THE LIFE Am iDVEI\'TURES

PEG WOFFINGTON

WITH

PICTURES OF THE PERIOD U WHICH SHE LIVED-

J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY

AUTHOR OF

"COURT LIFE BELOW STAIRS,"
ETC., ETC.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON :
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,

13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.

1885.

J2S7
TO MISS ELLEN TERRY.

Dear Madam,

The brilliant actress who forms the subject of
these pages rendered such service to the drama in the past
century as entitles hei to a prominent position in its annals.
You as a distinguished artist have achieved such histrionic
triumphs in the present century as shall render your name
illustrious in the- same hist<jry.

Seldom, if indeed ever, has such a happy trinity of
genius, grace, and beauty been united in one person. The
perfection and tenderness of your tragedy, the justness and
brilliancy of your comedy are alike subjects on which mnu-
merable pens have discoursed with vast pleasure, themes on
which all who have witnessed your performances have
dwelt with uncommon satisfaction. You have idealised
your personations. You have realised the highest poetical
conceptions. You have delighted the most cultured intel-
ligences of two worlds.

As a testimony though most poor, as a tribute though
most slight to the incalculable services you have rendered
unto art, I gladly avail myself of your permission to dedi-
cate to you the labour of many months, to inscribe your
illustrious name on the title page of these volumes.

Faithfully yours always,

J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY.

2039437

PREFACE,

Xo biography of Peg Woffington, tlie most
brilliant actress of her century, has up to
this time been written. Her very name
mio'ht have been foro;otten had not a o^reat
novelist rescued her memory from oblivion
and directed interest to her career. Yet
this has been achieved by the aid of hc-
tion, as he acknowledged to me a little
while before laying down his pen for ever.
But Charles Reade, as was to l)e expected
from a master hand, struck the proper
keynote of her life in the novel which
bears the great actress's name ; so that,
though the scenes by which he surrounded

viii PREFACE.

her are imaginary, tliey are yet in perfect
harmony with her character.

Indeed, there was scarce necessity to
borrow colours from fiction wherewith to
brighten the portrait of one whose life was
in itself a romance. I have endeavoured
in the following pages to give this portrait
as caught in transitory glances afforded by
the oftentimes curt and scattered mention
of her name in the biographies, letters,
journals, and criticisms of her contem-
poraries ; just as by the occasional opening
of a door one without an apartment ob-
tains glimpses of a striking figure passing
in the crowd Avithin. But these have been
sufiicient, if not to present an etching, at
least to give a portrait, faithful in its lines,
though not lacking hues beseeming sub-
jects purely ideal.

As an actress she was the most central
figure in her brief bright day, and as such
I have presented her, surrounded by a

PREFACE. ix

brilliant group of players, wits, critics,
men of fashion and of letters who were
her friends or her contemporaries. The
remaining space on the canvas I have
tilled in mth views of town life as it
Avas in her day ; for encircled by such
personages, and seen against the lights and
shadows of such a background, she can
alone be properly estimated.

Concerning David Garrick, who for a
time played an important part in the
drama of her life, and who occupied so
prominent a position in the history of the
stage in the middle of the last century, I
have found much to say. Moreover, I
have been enabled to give some letters
concerning his early life, and the feelings
Avith which his adoption of the stage were
received by his family. Portions of some of
these have been given in the later editions
of Mr. Forster's ' Life of Oliver Goldsmith,'
but they have never before been printed

X PREFACE.

in full, and will, I trust, prove entertaining
to that very considerable section of tlie
public concerned in aught regarding the
history of the theatre.

The task of giving sketches of the
numerous characters introduced in these
j)ages, sufficiently vivid to interest, }^et
necessarily brief with regard to the limits
of the volumes, is one which mil be readily
recognised as fraught with difficulty ; but
labour has not been spared in striving to
render the book acceptable to a public
which has already extended a kindly ap-
preciation to similar efforts.

J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY.

CONTENTS

THE FIRST VOLUME.

CHAPTER I.

The Little Water-carrier and the Foreign Lady — Madame
Violante and Mrs. WofRngton — Pupil to a Dancer —
The Booth in Fownes Court— Little Peg in 'The
Beggars' Opera' — Charles Kelly and the 'Devil to
Pay' — At the Aungier Street Playhouse— Dancing
between the Acts — Playing Ophelia, Her Beauty
and her Triumph — The Part of Phillis — Falling in
Love — A Young Gentleman of Quality and his
AVays — A Journey to London Town . . .1

CHAPTER n.

In Merry London Town — The King's Court and the
Prince's — Views of the Streets — The Coffee-houses
and their Frequenters — Round Covent Garden — The
Players' Quarters and Clare Market — Laws Concern-
ing the Playhouses and their Audiences — Dress of

:xii CONTENTS.

the Period— Johnson, Garrick, and Savage — At the
Fountain Tavern — Visiting on ' Clean Shirt Day ' —
Reynolds, Pope, and Smollett — Quin at Drury Lane,
Gibber at Goveut Garden — Yauxhall, its Ways and its
Visitors — With Lady Caroline Petersham — A Strange
Advertisement ....... 2J>

CHAPTER III.

A Faithless Lover — Fortune-hunting — News of a Marriage
— Platred and Vengeance — Peg AVoffington's Plot —
Young Mr. Adair — The Ridotto at Yauxhall Gardens
— INIiss Dallaway and her Friends — A Scene — Re-
proaches — A Lover's Departure . . . .48

CHAPTER IV.

John Rich, Manager of Covent Garden — His First Panto-
mime — His Treatment of Dramatic Authors — The
Woffiugton's Interview with Him — Sensation in the
Town — Actors at Covent Garden — Ryan's Tragedy
in Real Life — Theophilus Gibber — Peg AVoffington's
First Appearance in London — An Oldfashioned
Comedy — Surprise and Admiration of the Town — Sir
Harry Wildair — -All tlie Town in Love with Her 72

CHAPTER V.

Peg WofRngton's Engagement at Drury Lane — Kitty
Clive, her Passion for Tragedy — Delane the Student
of T. C. D. — Macklin and his Adventures — The
Turning-point of his Career — His Wonderful Shylock
— What Mr. Pope said — Young David Garrick — His
Early Life at Lichfield — Becomes a ^^^iue Merchant
— Among the Critics at the Bedford — Hesitates to go

CONTENTS. xiii

on the Stage — Falls in Love with Peg Woffington — In
the Green room at Drury Lane— Sir Charles Hanbury
Williams — The Woffington's Definition of an Age 97

CHAPTER yi.

Garrick's Irresolution — Plays at Ipswich under a False
Name — First Appearance in Town — A Memorable
Night — Description of his Richard — The Talk of the
Town — Persons of Distinction at the Playhouse — Our
little Poetical Hero — Letters to Peter — The Wine-
merchant AviU not be Comforted — David's Arguments
and Fair Promises — The Lying Valet — Mimicking the
Old Players — The Favour of Great Men — Going to
Dublin with Peg Woffington .... 137

CHAPTER YII.

Excitement in Dublin — A W^arm Greeting — The Delight of
the Town — Hamlet and Ophelia — Back to London —
The Rival Playhouse — Quin's Reputation — His Con-
tempt for Garrick — Quin andMacklin — A Green-room
Quarrel— Making it up — Charming Susanna Cibber
— 'A Romp and a Good-natured Boy' — Theo Cib-
bers Baseness — Elopement, Rescue, and Action —
Legal Bathos — Woffington and Garrick at Drury
Lane 172

CHAPTER VIII.

Peg Woffington and Garrick keep House — Old Colley
Cibber — Drinking tea at Peggy's Rooms — Fielding,
Quin, INlrs. Porter, Foote, Johnson, and Macklin —
The Woffington and Garrick Part — Polly W^offington^

Kiv CONTENTS.

Lord Tyrawley's Amour — George Anne Bellamy —
Acting in a Barn — Captain Cholmondeley's Marriage
— Violette the Dancer — Her Love for Garrick — Mar-
riage — Peg Woffington goes to Covent Garden — Her
DuMin Engagement 199

CHAPTER IX.

Thomas Sheridan, the Manager — Letter to Garrick— Be-
comes a Manager — Conditions of the Playhouse — A
Theatrical Riot and its Result — Dublin before the
Union — Lionel, Duke of Dorset, at the Castle —
Diversions of the Town — High Life and Low — Mrs.
Butler, jNliss Bellamy, and David Garrick — A Strange
Love Letter — ]Mrs. Butler's Present . . . 24G

THE LIFE AXD ADVENTURES

PEG WO F FOG TON.

Sail

coia, ana promisea a, uieaiv ciuu uieciij mgut,
VOL. I. B

Kiv CONTENTS.

CHAPTEPv IX.

Thomas Sheridan, the Manager — Letter to (jarrick — Be-
comes a INlanager — Conditions of the Playhouse — A
Theatrical Riot and its Result — Dublin before the
Union — Lionel, Duke of Dorset, at the Castle —
Diversions of the Town — High Life and Low — Mrs.
Butler, IMiss Bellamy, and David Garrick — A StranD-*^

THE LIFE AXD ADVENTURES

PEG WOFFINGTOK

CHAPTER I.

The Little Water-carrier and the Foreign Lady — Madame
Violante and Mrs. Wofiington — Pupil to a Dancer —
The Booth in Fownes Court — Little Peg in 'The
Beggars' Opera ' — Charles Kelly and the ' Devil to
Pay' — At the Aungier Street Playhouse — Dancing
between the Acts — Playing Ophelia, Her Beauty
and her Triumph — The Part of Phillis — Falling in
Love — A Young Gentleman of Quality and his
Ways — A Journey to London Town.

At the close of an October day, in the year 1727,
a child of about eight years old slowly tottered
along Ormond Qnay, Dublin, under the weight
of a pitcher of water which she carried on
her head. The evening had set in dark and
cold, and promised a bleak and dreary night.
VOL. I. B

2 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Already the sky was overcast with, heavy
clouds ; a sad voiced north east wind sweeping
np the sluggish LifFey, carried Avith it a chill
penetrating mist that gradually increased to
drenching rain. Heavily framed lamps, impri-
soning the poor wan light of oil wicks, swung
with many a creak from the corner houses
of dreary streets and black-looking alleys ; or
hung above the old stone bridges with quaint
and ponderous balustrades, and buttresses green
and slimy from the ebb and flow of countless
tides, casting a patch of light upon the black
waters beneath, as if seeking crimes and mys-
teries hidden in their depths. A few pas-
sengers, with heads bowed low, and cloaks
and coats drawn tightly round them to avoid
the bitter wind, hastened to and fro, shadow-
like in the deepening gloom. A coach or
two, rattled with noisy haste, ovei* the uneven
pavements. The bells of the church clocks rang
out six, their sounds falling faint and change-
ful, like frightened voices crying for help from
the heights of steeples and towers, upon which
the vapour and cloud had already descended.

THE CHILD LOOKED PICTURESQUE. 3

With the wind blowing in her face, the
rain dashing on her scarcely covered hmbs,
the child, labouring under the weight of her
pitcher, made but slow way. At last, shivering
in her wet rags, and overcome by her misery,
she burst into tears ; raised her arms above
her head, removed the pitcher, and sought
the passing shelter of an open doorway. She
had scarcely wiped the rain from her face
with the remains of an old tattered and colour-
less shawl which helped to cover her shoulders,
when a lady, who had for some time followed
her, also sought protection in the hall, faintly
lit by the flickering rays of a lamp.

' You are cold, my childe,' said the lady,
looking at her keenly.

' Yes, ma'am,' said the girl, raising her eyes,
expressive of sui^prise, to the stranger's face.

Even in her rags the child looked picturesque.
Her dark, unkempt hair curled naturally round
a well shaped head, and hung above a wide,
low forehead ; her eyes, large and liquid, seemed
almost black under the shadow of their long-
lashes, and the full sweeping curve of her

B 2

4 PEG WOFFINGTON.

brows ; her cheeks were pale and beautifully
oval ; her lips somewhat full and red : whilst her
prettily dimpled chin gave a piquant look to
the lower part of her face, which the sweet
gravity of her eyes contradicted.

'And what is your name, my leetle childe?'
said the lady in a voice to which a foreign
accent gave a peculiar softness.

'Me name is Peg, ma'am,' said the girl,
opening wide her eyes, made all the brighter
by the tears which yet glistened in them.

' Peg ; it is a pretty name. , But is there
no other?' asked the lady, pushing back the
dark, tangled locks with a touch that was
caressing in its gentleness.

* Peg Woffington, ma'am,' said the girl, pleased
Avith the lady's attentions.

'And where you live, eh, leetle Peg WofF-
ing-ton? Is it far from here, eh?' continued
the foreign lady, letting her eyes wander from
the child's handsome face to her limbs, rounded
and shaped with wonderful grace.

' Not far, ma'am,' said Peg. ' Me mother lives
in George's Court. She is a widee; an' she

MADAME VIOLANTE. 5

^vashes for the neighbours ;' and so saying,
ehe cast her eyes on the pitcher of water by
her side, as if some train of thought had sud-
denly suggested itself to her mind. 'An' this
is washing day ; an' I've been carrjdn' jugs
o' water since dinner. But this is the last of
'em ; an' — an' I must go now, ma'am ; for there's
no sign o' the rain stoppin' an' mother will be
wonderin' what keeps me,' said Peg, stooping
to raise her burden on her head once more.

'And I shall go with you,' said the lady,
with that foreign accent which gave her voice
so sweet a sound.

The child set the pitcher down again, straight-
ened herself, and looked at the lady with eyes
expressive of wonder.

' I am,' said the lady, ' Madame Violante.
You perhaps have heard my name V

' What !' said Peg, in greater amazement now
than ever ; for at the mention of that name
there rose before her a vision of a great booth
in Fownes Court, with a vast glare of lights ;
where the sounds of fiddles and drums were heard
strumming and beating right meny measures.

6 PEG WOFFINGTON.

and to which crowds flocked nightly, that thej
might see such tricks and daring feats as had
never before been witnessed in this goodly city,

'And you are Madame 'Lante, that dances
on the rope?' said Peg, looking down at
the lady's feet, as if by her glance she would
unravel the great mystery by which the cele-
brated dancer nightly balanced herself on a
tight-rope and skipped upon a slackwire above
the heads of applauding crowds.

'The same,' said the French lady, smiling.
' AVould you like to dance also on the rope '

' And wear such beautiful dresses, with
spangles?' interrupted this juvenile daughter
of Eve. * Oh, ma'am, I would be delighted !'

' Very well, I will teach you,' said Violante.

'And shall 1 wear a star on me forehead^
ma'am, when I dance — like you ?' she asked.

' Yes,' answered Madame Violante, ' if you
learn quickly and well. But first we must ask
your mother, and hear what she will say ; show
me the way to her house, and whilst we go
you can tell me all about yourself, my childe.'

So Peg lifted the earthenware pitcher, that

PEG TELLS HER STORY. 7

seemed now no heavier than a feather^ and
placed it on her shapely head, and went ont
into the darkness which was almost as of night.
Her steps were so light and quick that her new
friend could scarcely keep pace with her ; the
raiu and wind were unheeded, though the one
pattered on her face, and the other sent the
poor rags fluttering from her rounded limhs.
Presently they left the exposed quays and turn-
ed up a dark narrow street, with high, black-
looking houses on either side, in the friendly
shelter of which the child, in answer to the
Frenchwoman's questions, told her that she and
her mother and her little sister were as poor as
church mice, since, said she, ' the doctors, the
devil take 'em, killed me father when he had
the faver a few years ago ; an' sure, 'twas the
first time in his life he ever had 'em to attend
him, and 'twas his last. God be good to his
sowl ; but they say the doctors are never lucky,
and they kill a mighty lot o' people anyhow.
An' me mother,' she continued, ' takes in wash-
in', an' works hard all day, an' at night she sells
oranges outside the doors o' the playhouse in

8 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Anngier Street ; an' never a much she
makes he that same ; an' as for meself, some-
times I sell oranges too, an' sallacl for a ha'pen-
ny a dish, an' water cresses in the sayson ; and
the young gentlemen in Trinity College behave
dacent to me, an' often give me a penny for
nothin' at all, only because I talk to them, an'
make them laugh ; an' they're not bad, poor
fellows anyhow, when they have the money ;
but sure there are times when they're just as
poor as meself a'most, an' it's many a time I
popped their clothes for them, comin' to the end
o' the month, you know. But they're rale good
hearted, an' they like me well.'

At the end of this dark street they turned
into a lane on the right, and finally entered an
unsavoury court, lighted only by the dim rays of
tallow candles shining through the small paned
windows of the surrounding hovels. Quickly
gliding into one of them, the child mounted a
rickety stair, loudly calling out to her mother
that a lady was coming to see her. At this
information, a woman wearing a deep bordered
blowsy cap that had once been Avhite, and a
cotton gown, the sleeves of Avhich were rolled

THE LADY THAT DANCES.

to the shoulders, displaying her red and smoky
arms fresh from the wash tub, hastily took a
candle from a tin sconce nailed to the white-
washed wall, and rushing forward with it, held
it above the creaking stairway in a position most
favourable to the descent of melted tallow on
her visitor's head.

' Walk in, ma'am, an' welcome,' said the host-
ess, foreseeing in her mind's eye an additional
customer to the wash tub. Restoring the candle
to the sconce, she made a rush at the best chair
the poor room contained, and rubbed it heartily
with her apron, Avhich she afterwards applied in
the same manner to her perspiring face.

' An' won't you sit down, ma'am V she con-
tinued, peering into the stranger's countenance
through an atmosphere which was rendered a
trifle misty by smoke from the turf fire, and
steam from the wash tub. ' Peg, stir the cradle
and don't let Polly Avake. Do you hear meV

' Mother,' said Peg, feeling herself called on
to make some introduction, ' it's Madame 'Lante,'
adding, after a moment's pause, 'the lady that
dances on the rope.' And so saying, the child
made a curtsey, not without grace, to her visitor.

10 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Beino' favoured with this introcluction the

danseuse seated herself, and explamed the
motive of her visit. She had beeu struck by
the beauty of Peg's face, and by the gi-ace and
bearing of her figure, and offered to take her as
an apprentice and teach her the business of
a tight-rope dancer. The poor v^asherwoman
dried her arms, opened her eyes very wide, and
looked bewildered at the unexpected proposal
which was so suddenly laid before her.

' It will be well for the leetle Peg ; she will
earn good salaries in a short times,' put in Mad-
ame Yiolante, ' and I will dress and support her.'
At this prospect a shrewd twinkle came into ^Irs.
Woffington's eyes. She knew the value of money.

' Well, ma'am,' she said, putting her arms
akimbo, ' none of me blood has ever been play-
actors, or ever danced upon a rope ; an' for the
matter o' that, me mother's people never dis-
graced themselves be earning a penny piece,
but lived upon their own 'states like the highest
in the land ; an' sure, 'twas often tould us the
head of the family was one o' the rale kings of
Ireland himself. But sure, that was in the good

MADAME VIOLANTES PUPIL. 11

OAvld times, and there's no use in talking o'
them ; and here am I, only a poor widee-wo-
man, God help me, with two children to support,
an' the times mighty hard, and me good man
took from me with little or no warning, God
help ns ! An' it's a miserable world Ave live in.'

' It was sad,' the sympathetic Frenchwoman
said, taking advantage of a slight pause in the
widoAv's autobiographical sketch.

' An' sure, everyone knows, ma'am,' she con-
tinued, ' that you bear the character of an honest
woman, an' not like most o' them wenches
belonging to the playhouse. An' sure as you
say Peggy might earn a dacent livin' in a little
while, an' that you will support and clothe the
child, sure you may take her, an I'll pray God
to protect her,' said the washerAvoman.

So it was settled that Peg Avas to become
one of Madame's pupils ; and in a little Avhile,
attired in long drawers, short jacket, and flat
pumps, she learned to dance and skip about
the stage, and presently to sing songs ; for all
of AA'hich she Avas duly admired by the fre-
quenters of the booth, who flung her showers

12 PEG WOFFINGTON.

of pence, which she quickly picked up and
duly gave to her mother. But public taste is
proverbially fickle. Although such suiprising
performances on the tight-rope as Madame
Violante's had never been seen in Dublin be-
fore, yet there was a monotony about them
which palled after awhile, and by degrees the
pleasant booth in Fownes Court, with its sconces
of tallow lights, its fiddles, its drums, its merry
dances, and its aerial performances, became
deserted. Now Madame Violante was a woman
of enterprise and energy, and no sooner did one
attraction fail to fill her coffers than she quickly
looked about her for another; and, like those
who seek in earnest, she found it in good time.

But a little before all theatrical London had
been in a state of intense excitement concern-
ing a performance called ' The Beggars' Opera,'
by the poet Gay. It had been produced by
Eich, then manager of Lincoln's Inn Fields
Theatre, and had been played for sixty two
consecutive nights, * making Rich gay, and
Gay rich.' The opera was furthermore not-
able as being the occasion of a drawn battle

' THE BEGGARS' OPERA: V6

lietween George II. and her Grace the mad
Duchess of Queensbury ; which of course added
to its notoriety considerably. Now this comic
opera had never been heard or witnessed in
Dubhn, though the report of its sparkHng dia-
logue, its genuine wit, and satirical ditties, had
of course crossed the Channel. It therefore
struck Madame Violante to form a company of
children, instruct them in the parts of this
opera, and have it performed in her booth.
The idea was no sooner conceived than acted
upon, and in a little while the Dublin public was
invited to witness the results of her training.

The principal character, Polly, Avas given to
Peg Woffington ; and strange to say not only
she, but almost all the children who person-
ated the characters in this opera, afterwards
became celebrated actors and actresses. Ma-
dame Violante, meanwhile, moved to a more
commodious booth in George's Court, which, on
the night of the first performance of * The
Beggars' Opera,' was prodigiously crowded.
Amongst the audience sat a goodly number of
Peg's old friends and admirers from Trinity

14 PEG WOFFIXGTON.

College, who, when this lovely girl with the
blue black hair and liquid eyes came forward,
looking pale from fright, received her with an
ovation that set her nervousness to flight, and
gave her hope of much forbearance. The charm
of her face, the beauty of her limbs, the natural
grace of her movements would, if such were
necessary, have compensated for much that
was crude to a people ever keenly sensitive to
the effects of physical gifts ; but her crudities
were scarcely perceptible, and when the cur-
tain fell that night the young actress had the
satisfaction of knowing that her first appear-
ance in what may be called an important part
gave promise of future success. In those old
days and good, there existed a common feeling
of friendship between performers and their
audiences, which was productive of many ad-
vantages to both; and in accordance with the
custom of the times, at the conclusion of the
opera Madame Violante stepped forward from
the world behind the scenes to receive the con-
gratulations of her patrons on her financial
success, as well as on the result of the training
of her troupe.

A MAX OF PARTS. 15

Little Peg Woffington also descended into
the commonplace world by means of a half
dozen creaking steps to receive her meed
of praise, before joining her mother; who,
hoarse from crying oranges at the door of the
booth, was now awaiting her daughter, A\dth
her empty basket on her arm, a comfortable
sense of proprietorship in her manner, and a
glow of pride in her honest face — round,
rubicund, and set in a framework of blowsy
borders. Now amongst those Avho most Avarm-
]y congi-atulated Peg and her patroness was
^Ir. Charles Coffey, a little, wiry, dark com-
plexioned man, w^ho looked as if he were being
half strangled by his high collar and many-
folded cravat. His meagre frame was clad in
a black body coat, his lower limbs in velvet
breeches, fastened at the knee by rows of brass
buttons and bows of black ribbon, and in
worsted stockings that betrayed a lamentable
lack of calf. For all that, it was easily seen Mr.
Charles Coffey was a man of parts, and likewise
of vast importance, for he was the composer
of ' The Beggars' Wedding,' a ballad opera of
gi-eat humour, which had met with prodigious

IG PEG WOFFINGTON.

success, if not in Dublin, at least in London,
where it had been performed for thirty con-
secutive nights at the Haymarket, and had
likewise held the boards of Covent Garden and
the great Drury Lane playhouse itself. More-
over, he had likewise written, or rather plagiar-
ised, a ballad farce rejoicing in the comprehen-
sive title, ' The Devil to Pay,' which had also
met with great applause at Drury Lane, and to
which Miss Raftor (known afterwards as Kitty
Clive) owed vast obligations, as it afforded her
scope for the display of the comic talents which
the world was not aware she possessed till then.
Now it pleased Mr. Charles Coffey to gra-
ciously offer to instruct Peg Woffington in the
part of Nell, in his new ballad farce, the char-
acter in which Kitty Raftor had won her laurels.
He had closely studied the Drury Lane actress,
luitil her every whimsical movement and humor-
ous expression were stamped on his mind ; and
these he was ready to teach Peggy, in order
that his farce might meet a success in his native
town, in which he was no prophet, such as it
had already received in the greater capital.

A T A UNGIER STREET PL A YHO USE. 17

At this proposal both Peg and her mistress
were dehghted ; she was apt, studied hard, and
made a sensation in the part when the ballad
farce was dnly produced in Madame Violante's
canvas covered booth. From this hour she was
looked on as a prodigy, destined for renown
some day, and was sought after by the polite
circles of the town. From association with such
society she, being imitative and impressionable,
quickly learned to act in accordance with its
genteel manners, just as she had rapidly learned
singing from Charles Coffey, and French from
Madame Violante.

For a considerable time the charming Peggy
acted small parts, sang ballads, and danced jigs
under Madame Violante's management, but fate
proving imkind to this lady, her business de-
clined, and she was obliged to let her booth.
But Peg's reputation as a clever and accom-
plished young actress had meanwhile risen, and
her services were sought for by Elrington, then
manager of the Theatre Koyal, as the Aungier
Street playhouse was called, where she sang in
operas andfarces, and danced with great grace be-

VOL. I. C

18 PEG WOFFINGTON.

tween the acts, in company with Monsieur Moreau
and Mr. William Delemain. It was not, howcA^er,
mitil February, 1737, that she was permitted to
make her appearance in what is known as ' a
speaking character.' The accident which gave
her this chance Avas the same which has afforded
similar opportunities to many actresses who have
afterwards become known to fame. The play
of Hamlet, ' written by the famous Shakespeare,'
was announced for performance at the Theatre
Royal. Two days before that on which the
tragedy was to be produced, the lady selected
to play the part of Ophelia fell ill, when Peg came
forward and offered to undertake the character.
Elrington in return laughed at her proposal, but,
nothing daunted, she offered to repeat some of
Ophelia's lines for his benefit, the result being
that Miss Woffin^'ton was announced in the
bills to play the part of this woe stiicken
heroine.

She had long ago become a favourite with

the public, and the event of her making her

appearance in this important character caused

a vast excitement, to her patrons in particular,

THE NEW OPHELIA. 19

and the town in general. True to their natural
characteristic love of display, the good citizens
of Dublin were excessively fond of playhouses.
On friendly personal terms with most of the
actors and actresses, they were familiar -^vith
every event of their lives, and dealt out to them
from pit and gallery their favour or displeasure,
if with occasional indiscretion, at least with an
openness that left no doubt as to their preju-
dices. Peg Woffington had been known to
them from the days when she had sold salad and
watercresses in the streets, and the towm regard-
ed licr w^ith especial favour ; her appearance in
so prominent a part as that of Ophelia was there-
fore looked forward to with unusual interest, and
on the evening of the 17th of February the Aun-
gier Street playhouse was crowded from pit to
gallery to witness her performance. Seldom had
tliere been seen so brilliant a house, or one
more keenly, nay, anxiously, attentive ; and
when at length Ophelia came forward, her dark
eyes luminous w^ith excitement, her beautiful
face pale from fear, she held her audience as by
a spell, which the justness of her expression, and

20 PEG WOFFINGTON.

grace of her manner heightened as the play pro-
ceeded. When the curtain descended on the
mad scene, it was felt that she had secm^ed a
triumph which was not only complete in itself^
but gave promise of great achievements in the
future.

From this date she no longer danced between
the acts, or sang ballads in small parts. It was
her ambition to climb the ladder of theatrical
fame, and, once having gained a step, she was
not the woman to descend to her former level.
Her next important part was that of Phillis in
Sir Richard Steele's ' Conscious Lovers,' and
was almost as great a success as her representa-
tion of Ophelia. For two seasons she played
leading parts, bringing large audiences and
full coffers to the Aungier Street playhouse,
gaining especial renown in the part of Sir Harry
Wildair, an elegant young man of fashion.
This character she had attempted at the desire of
several persons of consequence, and so piquant
and full of witchery was her personation of the
fashionable rake, that she charmed the town to
an uncommon degree.

SHE FELL IN LOVE. 21

About this time an event happened which
may be considered the turning point in her
career : she fell in love. The object of her
affection was a young gentleman of position but
of small fortune, named Taaffe, the third son of a
needy Irish peer. He was not only delighted
with her talents as an actress, but fascinated by
her beauty as a woman. He was a man well to
look upon, tall and of goodly shape : with sea blue
eyes, light brown hair, and a smile as bright, if,
iilas, as deceptive as April sunshine. Night after
night he sat in the boxes of the theatre, watching
the play of her face that was more beautiful
than health ; the glamour of her lustrous eyes ;
the smiles that played round a mouth like unto
ii cleft pomegranate ; the turn of her head ;
the movement of her graceful limbs. When she
left the stage, he felt as if sudden darkness had
descended upon him. She Avas to him what
sunlight is to the world. By day he wooed
her with soft words and gentle looks, and many
endearments, with all the passion, the longing,
and the pain of his youth ; for he thought to
himself no woman ever was born so beautiful as

22 PEG WOFFINGTON.

she. And, as a woman, she loved him, not
wisely, but too well ; trusting him with the pre-
cious treasure of her honour, resting confident
that because of her vast affection for him, he
would in return make her his lawful wife. At
his request she quitted the stage at a time when
the promise of a great career shone before her ;
at his desire she left her native city to accom-
pany him to London. For she loved him all
in all.

CHAPTER II.

Ill INIerry London Town — The King's Court and the
Prince's — Views of the Streets — The Coffee-houses
and their Frequenters — Kound Covent Garden — The
Players' Quarters and Clare Market — Laws Concern-
ing the Playhouses and their Audiences — Dress of
the Period — Johnson, Garrick, and Savage — At the
Fountain Tavern — Visiting on ' Clean Shirt Day ' —
Keynolds, Pope, and Smollett — Quin at Drury Lane,
Cibber at Covent Garden — Vauxhall, its Ways audits
Visitors— With Lady Caroline Petersham — A Strange
Advertisement.

When Peg Woffington arrived in town, London
was then, as it had been for the last quarter of
a century, the very centre of gaiety and dissipa-
tion. The nobihty were divided in their alle-
giance between the court of 8t. James, where
George II., assisted by his German mistress
^ladame Walmoden, created Countess of Yar-
mouth, held drawing-rooms twice a week ; and
Norfolk House, where Frederick, Prince of

24 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Wales, an outcast from the royal palace, had set
up a court of his own, where he aacl his brilliant
followers, gambled and fiddled, and danced and
acted almost every night throughout the year.
The middle and lower classes made merry over
rumours that reached them of the royal wran-
gles, but little heeding them, enjoyed themselves
after their own fashion. The streets, with their
steep roofed, strangely carved, curiousl}^ gabled
houses, crushing up against, or over la]3ping
each other in front by a foot or two, or
lying snugly against deep windowed, square
towered churches, were bright and busy all day
long ; filled by a goodly crowd of courtiers and
citizens, clad in many coloured suits, all of whom
w^ere more or less known to each other, and ex-
changed salutations or civilities with a gi'ace of
movement and courtesy of speech lost to us in
this latter day.

In the centre of the thoroughfares heavily-
built coaches, showily painted, emblazoned with
coats of arms or coronets, lumbered along ;
their slow way beset by carts, or by hired chairs
swinging between abusive tongued chairmen,

OLD LONDON STREETS. 25

or by tlie chairs of persons of quality carried by
livery clad servants. To add, moreover, to the
general obstruction of the naiTow streets, barrows
of fruits, vegetables, and edibles lined either side,
as if to nmrk where the pavements should
have been. Over the pedestrian's head, from
above the doorway of almost every shop, hung
strangely painted signboards, adorned with
heraldic bearings, paintings of grotesque and
fabulous animals, boars of many colours, or
cocks in legion, all of which swung and creaked
threateningly with every wind that swept from
the four corners of the globe.

All day long and far into the night the coffee
houses, which were to be found in all quarters
of the town, were crowded by men of every
degree. Those whose tastes or vocations took
them to St. James's, or St. Paul's, alike used
them as places for the interchange of polite
conversation or the transaction of business. In
these houses — the forerunners of clubs — the
frequenters paid a penny or twopence, accord-
ing to the situation and circumstance of the
house, for a cup of good coffee, which sum like-

26 PEG WOFFINGTON.

wise entitled the customer to read the broad-
sheets of the day, to hnger for an hour or so
and hear the latest news from the court or the
city, the newest gossip from abroad, or from
the green-room of the Drury Lane playhouse ;
or to enter into a discussion on the political
questions of the hour, the knavery of ministers
and the sycophancy of their followers.

There was ' Squire's Coffee House,' a deep-
coloured red brick, picturesque, building, ad-
joining ' Gray's Inn Gate,' which Sir Roger
de Coverley himself used to frequent, in the
first decade of the century ; when seated at
the upper end of the room, at a high table,
he would call for a clean pipe, a paper of
tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax candle, and
a newspaper, with such an air of good humour
that everybody delighted in serving him. There
was Button's famous coffee house in Russell
Street, Covent Garden, which Addison and his
friends had frequented ; where Sir Richard
Steele told his wittiest story ; where Dr. Garth
uttered his best pun, and which had been made
the receiving house for contributions to the

SOME COFFEE-HOUSES. 27

Guardian; for which purpose a hon's head,
designed by Hogarth, had been put up as a
letter-box. And hkewise 'St. James's Coffee
House,' in St. James's Street, where the Whigs
gathered and talked politics, and arranged the
affairs of Europe with a satisfaction heightened
by sundry pinches of Brazil snuff; the same
house where Dean Swift — now dying in Ireland
' like a rat in a hole,' as he expressed it — had
received his letters from poor broken hearted
Stella, under cover to Joseph Addison, Esquire.
At the ' Grecian Coffee House,' handsome
Jemmy Maclaine, the celebrated highwayman,
tlie son of an Irish dean, the brother of a
Calvinist minister, might be seen any day,
sipping his coffee, making love to his land-
lord's daughter, keeping an eye to his neigh-
bour's property, and joining in the conversation
with vast politeness, imtil one morning in May,
1750, when he Avas hung on the charge of
stealing a laced waistcoat. In the open bal-
cony at Toms ' a great crowd of noblemen
adorned with their stars and garters, and men
of quality, might be seen nightly, drinking

28 PEG WOFFINGTON.

their tea and coffee, exposed to the crowd.
But the ' Bedford Coffee House,' in Co vent
Garden, was more than all others, at this period,
signalized as the emporium of wit, the seat
of criticism, and the standard of taste. Here
courtiers and citizens met on common ground ;
here, on the one hand, the price of stocks
was gravely discussed, and on the other, Lord
Chesterfield's last hon mot was laughingly re-
peated. No student from the universities
launching himself on the w^orld, no lawyer's
clerk clapping on a sword, no haberdashers
'prentice donning a cue wig, but duly put in
an appearance at the ' Bedford,' by way of
qualifying himself as a man about town. In
the little boxes, ranged round hke hives, men
of every calling sipped their coffee nightly,
discussing the affairs of the day, exchanging
witicisms, and narrating stories more laughable
than edifying. And wittiest among them all,
creating roars of laughter by his sallies, or
his mimicry of some well known actor or poli-
tician, was a young gentleman of family and
fortune, at this time a student of the Inner

ROUND COVENT GARDEN. 2^

Temple. Dressed in a frock-suit of green, and
silver lace, bag wig, sword, bouquet, and point
ruffles, he frequented the place daily, until the
carriage of some woman of quality would drive
to the door, and, Mr. Samuel Foote being-
inquired for, he would hasten out, hat in hand,
and ride awav w^ith his lady fair.

Covent Garden in those days was a busy
hive, where not only coffee houses, but gay
taverns, and ordinaries, and houses of dissipa-
tion thickly clustered. At the ordinaries, din-
ners were served at the rate of sixpence or
a shilling per head ; for the latter sum two
courses being supplied, a goodly company,
though somewhat mixed, gathering round the
board. In each of these houses a second apart-
ment was also set aside for the accommoda-
tion of the nobility and men of quality, where
a higher tariff was charged, and where much
wine and good was drunk. Here in this local-
ity, which had long become the recognized
rendezvous of most of the wits and men of
parts, the players had theu' homes. Booth and
Wilks had rendered Bow Street sacred in the

30 PEG WOFFINGTON.

memory of play goers : and in this same street
the ponderous Qiiin Kved at this date. Bet-
tevton had resided in Russell Street, where Ryan
now had his home ; Colley Cibber dwelt in
Charles Street ; ]\Iacklin in St. James's Street :
j\Irs. Pritchard in Craven Street ; Kitty Clive
in Southampton Row ; whilst the less famous
actors and actresses lodged in the smaller streets
j^ranching from the Garden. They therefore
met each other continually, and lived in a state
of pleasant and friendly intercourse. 3Ioreover,
they could, at less than an hour's notice, be
mustered together for rehearsal, in case a
sudden change in a play bill required tlie
introduction of a fresh piece.

But it was not the players alone who flocked
together in those days ; members of other call-
ings and professions were apt to congregate in
one spot likewise. Barristers and lawyers dwelt
mostly in the Inns of Court, or about West-
minster Hall ; whilst the merchants and bankers
lived in their Avarehouses or counting houses in
the city; few of them, and these only of the
wealthiest, venturing to approach the West-

AT CLARE MARKET. dl

end so near as Hatton Garden. Round Clare
Market the butchers mustered in vast numbers.
These brawny fellows were staunch friends of
the players, to whom they were ever Avilling to
give their services on occasions when disputes
arose between them and the town, as was not
infrequently the case ; and on nights when
young men of fashion, or gentlemen of the Inns
of Court, or the 'prentices bold, threatened a
riot in the playhouse on account of some sup-
posed offence given them by manager or actor,
or were determined on condemning an author's
play unheard, the timely appearance of such
formidable critics, stationed in various parts of
the house, made a due impression upon the
nerves of the would be rioters.

The laws which held sway relative to the
playhouses were curious, but in some ways
excellent, being of quite a different complexion
from those which obtain now-a-days. None but
persons of rank, quality, or fortune ever pre-
sumed to sit in a box ; nor did a man ever enter
one with his head covered. The boxes were,
moreover, sacred to virtue and decorum, except

32 PEG WOFFINGTON.

two or three on each side of the house, which
were specially set aside for the women of the
town. These were therefore visited by men at
the peril of their characters. Xo indifferent or
vulgar person frequented tiie pit, which was
occupied by men of letters or wit, by students
of the Inns of Court, barristers, or young mer-
chants of rising eminence, all of whom were
tjupposed to be well read in polite literature,
and learned in dramatic lore. There judgments
were therefore considered worthy of vast regard,
as being dictated by experience, taste, and
learning. The players, as a consequence, court-
ed their good opinions in preference to those of
the occupants of any other part of the house.
When the play was over the critics began to
talk, mustering in knots in the lobbies of the
theatre, or in the coffee houses, especially the
Bedford, where they dehvered judgments ac-
cording to their lights, which were received by
the town without dissent.

On nights when some attraction brought a
vast crowd to the house, an amphitheatre was
reared at the back of the stage, where presently

A T THE PL A YHO USE. 33

the spectators sat row upon row until the heads
of those seated in high places touched the
theatrical clouds. When this was filled, groups
of ill dressed lads sat in front of it, three or
four rows deep, otherwise those behind could
not have seen, and a riot would have ensued.
Nor was tliis all ; round the single entrance
door at each side, the young gentlemen of
fashion crowded in numbers, as this position
gave them a delightful opportunity of display-
ing their handsomely dressed persons to the
best advantage. Here they diverted them-
selves by staring, talking to each other across
the stage during the performance, making audi-
ble and not very complimentary comments on
the actors, or such people in the pit as attracted
their notice, and served as a butt for their wit.
Such conduct was generally resented by the
galleries, when the angry gods, in their just
wrath, rained down on them showers of half-
sucked oranges, half eaten pippins, and unsound
apples, to the infinite terror of those who sat in
the pit and boxes.

The disadvantage under which this custom
VOL. I. D

34 PEG WOFFINGTON.

placed the poor players, can scarcely be con-
ceived. * On a crowded night a performer could
not step his foot with safety,' says Tate AVilkin-
son, 'lest he should thereby hurt or offend, or be
thrown down amongst scores of idle tipsy ap-
prentices.' xA.mongst such a crowd would some
charming Juliet be discovered in the tomb scene
of ' Romeo and Juliet,' arrayed in a full white
satin dress with large hoop, then considered in-
dispensable to the proper costume of this love
sick maiden ; and with such a throng surround-
ing her bed would Desdemona bid her last fare-
well to the murderous Moor.

Sometimes, whilst the stage was so crowded,
situations and scenes occurred in plays un-
dreamt of by their authors. For instance, on
one occasion, whilst an actor named Holland
was playing Hamlet to a thronged house for
his benefit, a ridiculous incident ha|)pened.
When the ghost, with some difficult and many
audible apologies, elbowed his way through
the beaux, and appeared to this gentleman,
his hat flew off his head ; this being the recog-
nised mode of conveying a hint that his hair

THE GHOST FLED. 35

stood on end, aud of expressing fright gener-
ally. Presently, as he complained that the air
bit shrewdly, and was very cold, a stout old
lady with a compassionate heart and a red
cloak, stepped down, unseen by him, from her
seat in the amphitheatre, picked up his hat,
and, coming behind him, placed it on his head,
when poor Hamlet started in real terror. The
house burst into roars of laughter, the ghost
turned and fled, and Hamlet, after a moment's
hesitation, followed him amidst ringing cheers.
On another night it happened that a certain
noble earl, during the murder scene in Macbeth,
lounged across the stage in (^rder to chat with
a friend of his whom he spied at the other side.
Rich, the manager, duly incensed, declared he
would never admit him on the stage again, to
which the noble lord replied by giving him a
blow in the face, which was duly returned by
Rich, when a fracas commenced that extended
itself to the whole house. Indeed, this custom of
crowding the stage continued until lit) 2, when
Garrick finally abolished it, to the vast indig-
nation of the audience and performers ; the

D 2

86 PEG WOFFINGTON.

former regarding it as an infringement on their
rights, the latter as an injustice because of the
decrease in the receipts of their benefits which
ensued.

There were hkewise unwritten laws regard-
ing dress, at this period, which were strictly
adhered to ; the merchant being recognisable
by his broad cloth and worsted hose, from the
man of quality habited in velvet, satin, and
silk. Moreover, those living at a distance of
sixty or a hundred miles from the capital,
scarce ever ventured to make the journey to
town ; but when they did, the countryman was
at once known by his suit of hght grey or drab
cloth, his slouched hat, and uncurled hair.

It was only a couple of years before the
AYoffington's arrival that Samuel Johnson, in
company with young Davy Garrick, had tra-
velled up to London to seek his fortune ; when
the philosopher in embryo had dined at ' The
Pine Apple ' in New Street, on a cut of meat
for which he paid sixpence, and bread a penny;
or had in sadder times gone breadless by day
and bedless by night, wandering wearily when

WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS ASLEEP. 37

all the world was asleep, in company Avitli
Richard Savage, poet and vagabond, round
lonely squares and through deserted streets,
silent save for the watchman's single noted
call, or the striking of many toned clocks
heard fi-om towers and steeples lost in dark-
ness, until with the dawn of a new day fresh
hopes were born within them. But now John-
son, who has commenced to make way, might
be seen in one of the boxes of ' The Fountain
Tavern ' in the Strand, reading with rumbling
voice, the ponderous speeches of his tragedy
' Irene,' to Mr. Peter Garrick ; or sauntering on
' clean shirt day ' to Salisbury Court to visit
Mr. Samuel Richardson the printer, then un-
known to fame ; or to carry copy to the editor
of the Gentleman s Magazine, Mr. Edward Cave,
of St. John's Gate ; a spot whicli Johnson first
• beheld with reverence,' as the source from
whicli so much polite knowledge sprang. Cave,
Si rough, gruff fellow enough, who possessed
a warm heart, was surrounded by a crowd of
hack ^vi'iters, anxious to pen a sonnet or satire,
essay or article, at the nod of their great chief.

38 PEG WOFFINGTON.

As an intellectual liixmy, he had promised
Johnson a sight of the mighty geniuses who
presided over the fortunes of his magazine ;
and subsequently introduced him to them as
they sat among the clouds, not of Olympus, but
of tobacco smoke ascending from their pipes, in
an ale-house in Clerkenwell.

Fielding, who had not at this time written a
line of his novels, but who Avas of good repute
as a dramatist, might be seen loitering in the
shop of his brother playwright, Robert Dodslej,
who had once been a footman in the Lowther
family and had now become a poet, dramatist,
aud publisher.

' You know how decent, humble, inoffensive
a creature Dodsley is — how little apt to forget
or disguise his having been a footman,' writes
Horace AValpole, the magnificent. The Muses,
it would seem, had visited the worthy Dodsley
whilst he wore the shoulder knot, and the first
volume of his poems were very appropriately
entitled, ' The Muse in Livery.' These verses
were fortunate enough to attract the attention of
Pope, who, as the saying is, took him by the hand,
and established him as a bookseller. In turn.

IN DODSLErS SHOP. 39

Dodsley was one of the first to practically re-
cognise Johnson's worth as a poet by giving
him ten guineas for ' London, a Poem in imita-
tion of the third Satire of Jnvenal;' which
'happy offspring of his muse' had previously
o'one the rounds of the booksellers, and had
been rejected by them. He had hkewise helped
Johnson by giving him a guinea now and then
for paragraphs written for the London Chronicle,
at a time when guineas were most welcome
guests to the philosopher's palm.

In this pleasant shop, situated in Pall Mall,
might be seen many of the celebrities of the
day; amongst others a thin faced, shrunken
limbed little gentleman, shghtly bent, and clad
in sober black, who was no other than Mr. Pope
of Twickenham. Here also came for many an
hours pleasant gossip, a remarkable lookmg
man, pale faced and with thoughtful eyes, Ed-
ward Young, who had not then wiitten his
* Night Thoughts,' but who had given Drury
Lane a couple of tragedies which met with but
httle appreciation. And with him occasionally
came a young man, a doctor's apprentice, Tobias
George Smollett, who eight years later was to

40 PEG WOFFINGTON.

become famous as the author of ' The Adven-
tm-es of Roderick Random,' but who at this
period, when he came to take a friendly pinch
of snuff from Dodsley's box, and hsten to the
pohte conversation of the men of parts who
visited him, had merely written a tragedy which
had been rejected by the managers of the
Drury Lane and Covent Garden playhouses.
Here, too, came young Mr. Arne, the uphol-
sterer's son, the brother of the frail and beauti-
ful actress, Susanna Maria Gibber. IMr. Arne —
a slight, trim man, light of foot and easy of
carriage, who dressed in black velvet even in
the dog days — posed as a wit and a scholar, and
had just then distinguished himself by setting
Milton's ' Comus ' to music.

Peg Woffington and her lover arrived in the
early part of the summer, when the theatrical
season proper was almost over, and the actors
and actresses taking their annual benefits. At
Drury Lane Mr. Quin was playing Julius Gassar,
' with the death of Brutus and Gassius,' followed
by the 'Virgin Unmasked,' in which saucy Kitty
Olive played one of her favourite characters —
Miss Lucy. At Go vent Garden ' The Rehearsal '

DIVERSIONS OF THE TOWN. 41

was being played for Mr. Gibber's benefit, with
* an epilogue written by Jo. Haines, comedian,
of facetious memory, to be spoken by Mr. Gibber
riding on an ass ; followed by a hornpipe by a
gentleman in the character of a sailor.' A pan-
tomime entertainment, rejoicing in the sugges-
tive title of ' The Columbine Courtezan,' was
given nightly at Punch's Theatre, adjoining the
Tennis Court in St. James's Street ; and instead
of the usual operatic performances at the Hay-
market Theatre, assemblies were held weekly,
' to commence at nine, and no sooner,' to which
the gay part of the town flocked in large numbers.

Now that tlie long evenings and warm nights
were at hand, the Marylebone Gardens threw
wide their gates, and gave entertainments of
music, when ' the nobility and gentry are ad-
mitted for sixpence each ;' and Yauxhall put
forth ail its gay allurements.

On these calm bright evenings in early sum-
mer the placid Thames was crowded by boats
and barges, hung with bright bunting, and
laden with gay companies of citizens on their
way to Yauxhall Gardens, which had then no
rival ; Ranelagh not being opened till April,

42 PEG WOFFINGTON.

1742. In the far stretching gardens of Yaux-
hall were woods, open swards, picturesque
vistas, tents, booths, and a platform for dancers,
all of which were at night ' made illustrious by
a thousand lights finely disposed.' In the
glades, under the shade of spreading trees,
walked gentlemen in silken hose and silver
buckled shoes, their rich coloured velvet coats
distended in the skirts by cane or buckram ;
their padded breasts covered by bright-hued
satin waistcoats, wide flapped and embroidered
with gold or silver lace ; their jewelled hands
half covered by point lace ruffles smelling of
orange water ; their powdered wigs surmounted
by three cornered hats ; and by their sides
walked ladies of quality, powdered and patched,
high heeled, low bodiced, and Avide skirted. In
the pavilions at either side of the grove, which
were divided into different departments, and
adorned by pictures and portraits byHayman,
from designs by Hogarth himself, sat various
companies, not only of men and women of
quality, but of goodly citizens in Avorsted hoso
and square toed shoes, and coats ot honest
broadcloth, who, Avith their buxom spouses and

VAUXHALL GARDENS. 43.

families, enjoyed themselves merrih^ enough; for
here, as Boswell says, ' was good eating and drink-
ing for those who chose to purchase that regale.'

In the centre of the grove stood a vast or-
chestra, where bands played, and ' concerts of
musick ' were given nightly ; and at either side
of which stood statues of Mr. Handel as Orpheus
playing the lyre, Roubiliac's first work in Eng-
land, and of John Milton, the latter being cast
in lead, and painted stone colour. Vauxhall
had been opened by Mr. Thomas Tyres, a man
who had been bred to the law, which he soon
forsook ; for, having a vivacious temper and an
eccentric mind, he ' ran about the world with a
pleasant carelessness, amusing everybody,' as
Johnson's biographer says. In opening Vaux-
hall Gardens, Tyres stated in his advertisements
that he was ' merely ambitious of obliging the
polite and worthy part of the town,' and charged
a shilling simply ' to keep away such as were
not fit to mix with those persons of quality,
ladies and gentlemen, and others,' who should
honour him with their company.

The gardens, from the convenience they
afforded, soon became, as may be readily sup-

44: PEG WOFFINGTON.

posed, remarkable as a place of intrigue, a fact
that did not in the least prevent others bent on
more innocent enjoyment from frequenting
them. To the diversions called Ridotti al
Fresco, given here, most of the company went
wearing masks and dominos, and wrapping
their figures in ample cloaks, lawyer's gowns,
and such articles of apparel as served for
disguise. These ridotti commenced at about
eight o'clock in the evening, and ended usually
at four in the morning. They were extremely
popular ; and so prodigious a number of coaches
and chairs crossed Westminster Bridge en Q^oute
for the gardens, from the polite part of the town,
on nights when a ridotto Avas held, that an
attempt to cross that thoroughfare oftentimes
proved dangerous to limb and life. In the
vicinity of Vauxhall, order was sought to be
preserved by a hundred soldiers, whilst the way
from there to town was patrolled by stout
fellows well armed, and paid by Tyres to pro-
tect the properties and lives of his patrons.

Horace Walpole pleasantly discourses of a
journey he made to Vauxhall, in company with
Lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Ashe, with

A MERRY PARTY. 45-

whom indeed her ladyship had broke but a
little while before, but again took under her
protection, upon the assurance of Miss Ashe
that she ' was as good as married ' to Mr. Wort-
ley Montagu, Lady Mary's son; a gentleman
alike remarkable for the number of his amours
and his snufF boxes. When Walpole arrived he
found the ladies 'had just finished their last
layer of red_, and looked as handsome as crimson
could make them. The party also numbered
Lord March, Harry Vane, the Duke of Kingston,
pretty Miss Beauclerc and Miss Sparre. As they
sauntered down the Mall— a merry group of
bright coloured ladies, and powdered and per-
fumed gentlemen — Lady Caroline met her lord,
who strode by them on the outside and re-
passed them again without a word. At the
end of the Mall, my lady called him, but he
would not hear ; when she gave a familiar
spring, and, between laughing and confusion,
called out to him, ' My lord, my lord ! Why,
you don't see us.' Then the remainder of the
party advanced, feeluig somewhat awkward and
anxious, for my lord did not love his lady, and
Lady Caroline said, ' Do you go with us, or are

46 PEG WOFFINGTON.

you going anywhere else?" to whicli her lord
and master made answer, ' I don't go with yon,
I am going somewhere else !' and quickly
marched away. Not the less merry for his
departnre, they got into a barge, a boat with a
company playing French horns, attending them,
as they floated down the tide ; when they de-
barked, who should they meet but my Lord
Granby, who reeled out of ' Jenny's Whim,' — a
tavern at the end of the wooden bridge at
Chelsea — as drunk as may be, and who, of
course, accompanied them on their merry way ;
w^hen he took occasion to propose to Miss Sparre,
that they should shut themselves up for three
weeks merely to rail at the world. Then they
entered the Gardens and selected a box, in front
of which Lady Caroline sat, looking dangerously
handsome. Learning that my Lord Orford was
in a neighbouring box, she sent for him to mince
chickens ; when seven of these unhappy fowls
were minced into a china dish, which her
hospitable ladyship stewed over a lamp, Avitli
three pats of butter, and a flagon of water, stir-
i*ing and rattling and laughing till the company
expected to have the dish about their ears every

CROWDS GATHERED ROUND THEM. 47

moment. My lady had brought Betty, the
famous fruit ghl, who, in her turn, brought
hampers of strawberries and cherries ; and Betty
waited on this excellent company, and then sat
down at a little table beside them, and enjoyed
her share of the good things of this life. Such
jokes, and puns, and repartee — sometimes a little
broad, it is true — never were heard ; such wit
fell from their lips, such laughter rippled all
round them, that they soon had the whole atten-
tion of the garden, and crowds gathered about
their box, till Harry Vane took up a bumper and
drank their healths, and then proceeded to treat
them with greater freedom, when they dispersed.
Mention of Vauxhall is continually made in
the newspapers of the day, in connection with
the announcements of its/t^i^es, the people who had
visited it, and sometimes with strange advertise-
ments, one of which, strongly illustrative of the
times, runs : 'Lost in the dark walk at Vauxhall
last week, two female reputations ; one had a
small speck, on account of some dirt previously
thrown at it ; the other never soiled. Whoever
will bring them back to their owners shall re-
ceive five thousand pounds with thanks.'

CHAPTER III.

A Faithless Lover — Fortune-hunting — News of a Marriage
— Hatred and Vengeance — Peg Woffington's Plot —
Young Mr. Adair — The Eidotto at Vauxhall Gardens
— ]\riss Dallaway and her Friends — A Scene — PtC-
proaches — A Lover's Departure.

Such was London town when Peg Woffington
and young TaafFe took up their residence in
York Street, Covent Garden. For a few brief
months all went well with them ; the actress
was delighted with the infinite attractions and
novelties of the capital, and her lover rejoiced
that she was happy.

But by degrees slow, but deadly sure, came
the inevitable reaction of a passion not founded
on unselfish affection; and the man who had
sworn that he loved her more than life itself,
and that his love for her would outlive his life,
already grew cold in his ardour. For days

PLAYING HER FALSE. 49

and weeks he was absent from her side. But she
who had given him her heart loved him still,
and Avas loath to admit that her affection was
no longer retm-ned ; and by all those charming
arts, Avhich tlie intuition of a woman of fine feel-
ings teaches her to employ in inspiring or retain-
ing a love that is dear to her, she strove to win
him back once more. For a time it seemed as if
she had succeeded ; to his carelessness ensued
a tenderness that had in it something of self-
reproach. At last there came a day when he an-
nouncedthat urgent business affairs in connection
witli his property, obhged him to leave town for
Ireland, but he hoped to return in three weeks at
the latest. And then followed many protestations
of affection, which even she felt, came rather
from the lips than from the heart ; for the old
light was missing from his sea blue eyes, and
the sound of his voice rang false.

He had scarcely gone a week, when it reach-
ed her ears that he had been playing her false ;
that he had been wooing a young lady of
quality and fortune; named Miss Dallaway,
who was heiress to considerable wealth. More-

VOL. I. E

60 PEG WOFFIXGTOy.

over, his attentions to this young lady had
proved so agreeable, that she had promised to
wed him on his return to town. At this news,
the Woffington was by turns astonished, in-
credulous, and furious ; but recovering from the
first condition, she took pains to ascertain that
the rumour was undoubtedly true. Then the
scales fell from her eyes, and she saw that the
idol she had blindly worshipped, had not a heart
of gold, as she had foolishly imagined, but of
base clay, made very much after the pattern of
the rest of mankind. She was not jealous of
the woman he had asked to marry him, prob-
ably for the sake of her mone}^ : but she was
heart sore for loss of his love, indignant at
the deception practised on her, and humiliated
at the prospect of being flung aside, at the
mere dictates of his caprice and convenience.
Brooding over her wrongs, all her love for him
turned to hatred and contempt; she was a
woman scorned, and she was determined to
have vengeance.

It was not until she had thought for long
and sorrowful days, that she at last hit upon a

VENGEANCE. 61

plan of obtaining her vengeance ; but this, when
once determined on, she, with the impetuous
spirit wliich was so strong a trait of her charac-
ter, did not hesitate to carry out. Knowing
the name of the lady to whom her lover had
proposed marriage, it Avas a matter of but shght
difficulty to become acquainted with her by
sight ; for being a woman of quality and fash-
ion, she attended all the polite assembhes and
entertainments of the town. The next step that
the Woffington resolved on, was to meet her,
obtain an introduction to her, and reveal to her
that the man she had promised to Aved, was the
lover of an Iiish actress. Thoughts of the sore
pain and deep humiliation which this might cause
Miss DallaAvay did not prevent the Woffington
from carrying out her plans; this woman of
fashion could not love him as she, the Woffing-
ton, had loved him, with all the depth and force
of her demonstrative Celtic nature, quick, sub-
tle, and passionate ; and if she had suffered
from his perfidy, why not this other woman
hkewise. It was but just ! She must strike at
him, though her shaft pierced another lieart.

52 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Remembering how successfully she had played
the part of Sir Harry Wiklair on the stage, she
now resolved, in order to carry out her plans
more successfully, to act the part of a young
man of fashion in real life ; and, assuming male-
attire, she so successfully disguised herself, that
even those who had seen her take the part in
the Dublin theatre, could not recognize her as
Mr. Adair, a young Irishman of family and for-
tune ; the name and character she now assumed.
Attired in silken hose and satin breeches, with
broidered waistcoat and wide flapped coat, pow-
dered, painted, and bewigged, she sallied forth
uj)on the town, a perfect specimen of the imper-
tinent, dainty, and effeminate coxcombs of the
period. Everywhere Miss Dallaway went, the
Woffington was, if possible, present ; in the park
before dinner, where the lady was sure to take
the air ; in the theatre at night, where the lady
sat in her box ; and to such assemblies as were
open to the public for payment, Avhere the lady
was most likely to attend. Moreover, the
Woffington always took care that Miss Dalla-
w^ay should notice her appearance, and occasion-

AT A RIDOTTO. 53

nWj ventured to give such signs of admiration,
^nd indications of a smitten heart, as were per-
missible by look and gestm-e.

But all the while, the Woffingtou found it
impossible to obtain the desired introduction;
without which she dared not, in her character
as a gallant, address the lady. At length fate
granted her desire one night, when they were
present at a pubhc ridotto in Vauxhall Gardens.
When the Woffington, otherwise Mr. Adair, en-
tered the grounds, the scene which presented
itself Avas one of vast brilliancy and gaiety.
In the orchestra a full band was discoursing
the liveliest airs imaginable ; coloured lamps
glittered amidst the thick leafed branches of
oak and linden, that formed an arch like roof
above the central walk of the aTOve ; the
pavilions were crowded with brightly clad
figures ; dancers glided to and fro upon the
platform ; laughter rang in the air ; and every-
where were men and women in masks, dominos,
uniforms, or fancy costumes, busy in the pur-
suit of enjoyment ; and all as merry as might be.

Amongst those Mr. Adair walked with a

54 PEG WOFFINGTON.

swaggering gait, s^Yinging liis gold nobbed
clouded cane, with its great bnnch of silken
tassels, to and fro, as if bis heart were as light
as a feather ; a smile on his lips, a civil speech
on his tongue, a glitter in his eye that miglit
indicate love or mischief. At last he caught
sight of the figure for which he had been
diligently in search. Surrounded bj a group
of friends. Miss Dallaway sat under a tree,
Avatching the crowds pass and repass ; now and
then making some comment which showed she
was not devoid of Avit. Approaching the little
knot with the easiest and most careless air in
the AYorld, Mr. Adair recognized at a glance,
a certain man of quality Avith Avhom he had
during the Aveek exchanged civihties, Avhilst
dining at the more select ordinary of the ' Bed-
ford,' and AAath whom, on one occasion, he had
cracked a bottle of port. AdA^ancing to him,
he assumed his most courteous air, made a
boAv Avhicli carried its credentials for good
breeding in its CA^ery moA^ement, and spoke a
A^astly cYvil speech. The man of quality Avas
not behind hand in courtesy ; and presently

MISS BALL AW AY. 55

yonng Adair, making a polite reference to Miss
Dallaway, the man of quality offered to intro-
duce his new friend to her.

'For,' said he, *you must know, the young
lady has a partiality for your country, ha^dng
given the strongest possible proof of it, by con-
senting to wed one of your genial hearted race/

' Indeed,' said Mr. Adair. ' The young lady
confers an honour on us all by her choice ; all
the more so from her condescending to over-
look the worth and parts of those by whom she
is at present suiTounded.'

When the elaborate bows which succeeded
this speech were made, and the gentlemen had
assumed their erect figures once more, JMr.
Adair was presented to Miss Dallaway, a young
gentlewoman of scarcely more than eighteen
summers, beautiful in features, dazzlingly fair,
blue eyed, and with an expression of innocence
and trust that quickly won its way to the heart.
At the introduction, Mr. Adair slowly removed
liis hat, and placing it, with a gesture perfect
in gracefuhiess, over the region of his heart,
bowed almost to the ground ; whilst the lady,

5G PEG WOFFINGTON.

first rising from lier seat, seemed gradually and
gently to sink amidst billows of lace and satin,
as she cnrtesyed low in retm^n.

' Madam,' said Mr. Adair, in a voice which,
though a trifle harsh, had in its undertone a ring
which attracted its hearer, ' this day shall hence-
forth be reckoned amongst the happiest in my
life.'

' Sir,' said the lady, ' you are in truth vastly
polite,' and raising her e^^es to his, she encoun-
tered a glance, the fascination of which few men
had found it possible to resist.

* Madam,' said this pretty gentleman, ' when
the truth is spoken concerning you it must ever
seem polite ; for with such a theme, no tongue
could discourse inelegantly.'

The lady bowed once more and opened her
jewelled fan, which she raised to her face in order
to conceal the smile of pleasure that played
about her lips.

' You have a knack, sir,' she said, ' of turning
pretty compliments.'

' Yes, madam,' quoth he, ' when inspired by
beauty and worth ; for compliments are the due

YOUNG MR. ADAIR. 57

tributes to such qualities.' And so saying the
gallant gentleman tapped a tiny gold box,
helped himself with an air of satisfaction to
snuff, and taking out his daintily scented hand-
kerchief, lightly brushed a few grains which had
fallen on the costly lace of his ruffles. ^

By degrees Miss Dallaway's friends gave way
to the new comer, whose easy grace and vast
courtesy, seemed to find ready favour in her
eyes. Mr. Adair, seeing his advantage, quickly
followed it up ; he was anxious to speak to her
in a more sequestered spot, in order to expose
the villainy of the man she had promised to
wed. Therefore he said to her, as soon as the
opportunity offered,

' The crowd here to night is prodigious,
madam, in faith we have around us a mixed lot.
You will find it more agreeable in the grove, I
have no doubt ; may I do myself the honour of
offering you my arm?'

And so saying, he led the way down the cen-
tral walk of the grove, with its star like lights
and its fragrant odours. By degrees,' and, as it
seemed, by accident, they outstepped their

58 PEG WOFFINGTON.

friends ; for the crowd through which they mov-
ed being great, thev were soon separated from
her ; an advantage which was quickly folloAved
up by the young gentleman proposing that they
should turn down one of the paths to the right,
in as much that it was far more agreeable by
reason of its silence and seclusion.

' I believe sir, by your conversation, that
you live in town,' said the lady, laying her
hand on his arm as lightly as might be.

' At present, yes, madam,' says he, ' I have,
however, been here but a few short months,
having arrived in the spring from — from one of
the universities.'

* Young gentlemen are taught many things
there,' says she.

' Yes, madam,' replies he mth a wicked smile,
*in the one from which I came they learned
many things — from me.'

' From you, sir !' stealing a glance at him.

' That is, I taught them some very pretty man-
ners — I have always been famed for my manners.'

' Of that I have no doubt, sir,' repHed the lady.

' But alas, madam,' the gentleman said with a

IT WAS TERRIBLY nEAL. 5&

8igb, ' I find that I have come to to^vii too late.'

He felt as if lie were playing a part; the
habit of acting, difficult to lay aside even in
serious moments, was noAV strong upon him;
the gardens with their hghts and music v/ere
but a stage; the surroundings but theatrical
accessories ; and the purport for which he had
donned this disguise, and sallied forth upon the
toAvn for the last week, but the plot of a comedy.
And yet it was all real, terribly real, and under
the bravery of that broidered satin Avaistcoat
beat a woman's heart that was sick from grief,
yet strong for revenge.

'Too late? May I venture to inquire why
you say so ?' said ]Miss Dallaway.

' If I only dared to tell her,' said the gentle-
man, in that undertone called on the stage an
aside, which, though quite audible, is supposed
to be unheard. Then he added, hi a louder
though more desponding tone, ' Too late,
madam, to secure my oAvn happiness.'

' How do you mean V queried Miss Dallaway,
who seemed to conceive a sudden interest in the
cause of his distress.

60 PEG WOFFINGTON.

' When I came to town.' said he, hftiug his
eyes to hers, and catching a look of pleasure
which promised a deeper concern in his affairs,
* I heard the name of Miss Dallaway on every
tongue. In the coffee houses it was spoken
with respectful admiration, in all polite assem-
blies with unmeasured praise. Eveiywhere her
beauties and qualities were vastly lauded, until
I grew impatient to see the object of such
general esteem. But when at last good fortune
permitted me to see her — when I saw you,
madam, I knew that all I had heard had not
done justice to your perfections ; I saw that your
merits were as far superior to the compliments
which every tongue had uttered, as glorious day
is to the darlvuess of night ; as heaven itself is
to this poor earth.'

' Oh I sir,' said the lady, blushing, ' you over-
whelm me.'

' Nay, madam,' said the gallant, ' I speak but
the naked truth. But with the knoAvledge of
your perfections, came also the news that you
had given your love, your life, to the keeping
of one who had been happy enough to find
favour in your eyes.'

HE IS A WORTHLESS FELLOW. Gl

' That is true, sir,' said the lady, as if the fact
had been suddenly recalled to her, and recalled
without pleasure; *he— he is a gentleman of
worth,' she added.

« If he were indeed one likely to render you
happy, madam,' said the gallant, ' I would never
have sought this interview to-night.'

'What do you mean, sir?' said Miss Dalla-
way, with a change of tone that indicated
both surprise and displeasure.

' I mean,' he answered, boldly, ' that he is un-
worthy of your esteem and love ; that, in fact,
madam, he is a worthless fellow and a profligate.'

'It is false,' she said, indignantly, removing
her hand from her companion's arm. ' This is
a charge trumped up to blacken his character
in my eyes, an unworthy trick to ingratiate
yourself in my favour ; but, clever as you are,
sir, it shall not succeed.'

'Upon my honour, madam, it is true,' said
Mr. Adair, very quietly. ' I see you love him
too, and I grieve indeed to pain you— in truth
I do ; but this gentleman is well known, as I
have recently learned, for his gallantries. Nay^

02 PEG WOFFINGTON.

bear with me whilst I tell you, that even while
he made love to you from mercenary motives,
he ^va.s carrying on an affair with an actress
whom he brought to town from Ireland.'

' An actress ?' she gasped, pale now, and
trembling all over. Then, the colour coming
back into her cheeks, she cried out, ' I'll not
believe it ; it cannot be possible that the man
who swore he loved me — loved me better
than all the world besides, loved me for myself
alone — is false to me. Take back your words :
say they are untrue, the trick of a rival in a
war of love — or ' (with a change of tone no
longer pleading, but commanding) ' produce
me proof that your words are true.'

'Madam,' said the AYoffington, for it was no
longer the man of fashion, but the woman who
now spoke, ' I cannot take back my words :
but, as it may be well for you to know this
man, I will show you proof that what I have
said is true.' And she drew out a bundle of
letters, some of them of recent date, some of
them well worn because often read. ' You
know the writing V

THEN READ THEM. 63

The young lady fixed her eyes on them for
a second, and nodded her head.

' Tlien read them,' said the AVoffington.

In her haste, Miss Dallaway almost tore the
squarely folded sheets of paper bearing Taaffe's
seal, and his characters addressed to Mrs. Mar-
garet AVoffington, and read line after line that
spoke of love and faithfulness for this actress,
until the letters seemed to burn themselves into
her brain; then the music of the band fell
fainter and fainter on her ears, her head swam,
and, with a low crj^, she tottered forward, and
would have fallen, but that Peg Woffington
caught her in her outstretched arms. The place
Avas quite solitary ; no one had witnessed this
scene. AVitli an effort Peg Woffington lifted
the insensible girl to a bench close by, fanned
her face, and chaffed her hands.

' Poor girl,' she said, ^ I did not think she
loved him so ! What fools we women are I'
Tears sprang into her eyes, and, bending down
her head, she kissed the girl's forehead with
tenderness. 'Did you know me, you would
shrink from the touch of my lips,' she said,

64 PEG WOFFINGTON.

almost in a whisper, and again she kissed her
with the love of a sister.

In a little Avhile the young lady opened her
eyes, and, looking ronnd her, remembered all.

' My child,' said the Woffington, tenderly, for-
getting completely the character she assumed,
' I have caused you some pain, but from suffering,
good often springs. It is best that you should
know the man to whom you were about to trust
the happiness of your whole life as he really
is. When next a man pleads to you, have more
care regarding his character^ before you give
him the treasure of your love.'

' You have saved me,' said the girl. * I loved
him, and now — now '

' You see he is unworthy of you. My task
has been, after all, an ungracious one ; and when
I undertook it I had no thought for the trouble
it might bring you. Forgive me.'

' Then it was not to save me you told me
thisf said Miss Dallaway, wonderingly.

* No ; it was to punish him for his deception
to — to one very near to me,' said the Woffing-
ton ; her cheeks were burning.

IF YOU KNEW ME. 65

* In any case, I owe yon thanks,' said the
young lady, while tears almost choked her voice.
' Yonr words are kind ; surely, ah ! surely your
heart must be good.'

' Good ? If you knew me, you would not say
so,' said the Woffington. Then she hesitated
just for a second ; longing, in obedience to some
sudden impulse, to throw off the character she
had assumed, and reveal herself; yet fearing to
lose the regard which she had gained, and dread-
ing the dislike and distrust which she Imew her
name must call up. Suddenly resuming her for-
mer air of a coxcomb, she therefore laughed airily
and said, ' Madam, believe me, I am no better
than my neighbours.'

Miss Dallaway rose up, puzzled by the con-
tradictions in manner and tone which this young
man's manner betrayed.

' Let us seek my friends,' she said. ' I'm sure
they have missed me.'

She held out her hand, which the Woffington
took in both of hers and raised it to her lips,
not with affected gallantry, but in honest pity.
Then arm in arm, and without exchanging

VOL. I. F

G6 PEG WOFFINGTON.

another word, they went forth amongst the
crowd.

The first hght of a summer day had crept
into the sky before the Woffington reached her
lodgings in York Street, Covent Garden. In
obedience to the lond smnmons of one of her
chairmen, the door was quickly opened, not by
a servant, but by her lover, who had just re-
turned. She started for a moment in surprise ;
then, getting out of her chair, she quickly
passed him and entered the house, leaving him
to wrangle with the chairmen. Passing into the
sitting room, she flung off her dainty gold laced
hat and powdered wig, loosened her cravat,
undid her sword, cast it from her on the floor
impatiently, and then sat down in a great chair
to await his coming. Her mood had changed.
The manner of the man about town had van-
ished completely; the air of reckless audacity
had given place to the weariness of reaction ;
the scene in which she had so cleverly enacted
a part, now affected her in an unlocked for
degree, and filled her with bitter self reproach.
' Well, Peggy,' said Taafl"e, entering the room

MEETING HER LOVER, 67

ivith a blithe air, * have you no word of welcome
for me, after coming back to yon fonr days
sooner than I expected V

' I am tired,' she answered, shortly, without
looking at him.

Her face was white and haggard seen by this
early light ; there was a dangerous glitter in
]ier dark eyes, a defiant air in her bearing.

' Ah, I see,' said he, with a short laugh. ' You
have been out amusing yourself at your old stage
tricks again, and donning the breeches.'

Coming over to where she was, he sat down
beside her, and stretched out his arms as if to
caress her, with such tenderness as was his
wont in the first days of their courtship. The
same light was in his sea blue eyes, the same
smile on his lips wliich had first dazzled her,
filled her heart with a torrent of happiness, and
made her weigh the world light in the balance
of his love. But now she saw only the weak-
ness, deception, and cruelty of his nature re-
flected in his eyes and playing on his lips, and
she shrank from him.

' Don't touch me,' she said, in a tone such as

F 2

68 PEG WOFFIKGTON.

he liacl never heard her use before. He did not
dare to disobey her.

' Why,' said he, ^ it's in mighty bad temper
you are ; you don't seem to have got much di-
version out of your night.^

' I have got none,' she answered him, briefly.

' It's sorry I am for it,' he said, concihatingly.
* And may I ask where you have been V

* You may, for I intended telhng you. Though
I may act many parts, I cannot play the hypocrite
hke you.' This time she looked him in the face.

' What the devil do you mean by that civil
speech?' asked the gentleman, beginning to
comprehend her humour.

' I mean,' she answered, * that 1 have seen
Miss Dallaway, the woman you promised tc>
marry, and I have told her all.'

' Good God !' cried he, nervously grasping
hold of his chair. ' Is this a part of your play-
acting, or is it true ? Answer me at once '

' It is true,' she replied, unflinchingly meeting
the look of horror that crept into his face.

' You are a devil !' he almost hissed from
between his clenched teeth.

YOU HAVE DECEIVED ME. CO

' I am a Avoman,' she said, rising to her feet,
and throwing back her finely turned head with
so sudden a gesture, that her long black hair
fell in a lustrous shower upon her shoulders —
' I am a woman, and you have deceived me. I
loved you with all my heart, and you played
me false. You swore fidelity to me, and then
left me to whisper the same words in the ear of
another dupe of your flattering speeches and
soft ways. All the love I once bore you turned
to hate, and I determined to expose you as the
liar and hypocrite that you are.'

Her eyes flashed, her breasts heaved with
passion, her face flushed with the crimson of
indignation. She was beautiful ; but the man
before her thought only of the injury she had
done him. His anger blinded him to the loveli-
ness that had once fascinated him, and he rose
up and cursed her.

'Tell me w^hat you have done,' he gasped,
•seeing it was better for him to know the worst
at once. ' What you have said to her.'

'I have told her that you are a profligate,'
she said, looking at him steadily. ' I have told

70 PEG WOFFINGTON.

her that even whilst you spoke words of love to
her, you were carrying on an affair with — with an
actress you had brought with you from Ireland.'
The words came as if wrenched from her.

* She will not believe you,' he said^ catching
at some straw by which he might yet be saved.

'I have taken care that she shall. I have
shown her your letters to me,' she answered.

' Good God I 1 am undone,' he cried out in
despair. ' Do you know that you have ruined
me ? My affairs are going to the de\dl. She
is an heiress ; I was to have married her in a
couple of weeks, and her fortune would have
saved me. You have destroyed me.'

Woman like, she began to relent. He strode
up and down the room with uneven steps ; his
face pale as death, his brows knitted in anger,
his lips twitching from the passion of his despair.

' I only know,' she answered back, with
strongly imposed calmness, ' that you have
deceived me. It was enough for me.'

* You — you are a tigress,' he replied, hoarse
with rage ; and snatching up his cloak and
hat^ he rushed out of the room and out of the

THEY TWO PARTED. 71

house without another word, nay, even without
once looking back at her.

For a moment she stood motionless, listening
to the quick sound of his feet echoing down
the lonely street in the early morning hour.
Even then she knew that she would never
again see this man Avhom she had loved so
^-eU, whom she, alas, yet loved, despite her
wrongs and her rage. Even then she felt that
time had turned over one of the brightest pages
of her life, that something had gone from her
existence which she could never again recover.
Then a dull sense of misery and unutterable
lonehness descended on her; and with a pas-
sionate movement, she flung herself on a couch,
and burying her face in her hands, sobbed as if
her heart were breaking.

CHAPTER lY.

John Rich, Manager of Covent Garden — His First Panto-
mime — Plis Treatment of Dramatic Authors — The
AVoffington's Interview with Him — Sensation in the
Town — Actors at Covent Garden — Ryan's 'iragedy
in Real Life — Theophilus Gibber — Peg Woffington's
First Appearance in London — An Oldfashioned
Comedy — Surprise and Admiration of the Town —
Sir Harry Wildair — All the Town in Love with Her.

Peg Woffington was not a woman to sit down
idly, and break lier heart because of a lover's
perfidy. Naturally energetic, she delighted in
work, and happily for her generation of play-
goers, now resolved to offer her services for the
coming season to John Rich, who had eight
years previously built Covent Garden theatre,
of which he was now manager. Rich was a
prominent character in his day ; remarkable for
his eccentricities, and famous as being the first
to introduce that form of entertainment now

RICirS PANTOMIMES. 73

known as pantomime into 'England. In com-
mon justice to his memory, it must be borne
in mind that his productions were of a far
more refined and intelHgible order, than these
which obtain at the present day. His first
attempt in this direction was the representation
of a story from Ovid's ' Metamorphoses,' which,
by the aid of magnificent scenes, glittering
habits, charming dances, together with music
and singing, he made wonderfully attractive
to the town. Between the acts of this serious
representation, he interwove a comic fable,
which was chiefly founded on the courtship
of his beautiful columbine and the lieroic harle-
quin — a character it was the great delight of
his life to represent. In this performance a
variety of the most surprising adventures and
tricks were produced by the mere wave of a
magic wand : cottages and huts were trans-
formed into palaces all aglitter with silver and
gold ; men and women were turned in the
tAvinkling of an eye into trees and stones; vast
gardens sprung from the earth ; and such things
happened as had never before been witnessed

74 PEG WOFFINGTON.

by the play going world. The result was a
complete success.

Rich was the son of a gentleman, but was
wholly illiterate ; this being probably due to
some neglect in his education, for by the inven-
tion of his pantomimes he proved himself to
be a man of imagination and ability. The
treatment of his harlequin likewise showed that
he possessed the innate refinement of good-
breeding. His ' Catching the Butterfly ' was
declared by the chronicles of his times to be a
most wonderful performance : whilst his harle-
quin, hatched from an Qgg by the heat of the
sun, proved such an attraction that crowds wait-
ed for admission under the piazza of Covent
Garden from mid-day, and threatened to break
down the doors of the playhouse if they were
not admitted at three o'clock, at least two hours
before the entertainment commenced. This per-
formance was said to be a masterpiece of dumb
show, for Rich's harlequin never uttered a w^ord,
yet such was the power he exhibited by his
gestures and expressions, that he not only pro-
voked laughter, but drew tears. Jackson,

IIARLEQ UIKADES. 75

speaking of the last mention ed pantomime, says
of Rich, or rather of the harlequin, ' from the
first chipping of the agg, his receiving of mo-
tion, his feeling of the gronncl, his standing np-
right, to his qnick harlequin trip romid the
empty shell, through the whole progression,
every limb had its tongue, and every motion a
voice, which spoke with most miraculous organ
to the understandings and sensations of the
observers.'

Rich's success was such that his example was
quickly followed ; and Drury Lane and the
minor houses introduced harlequinades, in order
to draw full audiences. So important indeed
did the character of harlequin become, that he
was played by such clever and accomplished
actors as Woodward, O'Brien, Yates, and even
Garrick himself, on an occasion when the regular
harlequin of Goodman's Fields playhouse was
taken suddenly ill ; this being of course before
he attempted the part of Richard the Third in
the same theatre. By degrees the harlequinade
became vulgarized, and we read of one of those
entertainments presented at the last mentioned

76 PEG WOFFINGTON.

house which greatly took the toTrn. This
was called ' A Hint to the Theatre, or Merlin in
Labour; with the Birth, Adventures, Execution
and RestoiTition of Harlequin, by Mr. Devoto.'
The bills announcing this stated that, as the
manager had put himself to great expense in
getting the machinery made ' to the neatest
perfection,' he hoped to be favoured with ' the
company of the curious.' Accordingly the
cimous and others flocked to witness the per-
formance in great numbers.

Perhaps it was the success of his dumb shows
which helped Rich to cherish a fine contempt in
his managerial soul for his contemporary i^lay-
writers, whom he sorely aggrieved. When
these children of the muses sent him their
manuscripts. Rich flung them into the deep
drawer of a cabinet, where they lay for months.
Presently, when the aspirants for fame timidly
approached him, and asked him, with bated
breath, for tidings of their full blooded tragedies,
or farcical comedies, the manager would coolly
inform them he did not know which plays
were theirs, but they might go to the deep

A PAPER WAR. 77

drawer of the cabinet and take their choice, for
he wanted none of them. This Httle peciiharitj
of his got him into trouble, on one occasion at
least. It happened that a medical man, ' calling
himself Sir John Hill,' left a manuscript play
of his, entitled ' Orpheus,' with Eich, or rather
wdth that gentleman's maidservant. Of course
it shared the fate, alas, common to its kind ; the
manager never untying even the outer covering.
In due time Mr. Rich announced the performance
at his theatre of a play called Orpheus, which,
* though done by a different hand,' the doctor in-
sisted on claiming as his property. Subsequently
a w^ar of words followed, in which the whole town
took part. Then he Avho called himself Sir John
Hill published his ' Oip)heus,' in the preface of
w^hich he stated his case according to his lights.
This was quickly followed by a pamphlet bearing
the comprehensive title, 'Mr. Rich's answer to the
many falsities and calumnies advanced by Mr.
John Hill, Apothecary ;' which in turn elicited a
another ' Answer to the many Plain and Notori-
ous Lijes advanced by Mr. John Rich, Harlequin,'
and so this paper war raged quite briskly for
many months.

78 PEG WOFFINGTOX.

For all this. Rich was, like most of those fol-
lowing the same calling, a good hearted fellow
enough ; in testimony of which statement a
story is told of his behaviour to a poor man Avho
fell from the gallery to the pit of Covent Garden,
whilst witnessing some strange escapades of the
harlequin. "When the man was picked up, his
bones were found to be broken in many places ;
learning which. Rich had him carefully tended,
employing for the purpose the best medical skill
of the town. A fcAv months later, the poor fel-
low came to thank the manager for his kindness^
when Rich said to him, in his most serious manner,

' Well, my man, you must never try to come
into the pit in that fashion again ; and to pre-
vent it, I'll give you free admission to that part
of the house as long as I live.'

To the residence of John Rich, situated in
the then highly fashionable quarter of Blooms-
bury Square, the Woffington betook herself,
and demanded an interview with the eccentric
manager ; but, as she refused to give her name,
she found this was no easy matter to obtain.
According to John Gait, she paid no less than

A LONDON ENGAGEMENT. 79

nineteen visits before she was admitted. At
last she told the servant to say Miss Woffington
desired to speak with 'Mv. Piicli ; when the man
retm*ned with a thousand civil speeches and
apologies, and, informing her that his master
would see her at once, showed her into his
private apartment. Entering the room, she
found the manager lounging on a sofa, a book
in one hand, a china cup, from which he occa-
sionally sipped tea, in another, whilst around
him were seven and twenty cats, engaged in
the various occupations of staling at him, lick-
ing his tea cup, eating the toast from his mouth,
walking round his shoulders, and frisking about
him with the freedom of long standing pets.

The fame of Peg Woffington's achievements
in the Dublin playhouse had crossed the Chan-
nel, and made the manager willing to entertain
her proposal of playing at his theatre during
the following season. A salary of nine pounds
a week was offered her, which she accepted
w^illingly enough, and an engagement was then
entered into, when it was decided that she
should make her first bow to the English pubhc

80 PEG WOFFINGTON.

in the following November, as Sylvia in George
Farquhar's comedy, ' The Recruiting Officer.'

The rumour that this new actress, who had
the rare fortune to be appreciated in her
own country, and whose beauty was, more-
over, reputed to be little less than that of a
goddess, was about to play at Covent Garden,
iliade a vast sensation in the town. She was,
on this her first appearance, to play the lead-
ing character, and to- be supported by two
actors who were popular favourites, Ryan and
Theophilus Gibber ; players both, who subse-
quently acted with her for years. Ryan, the
son of an Irish tailor, had, when he and the
century were in their teens, played in Macbeth
with the famous Betterton; on which most
memorable occasion he as Seyton, had worn a
tremendous, full bottomed wig, which almost
smothered him. From that day he had laboured
with such effect in his profession, that Addison
had selected him to play Marcus, in his great,
long winded tragedy of ' Cato ;' and Garrick in
after years confessed that this actor's Richard
III. w^as a performance after which he had

HE HAD KILLED HIS MAN. 81

shaped his own. His fame as a tragedian was
not indeed confined to the stage, for he had
killed his man in real life, surrounded by such
common place effects as a tavern furnished.

It happened one summer evening, as early as
the year 1718, that after his performance in the
Lincoln's Inn Fields playhouse, he had gone
to sup quietly at the ' Sun ' in Long Acre;"
and for the purpose of being more at his ease,
he had taken off his sword, and placed it in the
window. But as fate would have it, scarce
had he laid by his Aveapon, when in struts,
with the most rakish air imaginable, a famous
bravado named Kelly, whose chief diversion it
was to pick quarrels with strangers, in taverns
and coffeehouses ; and then fall upon them with
preconceived malice and wound them bodily,
he being an excellent swordsman. On the
present occasion, being flushed with Avine and
full of bravery, he approached Ryan, who was
quietly sitting at a far table, and, first daring
him to fight him, he subsequently made passes
at him which meant deadly harm; the actor,
therefore, rushed for his sword. At this Kelly

VOL. I. G

82 PEG WOFFINGTOX.

seemed mightily diverted, and made thrusts at
him afresh; whereon Ryan, in self protection,
skilfully ran a sword through the body of his
assailant, who in another second lay stark upon
the tavern floor, his sword gi'asped tight in his
stiff right hand, his life's blood oozing on the sand.
The town was delighted beyond expression to
get rid of this troublesome fellow, and Ryan in
consequence rose in popular favour. Indeed, such
a hold did he take on the public that, when
subsequently he was set on in mistake whilst
returning home late at night, and received a
wound in the cheek that made his voice sound
sharp and shrill, his audiences completely over-
looked this defect, and never moved him from
the warmth of their favour.

Theophilus Gibber, son of old Colley, who was
to act the part of Plume in '• The Recruiting
Officer' on the Woffington's first appearance,
had made that character a special study, and
had been instructed in it by his father. Theo
Cibber, as he was most frequently called, had ' a
person far from pleasing, and the features of his
face were rather disgusting,' as David Erskine

THEO GIBBER. 83

Baker, Esquire, quaintly informs us. Theophilus
Oibber had from early in his career developed
what was known as 'a fondness for indul-
gences ;' in other words, he was a scapegrace of
the first water, as will presently be seen. But
he had a good understanding, a quickness of
parts, a perfect knowledge of the characters he
represented, and a certain amount of vivacity
occasionally amounting to rffi^onterie, which com-
bined to make him an actor agreeable to the
town. He had been, it may be noted, the original
(leorge Barnwell in the tragedy of that title.
Now, this play preached a moral, which, though
a rare thing enough in those days, was by no
means acceptable to the public ; in consequence
of which, it was usual to introduce an epilogue
at the end, which ridiculed, broadly of course,
all the virtuous and l^eautiful sentiments gone
before. To heighten the fun and give it a
shai-per relish, this was spoken by Mrs. Gibber,
who, smartly and with little disguise, satirised
her husband's vices (for he had many, 'twas
said) and excused her own, which were indeed
the common property of the town. To render

G 2

84 PEG WOFFINGTON.

the occasion of Peg Woffington's first appear-
ance the more important, Rich bespoke the
favour of the presence of Frederick Prince of
Wales and his Princess ; and as His Royal High-
ness was always anxious to be diverted, he gra-
ciously promised to be present.

The play bill announcing the performance ran
as follows :

COVENT GARDEN.

By command of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.

By the Company of Comedians,

At the Theatre Royal in Co vent Garden,

This day will be presented a Comedy, call'd

THE RECRUITING OFFICER,

written by the late MR. FARQUHAR.

The part of Sylvia by Miss WoFf ington,
(Being the first time of her performing on that Stage).

WITH DANCING

By MoN. Desnoyer and Signora Barberini,

ALSO

By Mon. and jMade.moiselle Meckel,
(The French Boy and Girl).

To which by command will be added a Tragi -Comi -Pastoral
Farce of Two Acts, call'd

THE AVHAT D'YE CALL IT.

Box, 5s. ; Pit, 3s. ; First Gallery, 2s. ; Upper Gallery, Is.

To begin exactly at Six o'clock.

AT CO VENT GARDEN PLAYHOUSE. 85

On the evening of the 6th of November, 1740,
at the horn' of six o'clock, a briUiant and crowded
audience had assembled in Co vent Garden
Theatre. In the royal box, ' under a canopy of
scarlet silk, most richly adorned with gold tissue
and tassels of the same,' sat the Prince and
Princess of Wales ; and in the boxes aroimd
them, the gay and witty courtiers who had
turned their backs on St. James's, to frisk,
flatter, sparkle, and enjoy themselves in the
light of the rising sun, who never, alas for him
and them, reached the meridian of his power.
In the pit, as usual, sat the students of the Inns
of Court, the men about town, the young fellows
from the Universities, with their periwigs,
swords, ruffles, and snuff-boxes; glib compliments
on their lips, merry twinkles in their eyes : and
much knowledge of stage affairs in their heads :
by which they would presently, over a glass of
wine, try this Irish actress, and pronounce judg-
ment upon her. Presently, when the fiddles
had played their last long drawn notes, and the
candles forming the footlights had been judici-
ously snuffed, up went the heavy, green curtain ;

86 PEG WOFFINGTON.

then a silence fell upon the honse_, broken only
by the flnttering of fans and the snapping of
snnff-box lids.

The ' Recruiting Officer,' a comedy in which
the AVoffington's name is closely connected, and
in which she continued to divert the toAvn for
years, had from its lively action, spirited dialogue,
and rather broad fun, been long a standing
favourite with playgoers.

Moreover, 'twas said to be true to life, and, in-
deed, it gives an excellent picture of the manners
and ways of the times. George Farquhar had
been himself a recruiting officer at Shrewsbury,
where the scene is laid, and where he wrote the
play ; and it was said he had drawn his own
character in that of Captain Plume, ^ a rakehelly
officer,' who is the iiero of the comedy. The
heroine, Sylvia, daughter of worthy Justice
Ballance, is a young gentlewoman full of dash
and spirit, as may be gathered from the auto-
biographical details, with which, in the first act,
she is kind enough to favour her cousin Mehnda,
who remarks that she, Sylvia, has the ' constitu-
tion of an horse I' Says Sylvia in reply,

AX OLD FASHIONED COMEDY. 87

' So far as to be troubled with neither spleen,
chohc, nor vapours; I need no salts for my
stomach, no hartshorn for my head, nor wash
for my complexion. I can gallop all the morn-
ing after the hunting-horn, and all the evening
after a fiddle. In short I can do everything
with my father but drink, and shoot flying ; and
I'm sure I could do everything my mother could,
Avere I put to the trial.'

Then Mehnda informs her that her captain
has come to town.

' Ah, Melinda,' says she, ' now that he is come
I'll take care he shan't go without a companioD.'

' You are certainly mad, cousin,' replies the
other.

' And there's a pleasure sure in being mad,
which none but madmen know,' quotes she.

Then says Melinda, ' Thou poor romantic
Quixote, hast thou the vanity to imagine that a
young sprightly officer, that rambles o'er half
the globe in half a year, can confine his thoughts
to the little daughter of a country justice in an
obscure part of the world V

' Psha r rephes Sylvia, ' what care I for his

88 PEG WOFFINGTON.

thoughts ? I should not hke a man with con-
fined thoughts ; it shows a naiTowness of soul.
Constancy is but a dull, sleepy quality at best ;
they will hardly admit it among the manly ^ar-
tues, nor do I think it deserves a place with
bravery, knowledge, policy, justice, and some
other qualities that are proper to that noble sex.
In short, Melinda, I think a petticoat a might}^
simple thing, and I am heartily tired of my sex.'

She is, of course, in love with Captain Plume,
a gentleman of parts, who describes himself as
having been ' constant to fifteen at a time, but
never melancholy for one.' As b}' the death of
her brother she comes in for fifteen hundred
a year, old Justice Ballance does not approve
of Captain Plume as an heir to his estate and
family, tells her she must think no more of him,
and bids her take coach and go into the coun-
try. This command she promises to obey, but in
the third act she turns up in the apparel of a beau,
and enters on the scene whilst Plume and Brazen
— a very Caesar among women, and a recruiting
officer likewise — are holding conversation.

' Save ye, save ye, gentlemen !' says she.

THE PART OF SYLVIA. 69

' My dear, I'm yours,' says Brazen, an impu-
dent fellow, in truth.

' Do you know the gentleman ?' asks Plume.

' No, but I will presently,' says the other ; and
then he turns to the pretty young gentleman.
* Your name, my dear?' says he.

' Wilful,' says Sylvia, quite cute — ' Jack Wil-
ful, at your service.'

' What, the Kentish Wilfuls, or those of Staf-
fordshire V asks Captain Brazen.

' Both, sir, both ; I'm related to all the Wilfuls
in Europe, and I'm the head of the family at
present.'

' Do you live in the country, sir V asks Plume,
who, of course, does not recognise her in this
disguise which she has assumed.

' Yes, sir,' says she. ' I live where I stand ; I
have neither house, home, nor habitation beyond
this spot of ground.'

' What are you, sir V queries Brazen.

' A rake,' says she, plainly enough.

' In the army, I presume V says Plume.

' No, but I intend to 'list immediately. Look'e,
gentlemen, he that bids the fairest has me.'

90 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Then they botli bid for this recruit ; says
Brazen, ' Sir, I'll prefer you ; I'll make you a
corporal this minute.'

' Corporal !' says Plume — ' I'll make you my
companion ; you shall eat with me.'

' You shall drink with me,' says Brazen.

'You shall lie with me, you young rogue,'
says Plume.

' You shall receive your pay and do no duty,'
says the other, bidding yet higher.

' Then,' says Sylvia, ' you must make me a
field-officer.'

This latter little joke was one which the
audience invariably received with great relish.
Presently Sylvia, who does not just yet enlist
with either of these gallant gentlemen, objects
to Plume's too friendly advances towards a cer-
tain Rose, a young market-woman; but the cap-
tain assures her on this delicate point, for says
he, philosophically enough, it must be admitted,

' The women, you know, are the loadstones
everywhere ; gain the wives, and you are
caressed by the husbands ; please the mistress,
and you are valued by the gallants ; secure an

FIRST APPEARANCE IN LONDON. 9.1

interest A\dtli the finest ^vomen at Court, and
yon procure tlie favour of the greatest men ; so
kiss the prettiest wenches, and you are secure
of 'hsting the lustiest fellows.'

Finally Sylvia is discovered by her wearing
a suit of clothes belonging to her late brother,
is forgiven by her father, married to the man
she loves, and all ends as happily as may be.

Now for weeks previous the town was anxi-
ous to see the Woffington in this favourite char-
acter, the representation of which required so
much spirit and vivacity ; and when, on the
night of her first appearance, she was, in
the second scene of the first act, discovered
in an apartment, her mere appearance won
upon the audience, and gained her a hearty
round of applause. Slightly above the middle
height, her figure had a symmetry and flexi-
bility which lent a natural grace to her every
movement ; whilst her luminous eyes, beautiful
complexion, slightly aquiline nose, and tender
lips, completed a picture that charmed even to
fascination. Then the ease of her manner, the
justness of her gestures, the rapt expression of

92 PEG WOFFINGTON.

her face that seemed to reflect her speech, ren-
dered her such an actress as had not been seen
for years. Her pla^dug, indeed, was nature, and
not art. To those present it seemed that up to
this hour wooden hmbed, painted faced puppets
had strutted mechanically across the stage,
uttering speeches that lost their point, and be-
came limp and dull on falling from their lips ;
but now, such is the effect of genius, her mere
presence amongst them seemed to endow them
with souls, and transform them from marionettes
to men and women with hearts an d human passions.
Presently, when this charming woman came
on the stage in the apparel of a pretty gentle-
man about town, with a red coat, a sword, a
hat Men troujfce, a martial twist in his cravat, a
fierce knot in his periwig, a cane hanging from
his button, the effect was marvellous. Her air
was at once graceful and rakish ; her delivery
pert and pointed ; the witchery of her glances
Avas pronounced inimitable. There were no two
opinions regarding her, pronounced in the coffee
houses that night ; for all admitted that the
satisfaction she afforded was beyond expression.

SIR HARRY WILDAIR. 93

By desire, ' The Recruiting Officer ' was repeated
for tliree nights running; a by no means incon-
siderable comphment to the actress's powers in
those days, when a fresh play was as a rule
performed nightly. Her praise quickly reached
the Court, and the Duke of Cumberland, and
the Princesses Amelia, Caroline, and Louisa be-
spoke a play in which she was to appear : to
wit, ' The Double Gallant,' or the ' Sick Lady's
Cure.' This was the occasion of her eighth
appearance, and she was much applauded in
the character she represented, that of Lady
Sadlife. Subsequently she played Aura in ' The
Country Lasses' ; and on the 21st of November,
she appeared, ' by particular desire,' for the first
time in London, as Sir Harry Wildair in the
comedy of ' The Constant Couple, or a Trip to
the Jubilee,' b^^ Farquhar.

Sir Harry Wildair was a character scarce
second in favour to Sylvia with the town ; both
ha\^ng that dash and brilliancy which suited
the complexion of the times. Sir Harry was
a spark just come from France, and was at
once the joy of the playhouses, and the life of

9i PEG WOFFINGTON.

the park. He was brave and gay ; a gentleman
of happy circnmstances ; a plentiful estate, and a
genteel education, which left him as free from
rigidness in his morals, as his constitution ren-
dered him liberal in his pleasures. His humorous
gaiety and the freedom of his behaviour — airy
after the fashion of the times, yet tempered
with honour — are skilfully pourtrayed in the
series of his love adventures which constitute
the comed}'-. This part had been first played
by Wilks, who had some claims to be con-
sidered a man of quality, and Avho made the
representation of men about town his special
study. So clever was his personation of Sir
Harry, that it set him above the competition
of all other actors of his time, and gained him
that praise due to his great merit. Farquhar
said that, when the stage had the misfortune

to lose him. Sir Harry might go to the

Jubilee. And since Wilks had taken his exit
from this world's stage (now almost ten years
ago) no other had been found to play the part
with justness and spirit.

The attempt of this new actress was there-
fore looked for with eager curiosity by the pub-

HER GREAT SUCCESS. 95

lie, and with some apprehension by her friends ;
feelings that, on her appearance, were changed
to admiration and delight. In the well bred
rake of quality, who lightly tripped across the
stage, singing a blithe song, and followed by
two footmen, there was no trace of the woman.
The audience beheld only a young man of
faultless figure, distinguished by an ease of
manner, polish of address, and nonchalance that
at once surprised and fascinated them. Seldom
had a player in one night attained such suc-
cess. ' So infinitely did she surpass expecta-
tion,' says Tate AVilkinson, in his memoirs, ' that
the applause she received was beyond any at
that time ever known. An elegant figure, she
looked and acted Sir Harry Wildair with such
spirit and deportment, that she gave flat con-
tradiction to what Farquhar asserted — that
when Wilks died. Sir Harry might go to the
Jubilee.' Her success became the con-
versation of every pohte circle, as well as in
every tavern and coffeehouse in town, from St.
Paul's to St. James's ; and so crowded were the
houses it drew, that the part was repeated for
twenty consecutive nights — a fact significantly

96 PEG WOFFINGTON.

marking lier triumpli'aiid establishing her favour,.
She subsequently played during the season
Elvira in the ' Spanish Fryar ;' Yiolante iu the
* Double Falsehood \ Laetitia in Congreve's
' Old Batchelor ;' Amanda in Gibber's ' Love's
Last Shift,' and Phillis in Steele's 'Conscious
Lovers.' In all of these she was successful ;
for, aware that the public was a patron worth
pleasing, she took infinite pains in all that con-
cerned her profession ; made up with great care
and judgment suitable to the part; committed
her lines to mind (a practice that did not always
obtain in her day), and strove to realize the
author's ideal in the characters she assumed.
Her reward came quickly, in the appreciation
freely awarded her. She was installed as a
favomite in the public mind, a position she
retained during her bright, brief career. Praise
of her rare beauty — a vast help to such talents
as hers — was likewise on every tongue ; the
poets penned sonnets to her ; the print-sellers
sold her portraits ; and as Conway wrote to
Walpole of her, in this her first season, ' All the
town is in love mth her.'

CHAPTER V.

Peg Woffington's Engagement at Drury Lane — Kitty
Clive. her Passion for Tragedy — Delane the Student
of T. C. D. — Macklin and his Adventures — ^The
Turning-point of his Career — His Wonderful Shylock
— What Mr. Pope said — Young David Garrick — His
Early Life at Lichfield — Becomes a Wine Merchant
— Among the Critics at the Bedford — Hesitates to go
on the Stage — Falls in Love with Peg Woffington — In
the Green room at Drury Lane — Sir Charles Hanbury
Williams — The Woffington's Definition of an Age.

Towards the end of the season — in May, 1741,
— Peg Woffington ceased to act in the Co vent
Garden playhonse, owing to a disagreement
Avith Rich; and on the 19th of the month the
following quaint advertisement appeared in the
London Daily Post :

'Covent Garden.— -Whereas, some persons
principally concerned in the Play of the Rehear-
sal, &c. being indisposed, is the reason the same
cannot be performed as Advertised in Saturday

VOL. T. H

98 PEG WOFFINGTON.

and Yesterday's Bills ; on this account the Com-
pany are obhged to take this Method of return-
ing Thanks to the Town for all their Favours,
and humbly take their Leave till next Season.'

Four months later, at the commencement of
the winter season, she appeared as Sylvia on the
boards of Drury Lane Theatre, of which Fleet-
wood was then manager. Mrs. Pritchard, an ex-
cellent actress, who had the previous season play-
ed the leading parts at Drury Lane, now went
over to Covent Garden, where she ventured to
play the part of Syh^a ; but as her strength lay
in the representation of tragic heroines, she
did not win the applause which invariably
attended the Woffington's personation of that
favourite character.

At Drury Lane there was a strong company
this season, which numbered amongst its ladies
Kitty Clive, Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Bennet, whilst
the male element was represented by Theo
Gibber, Macklin, Delane, Milward, and Raftor.
Quin was at this time playing in Dublin and the
L'ish provinces.

Kitty Clive, plain of face, warm of temper,

KITTY CLIVE. 99

sharp of tongue, was pleased to regard the
Woffington as her rival. Kitty had made her
debut as a page in ' Mithridates King of Pontus '
in the Drmy Lane playhouse, about the same
time as Peg Woffington made her first bow to
the audience assembled in Madame Violante's
booth ; but Kitty was then in her seventeenth
year, Avhilst Peggy had but reached her tenth.
This page which the youthful Kitty represented
was not quite a mute creature, with no better
task than supporting a train, or carrying a cup ;
but had a song to sing proper to the circum-
stances of the scene, which was received with
extraordinary applause. But from pages in
silken hose, velvet jerkin, and feathered cap,
she gradually worked her way to better parts.
She had once by her singing forced a reluctant
audience to give a hearing to CoUey Cibber's
Love in a Riddle, a favour denied to His Gra-
cious Majesty of the following night; she had
Hkewise been called ' a charming little devil ' by
one of the pretty fellows in the stage box ; and
presently she laid claims to be considered a
great comic actress, by her bright, bhthesomo

100 PEG WOFFINGTON.

rendering of Nell, in the ' Devil to Pay,' a ballad
farce of Coffey's, as well as b}^ her representa-
tion of singing chambermaids (chambermaids
always sung in those days), hoydens, romps,
and vulgar fine ladies.

But she who had been styled 'a charming
little devil ' possessed a soul that loftily soared
above comedy, to the sublime regions of tragedy ;
and her greatest delight in life was to play
such parts as Ophelia, Desdemona, and Portia.
Under her treatment these characters were little
less than burlesques, especially when, in the trial
scene, she, as Portia, introduced comic business
and mimicked to the life the famous Lord Mans-
field whose peculiarities were the laughing stock
of the town. Kitty was altogether a person of
vast importance ; she was the daughter of an
Irish gentleman, one William Raftor, a native of
the city of Kilkenny, who had been bred to
the law, and whose property had been forfeited
to the Crown, by reason of his having followed
the fortunes of James the Second, and fought on
the side of that unhappy monarch at the fa-
mous Battle of the Boyne. Moreover, she had

KITITS TEMPER. 101

married a brother of Baron Olive, and was the
friend of Horace Walpole, Avho was in himself a
gentleman of the highest quality, and a patron
of all the arts. Though she parted from her
husband soon after her marriage, no breath of
scandal then, or throughout her career, was ever
Mtached to her name. According to Arthur
Murphy, she was ' a diamond of the first water,'
but, like a diamond, she could cut deeply, for
her tongue was as steel; and frequently she
would aim one of her bitter speeches at this
new actress, who had in one night gained the
fame which it had taken her, the Clive, years to
establish ; which speeches the Woffington would
return in kind, but with a charming coolness
that sent her hot tempered rival furious. In all
her battles Kitty was loyally supported by her
brother Jemmy Raftor, a very indifferent actor,
but a genuine Irishman, who had the charac-
teristic talent of telhng a humorous story, and
turning a pretty compliment with wonderful ease.
But in the ranks of the Drury Lane company
the Woffington had a more friendly face turned
towards her in that of young Delane, the son

102 PEG WOFFINGTON.

of an Irish gentleman, who had been a student
at Trinity College when she had sold oranges and
watercresses to the ' college boys,' and enter-
tained them with her Avit. His friends had
destined him for the Chnrch, but the stage
had more attractions for him than the pulpit,
and, to their infinite disgust, he became a
player. In the same year that the Woffington
appeared as the pupil of Madame Yiolante, he
was engaged at the Aungier Street Theatre by
Elrington. Singularly handsome, with a gi-aceful
figm*e, and a fuUtoned voice, he had the princi-
pal acquirements which constitute a good actor.
For three years he played in Dublin, at the end
of which time he, like most of his countrymen
then and now, was tempted by the more liberal
rewards held out to talent, by the sister coun-
try, and came to London. His first engage-
ment was at the Goodman's Fields theatre, but
he subsequently enlisted under Fleetwood's
management, and played the romantic heroes
at Drury Lane.

Charles MackHn, another member of the com-
pany, was also a countryman of the AVoffington's,.

WICKED CHARLEY. 103

and soon became her friend. A lineal descend-
ant of an Irish king, a runaway 'prentice of
an Irish saddler, he had been in his day a stroll-
ing player ; had acted Hamlet and harlequin
the same night ; had passed as a vagrant and
a vagabond, played in barns, had starved, been
houseless, and had strutted his brief hour in a
booth at Southwark Fair. He had been known
in his earher days as ' the wild Irishman,' and
had been called 'AVicked Charley.' Being a
bohemian by nature and profession, his adven-
tures were many, cmious, and amusing; and,
when he became garrulous in his old age, the
narration of these used to afford him and his
friends much diversion. Amongst other stories,
he used to tell that he and merry Dick Ashby,
a dissipated fellow enough, the son of a Dublin
manager, went into a gambling house by way of
having a frolic one night, when he, Macklin, won
over a hundred guineas, a sum that seemed
to him inexhaustible. Accordingly next day
he and his friend, attended by two ladies of
the town, went down to St. Albans, to take
the air, and enjoy the pleasures of the country.

104 PEG WOFFINGTON.

One night this gay little party went to a public
ball, and, being very expensively dressed, they
passed as people of condition, nntil one of the
ladies, getting into a dispute concerning the
priority of place in a country dance, her lan-
guage and temper discovered her profession ;
when she and her companion were handed out
of the room, and the gentlemen received a
hint that it was desirable for them to follow.

But at this time, when Woffington joined the
Drury Lane company, Macklin was in the
meridian of life. He had sown his wild oats,
had married and settled down, and had proved
himself a very useful actor. He had played
such characters as Touchstone in ' As You Like
It,' and Sir Francis Wronghead in ' The Pro-
voked Husband,' with great success ; but he had
at heart a great desire to play another character
more important than these. So one day he
smamoned courage to petition Fleetwood, the
manager, to allow him to act Shylock in ' The
Merchant of Venice ' for just one night. He
had long studied the character, and on his
representation of the Jew, he was satisfied to

THE PART OF SHYLOCK. 105

let his reputation rest for ever. xVfter some
persuasion, the manager consented, to Mackhn's
vast dehght : and ' The Merchant of Venice/
* written by Shakespeare,' was speedily an-
nounced for performance. In order to render
the play more palatable to the public, it was
set forth that the part of Lorenzo would be
played by Mr. Lowe, ' in which will be intro-
duced songs proper to the play, with enter-
tainments of dancing by Signer and Signora
Fansau, viz., Le Genereux Corsair, with deaths
and decorations entirely new.' The bills fur-
thermore added that, 'as no money will be
taken for the future behind the scenes, 'tis
hop'd that none will take it ill they can't be
admitted there.'

Now, heretofore, the character of the Jew
had been played as a low comedy part by all
actors ; nay, even the celebrated Doggett had
played it in the style of a broad farce. But
Mackhn was resolved to depart from old tra-
ditions, and for one night at least, to present
the Jew as a serious character. Rumour of
this resolution having got abroad, the company

106 PEG WOFFINGTON.

generally regarded it as a joke; but finding
that Macklin was serious in his determination,
they requested the manager to make him give
up a part, his plajdng of which would bring
disgrace on them all. Fleetwood fled in con-
sternation to Macklin, who merely said he would
pledge his life on the success of the play.
AVhat his intended treatment of the Jew really
was, none could tell ; for at the rehearsal he
merely spoke his hues in an undertone, unac-
companied by gestures. But those who were to
play with him entertained many fears concerning
his representation ; especially when it was re-
membered that Rich had once dismissed him for
not declaiming in the stilted orthodox manner,
when he played a tragedy part, and had treated
it ' too familiarly,' to use the phrase of the
harlequin manager. If he had then departed
from the beaten track, what might he not do
now with the comical Jew? There was no
knowing.

At last the eventful night arrived on which
Mackhn was satisfied to rest his future theatrical
reputation. Kitty Clive was cast for her fav-

THEY NEVER SAW SUCH A JEW. 107

ourite part as Portia, the WoflQngton as Nerissa,
and Delane for tlie Merchant. When MacMin
made his appearance in the green room, dressed
for the part, he wore a piqued beard, a loose
bhick gown tied with a coloured sash, and a red
hat ; for, as he subsequently explained to Pope,
he had read that Jews in Italy, especially in.
Venice, wore hats of that colour. ^Moreover,
his face was carefully painted, and the lines on
his brow and cheeks well marked. Those in
the green room stared at him with wonder.
There was no trace of the comic element in
this HebrcAv. Their worst fears were now con-
firmed.

' Look at his face,' whispered one of them.

' Why,^ says another, ' if Almighty God writes
a legible hand, Macklin must be a villain.'

Then out spoke Kitty Clive, who was already
dressed as Portia, and expected to create great
mirth in that part : ' Sure,' says she, ' no one ever
saw such a Jew.'

' Did you expect to see him wear a couple of
hats, and carry a bag on his back, ma'am V asks
the Woffington,with an air of innocent curiosity.

' No, Peggy, no more than I expected to see

108 PEG WOFFTNGTON.

Mm carry au orange basket on his arm,' replies
the smart tongued lady, tnrniug quickly away.

Meanwhile, Macklin nervously paced the room,
muttering his lines in an undertone, until De-
lane, coming in, announced that the house was
crowded from top to bottom ; whereon the Jew
w^ent on the stage, and looking through a slit
in the curtain, saw the news was true, and felt
gratified. The two front rows of the pit were
already crowded with critics, wearing the air
of men who had come to pass a highly diverting
evening. ' Ahem,' said Macklin, with his eye at
the sht, *I shall be tried to-night by a special jury.*
His heart sank ; was he wise, after all, in his de-
termination of playing the Jew as a serious cha-
racter ? His whole future as a player depended
on this night. As he turned away in nervous
impatience, he felt a hand placed gently on his
arm, and looking up, encountered two lumin-
ous eyes that shone upon him comfortingly in
the semi gloom of the great stage, and heard
Peg Woffington's voice whisper, ' Courage, Mac,
courage. Show them you can act.' In another
second the stage was cleared, and the bell for

SHYLOCK IN SUSPENSE, 10$>

the curtain rang with a merry httle peal that
seemed to liim to cany rejoicement and assur-
ance with it ; and, moreover, the tone was Kke
to the voice that had just spoken words of hope
in his ear.

The heavy green curtain Avent up with
many a creak ; the actors commenced their
parts. Macklin's heart began to flutter wildly,
'but commending my cause to Providence,'
says he, ' I went boldly on the stage.' He
was received with some applause, though his
appearance caused general surprise. Then came
the terrible hour of judgment, in which he
was to be set down as one who had read
Shakespeare aright — or as a fool who had
dared to ignore the traditions handed down
to him by his betters. The opening scenes
were tame and level ; but from those terrible
front rows in the pit, which had seemed at
first bristhng with sarcasm, and mocking hil-
arity, he caught the words, *Very well — very
well indeed. This man seems to know what
he is about.' Which praise, though faint, had
the grateful effect of warming him to his work.

110 PEG WOFFINGTON.

A night, a week, ay, whole years seemed to
have passed over his head before the third act
came, for which he had reserved all his
strength in contrasting the passions of joy
and triumph for the merchant's losses, with
grief and despair for Jessica's elopement. In
bewailing her loss, he rushed upon the stage
Tiatless, his face distorted by rage, his eyes
bewildered, his hands fiercely clutched, his
every movement abruj)t and convulsive. Never
had his audience seen such a representation of
the Jew ; but though new to them, they felt
an echo in their hearts which told them it was
true to nature. Then came the most vehement
applause ; the whole house was in an uproar ;
he was saved, his success was assured. At the
trial scene all elements of burlesque were abol-
ished; even KittvClive did not for once venture
on her mimicry of Lord Mansfield. In this
culminating scene a veritable Shylock stood
upon the stage ; merciless, full of the passions of
hatred and revenge ; and so intensely were they
pourtrayed, that, when he whetted the glittering
knife which was to cut away the pound of flesh,

IN THE GREEN ROOM. Ill

the whole house shuddered. Never had there been
such acting, and seldom such applause as rang
through the house when the curtain descended.

The green room presented a curious appear-
ance at the conclusion of the performance.
Here were assembled the nobility and critics :
some of the former adorned with stars and a-ar-
ters, and all of them clad in velvets of many
colours and satins of rich sheen ; and mixing
amongst them, in the freest manner possible,
were the actors and actresses, scarcely less bril-
liant in the richness of their sixteenth century
Venetian costumes. What bows were changed,
what compliments were paid, what judgments
were passed ! Everyone was now elated by the
triumph, as if it had been a personal matter ;
and when Macklin came into the room, a crowd
pressed round him ready to offer him a thousand
congratulations.

' Ah, Macklin, you were right, after all,' said
Fleetwood, shaking him heartily by the hand.

*And may I ask Mrs. Olive,' says Fielding,
going over to that lady, who was yet attired in
the gown of one pertaining to the law, ' whv

112 PEG WOFFINGTON.

you did not give us your imitation of the great
man to-niglit?*

' In faith,' says honest Kitty Clive, ' when I
looked at Shylock I was afraid.'

Then up went Peg Woffington to the hero of
the hour. ' An' sure,' says she in an aside, as-
suming a broad brogue as she spoke, ' it takes
an Irishman to tache them what a Jew is like.'

' God bless you, Peggy !' said he, in the same
tone, and his voice trembled a little. ' Your
words made a man of me.'

* Arrah, whist, Charley Macklin ; sure it's
yom-self always had the palavering tongue,'
answered she, archly; and then she sli]Dped
away, for others pressed forward to greet him.

Presently there was a stir and bustle in the
far end of the green room, and a group of be-
wigged and beruffled gentlemen came slowly
along, bowing their heads, and occasionally
laughing mighty heartily, in answer to the re-
marks of a thin legged little gentleman, demure-
ly dressed in black, who walked in the centre
of this human cluster. This little gentleman in
black had a remarkable looking countenance,

WHAT POPE SAID. 113

Avith dark looking eyes, and eyebrows that
seemed to occupy undue space in the upper
part of his face. AVhen he came to where
MackHn stood, he paused, as did those surround-
ing him hkewise ; a faded smile crossed his thin
lips, and, rippling upwards, caught the sparkle
of his eyes before it lost itself in the wrinkles of
his forehead. Then he helped himself leisurely
to snuff, rested both his bony hands on his gold-
nobbed cane, and looked the actor full in the
face. Macklin trembled as he glanced down at
him, for he knew well that a biting epigram, or
a sarcastic phrase uttered by these thin lips,
would be repeated in every coffee house and
tavern in town on the morrow.

' May I A^enture to hope,' he said, speaking
with a big voice to hide his nervousness, and
bowing with quaint theatric grace, ' that my
poor efforts to-night have given the great Mr.
Pope some shght satisfaction V

The little gentleman smiled again ; those
around him bent their heads in one common
movement, to catch his words ; then, pointing
his forefinger to Macklin, he said,

VOL. I. I

114 PEG WOFFINGTON.

' This is the Jew
That Shakespeare drew.'

Poor Macklin, overwhelmed by the compK-
ment, bowed halfway to the ground ; the group
surrounding the little gentleman cried, ' Excel-
lent ! — prodigiously fine !' and without another
word he went out of the green room, sur-
rounded by his courtiers, to where his coach
waited him in the lane. The couplet, which has
outlived the poet who uttered it, and the actor
to whom it was applied, was repeated all over
the town that night. ' Gad, sir,' Macklin would
say long years after, when recounting the glories
of this memorable evening over a bottle of old
port in a snug box at the Bedford — * gad, sir,
though I was not worth fifty pounds in the
world at that time, let me tell you I was Charles
the Great for that night.'

During the Woffington's first season at Drury
Lane, there frequently came to the green room
of the theatre * a very sprightly young man,
neatly made j' whose bright face, singularly mo-
bile, and remarkable moreover for its luminous
eyes, at once attracted the actress's atten-

YOC/XG DAVID GARRICK. 115

tion. This was David Garrick, a character
destined to play an important part in the drama
of Peg Woffington's hfe. His father, a gentle-
man of French origin, had been an officer in
the Enghsh army, whose regiment was for several
years stationed at Lichfield. Here the Captain
married a lady descended on the maternal side
from an Irish family, who bore him ten children.
The tliird of these was David, who grew into
a lad full of brightness and promise, showing
amongst his other talents a tm'n for mimicry
and recitation. He had indeed, at the age of
ten, indicated where the bent of his genius lay,
by forming a few of his schoolfellows and his sis-
ters into a theatiical company, which, under his
direction, performed Farquhar's ' Kecruiting Offi-
cer ' before a considerable audience. A year
later and the sprightly lad was sent to Portugal
to his uncle, a prosperous wine merchant, who
had promised to establish him in his house. But
the wine trade had no attraction for David, and
in little more than twelve months he returned to
Lichfield once more, to a home that would have
been happy but for its stings of petty poverty. To

IIG PEG WOFFINGTOX.

strive and remedy this lack of fortune Captain
Gamck went to Gibraltar two years after his son's
return from Portugal ; the exile from his affec-
tionate but large famil}^ being in some measure
compensated for by a pay double the amount
of that he had previously enjoyed. But even
with that portion of it Avhich he allowed his
delicate and desponding wife, and seven surviv-
ing children, life was to them a long con-
j tinned struggle to sustain a shabby gentility
in the eyes of their Lichfield neighbours.

During the Captain's residence in what was
known as ' foreign parts,' David, then a lad of
fourteen, seems to have been the member of the
family who was selected to carry on a corre-
spondence with the absent head of his house.
These letters, presented to the Dyce and Forster
Library in the South Kensington Museum, by
the late John Forster, are marvellously interest-
ing. Some of them tell stories of a poverty
Avhich, though occasionally galling, never called
forth a complaint but was ever borne with a
brave show of cheerfulness.

' My mamma received the £30 you was so good

GARRICKS EARLY LETTERS, 117

as to send,' says David, in the earliest of these
clearly written epistles, commencing with ' Hon.
Sir,' and directed in big schoolboy characters ' To
Captain Garrick, on Brigadier Kirk's Regiment
at Gibraltar/ *She paid £10 to Mr. Rider, one
year's rent; and £10 to ye baker, and if you
can spare a little more, or tell her you will, she
is in hopes of paying all ye debt, that you may
have nothing to fret you wheti you come home.'
The Captain took the hint as to sparing a little
more, for presently David writes, ' My mamma
sends her dearest Love and affection to you,
and desires me to tell you she has cleared al-
most the Debts, except a little to ye Butcher,
Avhich she hopes to clear in a month or two.'
Then the poor Captain in foreign parts has to
learn that they are so ' very shabby in cloathes
and in all our accoutrements, that we was
rather like so many beggars than Gentlemen
Soldiers,' The poor wife at home 'j^has been
nursing one of her daughters, who lay ill, amost
six months, and has become unwell herself and
is ordered to drink wine, which is sorely against
her inclination, as her pocket cannot afford it.'

118 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Then ' my sister Lenny and sister Jenny,' writes
young Davy to his father, ' send their Duty to
you, and being in great want for some Lace for
their Heads, and my Mamma being but very
low in ye Purse, by reason of her illness, could
not afford y™ so much money, they with ye
greatest Duty and Obedience request a small
matter to purchase their Head Ornaments.
Great necessity compels them to give you tliis
trouble, for they have never worn anything else
but plain Head Cloathes, which hardly distin-
guishes them from ye vulgar madams.'

The lad has had a present made him by Mr.
Hervey, lately come'from London, of ' two pair of
large silver buckles, one pair for my shoes, and
ye other for ye Breeches knees.' But alas, what
use are the latter, if young David has no decent
breeches to wear. Perhaps iiis father will take
the hint, but alas, the Captain in foreign parts
has a mind that does not readily receive sug-
gestions where money is concerned, and his son
after waiting a long time is obliged to speak
plainly.

' I must tell my dear papa,' writes he, ap-

'DEAR LIFE AND SOUL: 119

proacliing the subject in a wily manner, ' that I
am quite turned Philosopher ; you perhaps may
think me vain, but to show you I am not, I
would gladly get shut of my characteristick of
a philosopher, viz. a ragged pair of breeches.
Now, the only way you have to cure your son.
of his philosophick qualification is to send some
handsome thing for a waistcoat, and pair of
breeches to hide his nakedness. They tell me
velvet is very cheap at Gibraltar. Amen, and
so be it I' No wonder he ' began the world,' as
Johnson said, ' with a great hunger for money/
for, as the philosopher used to remark, ' he was
bred in a family whose study was to make four-
pence do as much as others made fourpence
halfpenny do.'

The poor wife, who had borne him ten
children, and whose health was now shattered,
writes to her absent husband occasionally, not
of the poverty of her home, but, like a true
wife, of the riches of that love which lay stored
for him in her faithful heart. ' Dear life and
soul,' she calls him tenderly; and then comes
a confession that must have been sweet indeed

120 PEG WOFFINGTOX.

to tlie exile. ' I am not able,' she says, ' to
live easy longer without you ; for I grow very
jealous. But in the midst of all this, I do not
blame my dear. I have very sad dreams for
you, but I have the pleasure when I am up to
think, were I with you, how tender my dear
soul would be to me; nay, was, when I was
with you last. ! that I had you in my arms.
I would tell my dear life how much I am his.'
Then David testifies in a charming manner to
the affection of his mother for his father. Speak-
ing of a miniature of the Captain's, which the lad
says he would sooner have one glance at, than
look a whole day at the finest picture in the world,
he tells his father, ' My poor mamma sighs when-
ever she passes the picture.' And again he adds,
* My mamma sends her most tender affections.
She says your presence would do her more
good than all the physicians in Europe.' She
has ' a fever upon her spirits,' and is sadly
depressed by the absence of him vrhom she
loves, and whom she thinks of by day and
dreams of by night; and when he has been
away for some two years, she can bear the

CAPTAIN GARRICK RETURNS. 121

separation no longer, and lias a scheme for
bringing him back to England which young
Davy reveals to his father.

' My mamma,' says he, ' designs to try her
interest to get you leave to come over by next
spring, if you are not sent for over before. She
designs to apply first to the Brigadeer. My
mamma Avill get ^Ir. Hervey to write her a
pretty Letter to ye Brigadeer ye Purpot of it
shall be this, that you having a son to put out,
and my mamma being uncapable to do it her-
self, it would be a great detriment to the Family
if you was not here to do it yourself; and as
soon as Mr. Hervey has done it, my mamma
will copy it, and sent it to Mr. Adair to give it
to ye Brigadeer.'

After an absence of about three years, Cap-
tain Garrick returned, and David was sent to a
school advertised in the Gentleman s Magazine as
* At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, where
young gentlemen are taught the Latin and
Greek Languages by Samuel Johnson.' The
said Samuel Johnson, whose father was a book-
seller in Lichfield, was well known to David

122 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Garrick, who, in common with his fellow
scholars, had but little reverence for their
master's learning. They laughed at his nn-
couth gesticulations, and the oddities of his
manner ; whilst Mrs. Johnson, a lady described
by Garrick to Boswell as * very fat, with a
bosom of more than ordinary protuberance,
with swelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced
by thick painting, and increased by the liberal
use of cordials ; flaring and fantastic in her
dress, and affected both in her speech and her
general behaviour,' was a fruitful source for
David's mimicry. « The young rogues,' says
Boswell, speaking of this time, ' used to listen
at the door of his bed chamber, and peep
through the keyhole, that they might turn
into ridicule his tumultuous and awkward fond-
ness for Mrs. Johnson, whom he used to name
by the familiar appellation of Tetty or Tetsey,
which, hke Betty or Betsey, is provincially
used as a contraction for Elizabeth, her Chris-
tian name, but which seems ludicrous when
applied to a woman of her age and appearance.'
Johnson's academy had a short life, if a

DAVID COMES TO TOWN. 123

merry one, and when its doors closed Garrick
and he went np to town ; Johnson having a
tragedy, and twopence halfpenny in his pocket,
as he used to reconnt in his palmier days, with
a humorous twinkle in his eyes. Garrick
entered himself as a student of the Honourable
Society of Lincoln's Inn, paying as fees ' for
the use of this society the sum of three pounds,
three shillings, and fourpence.' Then he went
to study under Mr. Colson, ' a rational philoso-
pher,' the chief purpose for which he had left
his home. This was an eventful year in his
life. Scarce a month had elapsed from the
day on which he had departed from Lichfield,
when news came to him of his father's death ;
his mother quickly followed to the grave the
man she had loved all her life ; and finally came
the demise of the Lisbon wine merchant, who
left his nephew and namesake a legacy of one
thousand pounds sterling.

All idea of studying for the law was now
abandoned, and it was decided that David
Garrick and his brother Peter, his senior by
six years, should set up as partners in the wine

124 PEG WOFFINGTON.

trade ; Peter to conduct the business in Lich-
field, and David in Durham Yard, situated at
the end of one of the smaller streets leading
from the Strand. Here, as Foote afterwards
said, he hved, ' with three quarts of vinegar in
a cellar, and called himself a wine merchant.'
David soon showed he had no talent for business,
and paid it but little heed, to the great disgust
of his elder brother, a man of very different cast ;
formal, methodical, and industrious, who even
at this time, entertained a wholesome horror of
liis brother's predilection for the company of
players. But fate, it seemed, favcnred David's
passion for the society of those connected in any
way with the playhouses, inasmuch as Durham
Yard was wdthin a stone's throw of Covent
Garden, and that the space which lay between
swarmed w^ith the coffee houses, taverns, and
ordinaries where the sons of Thespis most did
congregate. With all of them Garrick made
friends ; his bright face, ready ways, and pleas-
ant manners being certain passports to the
good fellowship of a race then and now pro-
verbially genial.

AT THE BEDFORD. 125

At those ordiDaries or coffee houses he spent
that portion of the day which was not devoted
to the study of Shakespeare at his desk. Then
at night he Avould sit in the pit of Drury Lane
or Covent Garden, watching Delane's graceful
lovers, or Theo Gibber's fops ; after which he
w^ould hie him to the Bedford, the recognised
emporium of wit and criticism, where he would
listen to plain faced Jemmy Raftor tell one of
his droll Irish stories, or hear Ryan discourse in
his discontented, piping voice, of the traditional
glory of all things dramatic in the past, and
of their woiMilessness in the present.

' You should have seen the great Wilks, sir,'
he would say, ' ah, he was an actor, and his
w^ere the days when good acting might be seen
at the playhouse,' (here a pinch of snuff) ; ' and
Betterton, sir, whose aAve inspiring Hamlet can
never again be equalled ; and then Barton Booth,
a gentleman, sir, and a player of prodigious
merit.' But 'twas sure the old school was dead ;
the old traditions had passed away for ever,
(here a grave shake of his head). Perhaps some
trace lingered yet in his own playing, it was not

126 PEG WOFFINGTON.

for him to say, but he had received great com-
mendations for his Richard the Third : that was
true, and he had the honour of being instructed
in the part of Marcus in the tragedy of 'Cat o' by
its author, the great Mr. Addison himself. Then
followed a chorus of critics who had sat in the
front rows of the pit, and spoke learnedly of the
play, praised the stormy mouthing of Bridge-
water or Walker, the stiff jointed love making
of Milward, or damned some trembling aspirant
to fame, as lightly as they took a pinch of snuff.
Xow and then Garrick would add his voice, and
lay down his opinions with all the self assertion
of youth. Amongst the company Avith which
he freely mixed, he singled out two men as his
especial friends ; these were Macklin of Drury
Lane, and Giffard, the manager of the Good-
man's Fields playhouse. With these kindred
spirits he frequently lamented the condition to
which the stage was reduced, where nature was
wholly ignored, and false principles of art sup-
plied in its place. Comedy was boldly reduced
to farce 'that frequently bordered on buffoonery,
passion was interpreted by inflated ranting, love

DAVID'S FPdENDS. 127

made its protestations in a measured drawl,
whilst the ordinary dialogue was delivered in a
set, monotonous tone, most wearisome to the
ear. ]\Iacklin would call to mind his dismissal
for speaking a part too familiarly, and his recent
success in playing Shylock with realism; and
GifFard was of opmion that the town submitted
to the present school of acting, merely for want
of knowing better. Then the young wine
merchant would show them how comedy should
be played according to his thinking. How the
jest should flow from the lips naturally and
promptly, the laugh come freely as if honestly
enjoyed, the facial expression suiting the words
and action. Then, as to tragedy, he would
show them how he would play Hamlet if
he were an actor. The young Dane on behold-
ing his father's ghost should be fixed in mute
astonishment, his cheeks should gradually grow
pale, his eyes blaze from fear and horror, his
voice tremble, as he questioned the visitor from
an unknown sphere. Then in the scene with
Ophelia, he should feign madness by look and
gesture, and the expression of his speech ; and

128 PEG WOFFINGTON.

to the Queen he should speak daggers to rend
her heart with sorrow and remorse; and as
Garriok ilhistrated his conceptions by gesture,
tone, and facial expression, the two actors, stand-
ing mutely by, would look at, and listen to him
with surprise, glancing at each other signifi-
cantly, and nodding their heads sagely. Then
they would both urge him to give up trade, and
take to the stage, for they were sure he had the
makings of a great actor in him.

But this was a suggestion which, though his
heart bounded forward to follow it, he was loath
to put into practice. All the traditional pre-
judices of caste handed down to him by the
struggling captain in a walking regiment, and
his genteel wife with relatives in the church ;
and carefully maintained by the highly respect-
able wine merchant in Lichfield and his sisters,
rose in David's mind, and for a time held him
back from the calling of a player. An actor
was indeed in those days considered a veritable
vagabond ; a wortliless, godless creature, the
fitting object for the censure and disdain of his
fellow creature. More than twenty years later,

GARPdCK HESITATES. 129

when Garrick's example might be supposed to
have m some measure mitigated such opinions,
Horace Walpole, tlie elegant patron of arts,
lamenting in the bitterness of his heart Lady-
Susan Strangeways' marriage with ' O'Brien the
actor ' — a man of irreproachable character, the
descendant of an old Irish family ruined by its
adherence to James 11. — declares this union
'the completion of disgrace. Even a footman
were preferable. The publicity of the hero's
profession,' adds this fine gentleman, the de-
scendant of an honest timber merchant, ' per-
petuates the mortification. I could not have
believed that Lady Susan would have stooped
so low.'

To become a player was therefore not a step
for Garrick to take without consideration and
apprehension. Meanwhile, as may well be sup-
posed, the wine trade did not prosper ; and when
sober Peter Garrick came up to town, he found
his partner and brother restless and unhappy.
'All my Illness and lowness of Spirits,' he
subsequently wrote to Peter, when he had made
the great plunge, ' was owing to my want of

VOL. I. K

130 PEG WOFFINGTON.

resolution to tell you my thoughts when here."
But before he had taken the decisive step, and
whilst he was yet struggling with his inclina-
tions, he had made the acquaintance of the Irish
actress who had taken the town by storm. Night
after night young Garrick was found amongst
the crowds which flocked to see her at Covent
Garden and Drury Lane, nor had she a more enthu-
siastic admirer than he. Here was an actress after
his own heart ; one who neither reduced comedy
to burlesque, nor tragedy to rant, but who was
at one with nature. He noted that her style had
the effect of electrifying her audiences ; and this
gave him strong hopes of at least finding a
patient hearing, if ever indeed he came to seek
his fortune on the boards. It was only natural
that this bright looking young man, full of en-
thusiasm for the stage, should tell this charming
creature with the soft eyes, tender lips, and
graceful ways, all that he thought of her as an
actress, and much that he felt for her as a wo-
man ; and Peggy, with her susceptible Hibernian
heart, listened to his earnest voice, looked into
his flashing eyes, and loved him. And oh, what

WOFFINGTON AND GARRICK. 131

a happy time this was for both of them, with
all life before them ; with such golden dreams
of fame in their heads ; with such warm
love iu their hearts. In the spacious, high-
eeilinged green room of old Drmy Lane, with
its great oak fire place, curiously carv^ed, and
running half way up the wall ; its ponderous-
framed pictures of Nell Gwyn and Congreve ;
its dust covered bust of Shakespeare ; its great
settle, capable of accommodating a dozen per-
sons, drawn close up by the fire ; its faded crimson-
velvet curtains pulled across the high, narrow
windows Garrick would wait in the evenings,
with ever a laugh and jest on his lips for the
group around him, but with his eye turned
iinxiously to the door as if he expected some
one to enter every minute. Presently the door
would be flung wide open, and the imperious,
graceful figure of Peg Woffington would sweep
in, di-essed as Sylvia, or as Lady Betty Modish.
Then her lover would join her, and they would
sit in some quiet corner of the big room, dimlj-
lighted by a sconce of wax tapers above the
chimney piece, his hand touching hers, her eyes

K 2

132 PEG WOFFINGTON.

flashing on liim in the full radiance of her love,,
whilst they whispered each other volumes of
the airiest nothings in the world : disagreeing
to agree, and painting verbal portraits of each
other that borrowed wondrons colonrs from the
light of their mutnal passion.

Then he would take from his pocket a copv
of the Gentleman s Magazine just published, and
read for her some verses, ^\ii\\ which he seemed
most familiar, and which were addressed to
Sylvia, and signed ' G.' ' May Heaven and
Sylvia grant my suit,' commences one of these
verses, which are full of quaint references to
* wavering hearts, sighing swains, constant
flames,' and such like phrases, unintelligible to
all unacquainted with love. Presently the hated
voice of the call boy would summon her from the
heaven of her happiness ; when, rising up, she
and Garrick would walk, hand in hand, towards
the Avings, in the friendly shades of which he
would kiss her on the lips; and then, being free
of the house, run round to the stage box, that
he might be the first to give the signal of her
approach by his applause.

SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS. 133

Another admirer of Peg Woffington at this
period was Sir Charles Hanbuiy WilHams, ' one
of the plenipotentiaries of fashion,' wit, satirist,
poet, paymaster of the marines, and as pretty
ca gentleman as ever cracked a bottle at White's.
He was the friend of Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, of Fox, of Horace Walpole, and of
merry Dick Edgecumbe, and had the reputation
of being a rake of the first water. Lady Mary"
said of him that he might be happy if he add-
ed to his natural and acquired endowments a
dash of morality ; but Sir Charles knew little of
morals and cared for them still less ; they being
to his mind but dull things at best. However, this
lamentable absence of virtue, was no drawback
to the friendship of his contemporaries, few of
whom were a whit better themselves. He could
tell the wittiest if not the decentest of stories ;
pen a pasquinade in the twinkling of an eye ;
ridicule a political enemy in a scathing lam-
poon ; and gamble from sunset to sunrise ; for
all of wJiich qualities he was dear to his friends.
With Fox he was ever ' dear Charles ;' Walpole
had his portrait framed in black and gold, and

134 PEG WOFFIKGTON.

set in a panel of the bow window room in that
wonderful gimcrack Gothic castle known as
Strawberry Hill ; whilst Lady Mary hears that
* he suffers under a dearth of flatterers.' Sir
Charles duly fell in love with the beautiful
Woffington, and composed poems addressed to
her, one of which, ' Lovely Peggy,' included in
one of the editions of his works, published in
1776, was vastly admired by the town. It is in
itself an excellent example of the love verses of
the period, and is not without touches of poetic
beauty.

Once more 1*11 time the vocal shell
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,

That burns for lovely Peggy.

Ye greater bards the lyre should hit,
For say what subject is more fit,
Than to record the sparkling wit

And bloom of lovely Peggy.

The sun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew bespangled thorn,
Does not so much the day adorn

As does mj lovely Peggy.

And when in Thetis lap to rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy west,
He's not so beauteous as undressed
Appears my lovely Peggy.

LOVELY PEGGY. 135

Were slie arrayed in rustic weed,
AVith her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon mine oaken reed,

To please ray lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All's happy when she's in my sight,
But when she's gone it's endless night,

All's dark without my Peggy.

The zephyr air the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not haK the sweets disclose

That does my lovely Peggy.
I stole a kiss the other day.
And trust me, nought but truth I say,
The fragrant breath of blooming may,

Was not so sweet as Peggy.

While bees from flower to flower shall rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or stately swans the waters love,

So long shall I love Peggy.
And when death, with his pointed dart,
Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,
My words shall be when I depart,

Adieu, my lovely Peggy.

Garrick, as Avas natural, entertained a great
dread of his verse making, witty rival^ and
entreated the Woffington not to see or hsten to
him. One evening when Garrick visited her he
asked her how long it was since she had seen
Sir Charles.

136 PEG WOFFINGTON.

' Not for au age,' says she,- with a humorous
smile on her charming face. ,

' Nay,' said Garrick, .gravely, ' I lv«iow you
have seen him this morning.'

' Well,' replied she said, going up to him, her
beautiful- lips pouting like a child's, * I count
time by your absence ; I have not seeu you
since morning, and is it n6t an age since then.'

137

CHAPTER VI.

Garrick's Irresolution — Plarys at Ipswich under a False
Name — First Appearance in Town — a Memorable
Night — Description of his Richard — The Talk of the
Town — Persons of Distinction at the Playhouse— Our
little Poetical Hero— Letters to Peter— The Wine-
merchant will not be Comforted — David's Arguments
and Fair Promises— 'i he Lying Valet — Mimicking the
Old Players — The Favour of Great Men — Going to
Dublin with Peg AVoffington.

Meanwhile Ganick continued nervously irre-
solute concerning his future, experiencing by
turns both hope and despair. Now his spirits
rose at the prospect of his success as an acior
held out to him by his friends, and by the wo-
man he loved ; and again his mind was sorely
depressed by the letters of grave reproof he
received from respectable Peter at Lichfield;
wdio heard with much disquietude that his bro-
• ther David had formed a friendship Avitli one

138 PEG WOFFIXGTON.

Giffarcl, a player. After long continued mental
fluctuations, it happened in the summer of 1741,
the fourth year of his career as a mne merchant,
that through the interest of this same player
and manager, an opportunity was offered him of
testing his strength as an actor, and for a few
nights at least, of gratifying the longing and
ambition to play before an audience, Avhich had
taken a firm hold upon liis life. Moreover, this
could be done in the most private manner pos-
sible, so that his friends in town, or Peter con-
ducting his decent business in Lichfield, need
know nothing of the matter ; for the theatre
concerning which this offer was made was at
Ipswich, and he could, of course, change his
name for the occasion.

Accordingly, away he went quite secretly
with Giffard to Ipswich, carrying with him the
Woffington's best wishes for his success ; and in
due time he appeared as x\boan — a blackamoor
— in the tragedy of ' Oroonoko ;' a part which
recommended itself to the nervous amateur, from
the fact that the necessary black face offered an
excellent disguise. The reception he received

GOODMAN'S FIELDS PLAYHOUSE. 139

was sufficient to eiicourag-e bis appocirance in
other cliaracters, including that of Captain
Brazen ; and in these his success was such, that
the house was not only crowded nightly by the
inhabitants of Ipswich, but the suiTounding
gentry drove in their coaches to sec this ex-
cellent new player, styling himself Lyddal. This
indooked for result, coupled with the fact of his
fast declining business, finally determined him
to become an actor; and he accordingly arranged
with GifFard, to play Richard III. at his theatre
in Goodman's Fields in the coming autumn.
This playhouse, situated in an unsavoury dis-
trict, had never been favoured with the company
of the polite. Indeed_, it merely existed on suf-
ferance : four years pre^^ously, the passing of
the Licensing Bill had limited the number of
London theatres to two. In order, therefore, to
keep its doors open, the manager had recoui'se
to a very simple ruse, Avhich at the same time
fulfilled its object ; this was to charge for an
entertainment of singing and dancing, and per-
form the plays gratis. Such was the theatre
where Garrick first made his bow to a London

140 PEG WOFFINGTON.

audience. Towards the middle of October it
was whispered in the green rooms of the two
West end theatres, and in the coffee houses and
taverns all over the town, that a young gentle-
man of great promise was about to act the
part of Kichard III. in the Goodman's Fields
playhouse. ]\Iuch curiosity therefore obtained,
especially amongst the friends of the said young
gentleman. Presently the London IJailij News
printed the following announcement in its
advertising columns :

Goodman's fields.

At the Late Theatre in Goodman's Fields,

Monday next (Oct. 19th) will be performed a

CONCERT OF VOCAL and INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC,

Divided into Two Parts.

Tickets at Three, Two, and One Shilling.

Places for the Boxes to be taken at the ' Fleece Tavern,'

near the Theatre.

N.B. — Between the Two Parts of the Concert will be
presented an Historical Play, calFd The

LIFE and death of KING RICHARD THE THIRD.

Containing The Distresses and Death of King Henry VI.,
The Artful Acquisition of the Crown by King Richard,

The Murder of young King Edward V. and his Brother in
the Tower,

PLAYING RICHARD THE THIRD. 141

The Landing of the Earl of Richmond,

And the Death of King Richard in the Memorable

Battle of Bosworth-Field, being the last that was fought

between the Houses of York and Lancaster,

With many other true Historical Passages.

The Part of King Richard by a Gentleman

(Who never appeared on any stage).

With entertainments of Dancing, by Mons. Fp.oment,

Madame Duvall, and the two Masters and INIiss Grainer.

To which will be added a Ballad Opera in One Act, call'd

THE VIRGIN UNMASKED,

Both which will be performed gratis by Persons for their

Diversion.

The Concert will begin exactly at Six o'clock.

It happened at this very time that a battle
royal was raging between the two greater
houses, where for four consecutive nights ' As
You Like It' was being played ; Peg Woffing-
to]i and ]\Iilward taking the parts of Kosalind
and Orlando at the Lane, and Mrs. Prit chard
and Hale enacting the same at the Garden.

On the fourth night, Monday, October 1 9th,
1741, Garrick appeared in the part of Richard
III., playing Colley Gibber's freely treated, but
veiy effective version of the great tragedy. In
this the poet laureate, who modelled his style
after an antiquated actor named Saudford, used

142 PEG WOFFINGTON.

in liis day to drawl and declaim the part in a
slirill, feeble voice, and strut about the boards, to
the great satisfaction of his audiences. But no-
thing could present a more striking contrast tf ■
his playing than that of Garrick's ; here ther *
was neither strut nor drawl. As lie can e
before a house crowded by those whom curi-
osity or interest had drawn to this end of the
town, the character he assumed was at once
visible in the lines of his singularly mobile face,
in the accents of his voice, in every turn and
movement of his figure. As he proceeded, it
was seen that nature had given place to rant.
Here was a man acting as if he veritably felt
the contending passions that swayed the wicked
king. Xever had such playing been seen be-
fore, and those who w^itnessed it, were at first
undecided as to whether they should accept or
reject such a complete innovation. But, before
they were aw^are of it, he had touched their
hearts, and now played upon them at will : and
presently an irresistible burst of applause ringing
through the house, proclaimed that his genius
had triumphed over prejudice. ' His look, his

AX OLD FRIEND'S OPIXIOX. 143

voice, his attitude changed with every sentiment,'
says Arthur Murphy, one of his biogi-aphers.
* The rage and rapidity with which he spoke

'' The north — what do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?"

made a most astonishing impression. His so-
hloquy in the tent scene discovered the inward
man. Everything he described was ahnost
reahty ; the spectator thought he heard the
hum of eitlier army from camp to camp, and
steed threatening steed. When he started from
his dream, he was a spectacle of horror. In
all, the audience saw an exact imitation of
nature.' Then comes the interesting testimony
to his genius of Mr. Swynfen, an honest neigh-
bour and friend of the Garricks at Lichfield,
who sat in the Goodman's Fields on this event-
ful night, and wrote the news of it next day
to Peter, preserved in the collection already
mentioned. ' My good friend David Garrick
performed last night at Goodman's Fields The-
atre,' says this good old gentleman. ' I was
there, and was witness to a most general ap-
plause He gain'd in the character of Richard

144 PEG WOFFINGTON.

the Third ; for I beheve there was not one hi the
House that was not in Raptures, and I heard
several Men of Judgment declare it their
Opinion that nobody ever excelled Him in
that Part ; and that they were surprised, with
so peculiar a Genius, how it was possible for
Him to keep off the stage so long.'

The next day nothing was talked of but the
performance of the young gentleman, whose
name was not yet printed in the bills, but who
was pretty well known to the town. Groups
gathered in the coffee houses to hear the en-
thusiastic descriptions of him given by those
who had witnessed his performance. The critics
met each other, exchanged bows, took snuff,
bobbed their wigs, raised their eyebrows, and
looked grave ; for it was certain the world was
coming to an end now that the town had ven-
tured to admire a man, in whose favour they
had not first pronounced. To cap all, the
London Daily Post, which had seldom indeed
noticed even the finest performance, actually
devoted half a dozen lines to the commendation
of this young man.

HE OBLIGES THE TOWN. 145

* Last night,' runs the paragraph, ' was per-
form'd Gratis the Tragedy of Richard III., at
the late Theatre in Goodman's Fields, when the
Character of Richard was perform'd by a Gentle-
man who never appear'd before, whose recep-
tion was the most extraordinary and great that
ever was known npon snch an occasion ; and
we hear he obliges the Town this Evening
with the same Performance.'

It was not only the following evening bnt
four times during this week, and every night of
the following save one, that he obliged the
town by his performance of Richard. The fame
of his extraordinary acting ran from east to
Avest ; and every evening a vast concourse
of people gathered outside the doors of the
little theatre hours before they were opened,
whilst hundreds were imable to obtain admit-
ance. Even Drury Lane with the acting of
the charming Woffington as Adriana in ' The
Comedy of Errors,' Berintha in ' The Relapse,'
and Clarinda in ' The Double Gallant,' Avas left
half-empty. Time seemed but to increase the
fame of this new actor. ' From the polite ends of
VOL. I. L

146 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Westminster,' says Murphy, quaintly enough,
* the most elegant company flocked to Good-
man's Fields, insomuch that from Temple Bar
the whole way Avas covered with a string of
coaches.' People of the first figure and fashion,
dukes and duchesses by the dozen, ministers
and members of parliament, wits, critics, and
poets, all rushed to see the great actor ; more-
over, the Prince was expected nightly. The
Rev. Thomas Newton, a gentleman described
as a learned person with a critical eye, who
afterwards became a right reverend bishop,
but who was at this time tutor to Lord Car-
penter's son, writes to Garrick to secure for
himself and his party a stage box that they
' might see his looks in the scene with tlie
Lady Anne.' The ladies expressed themselves
' almost in love with Richard,' and Mr. Newton
\\dshes later on to take another box for some
other friends in order to see Garrick in ' The
Orphan ' and ' The Lying Valet,' new characters
he essayed. These were to include amongst
them Mrs. Porter, a famous and most charming
actress now some time retired, ' and no less a

WHAT MRS. PORTER SAW. 147

raaii than 'Mr. Pulteney desires to be of our
party, aud have a place in our box,' writes the
Reverend Thomas. 'My. Pulteney was certainly
vi man of consequence, having l)een Secretary
of AVar, and being at this time the most popular
man in England, though in the following year
lie ' shrank into insignificance and an earldom.'
P^or all that, Garrick's arrangements did not
permit him to act in these j^lays on the night
suggested by the embryo bishop, who conse-
quently Avrites to the player, ' It would certainly
liave been a very great honour to you, if of no
otlier advantage, for such a person as My. Pul-
teney to come so far to be one of your audience ;
and if I liad been in your capacity I should
have thought it worth Avhile to have strained a
point, or done almost anything rather than have
disappointed him. I would have acted that
night, if I had spared myself all the rest for it.'

However, the party came later on and Airs.
Porter was in raptures ; ' she returned to town
on purpose to see you,' says Newton, ' and de-
clares she would not but have come for the
world. You are born an actor, she says, and

148 PEG WOFFINGTON.

do more at your first appearing than ever any-
body did Avitli twenty years' practice ; and good
God, says she, what will he be in time.' An-
other famous actress, j\Irs. Bracegirdle, who
had played in the previous century, and whc^
had now retired for over thirty years, came
out into the world again, anxious to see this
prodigy of her later days; and Avith her came
old Colley Gibber, who had laughed maliciously
whenever Garrick's praises had been sung, but
who, when he had seen him act, was forced to
mutter the bare admission, ' Why, faith, Bracey,
the fellow is clever.'

Among others who flocked to the stuffy little
theatre was my Lord Orrery, an authority where
the drama was concerned, and a critic, mind
you, of the first understanding, and, moreover, a
man of vast experience. He was delighted with
Garrick's prodigious powers, but feared the
young man would be spoiled, 'for,' says his
lordship, ' he will have no competitor.' Then
his grace of Argyle drove down in his ponderous
coach to Goodman's Fields, and swore a ducal
oath that this player was superior to the great Bet-

THE BEST PLAYER IN ENGLAND. 149

terton of famous memory. Likewise came Horace
AValpole, dainty in ruffles and velvet, and high-
heeled, silver-buckled shoes, who never had
sympathy with public opinions, and now barely
admitted with a sneer that ' the wine-merchant
turned player,' was an excellent mimic, but he
could see nothing in his acting, 'though,' he
added, ' it is heresy to say so.' Mr. Pitt came
also and added his testimony that 'this young
man was the best player in England.' But
amongst all those who flocked nightly to the
playhouse, there was one of whom Gamck
Avas far more proud than the dozen dukes,
who, according to Gray, were to be seen at
Goodman's Fields of a night. This was none
other than Mr. Pope, who was looked upon
Avith the most profomid respect, and whose
opinions were regarded with feelings httle less
than reverent by his contemporaries. Garrick,
long years after, described his sensations to
Percival fStockdale, on learning that the little
poet of Twickenham was one of his auditors.
'AYhen I was told,' said lie, 'that Pope was
in the house, I instantaneously felt a palpitation

150 PEG WOFFINGTON.

at my lieart ; a tumultiious, not a disagreeable
emotion in my mind. As I opened my part,
I saw onr little poetical hero, dressed in black,
seated in a side box near the stage, and viewing
me with a serious and earnest attention. His
look shot and thrilled like lightning through
my frame, and 1 had some hesitation in pro-
ceeding from anxiety and from joy. As Richard
gradually blazed forth, the house was in a roar
of applause, and the conspiring hand of Pope
shadowed me with laurels.' The consj^iring
tongue of little j\Ir. Pope, however, did him
more honour still. Turning to my Lord Orrery
— beside whom he Avas seated— the little poet
said, ' That young man never had his equal as
an actor, and he will never have a rival !'

But, although the town might ring with the
news of his triumph, David had his private
misgivings, which were not easily to be over-
come, regarchng the step he had taken. He
knew but too well that his brother Peter, sedate
and grave ; his sisters, who even in the gentility
of their early girlhood had feared to be con-
sidered as mere vulgar madams; and his friends

WRITING TO PETER. 151

— these terrible friends, who are as the plague
and pestilence to many an aspiring life — would
one and all regard this new departure as a
black disgrace wantonly flung upon the spot-
lessness of their respectability. Accordingly,
he must write to them, and get his good fiiend
Mr. Sw^'nfen to do so likewise, and represent
in as fair a light as was possible, this dreadful
act of his, before any false and misleading
reports coiicerning him could reach their ears.
On the morning following his great performance,
therefore, Mr. Swynfen Avrote to Peter ; and even
during the excitement of that day, David him-
self found time to pen a letter to his brother,
and to his cousin Peter Fermi gnac, a scion of
the wealthier branch of the family.

' I do not doubt,' commenced Mr. Swynfen,
bluntly enough, in his epistle to Peter, * but you
Avill soon hear my good Friend David Garrick
performed last night at Goodman's Fields Thea-
tre ; and for fear yoii should hear any false or
malicious Account that may perhaps be dis-
agreeable to you, I will give you the Truth,
which much pleased me.' Then follows the

152 PEG WOFFINGTON.

account of that most memorable night ah'eady
qnoted. Moreover the worthy man strives to ap~
pease Peter by imputing to him sentiments less
narrow in their circumference than those which
sway his neighbours ; which shows that he mis-
took his man, as the wine-merchant of Lich-
field soon let him see. ' Many of his Country
Friends,' continues Mr. Swynfen, ' who have
been most used to Theatrical Performances in
Town Halls, &c., by strollers, will be apt to
imagine the highest Pitch a Man can arrive
at on the Stage, is about that exalted degree
of Heroism as the Herberts and the Hailams
have formerly made us laugh and cry with;
and there are, I don't question, many others,
who because their fathers were call'd Gentle-
men, or perhaps themselves the first, that will
think it a disgrace and a scandal that the
Child of an old Friend should endeavour to
get an honest Livehhood, and is not content
to live in a scanty manner all his Life because
his Father was a Gentleman. I think I know
you well enough to be convinced that you have
not the same sentiments, and I hope there are

DAVID PLEADS. 153

some other of bis Friends, who will not alter
their Opinion or Regard for Him, till they find
the Stage corrupt his Morals and makes Him
less deserving, which I do not take by any
means to be a necessary consequence, nor likely
to happen to my honest Friend David.'

But honest Davids letter to his brother is not
quite so hopeful ; he knows Peter's hard nature,
and pleads to him submissively.

' I rece'd my shirt safe,' he commences ; ' and
am now to tell you what I suppose you may
have heard of before this. But before I let
you into my affair, 'tis proper to premise some
things, that I may appear less culpable in yr
opinion than I might otherwise do. I have
made an Exact Estimate of my stock of wine,
and Avhat money I have out at interest, and
find that since I have been a wine merchant, I
have run out near four hundred pounds, and
trade not increasing. I was very sensible some
way must be thought of to redeem it. My
mind (as you must know) has been always
inclin'd to ye Stage, nay, so strongly so that
all my Illness and lowness of Spirits was owing

154 PEG WOFFINGTOX.

to my want of resolution to tell you my
thoughts when here. Finding at last both my
Inclination and Interest requir'd some new way
of Life I have chose ye most agreeable to
myself, and though I know you will be much
displeas'd at me, 3'et I hope when you shall
find that I have ye genius for an actor without
ye vices, you will think less severe on me, and
not be asham'd to own me for a Brother.'
How could Peter resist this touching apjDcal ?
' Last night,' he continues, ' I played Richard
ye Third to ye surprise of Every Body, and
as I shall make very near £300 per annum by
It, and as it is really what I doat upon, I am
resolv'd to pursue it.' Then he adds, nervously,
'Pray write me an answer immediately,' and
concludes with a postscript, ' I have a farce
(" Ye Lying Yalet ") coming out at Drury
Lane.'

Then comes the letter to his cousin, Peter
Fermignac. Lest this worthy relative, whom
he is anxious to conciliate, should be appre-
hensive of his design to continue on the stage,
he troubles him with an account of his inten-

HIS MOST HUMBLE SERVANT. 155

tiun. To him he therefore repeats the excuses
ah-eadv made to Peter. ' Yon must kno^v,'
he writes, ' that since I have been in Business
(the wine trade I meanj, I have run out al-
most half my Fortune.' After some further
particulars relative to business, he continues,
' ^ly mind led me to the stage, which, from
being very young, I found myself very much
Inclining to, and have been very unhappy that
I could not come upon it before. The only
thing that gives me pain is that my Friends, I
suppose, will look very cool upon me, j)cirticu-
larly the Chief of them ; but what can 1 do ?
I am wholly bent upon the thing, and can make
£300 per annum by it. xVs my brother will
settle at Lichfield, I design to throw up the
wine trade as soon as I can conveniently, and
desire you Avill let my uncle know. If you
should Avant to speak to me, the Stage Door
will be always open to you, or any other part
of the house, for I am manager Avith ]\Ir. Gififard,
and you may ahvays command your most
humble serA'ant.'

This letter 'My. Peter Fermignac sent to his

156 PEG WOFFINGTON.

aunt, with the following quaint commentary : —
* Dear madam, the imcler written is a copy of a
Letter sent me from David Garric, who play'd
Crook'd Back Richard last night, and does it
to-night again at Goodman's Fiekls. I leave
you to consider of it, and am very sorry for the
contents, but I thought fit to communicate them
to you, and am your most dutiful nephew.'

When the sedate Peter had sufficiently re-
covered from the prodigious hlow which his re-
spectable feelings had received by his brother's
news, he wrote up to town, in no gentle terms,
it may be assumed. What he said can alone
be gathered from David's i/eply. ' My Dear
Brother,' writes the poor, perplexed player, ' the
uneasiness I have received at your letter is
inexpressible ; however, 'twas a shock I ex-
pected, and had guarded Myself as well as I
could against it ; and the Love I sincerely have
for you, together with ye prevailing iVrguments
you have made use of, were enough to over-
throw my strongest resolutions, did not neces-
sity (a very pressing advocate) on my side
convince me that I am not so much to blame

POOR PERPLEXED PLAYER. IbJ

as YOU think I am. A>s to my uncle upbraiding
YOU ^vitli keeping our Circumstances a secret, I
am surprised at it, for to be sure what I haYe
run out has been more owing to my own wil-
fulness than any Great miscarriage in Trade.
But run out I haYc, and, let me liye ncYcr so
^^•arily, 1 must run out more, and indeed the
Trade we have, if you will reflect very seri-
ously, can never be sufficient to maintain me
and a servant handsomely. As for the stage,'
he urges, with much meekness of spirit, ' I
know in general it deserves your Censure, but,
if you will consider hoNv handsomely and how
reputably some have liv'd, as Booth, Mills,
Wilks, Cibbcr, &c., and admitted into and ad-
mired by the Best Companies, &c. And as my
genius that way (by ye best judges) is thought
wonderful, how can you be so averse to my
proceedings, when not only my Inclinations,
but my Friends, who at first were surpris'd at
my intent Ijy seeing me on ye stage, are now
well convinc'd ^twas impossible for me to keep
off. As to Company,' he continues, w^ith a par-
donable air of pride, ' ye Best in Town are

158 PEG WOFFINGTON.

desirous of mine, and I have rece'd more civili-
ties and favours from such since my playing
than I ever did in all my Life before. 3Ir.
Glover (Leonidas, I mean) has been every
night to see me, and sent for me, and told me
as Avell as Every Body he converses with that
he had not seen such acting for ten years be-
fore. In short, were I to tell you Avhat they
^say about me, 'twould be too vain, though I am
now writing to a Brother. However, Dear
Peter, so willing am I to be continu'd in your
affections that, were I certain of a less income
with more reputation, I would gladly take to
It. I have not yet had my name in ye Bills,
and have play'd only ye Part of Richard III.,
which brings crowded audiences every night,
and ]Mr. Giffard returns ye service I have done
him very amply. However, Dear Peter, write
me a Letter next post, and Pll give you a full
answer, not having Time enough at present. I
have not a Debt of twenty shillings upon me,
so in that be very easy. I am sorry my sisters
are under such uneasiness, and as I really love
both them and you, will ever make it my

PETER CONri?^'UES WRATHFUL. 159

study to appear your afFectionatc Brother.'
But even these soft words had not the desncd
effect of turning away Peter's wrath. An honest
wine merchant, whose father had been a recruit-
ing officer, whose mother had been the daughter
of an impoverished vicar choral, disgraced by
a brother turned stage player, Avas a serious
matter, not to be lightly overlooked. In the
eyes of his neighbours poor Peter must assuredly
fall from the high estate of his respectability ;
nay, his very business would assuredly feel the
shock from the proceedings of one Avho was
once intimately connected witli it. Therefore
Peter s anger was exceeding great, the more so
as no persuasion he could use, no arguments
concerning the misfortunes which his brother's
stage playing must assuredly entail on the
family, had any avail with the perpetrator of
the outrage, who met his complaints with gentle
reasonings, his sneers and murmu rings witli fair
words and kind.

' I am very sorry you still seem so utterly
averse to what I am so greatly Inclin'd, and to
what ye best Judges think I have ye greatest

160 PEG WOFFINGTON.

of Genius for,' David again writes to him on
the 10th of November. ' The great, nay, inde-
scribable snccess and approbation I have met
with from ye Greatest Persons in England have
almost made me resolve (though I'm sorry to
say it against your entreaties) to pursue it, as I
certainly shall make a fortune by it, if Health
continues. Mr. Lyttleton, Mr. Pitt, and several
other members of Parliament were to see me
play Chamont in ''' Ye Orphan," and ]\Ir. Pitt,
who is reckon'd ye Greatest Orator in the House
of Commons, said I was ye best actor ye Eng-
lish Stage had produc'd, and he sent a Gentle-
man to me to let me know he and ye other
Gentlemen would be glad to see Me. The
Prince has heard so great a character of me
that we are in daily expectation of his coming
to same.' Then he proceeds to business, of
which he never lost sight even in his palmiest
days. ' I have been told/ he writes, ' that you
are afraid Giflfard has had my money. Upon
my honour he does not owe me a farthing, hav-
ing paid me long ago what I lent him, which
was but £30. I receive at present from him

HIS FIRST SALARY. 161

(tho' 'tis a secret) six guineas a week, and am
to have a clear Benefit, whicli will be very
soon, and I have been offer'd for it £120. You
can't imagine what regard I meet with ; ye Pit
and Boxes are to be put together, and I shall
have all my friends (who still continue so to
me, though you cannot be brought over). If
you come to town, your lodgings w411 cost you
nothing, I having a bed at Arthur's for you.
Pray let me know if you'll come immediately.
And if you chuse to have your share with what
you have at Lichfield, ye Cooper shall take a
Strict Survey of ye vaults, and I will be at half
ye expense of ye carriage ; if not, I'll make a
sale here, but let me know what you resolve
upon, and I will assure you 'tis my greatest de-
sire to continue your affectionate Brother.'

The account of so much honour done the
player by Mr. Glover, an author of eminence in
his day, a clever speaker, and an adviser of the
Prince's, and by Mr. Lyttleton, likewise a friend
of His R'oyal Highness, probably helped to
lighten the burden of disgrace that Peter had
allowed to fall so heavily on his shoul-

VOL. I. M

162 PEG WOFFINGTON.

ders, for David, in writing to him next, says :
' As you finished your last Letter with saying,
though you did not approve of ye Stage, yet
you would always be my affectionate Brother,
I may now venture to tell you I am very near
quite resolv'd to be a player, as I have ye
judgment of ye best Judges (who to a man are
of opinion) that I shall turn out (nay, they say
have) not only ye Best Tragedian, but Come-
dian in England. I would not say so much to
anybody else, but as this may somewhat palli-
ate my Folly you must excuse me. Mr. Lyttle-
ton was with me last night, and took me by the
hand, and said he never saw such playing upon
ye English stage before. I have great offers
from Fleetwood, but he's going to sell to Gen-
tlemen, and I don't doubt but I will make for
myself very greatly. We have greater business
than either Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Mr.
Giffard himself gave me yesterday twenty
Guineas for a Ticket. As to hurting you in
your affairs, it shall be my constant endeavours
to forward your welfare with my all. If you
should want money, and I have it, you shall

' TIS AN HONO UR 168

command my whole, and I know I shall soon
be more able by playing and writing to do you
service than any other way. My nncle,' he
adds, * I am told, will be reconcil'd to me, for
•even ye merchants say 'tis an honour to him^ not
otherwise.'

Surely, with tidings of such prosperity,
with offers of such generosity, and with the
intelligence of his uncle's reconciliation^ Peter
could not hold out any longer ; and so a recon-
ciliation ensued, over which the wine merchant
had in after years much reason to rejoice.
Meanwhile, David, or as the play bills down to
the 22nd of November continued to style him,
* The young gentleman who perform'd Richard,'
was playing several new characters, such as
Olodio in ' Love Makes a Man,' Chamont in ' The
Orphan,' Jack Smatter in ' Pamela,' and Avin-
ning fresh success. The London Daily Post of
November the 27th, speaking of the Goodman's
Fields playhouse, says, ' Several hundred per-
sons were obliged to return for want of room ;
the House being full soon after five o'clock.'

His farce^ ' The Lying Valet,' was ready by

M 2

164 PEG WOFFINGTON.

the end of November, and was produced on the
30th of that month, not at Druiy Lane, but at
Goodman s Fields, Garrick playing the part of
Sharp ; and such was its success, that five days
later the farce, in two acts, was published for a
shilling, ' As it is performed Gratis at the late
Theatre in Goodman's Fields, by David Gar-
rick ;' a name to become henceforth memorable
in the annals of the stage. Of course a copy
of this farce was sent to Peter, with all the
pride which an author feels in his first born.
' On Monday last, I sent you,' he writes to him,
*"The Lying Valet." The Valet takes pro-
digiously, and is approv'd of by men of Genius,
and thought ye most diverting Farce that ever
was perform'd. I believe you'll find it read
pretty well, and in performance it's a general
Roar from beginning to end; and I have got
as much Reputation in ye Character of Sharp
as in any other character I have perform'd.'
Then he names the various plays in which he
has acted, thinldng Peter would be glad to hear
of them, and adds, ' I have had great success in
all ; and 'tis not determined whether I play

THE TOWN WAS MAD. 165

tragedy or comedy best. Old Gibber has spoken
with ye greatest commendation of my acting.'

On the 2nd of December (the occasion of his
first benefit), Garrick played this farce, which
was preceded by the tragedy of ' The Fair
Penitent,' taking the part of Lothario, 'being
the first time of his appearance in that char-
acter.' So great was the expected crush, it
was announced that for this night ' the Stage
will be built after the Manner of an Amphi-
theatre, when servants will be allow'd to keep
Places, and likewise in the Front Boxes, but
not in the Pit, who are desir'd to be at the
House by Three o'clock.'

The downfall of the old school of acting was
now complete. Having once seen nature pour-
tray ed on the stage, Garrick felt sure the town
would never again accept pedantic rant in its
place. The old actors were of course terribly
incensed by his success. Quin, who for years
had been without a rival, could ill brook one
now in a novice of ^yq and twenty summers.
The town was, he declared, mad, but would pre-
sently come to its senses, whence, the inference

166 PEG WOFFINGTON.

"svas, it would return to its old love in the sturdy
person of this famous old ranter again. The
young man's style, he furthermore declared,
was heresy ; to which Garrick replied, it was
reformation. He was yet, however, to give the
old school its final blow, by his performance
in ' The Rehearsal.' In this amusing comedy
— in which Mr. Bayes, a stage manager, in-
structs his company in the way they should act
— Garrick saw an ample outlet for the rich vein
of mimicry he possessed^ inasmuch that, as the
manager, he could give representations of the
best known actors of the day. Yet for some
time he shrank from affording them such an-
noyance as this must naturally cause, though
GifFard was desirous of putting the comedy on
his stage. A strange tale, beautifully illustra-
tive of human nature, hangs thereby, which is
told in a manuscript note that I found among
the pages of some old theatrical records, once
the property of Dr. Burney. His son, Charles
Burney, writes —

' While Mr. Garrick was acting at the Theatre
in Goodman's Fields, Mr. GifFard, the manager,

THE PART OF BAYES. 167

urged him to play the part of Bayes on that
' stage, in order that he might display his talents
J for mimicry in his imitation of the favourite
i actors at all the theatres. Mr. Garrick declined
it at first ; but when Mr. GifFard pressed the
i point strongly, Mr. Garrick promised to play
I the part, provided he might be allowed to take
I ofi' the manager himself. Mr. Giffard declared
he had not the sHghtest objection ; but when
the trial was made, and Mr. Garrick's imitation
of Mr. Giffard created unusual laughter, it of-
fended him so deeply, that a challenge was the
consequence, and Mr. Gan-ick was wounded in
the arm. This story my father, Dr. Burney,
1 received from Mr. Garrick.'

/ ' The Rehearsal ' was, however, played without
the personation of Giffard on the 3rd of February,
1 742, with prodigious success. The whole town
laughed loud and long at the imitations of those
they had formerly admired. ' In the character
of Bayes,' says Arthur IMurphy, ' he exhibited to
the life the vain coxcomb who had the highest
conceit of himself, and thought the art of dra-
matic poetry consisted in strokes of surprise and

1C8 PEG WOFFINGTON.

thundering versification. The players of his
day he saw were equally mistaken. In order,
therefore, to display their errors in the most
glaring light, he took upon him occasionally to
check the performers who were rehearsing his
play, and teach them to deliver their speech in
what he called the true theatrical manner. For
this purpose he selected some of the most
eminent performers of the time, and by his
wonderful powers of mimicry was able to
assume the air, the manner, and the deportment
of each in his turn. Delane w^as at the head of
his profession. He was tall and comely, had a
clear and strong voice, but was a mere de-
claimer. Garrick began with him ; he-retired to
the upper part of the stage, and drawing his
left arm across his breast, rested his right elbow
on it, raising a finger to his nose, and then came
forward in a stately gait, nodding his head as he
advanced, and in the exact tones of Delane
spoke the following lines :

" So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh.
Snuff up and smell it gath'ring in the sky." '

Those who were mimicked were of course

FAR FROM REPENTING. 169

outrageous, but the town was highly diverted,
and, Garrick and his manager were equally
{satisfied. In March he had another benefit on
the 18th, when he played Master Johnny, a lad
of fifteen in ' The School-boy,' after the perform-
ance of ' King Lear.' ' The farce of "The School-
boy," ' says Boaden, in his biographical memoir,
w^as written by Colley Gibber, who was still
living ; and he might, and very probably did,
see that wonderful junction of eighty-four and
fifteen by the same actor.' His fame daily in-
creased, the crowds still flocked to Goodman's
Fields, and the gi-eat ones of the earth paid him
honour. In April he writes to Peter with a
sense of triumph at his heart.

• Ye favour I meet from ye Greatest Men, has
made me far from Repenting of my choice. I
am very intimate with Mr. Glover, who will
bring out a tragedy next winter upon my
account. I have supped twice with ye Great
Mr. Murray, Counsellor, and shall with j\lr. Pope
by his introduction. I supped with Mr. Lyttle-
ton, ye Prince's Favourite, last Thiu'sday night,
and met with ye highest civility and. complais-

170 PEG WOFFINGTON.

ance. He told me he never knew what acting-
was till I apj)eared, and said I was only born to
act what Shakespeare writ. These things daily
occurring give me great Pleasure. I dined with
Lord Halifax and Lord Sandwich, two very in-
genious noblemen, yesterday, and am to dine at
Lord Halifax's next Sunday with Lord Chester-
held. I have ye pleasure of being very intimate
with Mr. Hawkins Bro^^^le of Burton ; in short,
I believe nobody (as an actor) was ever more
caressed, and my character as a private man
inakes them more desirous of my company. All
this entre nous as one brother to another. I am
not fix'd for next year, but shall certainly be at
ye other end of ye Town. I am offered five
hundred gumeas and a clear benefit, or part of
management. I can't be resolved what I shall
do till ye season is finished.'

In this month he made his first appearance at
Drury Lane, on which occasion he played for
the benefit of the widow of a comedian named
Hai-per ; and later on entered into an engage-
ment with Fleetwood to play at his theatre
in the coming autumn. Before the end of this

TOGETHER THEY DEPARTED. 171

most memorable season, his fame had spread so
far that it crossed the St. George's Channel, and
Du Yal, the manager of Smock Alley Theatre in
Dubhn, arranged with him and Peg Woffington
to play in that fair city in the months of June,
July, and iVugust. And so together they de-
parted for Ireland.

172

CHAPTER VII.

Excitement in Dublin — A Warm Greeting — The Delight of
the Town — Hamlet and Ophelia — Back to Loudon —
The Rival Playhouse — Quin's Reputation — His Con-
tempt for Garrick — Quin andMacklin — A Green-room
Quarrel — Making it up — Charming Susanna Cibber
— 'A Romp and a Good-natured Boy' — Theo Gib-
ber's Baseness — Elopement, Rescue, and Action —
Legal Bathos — Woffington and Garrick at Drury
Lane.

The announcement that Peg Woffington, a
child of the people, who had thh-teen years
ago sung in a canvas booth in George's Court,
had first put forth her genius at the Aungier
Street playhouse, and had since gained wide-
spread fame in London town, was to appear at
the Smock Alley Theatre, threw the excitable
citizens of Dublin into a fever of delight. This
was heightened by the advertisements stating
that Garrick would likewise play on the same

IN DUBLIN. 17S

stage at the same time. The season was not
to commence at Smock Alley till the middle of
June. On the 8th of that month the Dublin
Mercury announced to its readers that ' the
famous Mr. Garrick and Miss Woffington are
hourly expected from England to entertain the
nobihty and gentry during the summer season,
when especially the part of Sir Harry Wildair
will be performed by Miss Woffington.' The
same journal, it may be noticed, requested the
manager of the theatre ' that he will cause the
nails to be carefully pulled out of the benches
of the pit, otherwise nine gentlemen in ten
will be a pair of stockings out of pocket every
time they go there.'

On the 11th of June, 1742, Peg Woffington
arrived in her native city with Garrick and the
Signora Barbarina, who was to dance between
the acts, and represent in her charming person
a Nymph of the Plain, in the new grand ballet
called * The Rural Assembly.' Dancing, it may
be here remarked, was an important item in the
programme during this engagement; for pre-
sently, when, at the desire of several persons of

174 PEG WOFFTNGTON.

quality, Garrick played the part of Lothario in
« The Fair Penitent,' the following ' entertain-
ments of dancing' were given between the
acts. At the conclusion of Act I., ' The Grecian
Sailor,' by Mr. Will Delamain ; of Act II., ' The
Wooden Shoe Dance,' by Mr. Morris; of Act
III., a musett by Signora Barbarina ; of Act
IV., ' The Old Woman with Pierrot in the
Basket,' by Mr. Morris.

Four days after the arrival of the AVoffington
and Garrick, the season commenced at tlie
Smock Alley playhouse, when she appeared in
her famous character as Sir Harry Wildair.
Her name had become a familiar sound in the
mouths of the goodly citizens ; stories of her
wit and repartee w^ere yet recounted in the
quadrangles of Trinity College ; and a tradi-
tion of her beauty lingered like a warm memory
in the hearts of a people never insensible to the
effect of woman's loveliness. She had come
back to her own people ; not a man and woman
in the town but felt as if they had a special
interest in her ; as if her triumphs in some way
reflected credit on them in whose midst the

AN IRISH GREETING. 175

first years of her life hiad been speut. So the
audience that gathered to receive her on this the
first night of her reappearance was great. iVs
she came upon the stage, she saw a sea of
bright faces beaming on her from pit to gallery ;
and a pleasant sense of kindly gratitude went
out from her heart to theirs that united them
in a common bond of friendship. Cheer upon
cheer rang through the house, in response to
which, mth a strange fluttering at her heart, with
smiles on her lips, and with tears in her beauti-
ful eyes, she boAved again and again. Garrick
was not pla^dng that night, but he stood at the
wings to witness her reception, and when she
came off the stage he was ready to greet her.
< x\h ! Peggy,' he said, ' you are the queen of all
hearts.' She looked straight at the bright face
before her, and a smile in which sadness lurked
shadow-like came on her hps. ' Ay,' she replied,
as she passed him, ' queen of all hearts, yet not
legal mistress of one.'

Dubhn audiences had pleasant memories of her
Sir Harry Wildair, but practice having added
a higher polish, a more subtle finish to her act-

176 PEG WOFFINGTON.

ing, tlicy were now delighted beyond expres-
sion with the perfect pictnre of the graceful and
accomplished rake which she presented them.
She became the theme of every tongue ; prints
of her were exposed for sale in the station-
ers' windows ; and ballads setting forth the
charms of 'purty Peggy, the true love of my
heart, with eyes as black as hurtle berry, and
glance like Cupid's dart,' were sung and sold
in vast numbers in the streets.

On the third night of the season, Garrick ap-
peared as Richard the Third, the Woffington
playing Lady Anne, and the theatre Avas
again crowded to excess by people of the first
consequence, who three hours before the per-
formance commenced had sent servants to
keep their places. The combination of two
such famous personages playing in the same
house made the town stage mad ; and the scenes
which were occasionally witnessed in the play
house were distressing. Women shrieked at
Eichard's 'death, sobbed aloud at sad Ophelia's
madness, and went into hysterics over the sor-
rows of King Lear. The heat which the people

GARRICK PLAYS HAMLET. 177

endured in the stifling atmosphere for hours,
was prodigious. So warm was the season to-
wards the end of June and the commencement
of the following month, that the Dublin Mercury
of July the 6th mentions that ' oats is very
near being reaped, and if the weather is favour-
ble we will have some in our own market next
Saturday, which is something extraordinary ;
oats being the latest gi-ain.' The result of this
unusually warm weather, and the crowded
houses in Smock Alley was, that a fever broke
out in the town, which attacked many, and
carried away numbers from the playhouse to
the grave.

It was during this engagement that Garrick
first attempted the part of Hamlet, which he
had long and carefully studied. The DubKn
citizens were not only enthusiastic admirers of
the drama, but were, moreover, profound wor-
shippers of Shakespeare ; therefore the an-
nouncement that Garrick was about to play this
favourite character gave them unbounded satis-
faction, and though their expectations were
great, they were not disappointed. Never

VOL. I. N

178 PEG WOFFINGTON.

had they witnessed such actmg. On his first
appearance the marked melancholy of his face,
the deep thought dwelling in his eyes, his list-
less movements, and attitudes indicative of de-
pression struck all beholders ; while his mere
utterance of the line, ' I have that within me
which passeth all show,' sent a thrill of sym-
pathy through their hearts. When presently the
ghost appeared the colour fled from his face, the
words trembled as they escaped his lips. Then
his exquisite sensibility, the melting tenderness
of his love for Ophelia, the whirlwind of his
passion, the depth and despair of his grief were
pourtrayed with an effect never before produced.
' The strong intelligence of his eye,' says Davis,
speaking of him in this play, ' the animated
expression of his whole countenance, the
flexibiHty of his voice, and his spirited action
riveted the attention of an adixdring audience.'
Nothing could be more graceful, more pathetic,
more beautiful than the Woffington as Ophe-
lia ; her love and sorrow were inexpressi-
bly tender, her madness filled the house with
awe and brought tears to many eyes. But

END OF THE DUBLIN SEASON. 179

whether she played Opheha, or Cordeha, L^eti-
tia in ' The Old Bachelor,' or Miss Lucy in ' The
Virgin Unmasked,' she charmed her Dublin
admirers.

On the first night of July she took her benefit,
when was presented ' The Tragical History of
King Richard the Third ; the part of King
Richard to be performed by 3Ir. Garrick, being
the last time of liis appearing in that character
during the season; the part of Lady Anne to
be performed by Miss WoflSngton ; ^vith enter-
tainments of dancing by Signora Barbarina.
To which will be added a diverting ballad opera
called " The Virgin Unmasked." The part of
Miss Lucy by Miss AVoffington, with a new
epilogue in the character of Miss Lucy wrote
by Air. Garrick.' This brief but remarkable
season ended on the 1 9th of August, 1742,
when the AA^oflSngton and Garrick returned to
London, preparatory to their appearance in
^September at old Drury Lane.

The London season now commencing was
one of the most brilliant and memorable in
the history of the stage ; brilliant because of

180 PEG WOFFIXGTON.

those two stars avIio had so suddenly arisen in
the theatrical firmament, memora,ble as a period
when the battle between the old school and
the new was fought with a A^ast show of
bravery on either side. At Drury Lane, Fleet-
wood had gathered round him, besides the
AYoffington and Garrick, such favourite players
as Kitty Clive, Mrs. Pritchard, and Macklin; whilst
at Co vent Garden were Mrs. Gibber, Quin, Ryan,
and Bridgewater. Quin was the acknowledged
head of the old school. He had in his day
played with Wilks and Booth, and since the re-
tirement of the latter he had no rival till young
Garrick came to push him from his high place
in the playgoers' regard. His famous soliloquy
in Cato, it was remembered, had been encored ;
his Sir John Bute had been pronounced inimit-
able ; his Falstaff was considered unequalled.
Foote recommended anyone who wanted to
witness a character perfectly played to see ]\Ir.
Quin in this part, ' and if he does not express a
desire to spend an evening with that merry
mortal,' said the wit, * why, I would not spend
one with him if he would pay my reckoning.'

QUIN AND MAC KLIN. 181

Quin's contempt for Garrick and bis new fangled
ways was openly avowed. ' If he is right,' said
the veteran, with an incredulons smile, ' then I
and the rest of the players must have been
wrong.' He bad no fear, therefore, of this young
jackanapes, and was ready to test the public
favour with him any night.

The dishke which he cherished for Garrick
he likewise heartily extended to another mem-
ber of the Drury Lane company, Macklin, who,
by his playing the part of Shylock in a realistic
manner but a little before, had it was certain
paved the way for the natural school of act-
ing. Moreover, there had been an old standing
quarrel between these actors, the origin of
which happily illustrates the manners of the
green room in those days. It happened one
night that, when Macklin was playing the part
of Jerry Blackacre to Quin's Captain Manly, the
former, by some business he introduced, made
the audience laugh heartily. When they came
off the stage, Quin, who ruled as supreme despot
in the theatre, abused him in round terms, told
him he was at his tricks, and there was no

182 PEG WOFFINGTON.

having a chaste scene with him as an actor.
To this Mackhn rephecl that he did not want to
disturb him, but was anxious to show off a Kttle
himself. In the follomng scenes Mackhn con-
tinued the same business, when the audience
now laughed more than ever, and gave him
some signs of their approbation, which disturbed
the great man mightily, who, on going into the
green room, indulged in fresh abuse. Mackliii
declared he could not play otherwise ; Quin in-
sisted that he could, to which the other replied
in plain English, ' You lie !' Now at that in-
stant it happened that Quin was chewing an
apple, which, in his vast indignation, he spat
into his hand and flung full in ^lacklin's face.
In a second the green room was in confusion ;
there Avas a violent scuffle, and in less than a
minute Macklin had forced Quin into a chair,
and was pummelling his face in a right hearty
manner, until it was swelled to double its ordi-
nary size. To make matters worse, Quin was
obliged to go on the stage in a short time, but
he mumbled his part in such a manner that the
audience began to hiss, whereupon he at once

HE REQUESTED SATISEACTION. 183

stepped to the centre, informed them that some-
thing unpleasant had happened, and that he
Avas ill.

When the curtain was down, he told Mackhn
he must give him satisfaction, and that, when
he had changed his clothes, he would wait for
him at the Obelisk at Covent Garden. Macklin
promised he would be with him presently ; but
Avhen Quin had gone he remembered he had to
play in the after piece, so he resolved that till
this was over he would let Quin fret and fume.
When the part was finished, Fleetwood, who
was desirous of peace among the members of
his company, carried Mackhn to his house,
where he made him sup and slee^^, and, when
morning came, persuaded him to make an
apology to Mr. Quin, which he did, and there
the matter dropped. After this no word was
spoken between them for long, and a studied
deportment on either side seemed to indicate
that nothing save the necessity of business could
ever make them associate again. Till at last it
happened they both, in company with many
others, met one evening in a tavern at Covent

184: PEG WOFFINGTON.

Garden. Their hearts were softened, for they
had just returned from laying a fellow actor at
rest — an excellent fellow, the son of a baker,
concerning whom Foote, who conld not resist
being funny even on such an occasion, said
they ' had been to see him shovelled into the
family oven.' By degrees the company at the
tavern dropped off one by one, until these two
were left together.

Presently Quin roused himself, looked round,
and finding he was alone in Macklin's company,
became embarrassed; and for some moments
there was silence in the room. But in a little
Avhile he, in polite and solid phrases, drank
Mackhn's health, which the latter, as in duty
bound, returned. Then came a pause more
awkward than the first, which Quin again broke
by addressing his companion. ' There has been
a foolish quarrel between you and me, sir,' said
he, ' which, though accommodated, I must con-
fess I have been unable to forget till now.
The melancholy occasion of our meeting, and
the circumstance of our being left together, I
thank God, have made me see my error. If you

GIVE ME YOUR HAND. 185

can, therefore, forget it, give me your hand,
and let iis Kve together in future like brother
performers. Macklin eagerly stretched out his
hand, and assured him of his friendship in hearty
words. It Avould not have been proper if this
reconciliation Avas not sealed by a fresh bottle,
ordered by MackHu, which was followed by
another called for by Quin ; and by the time
this was finish^ed, the latter had cjuietly closed
his eyes on this wicked world of hatred and
quarrels and revenge, and wandered into
the peaceful land of dreams. The hght of
early dawn had by this time begun to peep in
at the high, narrow windows of the tavern
parlour ; the candles burned low in their- soc-
kets, and it was full time for Mr. Quin to rest
in his virtuous bed. A chair was therefore sent
for, but not one could be found at that hour,
when Macklin, desiring the waiters to lift the
great man on his back, can-ied him in that
manner to his lodgings. But Quin was not, in
his cooler moments, ready to act up to the
words he had uttered when his heart and his
head were softened by wine. He seldom men-

186 PEG WOFFINGTON.

tionecl Macklin's name without a sneer or a
sarcastic remark ; and he was now mortified
that this excellent old actor should strengthen
the opposition company of Drmy Lane play
house.

The actress engaged to take the principal
female parts at Covent Garden, was the wife
of the unfortunate scapegrace Theophilus Gibber.
This lady, who rejoiced in the name of Susanna
Maria, long occupied -the attention of the town.
She was the daughter of a respectable uphols-
terer in Govent Garden, and sister to Thomas
Arne, afterwards doctor of music. She, too, had
a musical genius, and a voice so sweet that
Handel specially arranged one of the airs in the
' Messiah ' to suit her. Shortly after her marriage
with Theo Gibber, she expressed a strong desire
to become an actress, for which her melodious
voice, beautiful face, and graceful figure seemed
eminently suited. She therefore received in-
structions from her father-in-law, old Golley,
who was regarded as a master of his art.
She subsequently appeared as Zara in the
tragedy of that name at Drury Lane in the

CHARMING MRS. CIBBER. 187

year 1736, when, according to a quaint account,
' She gave both surprise and dehght to the
audience, who were no less charmed with the
beauties of her present performance than with
the prospect of future entertainment from so
valuable an acquisition to the stage ; a prospect
which was ever after perfectly maintained, and
a meredian lustre shone forth fully equal to
what was promised from the morning dawn.'

The ' meredian lustre ' was for a time, how-
ever, eclipsed by the ugly shadow of her hus-
band's wickedness; the story of which vastly
diverted the town, whilst it lent additional
interest in the performances of this frail and
beautiful woman, who was more sinned against
than sinning. Theophilus Gibber had, even in
the first years of their married life, appropriated
his wife's earnings, and freely squancjered them
in reckless profligacy. Not satisfied, however,
with this, he being sorely pressed for money by
reason of his extravagances, and being utterly
devoid of principle, determined to sell his wife's
honour. For this purpose, Mr. Gibber, hideous
and worthless, introduced to her house a young

188 PEG WOFFINGTOK.

gentleman of comely mien, who was possessed
of station and fortune. The yonng gentleman's
name was William Sloper, but Gibber presented
him as Mr. l^enefit, adding that the youth
' was a romp and a good-natured boy.' Soon
after Mrs. Gibber making the acquaintance of
Sloper, her spouse, affectionately anxious to
give her change of air, took lodgings at Ken-
sington for her and himself and the young
gentleman, whose good nature Mr. Gibber tested
by borrowing from him sums amounting to four
hundred pounds. They had been but a little while
established at Kensington when, unfortunately,
Mr. Gibber found himself called away on press-
ing business to France. When he subsequently
returned, he refused to occupy his former lodg-
ings, but w^as obliging enough to hire a bed for
himself at the ' Blue Green Inn,' not far removed.
AVhen he had first supped comfortably vWtli his
wife and their mutual friend, he retired nightly
to this inn, being conducted thither by a man
with a lanthorn and a candle. Next morning
he returned to breakfast with them. For the
accommodations, both at the lodgings and the

MRS. GIBBER ELOPES. ISO"

inn, Toung Sloper freely paid, being a good
natured boy and, moreover, a romp.

Now Mrs. Gibber, seeing lier husband's base-
ness, despised liim heartily, and was too spirited
to admit of an arrangement by which her lover
was heavily mulcted of his money, whilst her
infamous spouse was spared the censure of the
world. She therefore eloped with Sloper, Avhom
she had learned to love. This was a movement
Mr. Gibber had not expected, and it was now
plain to him that he must pose before the town
as an outraged husband whose friendship had
been vilely abused. The role has frequently
been played since then with more or less suc-
cess. He therefore, accompanied by Mr. Fife,
a sergeant in the Guards, set off in a coach for
Burnham, the place where Sloper was staying,
in order to rescue his ^\^fe. Entering her lodg-
ings whilst she and her friend were at breakfast,
Gibber and the sergeant of the Guards carried
her away, whilst Sloper cursed many oaths and
called Theophilus a villain. As she was being
taken to the coach, her lover walking beside
her, she put her hand in her pocket and gave

190 PEG WOFFINGTON.

him a watch, ou which he cried out 'twas
Avell remembered, as the rascal wonkl have
]iad it else. When ihej came to the inn at
Slough, Gibber and his wife rested there, and
next day he drove her across country, fearing
she might be rescued by her lover, and, enter-
ing the town next evening, he placed her at
the ' Bull Head Tavern,' near Clare Market,
luider the care of Mr. Stint, candle snuffer at
Covent Garden play house. Presently her
brother, Mr. Arne, came, and he called out to
Mr. Stint, and besought him to let his sister go
with him, saying he would take care of her ;
but the candle snuffer refused, making answer,
' I shall not l:»etray the trust which was placed
in me.' Then, not being admitted, Arne gath-
ered together a gTt^at crowd from the neigh-
bouring market, to the number of over one
hundred, and broke into the house, and beat
the snuffer of candles severely, injuring him in
the body, and tearing the clothes from his back,
which was left naked. In this manner Mrs.
Gibber was rescued, and restored to her friend,
under whose protection and care she lived
happily till her deatJi.

SEEKING DAMAGES. 191

Gibber, seeing in this a cause for the recovery
of damages, took an action against Sloper for
eloping with his wife, whereby he, sad to rehite,
' lost her company, comfort, society, and assist-
ance.' The damages claimed for such loss
were estimated at the round sum of five thou-
sand pounds. The foolish bathos indulged in
by the gentlemen learned in the law, who
conducted the case, is quite on a par with
that which distinguishes many members of
that eminent profession at the present day.
The wise Solicitor General, one Mr. Strange,
who stated the plaintiff's case, declared, in a
voice choked by emotion, that no sum of
money could compensate for the injury done
to Mr. Gibber, which was of the most tender
concern to his peace of mind, happiness, and
hopes of posterity ; for no sum of money could
restore that tranquillity of mind which had now
deserted him for ever. The learned Mr. Strange,
however, took an opportunity of hinting that
five thousand pounds would be regarded by
his client as a slight recompense to his deeply
wounded honour. The observations ' upon the

192 PEG WOFFINGTON.

plaintiff being a player ' made by the eloquent
gentleman are wonderfully qnaint, and more-
over amnsing, when read by the light of modern
times. He was fnlly aware that in a matter of
this nature ^players were considered as not
upon the same footing with the rest of the
subjects.' It was true the plaintiff was a player,
hut he was also a gentleman, being well de-
scended, and having had a liberal education;
his father was well known to all gentlemen
who delighted in theatrical entertainments to
be of the first figure in that profession, and an
author too ; and the plaintifi^s grandfather was
the best statuary of his times ; and the plaintiff,
by the mother's side, was related to William of
Wykeham, and, in right of that pedigree, had
received his education upon a foundation of
government. The learned gentleman likewise
dwelt upon Mr. Gibber being 'endowed with
the finest sense of morality,' and became elo-
quent on the mischievous consequences of
suffering a man to commit such an injury to
the married state without being obliged to
repair it in damages. The jury, however,

THEATRICAL SEASON OF 1742. 193

duly appreciated Mr. Gibber's fine sense of
morality and Mr. Strange's bathos, and awarded
ten pounds damages to the ill looking vaga-
bond, Theophilus Gibber.

On the 22nd of September, 1742, Govent
Garden Theatre opened for the season with
' Othello,' Mrs. Gibber playing Desdemona, it
being ' her first appearance on that stage.' The
parts were ' all new dressed and the theatre new
decorated,' as the bills informed the public. A
few nights later. Peg Wofiington and Garrick
appeared respectively as Sylvia and Gaptain
Plume, and so great a crowd was expected that
it was announced ' No persons will be admitted
behind the scenes but those who have silver
tickets.' The lines of carriages and chairs
which had stretched from Temple Bar to White-
chapel when Garrick had played at Goodman's
Fields, now blocked up Drury Lane and its
adjacent streets. Night after night the theatre
was crowded to excess, and nothing could ex-
ceed the dehght and applause when the two
reigning favourites appeared in the one piece.
It became plain, even to Quin, who still thun-

VOL. I. O

194 PEG WOFFINGTON.

dered and strutted at Covent Garden, that the
days of the old school were numbered. Yet he
was not willing to quietly lay down his arms
and own himself defeated in the combat with
this young David, but plucked up courage
enough to play Richard the Third on the same
night as Garrick. An account of the marked diff-
erence between the champion of the old school and
the new is given us by one who saw both play
later on in Rowe's ' Fair Penitent,' on the stage of
Drury Lane. Garrick took the part of Lothario,
Quin of Horatio. Upon the rising of the curtain
the latter presented himself in a green velvet coat
embroidered down the seams, an enormous full-
bottomed periwig, rolled stockings, and high
heeled square toed shoes. ' With very little
variation of cadence, and in a deep, full tone,
accompanied by a sawing kind of action, which
had more of the senate than of the stage in it,
he rolled out his heroics, with an air of digni-
fied indifference which seemed to disdain the
plaudits that were bestoAved on him,' Avrites
Richard Cumberland in his ' ^Memoirs.' ' But
when I beheld little Garrick, young and light

HEAVENS, WHAT A TRANSITION! 195

and alive in every mnsclc and in every feature,
heavens, what a transition I It seemed as if a
whole century had been stept over in the tran-
sition of a single scene ; old things were done
away, and a new order at once brought forward,
bright and luminous, and clearly destined to
dispel the barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless
age, too long attached to the prejudices of
€Ustom, and superstitiously devoted to the
illusions of imposing declamation.'

Early in this season Garrick produced 'King
Lear,' which he had attempted at Goodman's
Fields, and subsequently played during his Dub-
hn engagement. As an instance of the pains
which he took in the study of his characters it
may be mentioned that Avhen he first played
in this tragedy, he had requested his old friend
Mackhn, and Dr. Barrowly, a physician by pro-
fession, a dramatic critic by reputation, to sit in
judgment on his performance. These worthy
men accepted the pleasurable task, and Avith
that conscientiousness which distinguishes friends
dehvered their opinions next morning. He was
dressed very appropriately for King Lear, they

196 PEG WOFFIXGTON.

admitted, but he did not sufficiently enter intO'
the infirmities of a man four score and upwards.
Then in the repetition of the cm'se he began too
low and ended too high, the reverse of which
would, they argued, have a better effect ; and in
the fourth act he had not dignity enough, and
his voice was too loud. To all of which Garrick
listened with patience, nay, he even made notes
of their remarks, and, thanking them, said he
would not again play the part till he had pro-
fited by their judicious hints. When in due
time he again appeared as King Lear, his
friends, who once more acted as his critics,
assured him he played the part rather worse
than before. They were good enough to off'er
him their services at rehearsal, which he declined
on the plea that so much graciousness would
embarrass him. On his third appearance as the
sad old man his critics were of opinion that he
had sufficiently profited by their advice and
praised him accordingly. The announcement
that he was again to play the part with the
Woffington as Cordelia, caused a thrill of ex-
citement in every coffee house and tavern in

GARPJCK AS LEAR. 197

town ; nor on the night when the Drmy Lane
•curtam fell on the last act of the tragedy was
Ids audience disappointed.

O'Keeffe tells us his exclaiming, in the bitterness
of his anger, ' I will do such things —what they
are I know not,' and his sudden recollection of
his own want of power ^vere so pitiable as to
touch the heart of every spectator. The sim-
plicity of his saying, ' Be these tears wet — yes,
faith,' putting his finger to the cheek of Corde-
lia, was exquisite. Xever had the sorrows,
rage, and madness of the king been so pour-
trayed, and never had Garrick more forcibly
impressed the public. ' The curse,' says Mack-
lin, ' exceeded all imagination, and had such
an effect that it seemed to electrify the audi-
ence with horror. The w^ords, "kill — kill —
kill," echoed all the revenge of the frantic king,
whilst he exhibited such a sense of the pathetic
on discovering Cordelia as drew tears of com-
miseration from the whole house. In short, he
made it a chef-d'oeuvre, and a chef -doe awe it
continued to the end of his life.' Garrick had
carefully studied the expressions and signs of

198 PEG WOFFINGTON.

madness which he so skilfully represented from
one who had suddenly lost his reason through
a dreadful affliction. This unhappy man had,
whilst dandling his only child, a little girl of
whom he was passionately fond, at his dining-
room window, let it drop into the flagged area,
Avhen it was instantly killed. His shrieks sum-
moned the household, who, by way of assuaging
his grief, placed the lifeless body of the child
in his arms. From that moment his senses fled
for ever. But for years he almost daily re-
hearsed the terrible tragedy ; seizing a pillow,
he would dandle and caress it, then let it sud-
denly drop, when he gave vent to the most
heart piercing shrieks^ Avhich gradually subsided
to low, tremulous moans. From this study
Gamck had taken his hints for the representa-
tion of King Lear's madness over the body of
Cordelia which had electrified his audience.

199

CHAPTER VIII.

Peg Woffington and Garrick keep House — Old Colley
Gibber — Drinking tea at Peggy's Rooms — Fiekling,
Quin, Mrs. Porter, Foote, Johnson, and Macklin —
'J'he AVoffington and Garrick Part — Polly Woffington,
Lord Tyrawley's Amour — George Anne Bellamy —
Acting in a Barn — Captain Cholmondeley's Marriage
— Violette the Dancer — Her Love for Garrick — Mar-
riage — Peg Woffington goes to Covent Garden — Her
Dublin Engagement.

On their return from Dublin, Peg Woffington
and Garrick kept house together in Bow Street,
when it was agreed between them that they
should alternately defray the monthly expenses.
Here they entertained the first wits of the day,
and it soon became a standing joke that a more
hospitable board was always spread before their
visitors on the month when it was Peggy's turn
to pay the reckoning. Wliat illustrious men
and women, whose names are now as household

200 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Avords in our mouths, assembled in her rooms ;
what wit and repartee were exchanged round
her board ! Here came Samuel Foote, the
prince of wits, the most perfect of mimics,
whom Garrick feared in secret, and conciliated
in public ; and burly figured Samuel Johnson,
now a writer for the Gentleman s Magazine, who
likewise feared Foote, but chuckled heartily
over the jokes he made at Davy's expense ;
and Charles Macklin, who had always an excel-
lent story to tell, and told it with the humour
native to his race ; and Mrs. Porter, who had
played to Queen Anne, and who now delighted
in meeting the young generation of players
who were carrying the town before them ; and
Henry Fielding, who just at this time had pro-
duced his comedy ' The Wedding Day,' with but
little success. And likewise came Dr. John
Hoadly (son of the right reverend bishop), a
chaplain in the household of the Prince of
Wales, and, as became one who held such posi-
tion, a play writer. It was here, in the Woffiog-
ton's lodgings, as he mentions in his letters, that
he read Garrick his farce, ' The Force of Truth,'

TEA WITH PEG ]]VFFIXGTOX. 201

Another playwright also frequently visited these
pleasant apartments in Bow Street, old Colley
Cibber, an antiquated beau, dramatic author,
retired player, ex-manager, and most execrable
laureate, at your service. Watch him as he
enters Garrick's lodgings ; his ponderous wig-
falls upon the shoulders of his velvet coat,
richly embroidered at the seams and at the
flaps ; his shrunken shanks are clad in silken
stockings ; his feet encased in high heeled, sil-
ver buckled shoes ; his thin fingers are adorned
with precious stones, and as he presses his gold-
laced hat above his heart and makes a low bow
to Mistress AVoffington, with whom 'tis whisper-
ed he is in love, there is a world of grace in
his movements. His thin sharp features,
aquiline nose, bright small eyes, and great
plumage like wig, together with his solemn
strutting air, give him the appearance of some
grotesque bird, at once venerable and vindictive
looking. Amongst all the actors of the old
school there is not one so slow to admit the
merits of Garrick's powers, and old Colley's
sharpest words are continually hurled at young-
Davy's head.

202 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Let us picture to ourselves a few of the Wof-
fington's friends — Ryan, Fielding, Mrs. Porter,
and of course Gibber and Garrick — drinking tea
in Peggy's sitting room in Bow Street ; a high-
ceilinged, wainscoted apartment, with quaint
engravings and concave miiTors hanging on the
painted walls, silver sconces branching from the
carved oak chimney piece, and a polished floor
on which the high heels of the company patter
when they walk. Let us listen to their .pleas-
ant banter, their wit, their friendly bickerings
and droll stories.

' Faith, I'm vastly sorry,' says old Gibber,
with a Avicked twinkle in his eye that belies
his words addressed to Fielding, 'that your
' Wedding Day ' didn't bring you more pleasure
and profit.'

' Much obliged to you, idr. Gibber,' says the
unsuccessful dramatist, ' but the public taste
has been spoiled for originality by the plagiar-
ised rubbish forced down its throat for the last
fifty years.'

' Ha, ha, ha !' laughs burly Quin, ' that's one
for you, !Mr. Gibber.'

OLD COLLET CLBBER. 203

The laureate drew out his box and daintily
helped himself to a pinch of snuff.

' When,' said Garrick, by way of soothing
him, ' may we hope to have another comedy
from Mr. Gibber's pen.'

" Psh,' said the old man spitefully, throwing
away the snuff he held in his dainty fingers,
' What is the use of my writing another
comedy, when we have no actors to play it?'*

^ It would be impossible indeed, sir,' said Gar-
rick, with a malicious smile hovering on his lips,
' to get actors to play such absurd characters
as "The Rival Fools."' — This was a comedy of
Gibber's which had been a dead failure, and he
now Avinced at its name, whilst the others laughed
with a pleasant sense of enjo^mient.

' Xow,' said the charming hostess from behind
her tea kettle, ' this is my kingdom, and here I
rule supreme '

* Madam,' said Gibber, rising from his high
backed chair, and bowing to her ^Wth courtly
grace, 'Madam, you rule supreme in all hearts.'

'Much obliged to you, sir,' said Peg, with one

* ^Macklin's ' Memoirs,* p. 101.

204 PEG WOFFINGTON.

of her brightest smiles, * but I was about to
say that I won't have my subjects quarrel
among themselves. We poor players are looked
upon by one half the world as rogues and
vagabonds, and by the other half as soulless
puppets — why can we not regard each other with
kindness r

' True, ma'am,' says Mrs. Porter, her wrinkled
face beaming all over with kindness.

* Speaking of puppets,' said Ryan, in his
whistling voice, ' I'll tell you a story '

*Ah, you often tell stories, Jimmy,' said
Garrick.

'A story of the great Betterton,' continued Ryan,
unheeding the interruption. ' One day, being in
company with a rustic at Bartholomew Fair, he
went to visit the puppet show. The manager
refused to take the money. " Mr. Betterton,"
says he, " you are a fellow actor — Avalk in and
see my company perform and Avelcome, sir."
The rustic, who had never before been within a
booth or playhouse, expressed himself vastly
delighted by the humour of the puppets.
" Faith," he says, " they are such jolly fellows,

HODGE AND THE PUPPETS. 205

I Avill drink with them." Betterton assured
him they were but rags and sticks, but this the
rustic refused to beheve tiU he Avas taken be-
hind the scenes, and saw the once meny com-
pany silent now, and laid pell mell in a box.
On that same night Betterton took him to the
theatre, and placed him in front of the stage
by way of giving him a great treat, as he and
Mrs. Barry Avere to play in " The Orphan;" and,
thought Betterton, if the fellow was amazed by
the performance of puppets, hoAv much more
will he delight in good actors ? When the play
was over, Betterton met his friend. "AVell,"
says he, " how liked you the entertainment ?"
" I don't know," replies Hodge, "■ but 'twas well
enough for rags and sticks." '

'Gad!' said Garrick, ^the opinion of the
rustic and of the great Mr. Johnson about us
are much the same. What did he say the other
day'?' (and Garrick drew down his wig on his
forehead, wrinkled up his face in an inimitable
manner and mimicked Johnson's voice to perfec-
tion), ' "a player, sir, is a fellow who claps a hump
on his back, and a lump on his leg, and cries I

206 PEG WOFFINGTON.

am Richard III. Nay, sir, a ballad singer is a
higher mau, for he does two things ; he repeats
and he sings, there is both recitation and music
in his performance ; the player only recites." '*

When they had all laughed at Garrick's imita-
tion : • Egad,' says Quin, ' I'll tell you what Lord
Lincoln said to me the other day. " Quin," said
he, "' 'tis the devil of a pity that a clever fellow
like you should be a player." " Why ?" says I,
in great sm-prise. *' Would you have me a
lord?-"

*Good, good,' says Cibber, chuckling in great
glee.

'Foote said a good thing last week to the
same noble lord,' said Garrick. ' His lordship
asked him to dine, and Foote went, daintily
deckeel in lace and ruffles. As they entered
the room, his lordship remarked to Foote that
his handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket.
*' Thank you, my lord," said Foote, who had
purposely designed this piece of foppery, and
now resented the remark. "' Thank you ; your
lordship knows the company better than I do." '

* Bosweirs 'Johnson,' Edn. 1848, p. 556.

SAMUEL FOOTE. 207

* Ah, lie is a witty dog,' remarks the Woffing-
ton. ' And, as I Hve, here he comes.'

' Speak of the devil ' says Quin.

* And you will mention the name of one of
yonr most intimate friends,' Foote said, enter-
ing the room, and making his bow to those
assembled. 'Your servant, i\lrs. AVoffington.'

'A cup of tea, sir ?' said she ; and in a moment
he was by her side.

' All, Mr. Cibber,' said he, when he was seated,
' I am glad to see you looking so well.'

' Egad, sir,' the laureate answered, ' at my
age 'tis well for a man if he can look at all ;'
and in the enjoyment of this apt speech, he
shakes his head, until his wig in turn shakes the
powder from its ponderous folds.

Presently conies a loud knocking at the door,
afterwards a heavy step is heard in the hall, and
iSamuel Johnson enters, bobbing his scratch-
Avig in friendly salutation to all assembled.
Then he seats himself close by Cibber, for
whom he had no love. But the poet laureate
thinks Avell of the learned Mr. Johnson, whom,
by and by, he will consult regarding one of the

208 PEG WOFFINGTON.

wonderful birthday odes to royalty, which are
the laughing stock of the town, but Avhich
Gibber considers it his duty to grind out
annually from the heavy mill work of his brain.
In a little while the conversation turns on Mack-
lin, whose head, Quin and Ryan avow, has been
turned by the success of his Shylock, when
suddenly up starts Foote, a merry twinkle in
his eye, as if on mischief bent. By a mere
effort of will, he rapidly changes the whole
expression of his face ; his eyebrows seemed to
stand like pent houses over his eyes ; his manner
assumes an air of vast importance.

' Now, madam,' he says, turning to the AVof-
fington, in the exact tones of Macklin, ' I, Charles
Macklin, tell you there are no good plays among
the ancients, and only one great one among the
moderns, and that is the " Merchant of Venice,"
and there's only one man can play it. Now,
madam, you have been very attentive, and I'll
tell you an anecdote of that play. When a
royal personage, who shall be nameless, wit-
nessed my performance of the Jew, he sent for
me to his box, and remarked, " Sir, if I were

MRS. PORTER. 209

not the prince, ha — hum — yon understand, I
should wish to be ]\lr. Mackhn." Upon which
I answered, " Sir, being Mr. Macldin, I do not
desire to be '' '

At this moment a voice interrupts Foote :
* Xo, I'll be damned, if I ever said that ;' and
Mackhn, who, amused by Foote's mimicry, had
stood at the door unheeded by the company
for some time, enters the room amidst the
laughter of all. Soon after, Mrs. Porter rises,
and Gibber is ready to conduct her, with great
gallantry, to her chair.

' Pray, madam, do you carry firearms with you
now ? ' said the old fellow, referring to an epi-
sode in her career, when she presented a pistol
at the head of a highwayman who had de-
manded her purse whilst she drove in her chaise
to Hendon.

'No, no, Mr. Gibber,' said she, laughing and
shaking her head.

'Did you shoot the villain, ma'am f asks the
Woffington.

'Xo, child; thank God, I didn't,' says she.
' For the poor fellow told me he was driven to

VOL. I. P

210 PEG WOFFINGTON.

the roads to relieve the wants of a starving
family.'

' And you voluntarily gave him your purse,
ma'am f says Johnson, with a look of approba-
tion.

'And, moreover,' added Cibber, 'made him an
honest man by finding out the truth of his story,
and raising sixty pounds for him I'

'It was bravely done,' says the Woffington.

'But not more than you would have done,
child,' she replies ; and embracing her, she
departs, leaning on Colley Gibber's arm.

It is now full time for Peggy and Garrick to
prepare for the theatre, so Quin and Ryan take
their leave, and Foote and Fielding depart for
the ' Bedford,' where the former has many
friends awaiting him, with some of whom he
Avill presently sit in the front benches of the pit
at Drury Lane, and play the part of a critic, with
much amusement to himself and to those who
may have the benefit of his remarks.

The connection between the Woffington and
Garrick did not last more than a couple of
years. Save in that art in which they both held

GARRICK'S ECONOMY. 211

superior rank, they had but little in common. The
Woffington was impetuous, Avarm hearted, and
extravagant, whilst Garrick was cold, cautious,
and economical to a degree that made him the
butt of a thousand jests and witticisms. Bos-
well records that, whilst Johnson was drinking
tea with them once, Ganick grumbled at her
for making it too strong.

' Why,' said he, ' it is as red as blood.'

It was Garrick's month to pay the household
expenditure. Foote of course laid hold of this
trait in the great actor's character^ and cracked
his jests upon it, till David waxed wrathful.
One night, when they were both leaving the
' Bedford,' Garrick dropped a guinea, for which
he vainly made diligent search.

' Where on earth can it have gone V said
Foote.

*To the devil, I think,' said the other, irritably.

' Ah ! Davy,' replied the wit, ' let you alone
for making a guinea go further than anyone else.'

On hearing which the coffee house gossips
cackled with laughter, swore 'twas prodigiously
fine, and repeated it all over the town next day.

p 2

212 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Yet, for all his saving, economy was a feature
which he by no means relished in his friends ;
and one day, when Delane was telling Foote
of Gamck's reflection on another man's parsi-
mony, he wondered why David would not pluck
the beam out of his own eye first.

' Why, so he would,' replied Foote, * if he
were sure of selling the timber.'

Notwithstanding all the disparity which existed
in their characters, it seemed that, in the first
glow of their friendship, Garrick had intended
making this beautiful woman his wife. Macklin,
who was for a time a close friend of both, and
who at one period kept house with them, believed,
from many conversations which he had with
Peg Woffington, that she was assured Garrick
would many her. Arthur Murphy, who, as he
says, enjoyed the pleasure of her acquaintance
for years, heard her tell at different times that
Garrick went so far as to try the wedding ring-
on her finger ; whilst Boaden asserts * it was
supposed that Gamck had really married her.'
She loved him with all the strength of her
passionate nature ; hoped to spend her days by

WOFFINGTON AND GARPJCK PART. 213

his side ; to nestle his children at her breast ;
to share the meridian of his fame ; to cheer the
evening of his life ; but Garrick, cautious,
irresolute, and mercenary, hesitated till such
love as he had ever felt for her drifted by his life.

At last the hour of their separation was at
hand. Mackhn tells us how they parted. One
night Garrick returned to his lodgings in Bow
Street, and found the Woffington, who had not
been playing that evening, Avaiting up for him.
She greeted him with words that ring like
music on the toiler's ears, when coming from
the lips of a woman he loves ; but her ways
were quieter than usual, and in her eyes was a
look of thought close kin to sadness.

'Peggy,' said Garrick, sitting down beside
her in the shadow of the high, carved oak
chimney piece, ' are you not well V

' I am.'

' But you seem dull.'

' I have been thinking much whilst here alone
to-night.'

' And what were the thoughts that made you
sad?' he asked, taking her hand in his.

214 PEG WOFFINGTON.

' Those of my past life. David, I have been
thinking of our marriage.'

' Oh ! is that all V he said, affecting to laugh
hghtly.

' All !' she answered; 'marriage means a great
deal to a woman — a great deal to me.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' he replied, evasively, not
knowing what to say, and feeling that her
eyes were steadily fixed upon him.

' David,' she said, quietly, but in a tone that
was almost imploring, ' when is it to be V

'What?'

' Om' marriage.'

' Oh ! I can't say now ; we'll talk of it another
time,' he replied, rising to his feet, as if to end
the conversation.

' Why not speak of it to-night ?'

* Because — because I'm tired.'

She had tact, and saw there was no use pur-
suing the subject then, so she let it drop.

Next morning Garrick was restless, ill at ease,
and unusually silent ; it was now the Woffing-
ton's turn to ask him if all was well with him.

' Well with me,' he replied, as if disturbed

I SHALL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. 215

from a train of thought. ' Yes — that is, no ;' he
did not look at her as he spoke.

On the stage she exhibited vivacious audacity
and briUiant courage ; in her home she betrayed
a woman's hopes and fears.

' Will you not tell me what troubles you?' she
said, ' you know a burden shared loses half its
Aveight.'

* Well,' he said, looking down, ' I have been
thinking, Peggy, that marriage would be the
most foolish thing possible for both of us. It
would only hamper us ; the knowledge of the
fact that we were chained together would make
us miserable.'

The colour came into her face.

* And your promises ?' she said.

' Were foolish,' he answered ; then he went on
rapidly, ' I shall always love you, let all go on
as before '

' Until the day comes at last when, grown
tired of me, you will cast me off as your dis-
carded mistress/ she said, rising to her feet,
whilst a light came into her eyes that he recog-
nized as a danger signal.

216 PEG WOFFINGTON.

* Never, Peggy, I swear to yoii,' he said,
anxious to soothe her at any cost.

' Sir, you are a har !' she repHed, her wrath
bursting forth ; her cheeks were aflame with
humihation, her eyes ablaze with indignation.
* You promised to make me your wife and I
believed — and loved you ; but, now that I know
you as you are, I would not marry you if you
were to ask me on your knees.'

' Peggy,' said he, nervously, ' don't be un-
reasonable. You know I love you.'

' Sir, don't insult me,' she answered, with
spirit. ' To-day I leave the house, and I shall
never again willingly interchange a word with
you except on business.'

So saying, she quitted the room, unwilUng to
hear another word from him. Believing she
would not put her promises into execution when
her passion cooled, he left the house, to find her
gone on his return in the afternoon. She had
lefL a parcel for him containing all the presents
he had given her, with a written request that
he might return sach as she had presented him.
Now, amongst those mementoes which the

THE DIAMOND BUCKLES. 217

liberal and warm hearted Woffington h^?d given
him, were a handsome pair of diamond shoe-
buckles of considerable value. With these he
was unwilling to part, and accordingly, when he
returned her presents, the most considerable of
all was missing. * She w^aited a month,' says
Macklin, ' to see whether he would return them ;
she then wrote him a letter delicately touching
on the circumstance. To this, Garrick replied,
saying, " as they were the only little memorials
he had of the many happy hours which passed
between them, he hoped she would permit him
to keep them for her sake." Woffington saw
through this, but had too much spirit to reply ;
and he retained the buckles to the last hour of
his life.'

Garrick, according to Miss Bellamy's ' Memoirs,'
* languished for a reconciliation,' but to this the
Woffington would not consent. Soon after her
departure from Bow Street she took up her
residence at Teddington, when she sent for her
sister Polly, for whose education in a French
convent she had for years past generously paid.
It was her intention to bring her sister forward

218 PEG WOFFIXGTOX.

on the stage as an actress, and in order to test
her abihties she got np a private performance of
« The Distressed Mother,' the important part of
Hermione being allotted to Miss Polly, and
Andromache to a young lady who rejoiced in
the somewhat singular names of George Anne
Bellamy, of whom the world was to hear over-
much for the next half century. However, it was
not only her names and subsequent career which
were remarkable, but also the circumstances
attending her entrance on the world's stage.

At the age of sweet fourteen. Miss Seal, who
afterwards became the mother of George Anne
Bellamy, eloped from a highly genteel boarding-
school in Queen's Square with my Lord T^Taw-
ley; an Irish nobleman remarkable for his
gallantry, a soldier distinguished for his bravery,
a man of parts remarkable for his wit. The
young lady, who was captivated by his assidu-
ous addresses, took up her residence with my lord
at Somerset House, where she was treated ^yiih
all honour and respect. These two had not
dwelt within one house for quite twelvemonths,
when the noble lord was ordered to join his

MY LORD TYRAWLEY. 219

regiment in Ireland; it being all the more neces-
Rary for him to depart, becanse his property in
that country required his inspection. He there-
fore tore himself away from the lady whom he
loved, and whom he left in a state of distraction.

Arriving in Ireland, he found his affairs in a
desperate condition ; an unjust steward having
taken an opportunity of enriching himself and
leaving his lordship poor indeed. There was
clearly but one remedy by which he could re-
trieve his fallen fortunes, and that was by mar-
liage. Here were all the elements of romance,
ready for the strong hand of Fate to mould into
tragedy or comedy at her will. His affairs being
urgent, my lord looked around him for a mate
possessing wealth, and selected as the object of
his choice Lady Mary Stewart, daughter of the
Earl of Blessington, who had a fortune of thirty
thousand pounds.

Though her ladyship was by no means hand-
some, her figure was described as genteel and
her disposition engaging. To her, therefore,
the noble lord paid his devoirs, postponing to
tell the lady of his heart residing at Somerset

520 PEG WOFFINGTON.

House the necessity that had arisen for his
marriage. Now it happened that my Lord
Blessington had heard much of Miss Seal, who
indeed called herself Lady Tyrawley; and,
being anxions for his daughter's happiness, he
wrote a vastly polite letter to the lady, ask-
ing if her connection with her lover had been
broken off. informing her at the same time that
his motive for this inquiry was his lordship's
approaching marriage with my Lady Mar3\
Whereon the lady of Somerset House fell into
a most violent rage, and in her fury sent back
to Earl Blessington every letter she had re-
ceived from her lover, each one containing
ardent protestations of eternal love and fidelity.
Amongst these she, in her blind fury, enclosed
one she ^had just received, the seal of which she
had not even broken. In this Lord Tyrawley
confessed all to her, his loss of fortune, the
entanglement of his affairs, his approaching
marriage with one whom, he said, he would
tarry with not a day longer than was neces-
sary for him to receive lier portion. Then he
would immediately fly on the v/ings of love to

LADY MARY STEWART. 221

her Avho alone possessed his heart. He added
by way of detail that Lady Mary was ugly and
foolish, but he had elected to marry her rather
than a woman who was sensible and beautiful,
lest these charms might wean him from the
aiFection of one who was his wife in the sight
of heaven. At reading this very charming and
expressive letter, my Lord Blessington was
flung into a state of fury bordering on mad-
ness ; when he recovered, he forbade his daugh-
ter ever to see the perfidious Tyrawley again.
It is highly probable she would have obeyed,
but that she had already privately married his
lordship, who, not being quite certain as to the
old earl's sentiments towards him, had at all
hazards resolved in this manner to secure the
lady, or rather her fortune. But even a guinea
of this the earl now refused to give ; Avhereon
the bridegroom demanded and obtained a separ-
ation from his wife, and, returning to England,
had sufficient interest to be sent at his request
as minister to one of the foreign courts.

In the next scene of this romance, !Miss Seal,,
late of Somerset House, became an actress, and

222 PEG WOFFINGTON.

weut over to Dublin, where, her connection mth
Lord Tyrawley being well known, she caused
some attention. Here she remained for several
years. In the meantime her lover forgave her,
frequently wrote to her, and pressed her to
join him in Lisbon. To this she at last con-
sented, and, arriving in that city, Lord Tyraw-
ley, for reasons of his own, placed her in the
family of a British merchant, where he occasion-
ally visited her. Whilst in Lisbon she met with
an English gentleman, named Bellamy ; who,
struck with her charms and unacquainted with
her situation, became enamoured of her, and
solicited her hand. This she refused, until one
day it came to her ears that my lord had an
intiigue with a lady named Donna Anna, when,
in a fit of jealousy, she accepted Bellamy's offer,
married him, sailed with him for Ireland, and
in a few months presented him, to his infinite
surprise, with a daughter. So ungrateful was
he that he instantly abandoned her, and never
saw her again. The child, which Avas named
George Anne Bellamy, being Tyrawley 's off-
spring, his lordship gave instructions to have
her taken care of, sent her, when of proper age,

GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 223

to be educated in a French convent, and then
handed her over to the charge of a lady of quahty.

In the meanthne, Mrs. Bellamy returned to
the stage, and, as she had never exhibited any
talent in that line, she was soon reduced to ex-
treme poverty. This condition had been con-
siderably hastened by the fact that a mere boy
whom she had recently married — the son of Sir
George Walter — had stripped her of all the
valuables she possessed, and, dressing a com-
panion of his in his ^vife's finery, set off with
her to join his regiment at Gibraltar. Whilst in
this state, she sought an interview with her
daughter, and besought her to take up her resi-
dence with her; believing that, in such case.
Lord Tyrawley would allow her the sum of one
hundred a year, which he had stipulated to pay
the lady of quality for George Anne's mainten-
ance. Her daughter consented to the proposal,
Avhich, however, had not the result Mrs. Bellamy
expected ; for not only did he refuse her an
allowance, but he wrote to England renouncing
his daughter for ever.

At this period of her history. Peg Woffington
met ^Irs. Bellamy, whom she had formerly

224 PEG WOFFINGTON.

known in the Dublin theatre, and, with that
ready generosity which was always a marked
trait in her character, invited the unhappy wo-
man and her daughter to stay at Teddington.
This offer ]\Irs. Bellamy quickly accepted, and
George Anne, being much of the same age as
Miss Polly Woffington, was asked to take part
in the performance which was to test the his-
trionic powers of that young lady. A barn was
fitted up as a theatre for the occasion, which
was considered by Hermione and Andromache
as one of vast importance. Peg Woffington and
Mrs. Bellamy played the parts of attendants,
the great Garrick undertook the character of
Orestes, and the barn Avas crowded by people
of the first fashion and quality in the neigh-
bourhood. It Avas indeed a much more event-
ful performance for the two young girls who
sustained the principal parts than even they
imagined, for the beautiful blue eyed Bellamy
gave such proofs of her power as at once indi-
cated her career, whilst charming Polly Woffing-
ton made a conquest of the Hon. Captain Chol-
mondeley's heart, and from that hour kept it

MISS POLLY WOFFINGTON. 225

through life till death. The captain was a staid
man and good, who subsequently left the army
to enter the church ; he was a younger son of
Earl Cholmondeley, a nobleman excessively
poor and proud. Walpole, in one of his pleasant
epistles, tells us of a ' terrible disgrace ' which
befell his lordship ' t'other night at Ranelagh.
You know all the history of his letters to borrow
money to pay for damask for his fine room at
Richmond. As he was going in, in the crowd,
a woman offered him roses — " right damask, my
lord." He concluded she had been put upon it.'

After a short courtship. Captain Cholmondeley
offered his heart and hand to Miss Polly, who,
having already stolen the one, now willingly
enough accepted the other. When the old earl,
whose household goods had by this time been
seized for debt, heard of this intended alliance,
he broke out in great wrath ; for not only was
the object of his son's choice the sister of a
player, but she had not a penny of fortune save
whatever the actress in her generosity might
allow her. He therefore posted off in great
haste to see Peg Woffington, in order to break

VOL. I. Q

226 PEG WOFFINGTON.

off the match betAveen the young people, if
possible. Peg received him graciously, and by
her soft words helped to tmii away the first
impetuous rush of his anger.

' They love each other, my lord,' she said,
calmly, ' and I see for both a fair prospect of
happiness.'

' Love and happiness, madam !' said he, as if
much disgusted by the probability of such a
future. ' Pshaw ! let us speak sense ; the fellow
has not a penny save his pay, and this marriage
will be their ruin.'

' I think, my lord,' she answered, * that honest
love sometimes saves lives from wreckage.'

' But to be plain, madam,' said he, ' my son is
a man of quality, and might marry a fortune.'

' AVhilst the girl he honours with his attentions
is but the sister of a player,' she said. ' But, my
lord, her name is spotless ; she is by education a
gentlewoman, and she shall not be dowerless.'

At hearing this latter piece of intelligence his
lordship felt inclined to view the union with
less horror. By degrees, indeed, he became so
subdued under the influence of the Woffington's

OLD LORD CHOLMONDELEY, 227

good sense and powers of fascination, that before
he left he declared himself satisfied Avith the
marriage he had come to break off. As he
stood np to take his departure, he begged that
dear Mrs. Woffington would forgive his being
previously offended with his son's conduct.

* Previously offended !' repeated she. ' It is I
who have cause for offence, my lord.'

' Why, dear madam, how can that be?' asked
he, in great amazement.

' Because,' said Peggy, speaking with empha-
sis, ' I had but one beggar to support, and now
I shall have two ;' and she curtesyed, to show
the inter^-iew was at an end.

The marriage took place in 1746, and Mrs.
Cholmondeley became ' a bright and airy' matron,
living on terms of friendship with Johnson,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldsmith, and the
celebrities of her age. The Woffington lived to
see four children born to her sister, two of whom
subsequently married into the noble houses of
Townshend and Bellingham.

Now, in the same year that saw Mrs. Chol-
mondeley a bride, there arrived in town a young

228 PEG WOFFINGTON.

lady, fair to look upon, who in a little while filled
that place in Garrick's life which he had once
promised Peg WoflSngton she should occupy.
This lady was the daughter of a respectable
inhabitant of Vienna, and had been baptised Eva
Maria Veigel. Destined to become a dancer by
profession, she was received as a pupil by M.
Hilferding, the celebrated maitre de ballet, who,
with others whom he taught, introduced her to
the Court, in order to form a class for the royal
children. Her grace and beauty attracted the
attention of the Empress Maria Theresa, who
desired she should change her name from Yeigel
(which in Vienna patois signifies Violet) to Vio-
lette. The admiration of the empress for the
young dancer soon becoming shared by the
emperor, Frederick I., her imperial Majesty, in
order to prevent unpleasant consequences, hur-
ried her off to London, furnishing her at the
same time Avith favourable recommendations to
English ladies of the first importance, amongst
Avhom were the sister Countesses of Burlington
and Talbot. Both of these ladies received
Mademoiselle Violette — who, it may be re-

MADEMOISELLE VIOLETTE. 229

marked, arrived in the becoming costume of a
page — with open arms, exerting, as AValpole
says, ' their stores of sullen partiality and com-
petition for her.' My Lady Burlington had her
portrait painted, and carried her to the houses
of her friends, whilst my Lady Talbot intro-
duced her to Frederick Prince of Wales, the
doors of whose court were ever open to singers,
fiddlers, and dancers. Now, His Royal Highness
w^as pohtely supposed to be at once judge and
patron of all the arts, and his opinions were
always listened to, and his suggestions followed
with that attention due to a princely connoisseur.
It was an anxious moment, therefore, for the
sister countesses when he pronounced judgment
on the Violette. To their delight, he praised
her in rapturous terms ; but, in order that her
movements might acquire a greater grace, he
suggested that she should take lessons from his
favourite, Denoyer, a French gentleman of rare
talent, who, to his various professions of dancing-
master, fiddler, and spy, added the more useful
occupation of man midwife. This advice the
Violette, being no courtier, neglected to follow,

230 PEG WOFFINGTOK.

whereby she lost the favour and patronage of
this remarkable prince.

With such support as that of the charming
countesses, it was the easiest thing possible for
her to get an engagement as dancer at the
Opera House ; all the more so as it was at this
time governed by a company of lords and men
of quality, headed by my Lord Middlesex, who
devoted their elegant leisure to diverting the
town in this way, to the ruination of their
fortunes. Accordingly she made her debut in
October, 174G ; on which occasion George II.
was induced to lend his august presence, as
likewise that of his fair, fat, German mistress,
Madame Walmoden. The fashionable part of
the town was thrown into a state of vast excite-
ment over the first appearance of this dancer,
who had brought with her the commendations
of an empress. The Opera House was crowded
by a most brilhant company ; and there, at the
wings, was my Lady Burlington, ready to hold
the Violette's pelisse whilst she was on, and
wrap it round her when she came off the stage.
Then when the Violette danced, it was declared

THE VTOLETTE\S DEBUT. 231

that never liacl there been witnessed such a
luiion of grace and beauty. The whole house
rose in its enthusiasm, and applauded again and
again until the charming danseuse came for-
ward, the bright colour dying her olive cheek,
her dark eyes glistening with excitement, and
bowed her thanks repeatedly. In the Went-
worth correspondence, my Lord Strafford thought
it worth mentioning that the Yiolette ' surprised
her audience at her first appearance upon the
stage ; for at her beginning to caper, she showed
a neat pair of black velvet breeches, with rolled
stockings ; but finding they were unusual in
England, she changes them the next time for a
pair of white drawers.'

But, if she lost the patronage of Frederick,
Prince of Wales, she gained favour in the eyes
of the king, who, though ancient, was amorous,
and could yet leer at a pretty woman, and
stutter compliments in broken English in their
ears. According to a rare and curious pamphlet
entitled ' The Memoirs of St. James's,' printed
by H. Carpenter in Fleet Street, about the year
1749, His Gracious Majesty conceived a most

232 PEG WOFFINGTON.

violent admiration for her, ' insomuch that, not-
withstanding the pressing exigency of state
affairs, he could not abstain so much as one
evening from viewing the delightful perform-
ances of this new charmer, whose graceful
personage and active accomplishments made
such warm impressions on his old heart that
they entirely obliterated all the affection that
he had formerly conceived for the adorable
AValmoden. So that at one moment the coun-
tess lost all the empire over his soul that she
had maintained the possession of for ever so
many years. But such was the dexterity of
His Majesty that, notwithstanding his hasty
temper and choleric disposition, he found means
to keep his new passion a secret from her for
some time, to prevent those domestic feuds and
strifes which he must be certain it would oc-
casion, as soon as ever she should perceive the
least spark of that flame which burnt so vehe-
mently in his breast.' The king, therefore,
employed a courtier, learned in the ways of
love, to plead his cause ; ' contenting himself
with the sole pleasure of enjoying a sight of

THE KING LOVES HER. 233

his charmer through his perspective glass,
whenever she made her appearance in pubKc ;
jieither conlcl the penetrating Walmoden take
the least umbrage at his constant attendance
at the opera, as she had always been a great
promoter of that amusement.'

The Violette, however, would not listen to
the pleadings of love made by the courtier on
behalf of his king. Had it, she answered, been
her desire to acquire w^ealth or rank at the
expense of her reputation, it would have been
in her power to have accepted of such long
since. This was language foreign indeed to
His Gracious Majesty's ears, and his disappoint-
ment was great. To make matters worse, the
Walmoden came to hear of the king's incon-
stancy, when in a violent rage ' she flew to the
king's apartments, and, meeting with him alone,
upbraided him in the most bitter and oppro-
brious terms with his injurious treatment of
her. He, no longer able to disguise the want
of his former affection for her, much provoked
at her coming to the knowledge of the affair,
and more vexed at the lingering disappoint-

234 l^EG WOFFINGTON.

ments that had all along attended the course
of his amour, was so incensed that, having no
longer command over himself or his passion,
nor any regard to her person or sex, he re-
tm-ned her voUies of npbraidings with such
smart blows as soon forced her to quit the
chamber.'

The Violette was, however, carefully guarded
by her patronesses, and for awhile all went well
at the opera house ; but she was soon destined
to meet with some unpleasantness. Her refusal
to take dancing lessons from Denoyer at the
prince's special request was the means of bring-
ing her into disgrace with that illustrious per-
sonage and his butterfly court : and my Lord
Middlesex, seeing in her a rival to his mistress,
the famous Nardi, quarrelled with the ' most
admired dancer in the world,' seized this
opportunity of involving the whole menage of
the opera in the altercation, dissolved the
committee of noble lords and pretty gentlemen,
and shut up the opera house. Great was the
sensation which followed ; for my lord not only
closed the opera house, but his exchequer like-

THE COMPOSER GLUCK. 235

wise, and declined to pay anybody, save indeed
the composer Gluck, who had highly diverted
the town during the season by playing on a
set of drinking glasses modulated with water.
In reward for this ingenious talent Gltlck
received a bad note from his lordship, whilst
the principal man dancer was, by reason of his
being left penniless, arrested for debt when the
j)oor, fantastic fellow was mercilessly thrown
into durance vile.

But the Violette was not long without ano-
ther engagement, and she accordingly made her
appearance at Drury Lane on the 3rd of Decem-
ber, 1746, when she danced between the acts
in company with Signer Salomon. Now the
Violette had, some months before this, sat one
night in the Countess of Burlington's box, and
seen Garrick act, whereon she fell in love with
him. When, a little later, the actor met her at one
of the drawing rooms of his fashionable friends,
he had at first sight returned her love ; and from
that hour Peg Wofiington was forgotten. To
woo the Violette was not, however^ an easy
matter ; for my Lady Burlington was not pleased

236 PEG WOFFIXGTOX.

to regard liim in ihe light of a suitor with fav-
ourable eyes. Garrick had not then reached
the meridian of his fame ; and the countess was
of opinion that other suitors more eligible with
regard to fortune and position might claim the
hand of her beautiful protegee. There were
indeed many men of the first rank and fashion
ever ready to flutter around her wherever she
went, and amongst these was WiUiam, fifth Earl
of Coventry, whose admiration was plain to all,
though his intentions were not quite so certain
to the world. Horace Walpole tells an amusing
story of my lord following the Violette, who
was under my Lady Burlington's arm at a fine
masquerade. Seeing this, the countess pulled
off her glove, and moved her wedding ring up
and down her finger. ' Which,' says Walpole, ' it
seems was to signify that no other terms would
be accepted.'

A short time after, the same writer speaks of
the Yiolette and Garrick being at ' the prettiest
entertainment in the world,' given by the
Duchess of Richmond, which was honoured by
the presence of the King, the Priucess Emily,

THE DUKE OF RICHMOND'S FETE. 237

the Duke of Cumberland, and his mistress, Peggy-
Banks. Two black princes, the Duke of Mo-
dena, the mad Duchess of Queensbuiy (dressed
in a white apron and white hood), Lady Lin-
coln, Lord Holderness, ' all the Fitzes upon
earth,' and everybody of fashion in town were
like^vise present. The gardens at Eichmond
House, Whitehall, sloped down to the Thames,
on Avhich lighters were moored. On these ' a
concert of water music was performed,' after
which a vast number of rockets were thrown
into the air ; then wheels, ranged along the
rails of the terrace, were let off, and fireworks
discharged from the boats which covered the
river ; and finally there was the illumination of
a pavilion on the top of the slope, in the bright
glare of which the shore and the adjacent
houses Avere seen thronged w^ith spectators.
The King and the Princess Emily 'bestowed
themselves upon the mob,' whilst the Duke of
Cumberland, with Peggy Banks, and pretty Mrs.
Pitt, who was likewise supposed to share a
comer of his royally capacious heart, sang ' God
Save the King,' by way of setting a good

238 PEG WOFFINGTON.

example to the crowd. The observed of all
observers was the Duke of Modena, a charming
creatm-e, who, ' instead of wearing his wig down
to his nose, to hide the humour in his face, has
taken to paint his forehead white, which, how-
ever, with the large quantity of red that he
always wears on the rest of his face, makes him
ridiculous enough/ The Duchess of Richmond
had asked Garrick, whilst Lady Burlington had
brought the Violette, but the countess kept
such a guard upon her protegee that the lovers
could do no more than sigh and ogle each other
the whole night. Presently Sabbatini, one of
the Duke of Modena's com-t, came up to Wal-
pole, and asked who all the people were.

' And who is that V said he.

' C'est miladi Hartingdon, la belle fille du Due
de Devonshire.'

' Et qui est cette autre dame V

It was a distressing question ; after a little
hesitation, Walpole replied, 'Mais c'est Made-
moiselle Violette.'

* Et comment Mademoiselle Violette ! J'ai
connu une Mademoiselle Violette par example.'

GARRICKS MARRIAGE. L>39

Walpole begged him to look at Miss Bishop,
ii fashionable beauty.

But love, who laughs at locksmiths, no doubt
behaves in the same impertinent manner to
countesses ; at all events, Garrick found oppor-
tunities of meeting the Violette in secret, when
they exchanged vows of eternal fidelity. Long
years afterwards, she used to tell how the great
actor once dressed himself up as an old woman
in order to convey her a letter. Unable to ex-
tinguish the love which had taken possession
of the dancer's heart for Garrick, my Lady Bur-
lington at last gave her consent to their union,
and one fine morning early in June, 1749, the
dancer and the actor were wedded. A marriage
settlement of ten thousand pounds was made
upon the bride ; my Lady Burhngton giving six
thousand, and Garrick the remaining sum.

It happened that in 1747, a period at which
Gamck had begun to give proof of his devotion
to the A'iolette, he became joint patentee with
Lacy, of Drury Lane Theatre, a circumstance
especially disagreeable to the AVoffington, whose
engagement to Lacy obliged her to continue a

240 PEG WOFFINGTON.

member of his company for the commg season.
Garrick, according to Mackhn, felt Hkewise em-
barrassed ; but what made the WoiEngton's
' situation more critical,' he adds, ' was the inter-
ference of Mrs. Gibber, Pritchard, and CKve,
particularly the latter, who, being naturally
quick as well as coarse in her passion, frequently
drew upon her the sarcastic rephes of Woffing-
ton, who made battle with a better grace and
the utmost composure of temper.'

The first hour she was free, she therefore
withdrew her services from Drury Lane, and
went over to Co vent Garden, under Rich's man-
agement, and during the first months of her
engagement here won a fresh triumph by her
personation of Lady Jane Grey in Rowe's tra-
gedy of that name. Never, indeed, it was said,
was her beautiful face, her graceful figure, seen
to better advantage, whilst her pathos moved
the house to tears. Not satisfied with the suc-
cess she had already gained, she, whilst the
theatre was closed during the summer months
of 1748, crossed over to Paris, in order to take
lessons from the famous Mademoiselle Dumesuil.

PEG GOES TO PARIS. 241

From the clay when httle Peg "Woffington had
learned French and dancing from Madame Yio-
lante, she had never failed to seize on every
possible opportunity of improving herself; and
now, not satisfied with her position as the first
actress in England, she, recognising the greater
excellence of the Frenchwoman, resolved to be-
come her pnpil. The Dnmesnil was at this time
at the head of her profession in France. Her
elocution was considered unsurpassed, her ac-
tions pronoimced classical in their grace, and
her manner the reflection of Nature, it being
her chief study to identify herself with the
character she personated. Peg Woflington
studied her closely, and, on her return from
Paris, played Yeturia in Thomson's 'Corio-
lanus,' which the town vastly admired. Like a
true artist, it was the ambition of her life to
gain the public favour, and the result was that
which usually attends such endeavours. In
Veturia she sacrificed her beauty to the propriety
of the character by painting her face with
wrinkles and other imlovely signs of age ; and
again she frequently accepted inferior parts in
VOL. I. E

242 PEG WOFFINGTON.

plays, in order to strengtlien the cast. Tate Wil-
kinson bears evidence that ' she never permitted
her love of pleasure and conviviality to occasion
the least defect in her duty to the public as a
performer. Six nights in the week has been
often her appointed lot for playing without
murmuring ; she was ever ready at the call of
the audience, and though in the possession of
all the first line of characters, 3^et she never
thought it improper or a degradation of her
consequence to constantly play parts which are
mentioned as insults in the country if offered to
a lady of consequence.'

So much could not be said for other actresses
of her time, who delighted in harassing the souls
of their managers by the refusal of parts, as well
as by convenient illnesses which were wont to
attack them at their own sweet Avills. This
was, indeed, a constant practice not only with
Mrs. Gibber, but with Quin and Barry like-
wise, who were at this time members of the
Covent Garden company. At a few hours'
notice they frequently sent word that they were
attacked with an illness, Avhereon the tragedies

SHE PROTESTS. 243

they were advertised to perform were substi-
tuted for the sprightly comedies in which Peg
AVoffington was always certain to draw a
crowded house. Considering this treatment un-
just, the latter protested against it ; but this not
liaving the desired effect, she threatened that,
if it occurred again, she would likewise be
seized by a convenient illness. Soon after
it happened that Mrs. Gibber was announced
to play Jane Shore, but almost at the last
moment she declared herself too indisposed to
act, and Peg Woffington was instead announced
to perform Sir Harry Wildair; but just as the
doors of the playhouse were opened, she de-
spatched a message to the manager that she
also had suddenly been taken ill, and would
be unable to play that evening. Therefore the
only thing which could be done was to sub-
stitute another comedy. This the remain-
ing members of the company performed so
badly that the audience became incensed to a
degree, and resolved to punish the offend-
ing absentees in general for their capricious
conduct, and Peg Woffington in particular

Ii2

244 PEG WOFFIXGTOX.

for having disappointed tliem on this special
occasion. Accordingly, when, a couple of nights
later, she appeared as Lady Jane Grey, for the
first time in her life she was received with a
storm of disapprobation. She stood still a mo-
ment speechless from surprise, when the audi-
ence bade her ask pardon.

* Whoever saw her tliat night,' says Tate
Wilkinson, who tells the story in his interest-
ing memoirs, ' will own they never beheld any
figure half so beautiful since. Her anger gave
a glow to her complexion^ and even added
lustre to her cliarming eyes. She behaved with
great resolution, and treated their rudeness with
glorious contempt. She left the stage, was
called for, and with infinite persuasion was
prevailed upon to return. However, she did,
walked forward, and told them she was then
ready and willing to perform her character, if
they chose to permit her ; that the decision was
theirs, on or off, just as they pleased — it was a
matter of indifference to her. The ons had it,
and all went smoothly afterwards.'

She, however, attributed the origin of the

ENGAGED BY SHERIDAN. 245

storm to the contrivance cf the manager, who
took this means of frightening her against being
ill at an inopportune moment. She therefore
resented it as an insult, and refused to engage
herself to him at the end of the season. The
only other theatre opened to her in London
was Drury Lane, and, Gamck being manager
of this, she was reluctant to serve under his
generalship. At this crisis, she turned her
thoughts to the playhouses of her native city,
crossed the Channel, and was engaged by Tom
Sheridan, father of the famous dramatist, for
the season of 1751, at a salary of four hundred
pounds.

2^6

CHAPTER JX.

Thomas Sheridan, the Manager — Letter to Garrick— Be-
comes a Manager — Conditions of the Playhouse — A
Theatrical Riot and its Result — Dublin before the
Union — Lionel, Duke of Dorset, at the Castle —
Diversions of the Town — High Life and Low — INIrs.
Butler, JMiss Bellamy, and David Garrick — A Strange
Love Letter — Mrs. Butler's Present.

TuOMAS Sheridan, the manager of the Dubhii
theatres, with whom Peg Woffington now en-
gaged, was a man whose name is intimately
connected with the history of the Irish stage. He
was son of the Rev. Dr. Sheridan and godson of
poor Dean Swift of witty memory. He had been
educated at Westminster School, and had grad-
uated at Trinity College, Dublin, where he was
yet reading for a fellowship when David Ganick
paid his first visit to the Irish capital. Seeing
the great actor perform, Sheridan was seized

SHEPdDAN BECOMES AN ACTOR. 247

by stage fever, aucl, abandoning all idea of
becoming a fellow, he, to the intense disgust
and indignation of his friends, left college and
became a player. His appearance on the boards
of Smock Alley Theatre on the 29th of January,
1743, in the character of Richard HI., caused
considerable sensation in the town. He was in
the twenty-third year of his age ; his appear-
ance was handsome, his voice melloAv and ex-
pressive, and his debitt was a decided success.
He next played Othello, Hamlet, Cato and
Brutus, and his acting gained so rapidly on
the town that he became the rage ; his name
was on all men's lips. ' So great,' says Davis,
' was his influence over the Dublin audience
that Quin, who arrived in that city during the
first warm glow of Mr. Slieridan's prosperity,
with an intention to act a number of characters,
and put a handsome sum of money in his pocket
(a custom which he had often practised), was
obhged to quit the metropolis with disgust, if
not in disgrace. He was told by the proprietors
that all the acting days during the remainder
of the winter were engaged to the new actor.'

248 PEG WOFFINGTON.

His fame rapidly spread across the Channel,
and Garrick wrote to him suggesting that he
might share the honours of London town with
him. Sheridan's interesting reply to this is
preserved in the Garrick correspondence, dated
April, 1 743. He commences by apologising for
not haviuo; answered Garrick's obliging letter
with greater speed, more than a fortnight hav-
ing passed since he had received it, but during
that time he had had three new characters to
study as well as to play, Othello being one of
them. He thanks him for his invitation to pass
the summer with him at Walton, an enjoyment
which the posture of his affairs will not permit.
However, it is not improbable but that he may
see London about the middle of May, as he
intends to take a jaunt of pleasure there if all
goes well. Then he continues : ' I have not as
yet fixed any scheme for the next winter, but
I have been offered such advantageous terms
as will, I believe, detain me here till January
at least. As to your proposal of our playing
together, I am afraid I have too many power-
ful reasons against it ; a well cut pebble may

SHERIDAN AND GARRICK. 249

pass for a diamond till a fine brilliant is placed
near it, and puts it ont of countenance. (A
hold metaphor that ; or, as Bayes says, " Egad,
that's one of my bold strokes.") Besides, we
should clash so much in regard to characters
that I am afraid it is impossible we can be in
the same house. Richard, Hamlet, and Lear,
as they are your favourite characters, are mine
also ; and though you were so condescending to
say I might appear in any part of yours, yet I cjues-
tion whether the town would bear to see a worse
performer in one of your characters in the same
house with you, though they might endure him
in another.' He has, however, a scheme to pro-
pose to Garrick, which at first view may seem a
little extraordinary, but which, if rightly con-
sidered, might turn to the advantage of both ;
which is, that Garrick might be brought to
divide his immortality with him, when, like
Castor and Pollux, they might always appear in
different hemispheres, or in plain Enghsh, they
might divide the kingdoms between them, one
playing one winter in Dublin and another in
London : when they would be always new in

250 PEG WOFFINGTON.

both kingdoms, and consequently the more
followed. ' Bnt more of this,' he concludes,
* when I have the pleasure of meeting- you.
Pray remember my best respects to Mrs. Wof-
fington. I should own myself unpardonable, in
not having wrote to her, were it in my power ;
but I have been already sufficiently punished at
the loss of so agTeeable a correspondent, for, I
assure you, I have a long time envied her pretty
Chronon that pleasure : as soon as I have a mo-
ment to spare, I intend to do myself the honour
to write to her.'

Sheridan in a short time quarrelled with the
manager of Smock Alley, when he went over to
the opposition playhouse in Aungier Street, and
back again to the theatre in which he made his
first appearance. Dissatisfied with the condition
of things here, he crossed the Channel, and in
March, 1744, played at Co vent Garden in oppo-
sition to Garrick, to which theatre he succeeded
in drawing great audiences. But two play-
houses in Dublin could not find sufficient sup-
port ; the proprietors therefore for once in a way
acted wisely in agreeing that the one company

CUSTOMS OF THE THEATRE. 251

slioiilcl play alternately at each lioiise, ancly
moreover, invited Sheridan to return, and take
the full management. This he accepted, and
came back to Dublin within the same year as he
had quitted it.

Now, at this period, the Dublin theatres had
been fast hastening to ruin from bad manage-
ment, the wretched acting of stock companies,
and certain liberties allowed a portion of the
audiences. Amongst the latter it was the habit
of the imdergraduates from the college to visit
the theatre for the mid-day rehearsal, crowding
the stage to such an extent that the players
Avere surrounded by a circle of those precocious
youths, who made audible comments not
always of the most complimentary order, and
cracked jests of the freest character. At night
these ' college boyvS,' as they were called, to-
gether with the young men of quality about
town, thronged behind the scenes, or crowded
the green room, where they diverted them-
selves according to their desires ; flocking on to
the stage Avhen the curtain went up, where they
lounged at the entrances, crossed before the

252 PEG WOFFINGTON.

footlights, and exchanged civihties or the reverse
with the pit and boxes at their own sweet wills
during the performance. These abnses Sheridan
was determined to abolish ; but time honoured
customs that admitted such pleasant liberties
were not to be removed in a daj, and for three
years he struggled against them with but slight
success. At last a circumstance occurred,
which though at first fraught with discord and
danger, resulted in gaining him the assistance of
the town in preserving order and decency in his
theatre.

It happened one night in January, 1747,
whilst the comedy of '^Esop' was being perform-
ed, a young man of quality named Kelly,
entered the theatre. This pretty fellow was
much inflamed with wine, and was therefore in
<i mood to divert himself; for which laudable
purpose he presently climbed over the spikes,
with which it was at that time found necessary
to divide the orchestra from the pit. Getting
on to the stage in this manner, he rushed into
the green room, where he met IMrs. Dyer, an
actress of excellent character, whom he address-

SHERIDAN IS INSULTED. 253

ed in terms that obliged her and the other wo-
men present to fly to their respective dressing
rooms, to which he promptly followed them.
Hearing the noise, Sheridan, who was in his
private room, came out, and seeing Kelly was
more merry than wise, ordered some of his men
to carry him to the pit from whence he came.
At this interference with his pleasure, the pretty
young gentleman was mighty indignant, and,
taking a basket from one of the orange women
who were then allowed to vend fruit in the
pit, he, when Sheridan appeared, commenced
to pelt him with oranges. So excellent was
his aim, that one of them struck the visor the
manager wore in his character of yEsop, and
cut his forehead ; on this Sheridan appealed
to the audience. Kelly then stood up and in-
formed him he was a scoundrel and a rascal,
to which the manager replied he was as good
a gentleman as he ; those in the pit then obliged
Kelly to sit down. But at the end of the play
his spirit was up again ; and, bent on mischief,
he forced his way through the stage door, rushed
to Sheridan's room, and told him he was a rascal

254 PEG WOFFINGTOX.

and a scoundrel. By way of rewarding him for
siicli information, the manager thrashed him
soundly, and had him turned out of doors.
With face sadly swollen and blood smeared, and
clothes torn and soiled, this young gentleman,
alas, no longer pretty, betook himself to the
' Brown Bear Coffee House,' where those of his
kind most did congregate. To them he told
a lamentable tale, garnished with such additions
and improvements as were best calculated to
rouse the ire sleeping in their ruffled adorned
breasts. Sheridan, quoth he, had said he was
as good a gentleman as any in the house ; and
when he (Kelly), burning with exasperation, had
gone behind the scenes to avenge this insult,
he had been held hand and foot by the man-
ager's servants, whilst the said manager beat
him. Then, said they, this shall not be. No
scoundrel play actor shall be allowed to beat
a pretty gentleman Avith impunity. If such
were permitted, why, the end of the Avorld
might be expected any day. Therefore, great
was their indignation, and fervent their vows
of vengeance, which not only threatened Sheri-

SEARCHING FOR SHERIDAN. 255

<lan, but those who should take his part. A
theatiical storm was therefore promptly ex-
pected. A few days later, Sheridan was adv^er-
tised to play Horatio in ' The Fair Penitent,'
upon which he received several letters, cards,
and messages from his friends, begging him not
to venture outside his door that evening, and to
have his house well guarded.

This advice he comphed with, fortunately for
himself, for the theatre was that night packed
with Kelly's friends. When it was announced
that Sheridan was unable to appear, about fifty
of those with Kelly at their head, rose in the
pit, and with a cry of rage and disappointment,
scrambled on to the stage; from thence they
immediately rushed to the green room, and the
dressing rooms, forcing open all doors that were
locked, in eager pursuit of their prey. But
the manager was not to be found. They next
proceeded to the wardrobe, and, by way of feel-
ing if he were in any of the chests or presses, they
ran their swords through the valuable costumes
these contained. They next set out for his
house in Dorset Street, but seeing it was guard-

256 PEG WOFFINGTON.

ed, and believing safety the better part of val-
onr, they retired, harbouring their vengeance
for another occasion. Next day nothing was
spoken of all over Dublin but this attempted
outrage. The citizens had always a keen in-
terest in matters theatrical, and this subject of
the hour was regarded by one and all almost
as a matter of personal interest. The town was
therefore divided into two parties, unequal in
number, it must be confessed; the majority
being in favour of Sheridan. For a month the
theatre was closed, during which period letters re-
lative to the quarrel were published almost daily
in the Dublin Journal, whilst pamphlets teemed
from the press. The decorum of the stage, and
the defence of morahty were at stake one party
asserted; whilst the other complained of the
infringement of time honoured rights, and the
insult given to a man of quality. The riot
grew more bitter daily, and spread from the city
all over the kingdom.

At the end of the fourth week the greater part
of the town declared it would no longer be
deprived of its usual and favomite amusement.

WHAT CHARLES LUCAS SAID. l>57

Sheridan was therefore requested to open the
theatre, when he was assured he would receive
powerful protection. He accordingly in a short
time announced the performance of 'Richard III./
his favourite character. No sooner were the
doors of the theatre opened, than the house was
filled by Sheridan's friends, to the vast surprise of
the rioters, who arrived late, and in comparative-
ly small numbers. They, however, considered
themselves sufficient to create a disturbance ;
and when Sheridan appeared, they set up a cry
of • Submission, submission, submission, off, off,
off," which was answered by a counter cry of
' Xo submission ; on with the play.' At this,
a citizen of fair renown, named Charles Lucas,
stood up in the pit, and claimed a hearing.
Every person in the house, he said, came to
receive the entertaiament promised in the bill,
for which he paid liis money. The actors were
therefore the servants of the audience, and
under their protection during the performance ;
and he Avas of opinion that every insult or inter-
ruption given them in the discharge of their
duty was offered to the public. In conclusion,
VOL. I. S

258 PEG WOFFINGTON.

he "wonld ask those who were in favour of the
decency and freedom of the stage to hold up
their hands, from which sign it might be learned
if the play was to proceed or not. Amidst
shouts of applause, more than two thirds of
those present held^ up their hands, at which the
rioters left the house, and the play ended peace-
fully. But the Kellyites were not yet suppress-
ed ; their threats of vengeance continued ; they
were determined to ruin the manager. By way
of indicating the spirit which animated them,
they set upon Charles Lucas two nights after his
speech, and beat him severely whilst he was
peaceably walking through Sackville Street.
Next day he had an advertisement printed and
distributed all over the town, offering a reward
<3f five pounds for the arrest of a number of dis-
orderly persons, in the garb of gentlemen, who
had assaulted him in a cowardly manner.

Sheridan, seeing the rioters were yet bent
upon injuring him, closed the theatre again, and
it was not for some weeks later that he once
more ventured to open it, when ' The Fair
Penitent ' was announced to be performed for

SHERWAX IS ORDERED OFF. 259

the benefit of the Hospital for Incurables. The

governors of this institute, who were all persons

<:»f consequence, assured the manager they

would take it on themselves to defend him from

danger or insult, and several ladies of quality

promised their presence on the occasion. AY hen

the night came, a brilliant house assembled ;

the governors of the hospital were all present,

carrying white wands ; ladies of the first fashion

filled the boxes, and over a hundred of them

had to be accommodated with seats on the

stage. It was, however, noticed that about

thirty young men had taken possession of the

middle part of the first three benches in the pit.

When the curtain rose, Sheridan was in due state

ushered on the stage by some of the governors,

when he came forward to speak a prologue.

No sooner, however, had he appeared tlian the

thu'ty men in front, who it was now seen were

all armed, rose up in a body and authoritatively

ordered him ofi*. The manager bowed to the

house and withdrew, when a violent argument

between these men and the governors ensued.

Amongst the latter was a student from the col-

s 2

260 PEG WOFFINGTON.

lege in his bachelor's gown, who spoke with
great warmth in Sheridan's defence, in return
for which one of the rioters struck him with an
apple, and called him a scoundrel. At this in-
sult offered to one of their body, several of the
undergraduates who were present flew like
feathered Mercury to the college, and in a short
time returned with a number of their fellow-
students, all armed. Meanwhile the rioters,
seeing the ' college boys ' had rushed from the
house, guessed their errand, and quickly left
the pit. The undergraduates were therefore
disapj^ointed of their prey, but, their blood
being up, they were not easily pacified. They
had during this disturbance remained neutral,
but now the}^ were glad to take this oppor-
tunity of one of their body being insulted to
espouse the cause of a man who had left
old Trinity to become a player. The}?- had
therefore a double incentive in punishing the
rioters. Not finding them at the theatre, they
searched every club, coffee house, and tavern
in the town, but in vain. They then re-
turned to the college, baffled for the present,

A COUXCIL OF WAR. 281

but more determined ou vengeance than ever,
and held a council of war, which lasted all
night. Next morning, when the gates were
opened, out they flocked to a man, armed and
ready for combat, and, separating into various
bodies, went in search of the rioters at their
divers residences. They were informed that
the man who had fired the apple had but just
come up from the country ; but not being aware
of his abode, they were compelled to inquire at
lodging houses and hotels for him, and it was
not until eleven o'clock that he was led a captive
inside the college gates. The city was meanwhile
in a tumult of excitement ; the guardians of the
peace seldom interfered Avith the students ; the
shop keepers, fearing a general riot, had not
opened their doors; business was suspended; and
many of the rioters, conscious of the search which
was being made for them, rushed in fear of their
lives to the Court of Chancery, where the Chan-
cellor was sitting, and besought his protection.

Having secured the principal offender, a great
number of the undergraduates next sallied forth
to look for a young officer, a gay jack-a-dandy,

262 PEG WOFFINGTON.

who had hkewise made himself specially offen-
sive. It was known that he lived in his father's
house in Capel Street, which was found by the
students barricaded and guarded. These ob-
stacles but made tliem more desperate, and
afforded them a pleasant, though dangerous
incentive to their efforts. A raid was promptly
made, a skilful breach effected, the offender
seized, placed in a hackney coach, and, amidst
loud huzzas, hurried within the walls of Trinity.
Then came the punishments. The first offen-
der was compelled to travel on his bare knees
round all the courts of the college, and to repeat
a form of humble apology prepared the previous
night ; the second offender was, by reason of
his holding the king's commission, allowed to
read the apology standing. Both were glad to
escape with a chastisement which, if humiliating,
at least mercifully left them whole bones.

The theatre was now ordered by the Lords
Justices to be closed, and the next scene of
this eventful drama was laid in court ; Sheridan
having taken an action against Kelly for assault,
and damages done to the theatrical wardrobe ;

SHERIDAN PROSECUTES. 263

the manager in return being indicted for assault
and battery. Sheridan Avas tried first, but so
clearly and satisfactorily was it proved he had
been incited to a breach of the peace, that
the jury, without leaving their box, acquitted
him. Then came Kelly's turn. The first wit-
ness called was the prosecutor. The chief
counsel for the defence rose up with that air
of dignity becoming one learned in the law,
and said he vastly desired to see a curiosity.
He had seen a gentleman soldier, likewise a
gentleman tailor (laughter in court), but he
had never yet seen a gentleman actor (great
laughter). On which Sheridan turned to him
calmly, and said, ' Sir, you see one now.' An
answer which was received with such prodigious
applause that it dawned on the learned gentle-
man he had made a mistake. Justice Ward
tried the case, which ended by Kelly being
sentenced to three months' imprisonment and
fined five hundred pounds. This imdreamt of
result fell hke a thunderbolt on Kelly. At the
commencement of the suit it was rumoured
that a subscription would be made to defray

264 PEG WOFFINGTON.

his law expenses, but in the hour of trial
his friends deserted him, and left him to meet
his fate alone. A week's impiisonment seemed
to have the wholesome effect of bringing him
to his senses, for at the expiration of that period
he, with words of sorrow and humility, applied
to Sheridan that he might petition the court in
favour of lightening his sentence, which this
man, whom he had called a scoundrel, accord-
ingly did, with such good effect that the fine
was remitted, and, Sheridan further pledging
himself as bail for the prisoner's future good
conduct, that young gentleman was restored to
liberty once more.

Dublin in the days before the Union was
the gay capital of a prosperous nation, and
boasted of a society at once cultured, fashion-
able, and brilliant. A native parliament sat in
College Green ; Irish peers and commons of
note dwelt in the city; and the lord lieuten-
ant, then surrounded by regal pomp and cir-
cumstances of state, held court at the castle.
Irish society, smaller in its circle than that
which revolved round the Court of St. James's,

DUBLIN IX THE LAST CEXTURY. 265

was not less brilliant ; the beauty of its Avomen
was proverbial, the sprightliness of its men char-
acteristic. By nature a pleasure loving people,
their clays and nights were chiefly devoted to
the piu'suit of amusement : and the diaries and
memoirs of those who formed part of the gay
and goodly crowd that held revelry in the
middle of the last century in the Irish capital,
present us with a series of vivacious and in-
teresting pictures.

The chief and most fashionable promenade in
the city was St. Stephen's Green, which was
to the residents of the Irish capital what the
Mall was to Londoners. Situated in the centre
of the town, it was planted with trees, and
boasted broad and shady walks, Avhere ladies
of quality and men of fashion disported them-
selves in the mornings. Having taken the air
here, they visited and went to dinner betimes.
Then in fair weather they drove in great
coaches or rode on horseback to the Phoenix
Park, a piece of ground which, with its delight-
ful wood and turfy ground, rivalled St. James's
or Hyde Park. Moreover, it commanded an

266 PEG WOFFINGTON.

agreeable prospect of the Dublin mountains,
from which healthful breezes blew. In the
midst of the wood, in view of the column sur-
mounted by the fabulous bird which gives its
name to the park, the gift of Lord Chesterfield,
a circular shaped space was cleared, where society
met and talked of routs and ridotti, plays and
concerts, its neighbours' shortcomings, and all
the delightful scandal of the town.

The polite Lord Chesterfield, just mentioned,
during his reign as lord lieutenant, a few
years before the Woffington's second visit to
her native city, had left behind him reminis-
cences of costly splendour that equalled, if not
eclipsed, the glory of St. James's. He had
added to the Castle a new room, which was
allowed to be the most magnificent in the
three kingdoms. Li this he held balls, to which
the nobility of the land were bidden, where,
when dancing was over, says Victor, quaint-
ly enough, *the company retired to an apart-
ment, to a cold supper, with all kinds of the
best wines and sweetmeats. The whole apart-
ment was most elegantly disposed and orna-

MY LOUD CHESTEBFIELD'S REIGN. 267

mented ^vitli transparent paintings, throngb
which was cast a shade hke mconhght ; Antes
and other soft instruments playing all the while,
but, like the candles, nnseen. iVt each end
of the building, through which the company
passed, were placed fountains of lavender water
that diffused a most grateful odour through this
fairy scene, which surpassed everything of the
kind in Spencer, as it proved not only a fine
feast for the imagination, but after the dream,
for our sensualities by the excellent substantials
at the sideboard.'

The luxuiious earl had been succeeded for
a brief while by my Lord Harrington, who in
turn gave place to Lionel, Duke of Dorset ; his
grace arri^dng in Ireland towards the autumn of
1751, in the same month as Peg Woffington made
her appearance at Smock Alley playhouse. The
sharp tongued Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough,
who seldom indeed had a good word to say
of anyone, writes in a charmingly characteristic
manner of his grace. ' Such a wretch as he
is I hardly know,' says the eccentric duchess,
* and his wife — whose j)assion is only for money

268 PEG WOFFINGTON.

— assists liim in his odious affair with Lady
Betty Jermyii, who has a great deal to dispose
of.' Wretch or no wretch, he Avas, for a time
at least, popular in the Irish capital ; and ex-
ceeding great was the throng of courtiers that
flocked to the Castle drawing rooms during his
reign. Mrs. Delany, in one of her letters,
pleasantly gossips of going to the Vice-regal
Court one birthday in her coach, whilst a friend
of hers, whom she styles ]\Iadame, Avent thither
in her sedan, ' with her three footmen in saxon-
grecn, with orange coloured cockades/ march-
ing in step before her. ' Can you tell why she
desired me to go with her? asks Mrs. Delany,
giving way to a bit of feminine pique. ' I can.
She was superb in brown and gold and dia-
monds ; I was clad in purple and white silk
I bought when last year in England ; and my
littleness set off her greatness.' After half-an-
hour's stoppage on the way, caused by the vast
number of coaches and chairs blocking the
thoroughfares leading courtwards, this blaze of
colour reached the Castle, and took its w^ay to
the draAving room, where the duke and duchess

A CASTLE DRAWING-ROOM. 269

came, ' half-an-hoiir after one, very graceful and
princeh'. The duchess had a blue padnasoy,
embroidered very richly with gold ; and there
was a great deal of handsome finery.' Presently
a band and choir, under the direction of Du-
bourg, gave a birthday song in honour of
royalty, Avhich was vastly admired ; and in the
evening a ball was held in the old beef eaters
hall, an apartment capable of holding seven
hundred persons.

The crowd assembled on this occasion was so
prodigious that the ladies were seated on an
amphitheatre at one end of the room in rows
one above another, so that the last row almost
touched the ceiling, presenting an appearance
which reminded some of the gentlemen of ^ a
Cupid's paradise in a puppet show.' In this
vast room, with its blaze of lights and shining
floor, women with narrow waists, bare breasts,
and far extending hoops, danced stately minuets
with men in powdered wigs, velvet coats, and
high heeled shoes ; courtesying, undulating, ad-
vancing, and retreating with slow pace and a
world of grace to the measured music discoursed

270 PEG WOFFINGTON.

by Frencli horns. In an apartment at the end
of a suite sat the Duchess of Dorset, playing
basset with some dowagers whose dancing days
were over, whilst in the rooms adjoining were
(juadrille parties, where those w^ho had danced
might saunter up and down and look on at the
games. Finally, the Duke and Duchess, who
had been vastly obliging all the evening, led
the way to supper, which was laid in the council
chamber. ' In the midst of this apartment was
placed a holly tree, illuminated by a hundred
wax tapers ; round it was placed all sorts of
meat, fruit, and sweetmeats ; servants waited
and were encompassed round by a table to
Avhich the company came by tm-ns to take what
they wanted. When the doors were first opened,
the hurly burly is not to be described ; squall-
ing, shrieking, all sorts of noises ; some ladies
lost their lappets, others were trod upon, and
poor Lady Santry almost lost her breath in the
scuffle, and fanned herself two hours before she
could recover herself enough to know if she
was dead or alive.'

But it was not only at the castle that great

A GAY CAPITAL. 271

receptions were held and lively balls given.
The stately and magnificent mansions of the
nobility, faced with sparkling granite native to
the Wicklow hills, and adorned by the genius
of foreign artists, which retain traces of their
beauty to the present day, though converted into
schools or let in tenements, were in those times
the scenes of constant revelry. i\Iy Lord Gran-
dison delighted in assembling the wit and
beauty of the capital round a board heavy from
the weight of golden candelabra and services
of silver. Lord Mountjoy gave balls that were
the talk of the city ; his lordship was a gay
man, though not a brave, for when he quar-
relled with old Norse the gambler, my lord re-
fused to fight him, whereon the man who loved
cards, by way of having revenge in a fashion
truly Hibernian, went home and cut his own
throat — a fact that by no means prevented
Lord Mountjoy from diverting himself as usual.
Then Lady Doneraile had famous quadrille-
parties at her handsome mansion in Dawson
Street ; my Lord Strangford and his lady gave
delightful concerts ; and Bishop Clayton's wife,

272 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Avho loved this world well, opened the doors of
her big mansion, with a front like Devonshire
House, situated in Stephen's Green, every Wed-
nesday for the reception of her friends, who
passed through a great hall filled with servants
in showy liveries. The reception room was
' wainscoted with oak, the panels all carved, and
the doors and chimney finished with a very fine
high carving, the ceiling stucco, the Avindow-
curtains and chairs yellow Genoa damask, por-
traits and landscapes very well done round the
room, marble tables between the windoAvs, and
looldng glasses with gilt frames, besides virtu
and busts that his lordship brought from Italy,
the floor being covered with the finest Persian
carpet that ever was seen.'

The bishop did not love the things of earth
less than his buxom spouse, and ' kept a very
handsome table, six dishes of meat being con-
stantly at dinner, and six plates at supper.'
The clergy, indeed, took no ordinary share in
entertaining the town, an excellent example
being set them by the primate, whose choice
dinners and cosy suppers were luxuries long to

HOW STONE BECAME PRIMATE. 273

be remembered. This right reverend and easy-
going man's vocation for the church had been
decided, not so much by divine inspiration as
by a game of dice. The story is told in one of
Dean Swift's letters, given in Nichol's ' Literary
illustrations.' When the Duke of Dorset, who
had been lord lieutenant about sixteen years
previous to his appointment to that office in
1751, was quitting Ireland, he had but two pre-
ferments to bestow, a cornetcy and a church
living, value two hundred a year. For the for-
mer two of the duke's friends, Lushington and
Stone, anxiously contended, and, not being able
to settle the matter amicably between them,
it was agreed that dice should decide which
would become a pastor of souls, and which a
gay and gallant soldier. Lushington won the
game, and entered the army, whilst Stone went
into the Church. Being a very ingenious man,
he quickly rose in his profession to be Bishop of
Deny and subsequently Archbishop of Armagh
and Primate. Once when this worthy man was
about to give a dinner, in honour of the birth-
day of his friend and patron, the Duke of Dor-
VOL. I. T

274 PEG WOFFIXGTON.

set, he ordered a Perigord pie for the occasion,
with directions to have this dehcacy directed
to a merchant of his acquaintance. The pie
arrived in the absence of the merchant, Avhose
■wife, supposing it to be a present from one of
her husband's friends abroad, sent out and in-
vited some of her neiglibours to sup with her at
an early date. But on the very day when these
good people Avere to regale themselves, the
primate's maitre d'hotel, who had hitherto in-
quired in vain for the lost pie, hearing of the
good lady's hospitable intentions, swooped down
on her, and carried it away.

'I own,' writes Mrs. Delany, who tells the
story, ' I am sorry they did not eat it ; such ex-
pensive rarities do not become the table of a
prelate, who ought not to ape the fantastical
luxuriances of fashionable tables.' This charm-
ing correspondent likewise speaks of the dinners
of the Bishop of Elphin, whose daughter ' was
brought up like a princess,' The bishop ' lives
well,' she writes, ' but high living is too much
the fashion here. You are not invited to dinner
to any private gentleman of a thousand a year

THE CITY IS MUSICAL. • 275

•or less, that does not give you seven dishes at
one course, and Burgundy and Champagne ;
and these dinners they give once or twice a
Aveek.'

A taste for painting and music likewise obtain-
ed, and was highly encouraged ; for the former
by the exhibitions at the Royal Academy in
Shaw's Court, Dame Street, for the latter by the
performances of oratorios constantly sung at St.
Patrick's cathedral, and concerts which were al-
Avays attended by vast crowds. An excellent en-
tertainment was given every Wednesday during
the season by a musical society, the members of
which were all men of quality, some of whom
played prodigiously Avell, notably Mr. Brownlow,
M.P., a fine executor on the harpsichord, and
Captain Reade, who performed on the German
flute to great perfection. At the Philharmonic
Room in Fishamble Street, concerts were almost
nightly given, the place ' being illuminated with
wax and the whole conducted in the genteelest
manner.' Likewise at the Great Music Room in
Crow Street there was a weekly concert given,
* the instrumental parts by Messrs. j\larella, Lee,

T 2

276 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Storace, De Boeck, and others; the vocal by
Mr. SnlHvan. To begin exactly at seven
o'clock and continue nntil nine each night, after
which there will be a ridotto, mth tea, coffee,
chocolate, jellies, cards, and all sorts of liquids
of the best kind at the usual prices, and suppers
by giving notice the day before.'

By way of adding to the diversion of the
town, subscription balls were got up by the
beaux, headed by Lord Belfreld, and were occa-
sionally held in one of the theatres, converted
for the time being into a ball roora. One of
these which was given whilst the Woffington was
in Dublin, cost seven hundred pounds. The
theatre in which it took place was dressed to
represent a wood, space being left in the middle
for thirty couple to dance. At one end was a
portico of Doric pillars, lighted by green wax
candles, arranged in baskets of flowers; then
there was a Gothic temple in which refreshments
were served, and a jasmine bower where lovers
whispered, and a grotto with rustic arches,
where the musicians, dressed as shepherds and
shepherdesses, discoursed sweet sounds. The

A GREAT BALL. Ill

trees which hnecl the walls were the veritable
growth of nature, aclornecl by art in the shape
of cotton leaves. The Duke and Duchess of
Dorset were present, as were all the members of
the polite world which the city numbered ; and
enjoyed themselves vastly, dancing being kept
up long after daylight did appear. One of
the most inveterate dancers of the night was a
certain Captain Folliat, ' a man of six feet odd
inches high, black, awkward, roaring, ramping.'
His gaunt figure was seen continually m every
dance. ' 1 thought,' says a partner of his whom
he most affected on this occasion, ' he would
]iave shook my arms off, and crushed my toes to
atoms ; every moment he did some blundering
thing, and as often asked " my ladyship's par-
don." I was pitied by the whole company ; at
last I resolved to dispatch him with dancing,
since he was not worth my conquest any other
way ; I called a council about it, having some
scruples of conscience, and fearing he might
appear and haunt me after his death staggered
my resolutions — but Avhen it was made plain to
me that I should do the world a great piece of

278 PEG WOFFINGTON.

service by dispatching him, it solved all nij
scruples, and I had no more qualms about it.
In the midst of liis furious dancing, when he was
throwing his arms about him most outrageously,
(just like a card scaramouch on a stick), snap
went something, that we all thought had been
the main bone of his leg, but it proved only a
bone of his toe. Notwithstanding this he
fought upon his stumps, and would not spare
me one dance.'

Besides these social amusements, there were
great reviews held frequently in the park, where
the troops, to quote from the Dublin Journal^
*went through their different evolutions and
firings with the greatest exactness, to the satis-
faction of the duke and the general officers.'
These reviews were attended by all the fashion-
able world. Her Grace of Dorset at its head in
a yellow coach and six horses, very fine to see.
Then the citizens frequented the public gardens
every night, they being open to all; where,
says Benjamin Victor, in writing to the Coun-
tess of Orrery, ' great regularity and decency is
unaccountably preserved, and of course unusual

THE PUBLIC GARDENS. 279

dulness is the consequence. If no valiant cap-
tain will knock doAvn a lady, nor any lady cock
her pistol at her perfidious man (both these
shocking events happened lately in the public
gardens), we must remain in this stupid state
of tranquillity.' At Marlborough Green there
were bi-weekly entertainments made up of
dancing, fiddling, and singing by Miss Eachel
Baptist, an African lady who wore a wreath of
roses, and clad her sable person in orange silk.
So multiform, indeed, were its attractions that
the green was usually attended by vast crowds.
So far as cleanliness morally and physically
went, Dublin was much in the same condition
as the sister capital. An advertisement in
Faulkner s Journal, October 2nd, 1751, informs
the inhabitants of the city ' they are requested
by the Lord Mayor to sweep the dirt before
their houses, tAvice every week, into the Chan-
nel, for the speedier removal of the same by
the scavengers, otherwise they w^ill be fined.'
The same journal says, ' Street and house rob-
beries are now become so common in this city
that it is dangerous to be out late on evenings ;

280 PEG WOFFINGTON.

and hats, capucliins, books, etc., are frequently
>stolen from churches and other places of worship
in the time of divine service.' This statement
is verified by the oftentimes quaint reports in
the daily papers; a few of which will serve to
illustrate the general condition of the town.
* Last Thursday,' says Faulkner s Journal, Oc-
tober 15th, 1751, 'a young gentleman was
attacked by a single highwayman near Harold's
Cross, who robbed him of his gold watch, twenty
guineas, three crowns, and a shilling. He rode
a bay gelding about fourteen hands and a half
high, was dressed in a white fustian frock, a
scarlet waistcoat, and a silver laced hat, and
appeared by his looks to be about thirty years
of age.' Here is another. ' Last Sunday night
a gentleman was attacked in Mary's Lane by
two fellows with an intent to rob him ; he seized
one of them and threw him into a cellar, but
the other knocked him down ; he soon recovered
himself, and boldly attacked them again, upon
which they made off, but he still pursued, and
took one of them, and called a watchman who
was only a sliort distance from him, but would

CONDITION OF THE TOWN. 281

not come to his assistance ; the gentleman was
obliged to let the villain go on some ruffians
coming up. He lost his watch and buttons,
but the next morning found them in some mud
Avhere he had been knocked down. The same
day a woman, genteely dressed, was detected
for picking the pocket of a gentlewoman in
Liffey Street, out of which she had taken
fifteen shillings, and, upon searching her, half-
a-crown was found in her shoe, and half a
pistol in a snuff box — the rest she lost in the
hurry. The populace dragged her to the quay,
tied a ship's rope round her, and ducked her
severely.' A few days later we read that ' some
rogues attempted to rob the house of Mr. Pres-
ton in Little Butter Lane, but, by the courage
of his daughter, were prevented from accom-
plishing their design, who, on hearing a noise,
got out of bed, charged two pistols, opened the
parlour window, and fired amongst them, upon
which they made off; she then charged again,
Avent upstairs and looked out of the window,
in order to give them another salute if they
thought it proper to have paid a second visit.'

282 PEG WOFFINGTON.

A paragraph, which throws a somewhat curious
hght on the punishment of criminals, says, 'The
woman whom the watch discharged the other
night, and w^ho was principal in stealing a
great quantity of plate^ is the very notorious
pickpocket who goes into public assemblies in
fine cloathes, the better to perpetrate her wick-
edness, and who was some time ago con^-icted
of picking pockets, and sentenced to be whipt
at the cart's tail ; but the hangman did not
think fit to execute the sentence, so she only
walked after the cart in a sort of triumph to
College Green, where she was put into a landau,
though two poor devils were almost whipt to
death the same week, not having stolen money
enough to bribe the hangman or some other
officer.'

It was not only money and goods, however,
which were stolen in those da^^s, but human
beings. * Last week,' says the Dublin Journal,
August, 1751, 'a man near Aungier Street de-
sired two little girls to go along with him on
pretence of seeing his wife whom they knew,
and to bring their caps with them, which they

CHILD STEALIXG. 285

did ; but tlieir mothers getting intelligence
which way they had gone, pursued and luckily
came up with them on George's Quay, and
brought them back. 'Tis imagined the villain
intended to put them on board a kid-ship, to
send them to the plantations in America.' A
month later a ' fellow was taken up in Back
Lane for running away with a child from a
woman, and as it has not since been hoard of he
was committed on suspicion of kidnapping or
murdering of it.' A little while later we read in
the same paper that, ' since the late strict and
severe inquiry after the kidnappers, these
miscreants have ceased to perpetrate their vil-
lainy, at least, in so public a manner as here-
tofore ; but we are told that amongst these
robbers there is a prime young villain, who
sometimes in the dress of a beau, and at other
times like a merchant, tells the wretches he
deludes that he went a few years ago from
Dublin to America, a poor boy to try his fortune,
and that a lady of that country soon fell in love
with him ; that he married her and has now
many negro slaves under him, and that all the

284 PEG WOFFINGTON.

women who transport themselves, especially
from Ireland, immediately get rich husbands.
Besides this fine-dressed rogue, there are several
in the habit of sailors, who pick up poor trades-
men in the street, pretending to knoAv them;
then ply them with spirituous liquors, and abun-
dance of lies about the pleasures they are to
enjoy in the plantations abroad, by which means
they delude those unhappy victims into a
miserable and dangerous voyage, where they he
during the whole time promiscuously in the
hold of the ship, in filth and nastiness, insulted
perpetually by brutish sailors, and generally die
miserably in their tedious passage.'

The streets were badly lit, ill paved, ' out of
repair, and in several places raised to such a
height that carriages or horses cannot with
safety pass over the same,' whilst the entrances
to underground cellars, extending far into the
side walk, without rail or other protection, were
frequently the cause of severe accidents, and
•occasioned deaths to those who passed that
way, as we learn from the papers. Speaking of
these mishaps, Faulkner s Jourmd says, ' As

STURDY AND STROLLING BEGGARS 285'

lives are sometimes lost, and many legs, arms,
skulls, and bones of common people broken by
cellars projecting too far into the streets, it is
most Immbly requested by many who wish well
to the publick, and are not carried in coaches
or chairs, that some of our nobility, gentry,
magistrates, grand and j:><?^?i^ jurors, would be
pleased to break a few of their limbs, or knock
out their eyes, or brains, and then perhaps laws
might be made, or those already in being put
into execution against the encroachments of
cellars into the streets.' Here is another strange
paragraph from the same journal which speaks
volumes for the condition of the town. ' Upon
account of the many sturdy and strolling beg-
gars, impostors, and idle vagrants throughout
the kingdom, the nobility, gentry, and clergy
are determined to have all the faces of the men
shaven clean ; to examine their tied up legs and
arms, to force the tongues of those who pretend
to be dumb in order to make them speak, and to
detect those vile impostors who pretend to have
been sailors, to have been slaves in Morocco
and Turkey, and to have their tongues cut out ;-

286 PEG V/OFFINGTON.

which good resohitions, if put into practice in
city and country, will be a means of ridding this
nation of the vilest miscreants and vermin that
infest this earth, and are the plague and pest of
all human society ; having every vice in them
without one virtue, as they will not work, but
live on the blood, vitals, and labour of the in-
dustrious poor, who, when reduced by sickness
or want of work, are ashamed to beg.' Another
paragraph declares, ' The Lord Mayor hath
given orders that no coach, cart, chariot, chaise,
chair, etc., shall stand without horses after sunset,
before any coachmaker's or wjieelwright's house
Avhatever ; which will be of great service to the
public, as villains and idle vagabonds often lie
in them, and frequently surprise people on dark
nights; and sometimes coaches and chairs run
against them, to the grea.t danger of lives and
limbs.'

To all classes of the Dublin citizens the
theatre was the favourite source of amusement.
So fond was the polite world of plays, that pri-
vate theatricals were much in vogue in the
houses of the nobility. Frequently, too, at the

THE BOX. MRS. BUTLER. 287

Castle the officers and gentlemen of" the vice-
regal household gave amateur performances ;
whilst once, at least, a play, ' The Distressed
Mother,' was acted in the great council cham-
ber of the Parliament House itself The dra-
'inatis personce were of the first rank and fashion.
^Ij Lord Molesworth's fair daughter played
Hermione ; Miss Parker, Andromache ; my Lord
Mountjoy, Pyrrhur; and my Lord Kingsland's
brother Orestes. All the bishops, judges, and
privy councillors attended, besides the whole
fashionable part of the town.

xlmongst the ladies of quality most attracted
by the theatre and all concerning it was the
Hon. Mrs. Butler, a bright, busy, vivacious wo-
man, whose husband. Colonel Butler, my Lord
Lanesborough's brother, ' a plain, rough, merry
officer, doated on her, and admired everybody
that liked her.' Mrs. Butler was a frequent
attendant at the playhouse, and, when George
Anne Bellamy had been in Dublin six years
previous to the Woffington's second visit, this
daughter of an Irish peer had been introduced
by Miss O'Hara, Lord Tyrawley's sister, to Mrs.

288 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Butler, Avlio at once took the actress under her
social Aving, patronised her on the stage, and
lionized her in her drawing room. Garrick was
at this period, 1745, immediately after his parting
Avith Peg Woffington, performing for the second
time before a Dublin audience, in company with
Sheridan, they having agi'eed to play Shake-
perian characters with him alternately. The Bel-
lamy was likewise in the company. As Quin had,
on her first appearance in Covent Garden, ob-
jected to the lady's playing Monimia in the same
piece Avith him, so Garrick, Avho had lout a poor
opinion of her talents, protested against her
playing Constance to his 'King John.' More-
over, he desired that Miss Orpheur, a ' hard
favoured ' actress, would take the part.

Now George Anne had set her heart on being
seen as Constance, and had secured some A'ery
fine gowns wherewith to dress the character ;
she therefore resented Garrick's objection, and
almost involved him and Sheridan in a quarrel
on the subject, Sheridan having taken her side.
It was, however, finally settled that the ' hard-
favoured ' actress was to play the part ; where-

PUNISHING GARRICK. 28^

on Miss Bellamy, who was a lady of spirit, or,
in other words, a little vixen, determined to
have her revenge. She therefore fled to her
patroness^ Mrs. Butler, and laid full her bitter
complaint before that sympathetic lady, who
having no objection to give proof of the
power she exercised in the genteel world, at
once promised to espouse her protegees cause.
Therefore setting aside her partiality for Gar-
rick, she resolved to punish him for thwarting
Miss Bellamy in her lawful desires. To this
end she sent round polite messages to all her
friends, requesting them, as a favour to her, not
to attend the theatre on the night when ' King
John ' was played. As she was a social power,
and gave prodigiously fine balls, to which ad-
mission was always eagerly sought, her request
was readily complied with, so that on the night
when the tragedy was played the boxes were
tenantless and the pit empty, to the consterna-
tion of David Garrick and the wonder of the
world. This was the first humiliation in con-
nection with his profession which the great
actor ever received. But it was not the only
VOL. I. U

290 PEG WOFFINGTON.

triumph which the young lady of spirit secured
this season ; for presently Sheridan played King
John, and she Constance, when the theatre was
so crowded that vast numbers could not be
accommodated with admission. Nor was this
all. She was of opinion that Garrick had not
yet received sufficient mortification, and so the
young actress eagerly awaited an opportunity
of inflicting more. Accordingly, when Gar-
rick's benefit came round, he selected to play
in ' Jane Shore,' and, knowing from experience
the social influence which the Bellamy com-
manded, and being ever a w^ise man where
money was concerned, he requested her to
play the part of the unhappy heroine. This
she refused ; as she was unfitted to perform the
character of Constance, she, in her w^omanly
spirit, told him she was likewise unsuited to take
that of Jane Shore.

But Garrick, unwilling to let his interest
suffer, besought ^Irs. Butler to use her influ-
ence with her protegee on his behalf; in the
meantime he strove to make his peace with
the young lady, and ingratiate himself in her

GARRICK'S LOVE-LETTER. 291

favour. For this purpose he resorted to flattery, an
artifice which in the world's history has so often
served to overcome a woman's heart. He there-
fore wrote to her that, if she would oblige him
by playing, he would write her ' a goody, goody
epilogue,' which, with the help of her eyes,
' would do more mischief than ever the flesh or
the devil had done since the world began.'
This missive, which contained many similar
compliments, was addressed * To my soul's
Idol, the Beautiful Ophelia,' and given into
the hands of his servant to carry to Miss Bel-
lamy. The man, being busy, called a porter,
and, without looking at the address, bade him
deliver the letter. The porter, believing some
joke was intended, carried it to a newspaper
office, the result of which was that it appeared
in print next day. When the. story got abroad,
the whole town made merry of Gamck's love-
letter. The idol of Mr. Garrick's soul was,
however, reconciled to him ; no doubt the
reference to her eyes, which were beautiful
and blue, had the desired effect of softening
her heart.

U2 .

292 PEG WOFFINGTON.

Garrick, whilst in Dublin this season, con-
stantly visited at Mrs. Butler's home in Stephen's
Green. The lady was fond of theatrical lions,
but, moreover, she liked Davy for himself.
Garrick returned the compliment in kind, but
she probably had reason to suspect that the
complexion of his love Avas not of the same
platonic type as hers, and, having some Hiber-
nian humour, she deigned to play him a trick.
When he Avas about to take his leave previous
to his return to London, she told him Avith
faltering Avords she had a sealed package for
him, Avhich contained that which Avas more A'-alu-
able than life. ' In it,' said she, ' you will read
my sentiments ; but I strictly enjoin you not to
open it until you have passed the Hill of Howth.'
Garrick, having little doubt that this package
contained a declaration of her sentiments for
him, Avliich prudence forbade her to make knoAvn
Avhilst he remained in the same country Avith
her, received it from her hands with a significant
glance, and an air of regret that was touching.
Next day, Avhen the vessel which bore him across
the Channel had reached the specified point, he

GARHICK\S DISAPPOINTMENT. 293

eagerly broke the seals, and tore the cover from
the packet, which contained — not the declara-
tions of a broken heart, but a copy of Wesley's
hymns and Dean Swift's ' Discourses ;' when so
great was his chagrin and disappointment, that
he flung both the Dean and Wesley right into
the sea.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEDr HOUSE.

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

THE PICTORIAL PRESS : Its Origin' and Pro-

I GRESS, By Mason Jackson. 1 toI. demy 8vo. With 150

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THE MEMOIRS OF A CAMBRIDGE CHORIS-
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THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF PEG

WOFFIXGTOX : With Pictures of the Period in which She
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GLIMPSES OF GREEK LIFE AND SCENERY.

By Agnes Smith, Author of " Eastern Pilgrims," &c. Demy 8vo.
^Yith Illustrations and Map of the Author's Route. 15s.

" A truthful picture of the country through which the author travelled. It is
naturally and simply told, in an agreeable and animated style. Miss Smith dis-
plays an ample acquaintance and sympathy with all the scenes of historic interest,
and is able to tell her readers a good deal of the present condition and prospects
of the people who inhabit the country."' — St. Jcanes's Gazette.

"Every lover of Greece must hail with pleasure each new book of travels in
that country which tends to increase the interest of English people in Greece, and
spreads the knowledge that it is not only delightful, but quite safe, to travel there.
Miss Smith's 'Glimpses ' are lively and pleasant." — Academy.

" These ' Glimpses ' are presented to us in a very bright and sensible fashion.
It is a very agreeable and instructive book. The chapter on the language and
character of the modern Greeks is well woith reading for the sound judgment
and knowledge of the subject which it displays."' — Pall MaH Gazette.

LIFE OF MOSOHELES ; with Selections from

HIS DIARIES AND CORRESPONDENCE. By His Wife.

2 vols, large post 8vo. With Portrait. 24:S.
" This life of Moscheles will be a valuable book of reference for the musical his-
torian, for the contents extend over a period of threescore years, commencing with
1794, and ending at 1870. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called the ' Music of the
Future,' and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Kubenstein, Dr. von Biilow,
Litolff, &c., whether as composers or executants, are in a liberal spirit. He re-
cognizes cheerfully the talents of our native artists : Sir S. Bennett, Mr. Mac-
farren, Madame Goddard, Mr. J. Barnett, Mr. Hullah, Sir. A. Sullivan, &c. The
volumes are full of amusing anecdotes." — Athenieum.

MONSIEUR GUIZOT in Private Life (1787-

1874). By His Daughter, Madame de Witt. Translated by Mrs.
Simpson. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.

" Madame de "Witt has done justice to her father's memory in an admirable re-
cord of his life. Mrs. Simpsons translation of this singularly interesting book is
in accuracy and grace worthy of the original and of the su\>leGt."— Saturday Review.

WORDS OF HOPE AND COMFORT TO

THOSE IN SORROW. Dedicated by Permission to The Queen.
Fourth Edition. 1 vol. small 4to. 5s.

"The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs. Julius
Hare, a sister of Mr. Maurice. They are instinct with the devout submissiveness
and fine sympathy which we associate with the name of Maurice; but in her there
is added a winningness of tact, and sometimes, too, a directness of language, which
we hardly find even in the brother. The letters were privately printed and circu-
lated, and were found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail
to afford now to a ^vide circle. A sweetly-conceived memorial poem, bearing
the well-known Initials, 'E. H. P.', gives a very faithful outline of the life." — British
Quar'terly Review.

PLAIN SPEAKING. By Author of " John Halifax,

Gentleman." 1 vol. crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
"We recommend 'Plain Speaking' to all who like amusing, wholesome, and
instructive reading. The contents of Mrs. Craik's volume are of the most mulri-
farious kind, but all the papers are good and readable, and one at least of them
of real importance."— <Si. James's Gazette.

HURST AND BLACKETTS
SIX-SHILLING NOVELS

WE TWO.

Edna Lyall,

Author of '• Donovan,"' &c.

"This book is well-written and full of interest. The story abonnds with a good
many light touches, and is certainly far from lacking iu incident." — Times.

" ' We Two ' contains many very exciting passages and a great deal of infor-
mation. Miss Lyall is a capable writer of fiction, and also a clear-headed thinker."
— Athenseum.

'• We recommend all novel-readers to read this novel, with the care which such
a strong, uncommon, and thoughtful book demands and deserves." — Sj)ectato>'.

" There is artistic realism both in the conception and the delineation of the per-
sonages ; the action and interest are unflaggingly sustained from first to last, and
the book is pervaded by an atmosphere of elevated and earnest thought." —
Scotsman.

THE BRANDRETHS.

the Right Hon. A. J. B. Beresford Hope, M.F.,

Author of " Strictly Tied Up."

"In 'The Brandreths" we have a sequel to ilr. Beresford Hope's clever novel of
' Strictly Tied Up,' and we may add that it is a decided improvement on his
mailen effort Mr. Hope writes of political life and the vicissitudes of parties
with the knowledge and experience of a veteran politician. The novel is one
which will repay careful reading." — Times.

" 'The Brandreths' has all the charm of its predecessor. The great attraction
of the novel is the easy, conversational, knowledgeable tone of it ; the sketching
from the life, and yet not so close to the life as to be malicious, men. women,
periods, and events, to all of which intelligent readers can fit a ■aame.'''—SperMor.

SOPHY:

OR THE ADVENTURES OF A SAVAGE.

By Violet Fane,

Author of "Denzil Place," &c.

•' ' Sophy ' is the clever and original work of a clever woman. Its merits are of
a strikingly unusual kind. It is charged throughout with the strongest human
interest. It is, in a word, a novel that will make its mark." — World.

" This novel is as amusing, piquant, droll, and suggestive as it can be. It over-
flows with humour, nor are there wanting touches of genuine feeling. To consider-
able imaginative po^er, the writer joins keen observation." — Daily News.

MY LORD AND MY LADY.

By Mrs. Forrester,

Author of "Viva," "Mignon," &c.

" This novel will take a high place among the successes of the season, ^t is as
fresh a novel as it is interesting, as attractive as it is realistically true, as full of
novelty of presentment as it is of close study and observation of life." — World.

" A love story of considerable interest. The novel is full of surprises, and will
serve to while away a leisure hour most agreeably."— Z)ai7i/ Telegraph.

HIS LITTLE MOTHER: and Other Tales.

By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."

' This is an interesting book, written in a pleasant manner, and full of shrewd

observation and kindly feeling. It is a book that will be read with interest, and
that cannot be lightly forgotten." — St. James's Gazette.

"The Author of 'John Halifax' always writes with grace and feeling, and
never- more so than in the present volume."— J/ornwfif Post.

Published annually, in One Vol., royal 8uo, with the Arms beautifully
engraved, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price 31s. 6rf.

LODGERS PEERAGE

AND BARONETAGE,

CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY.

THE FIFTY-THIED EDITION FOR 1884 IS NOW EEADY.

Lodge's Peerage and Baronetage is acknowledged to be the most
complete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an esta-
blished and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family
histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has
ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her
Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal com-
munications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, the
type being kept constantly standing, every correction is made in its proper
place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy
over all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic informa-
tion respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most
sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the
various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals are
introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For
its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of
its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it
occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility.

LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

Historical View of the Peerage.

Parliamentary Roll of the House of Lords.

English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their
orders of Precedence.

Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain
and the United Kingdom, holding supe-
rior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage.

Alphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers,
holding superior titles in the Peerage of
Great Britain and the United Kingdom.

A Collective list of Peers, in their order of
Precedence.

Table of Precedency among Men.

Table of Precedency among Women.

The Queen and the Royal Family.

Peers of the Blood RoyaL

The Peerage, alphabetically arranged.

Families of such Extinct Peers as have left
"Widows or Issue.

Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the
Peers.

The Archbishops and Bishops of England
and Ireland.

The Baronetage alphabetically arranged.

Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by
members of Noble Families.

Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of
Peers, usually borne by their Eldest
Sons.

Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of
Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who,» hav-
ing married Commoners, retain the title
of Lady before their own Christian and
their Husband's Surnames.

Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of
Viscounts and Barons, who, having
married Commoners, are styled Honour-
able Mrs. ; and, in case of the husband
being a Baronet or Knight, Hon. Lady.

A List of the Orders of Knighthood.

Mottoes alphabetically arranged and trans-
lated.

" This work is the most perfect and elaborate record of the living and recently de-
ceased members of the Peerage of the Three Kingdoms as it stands at this day. It is
a most useful publication. We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous
accuracy is a distinguishing feature of this book." — Times.

"Lodge's Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, It
is on a better plan ; and secondly, it is better executed. We can safely pronounce it to be
the readiest, the most useful, and exactest of modem works on the subject." — Spectator.

"A work of great value. It is the most faithful record we possess of the aristo-
cracy of the day." — Post.

"The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage. It is the standard
authority on the subject." — Standard.

//Tzi

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

Los Angeles
"■'This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

orm L9-Series 4939

UNIVERSITY OF CALlFORNlA-LOS AJ^^^^^^^^

L 008 337 401 7

2287

W75M7

1885
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