should enter with an enormous plume of feathers, to import dignity. This practice, with others, he abolished. There can be no doubt, that to the very end there was but little decay in his gifts; for the simple reason, that his acting was not the result of a mere vulgar instinct, which may be corrupted and overlaid with vanity and meaner vices, but of genius, corrected by sound judgment, good sense, and study, which at sixty were flourishing. Ffarington, the painter, had never seen him until the last season, when he went to see "Hamlet," and found himself but a row or two from the stage. He was a little shocked at the oldish face, the bulky figure, the enormous heels made to give him height, and the almost grotesque air of decay. He expected a very lamentable exhibition of failing powers, but was surprised, delighted, and almost confounded at the spirit, truth, and power of the acting-presently had forgotten the paint and wrinkles, the high-heeled shoes, and the bulky figure, and saw nothing but Shakspeare's Prince.*

Still it should be mentioned, that an old Doctor Mudge told Northcote, that at the end of his career Garrick was not nearly so free and original, as he was at the beginning. Perhaps he meant, not so fresh; and the town had now begun to know him by heart.

It indeed almost seemed that at his death a sort of reaction had come, and that there was a return to the old rugged declamation of the Quin days; for certainly the traditions of the Kemble acting seem to be a dreary preaching, and a strange, dry, stilted pronunciation, coming from what Hazlitt so happily called

* Taylor.

"Kemble's foggy throat." It seems to have left its mark on our own day. We need only glance round our theatres-walk into a house of average reputation, to see tragedy declaimed, according to a weary, monotonous, strictly observed canon, which might be a hundred and fifty years old. But it is certainly a little curious, that one with such a reputation, and who had trained up a whole school of actors, on his own principles, should have left so little mark-more wonderful still, that the dreary Kemble elocution should be the established model for existing stage diction, and be always followed. The reason may be, that it is easier for the common, untrained mind, to "pick up" and copy that conventional system, than to study for itself, the bright and varied principles of nature and character. Quin was laughed at for his strange and affected pronunciation, sounding "face face" like "farce;" but this was not a whit more ludicrous than Kemble's "ferse" and "bird," for fierce and beard, his "aitches," and almost comic perversion of every sound in the language.

Macklin, in a malignant criticism found among his papers, but which at the same time gives us some traits of peculiarities in Garrick's acting, says that he restored "that shameful scene of the epilepsy in the fourth act of 'Othello,"" to give himself the opportunity of some "business." Another reason, he said, was that he knew Quin could not let his bulky figure fall without a ludicrous effect, whereas he was slight in person, and there would be no such danger. He speaks of his "strange manner of dying, and griping the carpet; his writhing, straining, and agonizing: all which he has introduced into the profession." In

other words, Garrick substituted for the solemn and monotonous singsong, and regulated gesture of the old school, a variety and liveliness of illustration. "His art in acting consisted in incessantly hauling and pawing the characters about, with whom he was concerned in the scene; and when he did not paw or haul the characters, he stalked between them and his audience, and that generally when they were speaking the most important and interesting passage in the scene-which demanded, in propriety, a strict attention. When he spoke himself, he pulled about the character he spoke to, and squeezed his hat, hung forward, and stood almost upon one foot, with no part of the other to the ground but the toe of it. His whole action when he made love, in tragedy or in comedy, when he was familiar with his friend, when he was in anger, sorrow, rage—consisted in squeezing his hat, thumping his breast, strutting up and down the stage, and pawing the characters that he acted with. He introduced sleep into Lear-showed how the body dreamed in Richard. He also introduced sleep into his Sir John Brute, and for many minutes, to the extravagant satisfaction of the audience, cut the faces of an idiot, a lunatic, a stupid: so expert was he in all the tricks of the face, which the good people acknowledged as his imitation of a drunken man falling asleep." Through all this perverted view-and the private character that accompanies it is shocking from its malignancy-can be discerned the true characteristic of Garrick's acting, a lively vivacity. It was said, too, that he had not a good ear for emphasis, and often misplaced it. An instance has been already given as to his reading of one of the commandments.

ward revelled; and this he could not do to his own satisfaction.* There was no appropriateness in it, a smile would have done as well, but Woodward tickled the "wittols" of the gallery, and the unmeaning merriment became the grand "point" of the part. Garrick found his reward in the fine piece of comedy he gave in Leon. in Leon. His dulness and stupidity, mixed with a sly archness, were admirably assumed, and not in the least overdrawn; and his change to the gallant manly bearing of the true man and husband, his natural dignity and firmness, and humour, were a triumph of acting. "I think," says Davies, "I never saw him more universally captivate the eyes and ears of an applauding theatre. The warmth of his spirit," adds the same critic, who is sometimes very acute and happy in his remarks, "was so judiciously tempered; his action so correspondent to his utterance, and his whole deportment so significant and important.” When the Duke said, at the end of the play,—“ I pray you, sir, use your wife well- Garrick's sheathing of his sword, and most expressive look and action, as he replied, with a mixture of high courtesy, delicate reproof, and self-respect-" My own humanity will teach me this,' -was a new revelation to the audiences of the day.

The exuberant part of Archer was another of his delightful comedy parts. All owned that "there never

Yet there was (6 'a laugh" for which he was famous-a sort of hollow, forced laugh-in Kitely, where Dame Kitely asks "if he was ever jealous."

"What? ha! never! never! ha, ha, ha!

She stabs me home! jealous of thee!

No, do not believe it-speak low, my love."

It will be remembered that all Garrick's "points" were of a refined sort, and very different from the traditional "points" of great actors that have been handed down to us, like the famous "Zaire, tu pleures."

had appeared so genteel a footman, or a complete gentleman; the one fit to triumph over the pert airs of an inn-keeper's fair daughter, the other inspired with that happy impudence, so timely corrected by a most profound respect, as not to be resisted by the finest woman in the world, languishing under the neglect of a cruel husband." Refinements and delicate nuances of this sort must read almost unintelligibly to our actors.

The German traveller's account of the scene in the "Beau's Stratagem," where Garrick was disguised as a "fine servant," and Weston the miserable waiter, at a miserable inn-is a perfect photograph. The description itself is like a bit of the comedy it describes :

"Garrick wears a brilliant light blue and silver livery, a rich laced hat with a red feather. His shapely calves are resplendent in white silk stockings; his shoe buckles are in the height of the mode; he is altogether a fascinating fellow. Weston-poor devil-overloaded with his multifarious and dirty duties, presents a perfect contrast to Garrick. He wears a sorry wig, with the curl taken out of it by the rain, a green jacket, which perhaps thirty years ago, might have been cut for a wealthier paunch, red woollen stockings, and a green apron. Mingled astonishment, and respectful admiration overcome him, at the sight of this grand gentleman's gentleman. Garrick, bright, brisk, and knowing, his smart hat cocked airily a little on one side, and not in the least overshadowing the brilliant face, comes forward merrily, full of confidence in his calves and his new dress, with firmness and decision in every movement. He feels himself a head taller beside the melancholy Scrub. And Scrub, at all times short enough, seems to lose some of his few inches by Archer's side; his knees tremble with the terrible feeling of the threefold contrast between the poor drawer, and the triumphant valet. With fallen chin, in a kind of adoration, he follows every moment of Garrick with his eyes. Archer, who wants Scrub to aid him in his schemes, soon grows condescending. They sit down together.

"Anyone who wishes to study the irresistible power of contrast on the stage, should see this scene. With the easy grace peculiar to him, Garrick throws himself into a chair, rests his right arm upon the back of Weston's seat, and leans forward for a little confidential chat. The skirts of his splendid very hang down gracefully, and in the folds of the coat and the person of the man, one line of beauty succeeds another. Weston sits on the middle of his chair, as beseems him, but somewhat far forward, a hand on either knee. He seems dumfoundered, and his cunning eyes are fixed on Garrick. If anything is expressed on his face, it is the affectation of dignity struggling with the paralysing sense of the horrible contrast between him, and his companion. I here remarked a bit of business by Weston which produce