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local country clowns, whose terrors and prejudices had furnished such amusement. The procession, through what represented a street in Stratford, must have been really imposing. There were sixteen drummers leading the way, a band of music, men carrying banners, and then a long train of actors and actresses, all dressed to represent the leading parts of Shakspeare's plays-each play being apart. Garrick walked as Benedick, King as Touchstone, Mrs. Abington as the comic muse, and Mrs. Barry as the tragic muse, drawn in a triumphal car. They were divided into "the Roman characters," Caesar, Coriolanus; "Roman ladies dishevelled," Brutus and Cassius, "bearing daggers," with "soft music" and "grand music." Then came old English characters-Prospero, and "magical music," "drunken sailors;" Oberon and Titania, "in a nut-shell," to fairy music; Hamlet, "to solemn music," following the Ghost, with his sword drawn;" Ophelia in "her madness;" Lear; Macbeth, "with daggers bloody;" Lady Macbeth "asleep, with the candle and phial," to the "Dead March in Saul." Garrick, who knew the cheapness in the end of judicious outlay, spared no money on the "mounting" of the piece, and the result was, that for ninety-two nights the town went to see it in crowds. The whole must have been a wonderful and pleasing pageant; and it is surprising, that in a recently revived enthusiasm, some such display was not thought of at the theatres. Boaden, who died not very long ago, saw it from the two-shilling gallery, then a mere boy; and was perfectly ravished with the splendour of the spectacle.

Thus, in a certain sense, he did not lose by the

Jubilee, down at Stratford. But the jesting was endless, the ridicule killing. The newspapers and magazines were never weary of ringing the changes on what was considered a mere display of vanity, and meant for the glorification, not of Shakspeare, but of his priest. Warburton's contempt, which spared no foe, could not restrain itself, even in the instance of a friend, like Garrick. Of the Ode, he wrote to a friend, that Cibber's nonsense occasionally verged on sense; but that "this man's sense, where he does deviate into sense," was always like nonsense. No better instance could be given, of Warburton's "ill-conditioned" soul. Worse than all, it seems to have stimulated the enmity of his old half-friend-but better half-enemy-Foote, in whose mind the monstrous "humbug" of the whole show, had almost the effect of scarlet on a bull. The complacent airs of Garrick, at these public comments, had a further effect. For a man whose profession and livelihood is satire, intimacy is more an invitation than a restraint; and though we have reviewed the circle of Garrick's friends and cnemies in a previous chapter, I have reserved for this place a sketch of his relations with two men so important as SAMUEL FOOTE and SAMUEL JOHNSON.




ANYONE sitting with Garrick at Hampton-say only. a short time before his death-and asking what impression of life he had taken away, after his long experience within and outside the walls of his theatre, must have learned from him, how many a mean corner of the heart had been shown to him, and that he would take out of the world an impression of its "hollowness" and baseness-worse than ever conventional moralist had described it. He had found a few true friends—many bitter enemies, ingratitude more than usual-and had been blessed in his wife. This was all more or less, as of course; but what he must have recalled with most pain was, that some, whom all through his life he had striven to conciliate, who had treated him badly and ungraciously, whom he had forgiven and tried to conciliate again, should have laid themselves out to be unkind to him. There were a few from whom he bore everything with undisturbed good temper, but who could never forgive him, for being more prosperous than they were. No good offices could bind them. Those ungracious hearts he was never weary of trying to win, and chief among these were Samuel Foote, and, it must be added, Samuel

Johnson. The behaviour of these two, adds something to the humiliating history of the smaller human weaknesses, and at the same time contributes to the history of a mind that raised itself to a high station, by restraint, forbearance, a kindly charity, and perhaps a contemptuous indifference to petty malice. Foote's behaviour to him, all through, was the strangest, and though he felt himself bound by no feeling of loyalty to spare any friend, he seems to have had a special dislike to Garrick.

When the manager was acting his plays accepting his services whenever he chose to give them-though, as we have seen, they were sure to bring embarrassment,―he could hardly restrain his envy or malice. He had held him up in one of his lectures as "penurious," and churlishly discouraging dramatic authors. But presently a dreadful shock was to fall on him, the first of the two great blows of his life. It was perhaps the lightest, as being physical,-the fall from his horse, at Lord Mexborough's, which so shattered his leg, that nothing but amputation could save his life. This mutilation was a terrible stroke for the man whose life was one broad grin, and whose jests and mimicries were set off with all the quick motions and spirited action, which carelessness and good spirits could prompt. He, who jeered at the ludicrous helplessness of others, moral as well as physical, was now hovering between life and death, and at best could only hope to emerge into the world, a maimed and helpless cripple, that would require all pity and indulgence. Weak, miserable, in agonies of pain, not being able to sleep without opiates, a kind and considerate letter from the "mean hound" he had so often slandered

came to bear him comfort. It told him how deeply all his friends took his misfortune to heart. Colman in particular was deeply concerned. Garrick offered his own labour and exertions, to look after the theatre in the Haymarket, and had taken care to put paragraphs in the papers to contradict false reports. The other's acknowledgment is one of the most dismal in the world. He was “a miserable instance of the weakness and frailty of human nature." "Oh, sir," he went on, almost abjectly, "it is incredible all I have suffered, and you will believe me when I assure you, that the amputation was the least part of the whole." They flattered him with the hope of getting soon up to town. Change of place to a man

in my way, is but of little importance; but for one reason I wish it, as it will give me an opportunity, in person, of expressing some part of my gratitude to dear Mr. Garrick for all his attention and goodness to me.” Mrs. Garrick, too, had sent some kind messages which seemed to have touched him much. He could not sufficiently express his gratitude to her. When Garrick would lose her, he "would have more to regret than any man in the kingdom." We might pity him in this wretched state, did we not suspect it was the mere prostration produced by his sufferings. "Oh, sir, it is incredible all I have suffered." He should have thought of what he made others suffer; and when some years later he could drag the wretched Mrs. Dodd and her husband, on his stage at the Haymarket, he showed that such a lesson was thrown away upon him, and almost seemed to deserve the final chastisement which crushed him. A "return" of the accumulated amount of suffering and mortifications he contrived to heap on innocent persons, would be astonishing.

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