volution." 
 
 Child.--'' Ya, ya, ya !^' 
 
 Coachman. — " Steady, Betty, steady !'' 
 
 Rossignol. — " You are one littel dam child!" 
 
 Women. — " Only hear the French monster!" 
 
 Rossignol. — " I will trow you into de mud !" 
 
 Women. — " What does she say?" 
 
 CMJ.— ." Ya, ya, ya!" 
 
 Rossignol. — " Won't you be hush ? I trow 
 you away." 
 
 Women. — " Oh, you wretch !" 
 
 Child.-'' Ya,ya,ysir 
 
 Rossignol. — " Dere, den, cot dam ! lie in the 
 poodle !" 
 
 Here, suiting the action to the word, he made 
 a noise as if he had actually deposited the infant in 
 a ditch, the cries of which grew fainter as the 
 coach drove on. The uproar that now ensued 
 in the vehicle would have done credit to a St. 
 Giles's watchhouse on St. Patrick's Day. The 
 women yelled, and the men thumped the roof 
 with their sticks, and swore out of the windows. 
 " Stop, coachman, stop ! murder, murder ! she 's 
 
STAGE-COACH ADVENTURE. 329 
 
 killed the child ; she's thrown it in the ditch : 
 will you stop, coachman ?" — '* In three minutes, 
 Marm," he replied, " to change horses." — " But 
 there 's a child lying on the road ?'** — " I 'U send 
 some one from the inn to pick it up, Marm ; I 
 mustn't lose time between the stages." 
 
 The torrent of abuse now turned on the 
 coachman ; and one of the passengers, who was 
 a lawyer, swore that if the child died, he would 
 prosecute the former for manslaughter, and the 
 mother for murder. 
 
 On arriving at the inn, RossignoUe jumped 
 down and ran into the kitchen to dry himself. 
 The house was instantly thrown into confusion : 
 the Frenchwoman was ordered to be seized ; 
 lanterns were lighted, and a party set off to re- 
 trace the road, headed by the humane lawyer. 
 No infant, however, was to be found ; and after 
 groping about till they were all thoroughly 
 drenched, they returned to the inn. The 
 lawyer was then told that the Frenchwoman 
 had made her escape, and that another gentle- 
 man had taken his place in the coach, which 
 was now out of sight. 
 
330 " JOE miller" improved. 
 
 Rossignolle, I think, had read that national 
 work, " The Jests of Joe Miller " but was 
 able to improve on the original: — as for ex- 
 ample : — Walking with him to the printer's in 
 Plymouth, we passed a fish-shop, where a very 
 fine haddock caught his eye, which he took up, 
 inquired the price of, and then putting to his 
 nose, contracted his visage with a significance 
 not at all creditable to the fish or pleasing to 
 the fishmonger. '' What do you mean bv that. 
 Sir ?"" said the purveyor of piscatorials, with his 
 brows lowered, and his arms stuck in his sides. 
 " That haddock was only caught la«t night.'' — 
 "Indeed !" said Rossignolle, laughing: '* we will, 
 see. Here, you littel boy, I will gif you one 
 sixpence if you ax dat vish how long he come 
 from him family at sea." The boy, taking the 
 silver, put the question accordingly, amidst 
 the laughter of the shop ; when the haddock 
 seemed to distend its gills and reply in a dis- 
 tinct voice, " Las Monday de week." The fish- 
 monger and his customers started back, over- 
 turning the tubs and barrels in their terror, 
 whilst Rossignole, walking away with me, said 
 
ANECDOTE OF QUIN. 331 
 
 laughingly, " Dat 's what you Aingleesh call 
 makin' de fun."" 
 
 One of my treats at Plymouth was to eat Jolin 
 Dories, for which this place used to be very fa- 
 mous. Quin was so fond of this fish, that he 
 passed one or two summers at Plymouth with no 
 other view, having compounded for it a peculiar 
 sauce. He used to put up at an inn kept by a 
 Mr. Herbert, whose wife, through a severe vicis- 
 situde, was reduced in her old age to become 
 one of my "dressers." Of the actor and the 
 innkeeper there was a story current, which was 
 very amusing. Quin complimenting the latter 
 on the appearance of his house, soon after he 
 alighted, Herbert replied, " Yes, Mr. Quin, it 
 is handsome and convenient, and all very well 
 except in one respect, — my drains run down to 
 the quay, and the scents of the kitchen are so 
 attractive to the rats, that they come up in num- 
 bers and consume all the contents of my larder 
 and cupboards !" — " That 's a pity r said Quin : 
 at some leisure moment before I return to town, 
 remind me of this circumstance, and perhaps I 
 may be able to suggest a remedy." 
 
332 ANECDOTE OF QUIN. 
 
 Quin lived very expensively during this sum- 
 mer, giving large dinners, and indulging in ex- 
 cursions on land and water. When he called 
 for his bill at the end of eight weeks, the longi- 
 tudinal inventory of unpaid items amounted to 
 150/. He stared at it as he would have done 
 at the Witches in Macbeth. " What, Herbert ! 
 150/. for eight weeks, in one of the cheapest 
 towns in England ! Well, I must give you a 
 cheque for the money." When he had done 
 this, received the bill receipted, and stepped into 
 his chaise, Herbert, recollecting his promise, ran 
 up to him — "Oh, Mr. Quin, Mr. Quin, I hope- 
 you 've not forgot the remedy you promised me, 
 to drive away the rats !" — " There ""s your bill,": 
 he replied, " show 'era that, when they come; 
 and if they trouble your house again, I'll be 
 d d !" 
 
 / At the conclusion of this season I sold my 
 
 I 
 
 1 share in the Plymouth property to Mr. Foote, 
 
 ) and bade farewell to the many substantial friends 
 
 who for nine years had supported my exertions 
 
 with unflinching vigour. Major Hawker and 
 
MENDOZA AND THE SAILOR. 333 
 
 Dr. Gaskin supplied me with letters to Fal- 
 mouth, which was my destination for the winter. 
 Sir Edward Pellew's squadron came into that 
 port soon after my arrival, and he and his offi- 
 cers gave a favourable impulse to the affairs of 
 the Theatre. Mendoza was at this time going 
 about the West of England on a sparring ex- 
 cursion, but on coming to Falmouth had got out 
 of his depth, owing to its dearth of a pugilistic 
 propensity. Being in distress, he asked my per- 
 mission to exhibit one night between the play 
 and farce, leaving the amount of his remunera- 
 tion to my generosity. I agreed ; but a difficulty 
 then arose as to where he should procure an op- 
 ponent. The only person available was our pro- 
 perty-man, who knew nothing of the art of self- 
 defence, but was willing to be " lamed." The 
 time and trouble however which would have 
 been expended in this preparation was saved 
 by the following circumstance : — There was a 
 boatswain in Sir Edward's crew, who was noted 
 for his muscular power and pugilistic prowess, 
 as also for the more unpleasant characteristics 
 
334 COLONEL GEORGE. 
 
 (growing out of the former) of a puffed-up, inso- 
 lent behaviour. His officers wished greatly to 
 have his manners reformed, and meeting Men- 
 doza, proposed him as an antagonist, who con- 
 senting, they conveyed a challenge to the boat- 
 swain, and found the Jack as ready for the 
 contest as the Jew. The result was, that the 
 Theatre was packed with spectators like a 
 box of corks; and the proud tar, drawing 
 on the gloves, had the virtue of humility 
 speedily thumped into him. 
 
 The success of this season was principally 
 owing to the influence and exertions of Colonel 
 George, of Penryn, a gentleman who achieved the 
 highest triumph of the human character, — that 
 of securing the esteem alike of the evil and the 
 good : his heart was an inexhaustible spring of 
 benevolence. He looked upon all men of talent 
 as his brothers, and all men of misfortune as his 
 children : whoever went into Cornwall in those 
 days heard of Colonel George as the good ge- 
 nius of the country — heard of a man who prac- 
 tically realized the superiority of an Englishman 
 over the natives of all other nations. 
 
OFFER FROM AMERICA. 335 
 
 With the arrival of Spring, I concluded my 
 career of management in England. I then paid 
 a visit to Plymouth, Exeter, and Bath, playing 
 a few nights in each, and reached London about 
 the middle of Summer, to make a definitive ar- 
 rangement with Mr. Harris, as to the remaining 
 term of my article. ^ 
 
 Whilst here, Thomas Hull called on me with 
 the offer of an engagement from Wignelthe Phila- 
 delphia manager, who had lately received an im- 
 portation from Covent Garden (Fennel, Cooper, 
 and Mrs. Merry — Miss Brunton). He offered 
 me a thousand pounds for a twelvemonth, with the 
 option of signing an article for five years (upon 
 my Covent Garden terms) at its expiration. The 
 means of securing such a sum in such a time were 
 not to be resisted, and I carried the manager's 
 letter to Mr. Harris, to procure my release for 
 the remaining season I was bound to him. That 
 worthy gentleman would at all times have been 
 the last to have interposed his interests to the 
 annihilation of mine, and, in the situation I 
 was then placed, wished me every thing that I 
 expected. ^ \ 
 
336 FAREWELL TO FRIENDS. 
 
 My next was a more painful duty, — the taking 
 leave of the Club, and the formal resignation of 
 its secretaryship, which had hitherto been kept 
 open for me, from the supposition that I should 
 return to Covent Garden. Upon the ties*thus 
 broken, and the home thus deserted, I shall 
 )not dwell. I was the slave of a despot, of whom 
 despots are slaves — necessity ; but the reason that 
 bade me stifle an unavailing throb of regret, 
 did not attempt to throw a film over the eye of 
 retrospection. I went abroad to improve the 
 future, but not to forget the past. — This period 
 (1797) exactly divided the forty-six years of my 
 public career. I went on the stage in 1774 ; I 
 quitted it in 1820. A pecuniary object carrying 
 me over the ocean, my fame was for the moment 
 absorbed in it ; but upon this point I think I 
 have abundant reason to be satisfied. Had I 
 continued in England, whatever might have been 
 my ultimate ascension in public esteem, when the 
 field was in a greater measure open to my exer- 
 tions. I must have foregone the most memor- 
 able epoch of my life, the becoming one of the 
 " founders of the American Stage !" . 
 
A WORD TO THE READER. 337 
 
 Having discharged all my obligations in 
 London (the Club included), and made all the 
 arrangements for my voyage, I took the coach 
 for Plymouth, and from thence crossed to Guern- 
 sey, where, disposing of my Vauxhall property, 
 and entrusting the Theatre to the care of Mr. 
 Gilbert, I embarked for the shores of the New- 
 World, the 4th of June 1797. 
 
 And here, gentle reader, we part : if you are 
 tired of my company, or so fond of your own 
 ground, that you would not go a voyage of 
 four thousand miles even upon paper, the con- 
 cluding three-and-twenty years of my public ex- 
 istence must remain as much out of sight as 
 America itself. I have but this to say, — that I 
 consider the two volumes of Stage Anecdotes 
 now submitted, as defining periods which foriji 
 two acts in the drama of my life ; and that if you 
 are at all desirous the curtain should go up a 
 third time, you need but to " make a noise," 
 and the wish will be complied with. 
 
 THE END. 
 VOL. n. O 
 
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