Retrospections of the stage

Front matter

W v gk

LIBRARY

u

Chapter I

1756. — Birth and Parentage — First eruption of the "Cacoethes hidendi." — Mr. Mattocks of Covent Garden, his street and stage airs.— Boarding-school Play. — Hamlet reduced.— Alas, poor Ghost ! — Provincial Theatricals of fifty years ago. — Manager Jackson and his Company, and House. — Juvenile Amateurs. — The ** Distressed Mothers." — G. F. Cooke in Richard, and an ambitious Tailor. — London, 1772. — Mrs. Canning's d6but in Jane Shore. — Reddish, "the greatest Villain on the Stage." — His engagement by Garrick. — Barry in Othello — His great points . Page 1

CHAPTER IL

1773. — The Comedian's Hegira — Bath. — Anecdote of Henderson.— Bristol and Mr. Bensley. — Experimentalizing. — Bensley's School. — Tale of his Wig — Chew Magna. — My public debut. — Manager Thornton, the Provincial Eccen-

Vlll CONTENTS.

trie — Recollections of him : his Shirts. — Scotch dress. — Histrionic Principle. — Anecdote. — " Richard 's himself again!" . . . . .31

Chapter III

1773. — Commencement of my Peregrinations. — Kainsome. — Booth — Glastonbury. — Tale of a Kite, the Glastonbury

Apparition. — Castle Cary. — Mrs. Kirby "When shall I

have rest?" — Westbury. — Mr. Butler and my Boots. — Musical Persecution. — "Chard." — Reminiscence of Betty Atkins ! — Beauty and Benevolence, an adventure. — The Parson-looking Gentleman — Taunton. — Mrs, Skinne. — Female Amateur and Novelist. — Eccentricities of George Parker, the Lecturer — The Five-and-Threepence. — Tale of

a Trunk, — Weymouth — Success My Mother. — Return

Home A lucky Transposition . . 47

CHAPTER IV. 1774. — Amateur-play at Poole Another aberration

The value of threepence. — Walk to Shaftesbury. — The old system, " flat, stale, and unprofitable."— Mrs. Skinne's tactics. — Return to Portsmouth. — Ultimate consent of my friends, and formal adoption of the Stage as my profession, — London. — Macklin in Shylock. — Quin's criticism. — Visit to Brentwood, — Zenith and nadir of theatricals. — Manager Penchard and his wig. — Lesson on Economy — Performance of "The Recruiting Officer."—" Double, double toil and trouble." — Mrs, Penchard, " the breeches figure." — Manager Thornton and Holcroft. — Mr. Penchard's procession. — Davy Osbom and his wife. — Mr. Weeks and his ^'woe." — Miss Macklin and her father. — Stowmarket. — Silent audience.— The Old Maid's criticism — Dedham, a change. — An old gentleman's criticism.— Termination to strolling . 77

CONTENTS. IX

Chapter V

1774. — Norwich Green-room. — Mrs. Brown (prototype of Mrs. Jordan). — Mrs. Ibbot (celebrated by Churchill). — Stage pronunciation ninety years ago. — Mrs. Cooper.— Mr. Griffiths. — Brunton. — Bob Bowles !— Definition of " Borachio." — An Illustration of Shakspeare "Bury St. Edmunds."— Mrs. Baker's Booth. — Lewey Owen. — The Clown. — Experiment upon a Silk JMercer. — Patience. — My first Wife! — Norwich fishing-parties. — Eccentricities of Bob Bowles Credulity of Mr. Griffiths. — " The Yarmouth herring."— *< The wild duck." — Remarks upon the essentials to form an Actor, and the " Science of the Stage." — Anecdotes of the Norwich people. — Misnomers. — Misapprehensions.— The Alderman's toast.

1775. — London. — Strictures on the first performance of " The Rivals." — Cause of the first night's failure. — The acting, &c. — Plymouth Dock. — The gallant "Middy." — Captain Crouch. — Stephen Kemble. — " Curse my coat ! think of my feelings !" • . .115

CHAPTER VI. 1776* — Journey to York Highway Adventure. — Jemmy

Whitely's Eccentricities. — The nodding Magistrate ; his Professional dignity. — The Fish Admissions. — His " Chinese Conjuror." — Macklin and his " Locke on the Understanding." — A dramatic " Icarus." — A FUght at Nottingham. — Tate Wilkinson. — Actors and Imitators Anecdotes of Tate's Career Imitation of Foote in London. — Imitation of Peg

Woffington at Dublin. — Cummings, the York Favourite : his Voice. — Gallery Criticism on John Kemble. — Singular Coincidence in his Death. — Reminiscence of Dodd. — Wakefield.

X CONTENTS.

— Cummings in *' Alexander," and the Critical Steed. — Anecdote of Tate Wilkinson, as a man. — Exeter Engagement at Bath — Portsmouth. — The Pleasures of Rest 151

Chapter VII

1777-8. — Bath Green-room.— Edwin's '' Life and Eccentricities."— Edwin's merits. — Production of " The School for Scandal." — Sheridan's particularity — Its success and "cast." — Anecdotes of Quin — Sarcasm on Nobility. — Belief in Pythagoras.— Explanation of the superabundance of Women. — Mode of expelling a Bore. — Definition of a Gamester. — Catolike complacency. — Reply to Ryan : his Siamese Soup. — Richmond. — Bob Bowles from Norwich. — A Doctor's Bill. — Fawcett and his Jokes. — Barry and the Barber.— Kitty Clive and Mrs. Cibber, Garrick's persecutors. — King and his " Barl)er's Pole." — Exeter.

1778-9.— Compilation of " The School for Scandal."— Privateer Speculation. — Does the " Fly" bite ? — Becky Wells. — Dramatic Transitions — Exeter.

1779-80. — Doctor Jackson and his Pupils.— Anecdote of Incledon. — Anecdote of Davy's (the Composer) Origin and Musical Precocity. — Exeter.

Chapter VIII

1782 — Visit to Ireland. — Cork Green-room Lee Digges,

the celebrated " Wolsey :" his professional Fate. — John Kemble, Stephen Kemble, O'Reilly, Daly, Miss Younge, Mrs. Crouch, Miss Barsanti, &c. — Bob Bowles again ! his disqualifications.— The Pink Suits. — A Breach. — Miss Francis, or Mrs. Jordan : Tate Wilkinson her Sponsor : origin of her name — Another difference with Daly. — Kemble's Sympathy.

CONTENTS. XI

— Journey to Limerick. — Mallow. — Wild Irish Theatricals. — The Manager. — Mr. Macfarlane, the one-eyed Cupid. —

Gallery and Orchestra Dialogue Public Control of Public

Amusements. — Mr. M^Shane, a high Tragedian. — Mr.

Waker, the low Comedian, and his nasal Appendages Motto

of a Sign, " Pay to-day and Trust to . — A Countryman's

Wit. — Irish travelling. — Limerick. — Exposition of a Family Mystery. — Anecdote of John Kemble and Miss Phillips— Bowles in his Element. — Irish Calculation. — The Anti- Vermini^ts. — Butterfelt. — Story of a Skull . 221

Chapter IX

1782-3. — Cork. — Two skulls better than one. — Journey to Dublin : humours of the carman. — A lame horse. — Whimsical adventure and hoax — Dublin. — Remarks on the three Theatres : Daly's, Crawford's, and our own. — Mrs. Baddeley. — Royal criticism. — Ryder : his merits. — Versatility, the distinction of Garrick. — Mrs. Crawford. — Unfair comparisons between her and Mrs. Siddons. — Vandermere. — Crawford's commencement. — Humours of a ^' Free Night." — Paddy Barret in Glenalvon, and his critics. — Our commencement. — Stephen Kemble's hit at a " Clapper." — Barry and Mossop. — Anecdote of their management.— Daly's success. — Our suffering.— A discovery among ourselves — Flight of our Managers.— Isaac Sparks, the humorist. — Story of him and a Scotch Doctor. — Crawford next on the decline. — Hamlet playing Paddy O'Rafferty ! — My engagement for Belfast.— Jack Barnshaw's reading — Daly's generosity — Mrs. Gardner's departure.— A grave joke . . . 262

Chapter X

1783.— Irish travelling. — Belfast Green-room.— Atkins. — Cherry. — Captain Garvey, the Irish Don Juan, and orixn CONTENTS.

ginal of " Paddy Carey.'^ — Miss Knipe. — Storj'^ of her Father, — Another Whitely and Thornton. — Opening Play. — Garvey in Careless : his singing, and female admirers. — Amyas Griffith (the Belfast Critic) and his legs. — La Mash, the fop-servant, and Kitty Frederick : his record of spousal gratitude.— Sir John O'Neil. — Mr. Rice, the old Irish Gentleman. — M'Nat and his "■ Parkegits." — New Theatre proposed* — My first management. — Attachment to Ireland. — Geoffry Galway, a great little actor. — Story of him and Whitely. — His blunders. — Londonderry. — Hard drinking : the " six-bottle men." — An Irish invitation. — Sligo. — The Castle Inn. — The Duelling Assembly-room. — Impromptu by Mr. Farren (father of the actress). — Le Sieur Ray and his " Cockalorum.'* — Sligo " Glee Club." — Retaliation, and an elegant challenge.

— Captain Garvey's gaieties, and impudence My illness. —

The two " Wat Tylers."— Restoration by lime-water — The receipt. .... 306

CHAPTER XL

Sligo. — A Shebeen-house. — Irish sermon. — Original impromptu by Pope. — Ride to Derry.— A stoical quadruped

An Irishman's experiment — Derry. — The Earl of Bristol ; Anecdote of him and his valet. — Irish circumlocution. — The resuscitated horse-stealer. — Cherry in the Miser, and the Drummer's wig. — Belfast.

1783-4. — Lady O'Neil's address. — Anthony Pasquin, a travelling painter. — A brief remark. — Oflfers from Mr. Palmer at Bath, and Vandermere. — Jemmy Fotterel, in Tragedy. — " Pass the Box." — Kane's benefit, and Garvey's sentiment.

Irish travelling. — Joe Haynes' logic, in demonstrating the

connection between himself and a shabby coat — Vandermere, a dramatic " Great Unknown."— Debut of Mrs. Billington at Waterford, and subsequent success. — Farewell to Ireland 348

RETROSPECTIONS

OF

THE STAGE.

Chapter I

1756. — Birth and Parentage — First eruption of the " Cacoethes ludendi." — Mr. Mattocks of Covent Grarden, his street and stage airs. — Boarding-school Play — Hamlet reduced. — Alas, poor Ghost ! — Provincial Theatricals of fifty years ago. — Manager Jackson and his Company, and House. — Juvenile Amateurs. — The " Distressed Mothers." — G. F. Cooke in Richard, and an ambitious Tailor. — London, 1772. — Mrs. Canning's d^but in Jane Shore. — Reddish, " the greatest Villain on the Stage." — His engagement by Garrick. — Barry in Othello. — His great points.

I WAS born at Portsmouth in 1756. My father was a lieutenant in the Navy, related to the governor Bernard, who figures in American history. My mother was the daughter of a

VOL. 1. B

2 " CACOETHES LUDENDI.

post-captain, of whose family I am altogether" ignorant. Whether my father's ancestors came from Germany, (and spelt their names Ber^- nard, as in a modern opera,) or France, is perhaps of as little consequence to my reader as myself; but if he has any curiosity upon the point, I must refer him to some hundreds of better informed cousins scattered all over Ireland, and particularly abundant at Limerick.

At the early age of ten, I can distinctly remember the firat breaking out of my passion for the stage. My mother was rather a serious woman, and did not go to the theatres. " Playhouses," she used to say, " always led to workhouses."" My father however, being an Irishman, and a sailor, was not quite so particular ; and whenever he was in port I could obtain permission, once a fortnight or so, to take a peep at the temple of Thespis erected in my native town, and opened for the summer by the handsome Mr. Mattocks, of Covent Garden, with one or two of the fourth-rates of the royal houses, and a qualifying mixture of provincial experimentalists.

MR. MATTOCKS. ^

Mr. Mattocks, to my infant fancy, was the beau ideal of a hero, and fine gentleman. I do not know but what his appearance in pubUc was as great a stimulant to ray inclinations as his popularity on the boards. I can remember very well how I used to stand staring at him with a company of kiteflying urchins, as he came sailing down the principal street of a morning to rehearsal, arrayed in a gold-laced suit of green and white, with a bag- wig, three cornered cocked-hat, a silver-mounted cane, and a silver-handled hanger. There was such a swan-like dignity about him, such a fascinating glitter, and " stand-out-of-the-way" consequence; his feather floating, his skirts flying, his sword dangling, and his stick thumping, as he proceeded. At night, as may be supposed, he increased the charm of the morning by airs of a more popular order. He was a pretty singer, and, with the exception of Vernon, the best acting vocalist I ever saw. His Lord Aimworth would have been a creditable performance in the hands of WilHam Smith.

In the Portsmouth Theatre, I therefore first B a

4 BOARDING-SCHOOL PLAY.

sought as an amusement what I afterwards adopted as a profession.

My parents having sent me to a Latin grammar academy near Chichester, the first active exhibition of my feehngs took place on the eve of our holidays, when our learned and indulgent domine, Mr. Low, used invariably to fall into that amiable faiUng so prevalent among pedagogues, of getting up a play. I had early distinguished myself at school as a good reader ! Nature had favoured me with a pleasant voice and an acute ear ; which is, in fact, the secret of public reading or speaking ; and on every occasion that a dramatic performance took place, I acquitted myself with a spirit and propriety which neither my companions could emulate, nor the spectators account for. Mr. Low praised, but did not suspect — the cause was, as yet, unrevealed to myself ; these praises, however, afforded fuel to the flame. The last misdemeanour of the sort that I was concerned in, is worth remembering.

When it was known that I was going to leave school (I was then about sixteen), it was deter-

HAMLET REDUCED. 5

mined by the scholars that the play should be selected in the ensuing holidays: with particular reference to myself, Mr. Low decided on Hamlet— I was to enact the Dane !

The play, after undergoing an indictable degree of '' cutting and maiming," to adapt it to the capacity of our actors and theatre, (an experiment very like Mr. Colman's fanciful illustration of " crowding the Archbishop of Brobdignag into Tom Thumb's pantaloons,") was put into rehearsal, and the parts given out. Mine being the longest and most important, I received a fortnight in advance. My companions, I remember, had very little sleep for that fortnight. It was my custom to read over my part as often as I could during the day, and to stamp and bellow it out all the night on the boards of my bed-room. This was very inconvenient to drowsy youngsters who had no admiration for Shakspeare, or, what was more difficult, my conception of him — but mine was a " privileged madness," — and " I'm studying my part," was the only answer they could get, however tenderly they implored me to let them

6 HAMLET REDUCED.

partake a little of the peace I so liberally dispensed to the ghost.

Every body knows the way in which these affairs used to be got up at schools; a good many have partaken in them. The school-room was the theatre — the forms became the boxes — each boy was apportioned his peculiar modicum of labour, according to his taste and ability — one to paint scenes, another to erect the stage, another to cut out clothes — our friends liberally assisting us with the means for all.

At length the play was perfect. The theatre completed, our friends (my mother excepted) were duly notified, and the evening came. Two amateurs commenced the entertainments with a duet on the flute and fiddle, and then the curtain rose. Thanks to Mr. Low, who was not the worst manager I have met in my time, the actors had been all pretty carefully drilled, and we now stood at the wings, with our hearts thumping up into our throats, anticipating the delight we should give to our friends and ourselves.

All went on and went off very smoothly, with

ALAS, POOR GHOST ! T

the usual allowances, and the usual applause, until the scene with the Ghost, — (which was assumed by a knock-knee'd lathy stripling of my own age,) — when a bungling rascal, whose post for the night was to sit above on a beam, and pull up the three baize table-cloths tacked together into a curtain, leaning forward to gain a better view of what was going on below, caught his breeches in the nail that sustained the end of the curtain, and at the moment I pronounced the words " Alas, poor Ghost !"" the roller becoming disengaged, descended with a swift thwack upon the Royal Dane''s head, and prostrated him to the earth amidst an uproar of laughter.

I, very luckily, standing a little in advance, escaped the same fate ; the curtain was speedily pulled up, but the scene could not proceed ; the merriment of the audience had converted my humbled companion's pain into rage, and with the problem of his materiality sufficiently solved, (for though some one jokingly remarked when he came on, that he wanted life in the character, he now proved he was a tolerable spirit,) he lay

8 HAMLET REDUCED.

on the stage, and roared aloud like a town crier. This served but to increase the laughter, and my situation soon became as unpleasant as his. I could neither go on, or go off; it was as difficult to retain my part as my countenance ; I thought it would have been compromising my dignity to have descended to the common-place of helping him on his legs, and he seemed determined not to rise without assistance. Mr. Low, who prompted, then spoke at the wings — " Charles, get up, sir ; rise, Charles, instantly ;" but, alas ! he was no wizard on this occasion, — he could not raise a ghost. The laughter now swelled into comparative thunder, — Mr. Low poked forward his head, stamped and shouted,— I trembled and stared, — the boy roared and kicked ! At length, Hamlet was compelled to stoop to his assistance, and enable, in a dutiful manner, the battered shadow of his sire to limp off to the shades for refreshment !

f On my return home, my inclination for the stage began to ripen every hour^ into active maturity : the applauses I had received in the youthful Dane, (however qualified in their

MANAGER JACKSON. 9

amount of pleasure by the accident just related,) shot a fire into my heart that was never to be extinguished ; and the theatre being open in Portsmouth, afforded the means of its nourishment. My time was for the present uncontrolled, as, my father being at sea, my mother was incapable of determining upon my future employments ; and the leisure which this interim gave me, strengthened the heat of my feelings till they became intolerable, and I sought out some means of relief. This did not cost me much time or trouble. In the neighbourhood of Portsmouth are several villages, of which Farnham was by no means the most important, either in a geographical or intellectual point of view. There, however, I was casually informed, that a dramatic wanderer (well known in the West of England), Manager Jackson by name, had pitched his tent, and to the Red Cow, or the Black Bull, or some other agricultural beast, I bent my steps. I soon discovered him in the village, by perceiving a flag flying from the upper windows of an inn, on which was inscribed the words " Jackson''s Theatre," and which, I b5

Ho MANAGER JACKSON

afterwards learnt, performed the double office of an advertisement by day, and the triumphal banner of a king or hero at night. - On the steps of the door I encountered the old man, a silver-haired Adam Winterton ; and well I remember the awe and veneration with which I approached him. The peculiar feature of this veteran's history (upon which he piqued himself ) was, that in his youth he had been an underling at Drury Lane, and ^dehvered messages upon the same boards, that Barton Booth with his mathematical movements, had electrified the Pit, Colley Gibber made mugs at the Gallery, and the Mercurial Wilks stuck his arms a-kimbo at the Boxes, and wagging his elbows like a pair of wings, achieved the ne plus ultra of antique dandyism.

I expressed my wishes in a very few words, and he, as briefly, his willingness to gratify them. I wanted to play George Barnwell, and promised I would fill his house by way of remuneration. He requested me to name the night, and first rehearsal, then desired to show me over his theatre, and introduce me to his company.

AND HIS COMPANY. 11

His theatre — stop — he had engaged the ^ largest room at the said Black Bull, suspended a collection of green tatters along its middle for a curtain, erected a pair of paper screens right-hand and left for wings ; arranged four candles in front of said wings, to divide the stage from the orchestra, (the fiddlers' chairs being the legitimate division of the orchestra from the Pit,) and with all the spare benches of the inn to form Boxes, and a hoop suspended from the ceiling, (perforated with a dozen nails, to receive as many tallow candles,) to suggest the idea of a chandelier ; he had constructed and embellished what he denominated a Theatre ! The scenery consisted of two drops, simply and comprehensively divisible into the inside of a house, and the outside of a house. The former (which was an original of about the same date as the manager) was a bona fide representation at bottom of a kitchen, with all the culinary implements arranged about it ; but by the simple introduction of two chairs and a table, this .was constituted a gentleman's parlour! and in the further presence of a crimson-cushioned,

12 MANAGER JACKSON

yellow-legged elbow chair, with a banner behind, and a stool in front, was elevated into a royal hall of audience ! This was clever stage managing. The other drop (which I have termed outside of a house) was somewhat younger than its companion, and very ingeniously presented on its surface two houses peeping in at the sides, a hill, a wood, a stream, a bridge, and a distant plain ; so that, from the general indistinctness of the wMe, the eye of the spectator might sfingle out a particular feature, and, agreeably to the locality of the scene that was passing, imagine himself in a street, a wood, by a stream, &c. alternately. This was also a very clever contrivance ; the manager, at least, disencumbered Himself of four scenes by it, and with the chair and table manoeuvring, did without two. I can not remember now the condition of his wardrobe, but I have some general impression of its consistency with the above. If Mr. Pope's idea of beauty applied as forcibly to the Drama as it does to females, — "when unadorned, it i^ adorned flie tnost," — -then Ma-

AND HIS COMPANY. IS

nager Jackson's theatre displayed the goddess in the full perfection of her charms.

The Company consisted of a heavy man, who played the tyrants in tragedy, and the French horn in the orchestra (not the first actor who has blown his own trumpet); — Mr. Jackson, prompter, money-taker, scene-painter, machinist, and fiddle-player, who was a company in himself, inasmuch as, being letter-perfect in every stock-play, he could carry on all the mechanical duties of the house, and play ten parts a-night with facility, behind the scenes, — this was a general practice at that time ; — the " walking gentleman" (a Romeo at night, but thfeapothecary by day), who sung a little, did the lovers, danced hornpipes, and played tricks ;-— a low comedian — low enough, Heavfeh kiiOw^i — a fat fusby little woman hiswif&V and Mts. Jackson, who had the choice of every thing, but being an old woman, naturally selected the young ones. With this band of dramatic desperadoes. Manager Jackson performed the witches' ceremony of " double, double toil and trouble,"

14 JUVENILE AMATEURS.

and three times a- week put William Shakspeare on the rack, to the delight of the red-headed bumpkins of Hampshire.

To proceed: — I rehearsed the character of Barnwell with the above-mentioned worthies, and was perfect. I then communicated my design to every acquaintance I had in Portsmouth ; and, agreeably to my promise, on the night of the performance the room was crowded ^j " to an overflow ;'' my success was so flattering, that two or three of my companions proposed to join me in a second exhibition. " Venice Preserved" was decided on as the play, and half-a-dozen more volunteered to perform the conspirators. These doings we carefully concealed from our parents, and another crowded room was in embryo for Manager Jackson.

By some infamous treachery or villanous mischance, the secret got wind, and reached the ears of our mothers, who, being mostly acquainted, went round to each other, and held a consultation upon the subject, as grave as that of so many physicians. The result of this " debate profound" was a resolution to obtain

JUVENILE AMATEURS. 15

ocular evidence of the fact (so little inclined were some of them to beheve it), but to shroud from our knowledge meanwhile the slightest suspicion of their design. Thus the night came, and with it our loving mothers to Farnham, cackling and worrying like so many hens when they see a brood of gosUngs going into the water. With great secrecy^ but some difficulty, ; they obtained seats (on paying their sixpences) > at the extremity of the room, in a situation completely shrouded from the view of the stage, and there sat down, a formidable phalanx, behind cow-boys and town-boys, to witness their naughty boys' conduct. I (being the Jaffier of the evening) commenced the play with the obdurate Priuli, and was rather startled to hear my name pronounced aloud, in reply to my first speech ; nevertheless, as my eye could not confirm the cowardly insinuations of my ear, I proceeded without alarm ; each of my companions was greeted in the same manner on his appearance, by his wonder-struck parent ; but as the same feeling that forced out the exclamation sealed up the lips that uttered it, the play received no interruption — we entertained no fears — the applause was tumultuous — all went on very smoothly : — this was a deceitful calm. The bosoms of the venerated ladies all this time were fermenting to an overflow : they only waited for the opportunity, — they did not want the will, — they were green and smiling volcanoes on the eve of an explosion ; or, like so many full-charged electrical machines, only wanting a conductor to give us a shock. The applause that stimulated us enraged them : it had the appearance of encouraging our wickedness, and setting their wishes at defiance. The more we stamped and strutted, the more they winced and fidgeted, — thus an unexpected climax was approaching. When the conspirators' scene came on, our acting grew to be so much like earnest, that at the instant each clapped his hand upon his sword and Pierre waved his weapon aloft, up they rose with a simultaneous scream, in the full conviction we were going to cut one another's throats, and overturning all who sat before them, ploughmen or gentlemen, darted towards the stage, calling

THE " DISTRESSED MOTHERS." 17

out our names. An immediate rout among us was the consequence, and a general uproar in the assembly. But an explanation soon ensued, and flight or resistance was impossible. The room had no doors at the extremity of the stage, and it would have cost us our necks had we jumped from the windows. Singled out by the sharp eye of maternal tenderness, in an instant we were seized with an adamantine security. Lightning could not have been more expeditious than their movements, or, as respected ourselves, more paralyzing in its effects. In the eyes of the audience were we then compelled (as far as decency permitted) to strip off our borrowed plumes, and with the paint on our faces (absorbed in the redder glow of our shame) had we to penetrate the screeching crowd, which, but a few minutes previously, had given us the hearty tokens of their admiration. But this was not all : from the inn room, the affair communicated below, and flew round the village before we had descended the stairs. Then each, grasped by the relentless fingers of his dam, was obliged to run the gauntlet of the

mob, walked publicly back to Portsmouth, followed by the whoopings of half a hundred urchins, and subjected to the horse-laugh of every bumpkin we passed.

In order to wean me from my newly dis- ; covered propensity for acting, my mother wisely resolved to remove me from the scene of its indulgence, and accordingly took me with her on a visit to some relatives at Maidstone, where she proposed remaining till my father arrived in port, from its proximity to his destination, Sheerness. His return had been long expected, and his opinion was to decide my fate. In passing through Chichester, by a very agreeable mischance, the wheel of our chaise broke down, and as it could not be repaired until the ensuing morning, I obtained an evening's leisure and release from my mother's side. In walking down the town, the first thing I looked for was a playbill ; and the first thing I observed, on discovering one, was an announcement of Richard the Third, by a Mr. G. F. Cooke, then a young man of about two-and-twenty, evidently new to his profession, and perfectly unknown. This

AN AMBITIOUS TAILOR. 19

was the man who slumbered away the morning and noon of his existence in theatres of the above description, and came to London (the only fit arena of his talents) to exhibit but the radiance of a setting-sun. Being the first tragedian I ever saw, whatever I might say in his praise on this occasion, I am afraid, would be set down to the score of first impressions ; and to enter into an investigation of his maturer merits, would indeed be a trite affair for the present generation. Forty years after this period, when I encountered him in America for the first time, I observed that what he had lost in passion, he had made up in judgment. The recollection of Cooke in this character brings a circumstance to my mind that my reader may be disposed to smile at.