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rick's social artifices, which to him were contemptible;

and then the less worthy feeling seemed to prevail. After all, this may be the solution; and all hearty admirers would be delighted that such strange behaviour could be reconciled with Johnson's really fine temper.

At the end, when Garrick had passed away, some such better influence prevailed. "Garrick was a very good man," he said; "the cheerfullest man of his age

-a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to give indulgence to licentiousness." The cheerfullest man of his age! This is something pretty and appropriate in that epitaph, something so nicely describing Garrick, something so inviting, that we condone all, and fondly believe that Johnson, his old schoolfellow, then understood him-but, alas! too late.




THE same old taste for high life, and this rather foolish ambition to do as those did who were above him in rank and wealth, made Mr. Garrick now prepare to leave his house in Southampton Street, where he had lived more than twenty years. They were but two, —their house was large and handsome enough; well situated, too, for one of his condition. But he was eager for something grander, and more "fashionable." Four brothers, of the name of Adam-two of whom were architects of repute, who have left some respectable works behind them-had entered upon what was then considered a colossal undertaking. They had bought the old Durham yard-where Garrick long before had his wine vaults-with the sheds and buildings about it, and conceived the daring scheme of throwing out a handsome terrace, raised on a series of arches, over the river side. In a spirit of nationality that seems ludicrous, they had brought all their masons and bricklayers from Scotland, and the work was stimulated by the monotonous drone of the bagpipe. The labourers, however, soon found that this cheerful music made them, insensibly, give more work than was quite profitable and with a spirit, in its own way as national as

that of their employers, they presently struck work. The now dingy and forlorn terrace, called the Adelphi, was then considered a splendid undertaking. The name was given in compliment to the brothers; and the two dingy approaches, John Street and Robert Street, represented their Christian names. The arches are solid and substantial; the houses handsome, and decorated with the poor and meagre Italian tracery, that were then considered in the best classical taste. It was a long façade, a centre with two small wings, pilasters, and courses. Garrick was taken with the situation, and through Lord Mansfield's interest obtained the promise of one of the houses, on advantageous terms, even before it was completed. These mansions were then really sumptuous in their finish. It proved to be a costly venture, and was a great deal above his resources, perhaps above the position of "a player;" for the other houses were taken by men of rank and wealth-like Beauclerk and Mr. Hoare. But one of Mr. Garrick's little weaknesses, was to do as people of rank and wealth did.

What is now number four, was the one he chose, and he fitted it up almost with magnificence. The plafond of the drawing-room was painted by Zucchi, with Venus and the Graces; and a rich Italian marble chimneypiece, said to have cost £300, adorned the fireplace. All his choicest pictures hung round upon the walls. Yet, like many a house built to be "architectural," it turned out a failure. There was too much light in front, from the river and the sun, and the back rooms, where the pictures were, were dungeon-like, from the shadow of the neighbouring houses. It is conceivable that the situation had a charm-from the gaiety

and animation of the river, the passing boats, and the hum and bustle of the Strand close by, yet shut out, and remote. Even now, that deserted terrace-lonely and grass-grown as it is-has a quaint air; it belongs not to the age; the houses, with their grimy Italian arabesques, seem like an old scene from old Drury Lane; and it does not take much imagination to conjure up that not unpicturesque evening when Boswell and Johnson strolled there, and leant on the rails, looking over the river, and talked of the friend that had once lived in the house they had just left.*

In the March of this year, an act of friendship was to draw him into one more unpleasant conflict with the public. Kelly, the ci-devant staymaker, had brought him a new piece, which Garrick's tact must have told him could not have been brought out, without danger. Kelly had written bitter satires on the players of both houses in succession, in feeble imitation of the "Rosciad." He had talked of "Clive's weak head or execrable heart," and spoken of Mrs. Dancer as moon-eyed idiot." This was mere scurrility. Garrick, with infinite difficulty, had smoothed away these green-room resentments; but the author had since enlisted under Government, and had been writing down the popular side, and Wilkes's friends had determined not to let so tempting an opportunity go by. The friends of the manager, and even those who had


It is now the office of the Literary Fund, and business is conducted in Garrick's fine drawing-room. It would have made him "turn in his grave" had he thought that David Williams's Society was to have its home in his house. Garrick interested himself to obtain one of the new houses at the corner of Adam Street, for Becket, a publisher, that worshipped him. His earnest letter, given in one of Hone's "Books," shows how eagerly and sincerely he went to work to ask a favour.

some terror of the "hack's" pen, mustered strongly, and the first scene of "A Word to the Wise" was the signal for an outrageous riot. Through the combined efforts of the two parties, not a word was caught of the piece. When it was concluded, the author himself was anxious that no more should be heard of it, and that a new play should be announced for the next night; but an alarming deputation of some gentlemen, supporters of the manager, waited on him behind the scenes, and threatened to sack the house, if the new play was not given out-which was accordingly done.

It may be conceived what a promise of riot this held out. And as soon as the prologue began, on the following night, both parties rushed to the attack. In vain Garrick appealed to them, with a request from the author, that his play might be withdrawn. His “friends," with an embarrassing partisanship, insisted it should go on. In vain the author himself implored that his piece might be withdrawn. He was not listened to. The night closed in utter riot and confusion.

Garrick and Mrs. Garrick now set off on a visit to friends at Kington in the Isle of Wight. These friends were the Fitzmaurices, who were the centre of a pleasant coterie, with "Mr. Barwell," Dr. Harrison, Lord Clanricarde, the admiral of the station, and others. The Governor, Mr. Stanley, who did not know him, sent his compliments to Mr. Garrick with a hope that they would come to stop with him at Steeple, and offered his yacht during their stay. They were indeed made much of. They left behind them memories of a delightful gaiety, and badinage. Mrs. Garrick was pronounced "the queen," and her health was drunk every day after her departure, with a fond recollection.

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