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for his private study. And it all but helps us to see the rolling eye, and sawing gestures, and bears out the accurate observation of Churchill of his "military plan,” and his treatment of the monosyllables and epithets

"In monosyllables his thunders roll,

He, she, it, and, WE, YE, THEY, fright the soul."

Surprise and peevish.

Eyes upwards.
"What should this mean? What sudden anger's this?

Sudden turn of voice-quick.

He parted frowning from me, as if ruin

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Transition. Much breath.
I fear the story of his
Strikes it quickly.

This paper has undone me.
Of all that world of wealth I've DRAWN together

Voice quick and loud.
I must read this paper;
Opens paper very hastily.
anger.-'Tis so-

Cunning and head nod. Dislike, teeth quite close. Lips partly pressed:
To gain the Popedom. O negligence!

Quick and high.
Fit for a fool to fall by.

Vast throbs of feeling.
'Tis the account

Hurried spirit, and all in a breath.
Made me put this MAIN SECRET in the packet

Wild, sudden, spitefully and peevishly.
What cross devil


I sent the king?—Is there no way to cure this?
Face full to audience,
Side look. Cunning, fretful and musing-swelling inward.
No new device to beat THIS from his brains?

I writ to's Holiness.

I know 'twill stir him strongly.

Opens letter.

What's this?-To the Pope.

Loud. Pause. Then sudden turn.

Still look to the letter. Rest. Breathe out, slow step, and head declined.
The letter, as I live, with all the business

Under feeling.
I haste now to

Quite calm and resigned.
Nay, then, farewell!

G tone, with feeling, but low.

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;

No jerk.

And, from that full meridian of my glory,

Finger G tone.

pointed down. Sudden pause. my setting; I shall fall Mournful.


Like a bright exhalation in the evening,

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Nothing more amusing can be conceived. The "G tone," the "weak manner," the "swelling inward," are delightful. These old shrivelled arts are thus exposed to us, and show us properly what he, and what his "school," was.*

But it is hard to laugh at the old tragedian. He had fallen on evil days. At Dublin during his brief reign it was his stately practice to light his theatre with wax, whenever the august genius of Shakspeare was invoked. Then with his brief struggle and slender prosperity, soon came decay, in spite of the "Lady Patronesses, the Countess of Brandon, Lady Rachel Macdonnell, sister to the Earl of Antrim," and the rest. His story seems almost piteous: his desperate difficulties, his arrests, his dismal end in London. Anticipating a little, I shall tell this melancholy finale of Mossop in another chapter.

* This was given in the Opera Glass, a now forgotten periodical.




In this episode Garrick was to appear in a character full of dignity and compassion, and in which, too, from one whose life had been spent in vilifying him, was to be wrung a death-bed amende and acknowledgment of repentance.

He had for some time lost sight of this tragedian, whose very name must have always brought back unpleasant associations to him. When Mossop quitted Drury Lane, we have seen that he went to Dublin, where the fatal craze for "managership" took possession of him; and the desperate and costly struggle between him on one side, and Barry and Woodward on the other, is one of the most exciting chapters in the history of the Irish Stage. We have seen, too, how Garrick helped him there. In the end, the fortunes of all were wrecked, and after a miserable contest of some years, the combatants had dispersed, overwhelmed with ruin; and Mossop found himself back in London, quite broken in spirits, health, and fortune.

He had some friends, who strongly pressed him to appeal once more to Garrick; but the tragedian had still his pride to support him, and disdained to make such an advance. He said that Garrick knew very well that he was in London. No man had less pride

of that sort than Garrick, but he knew what was due to his own dignity and interest. In this state of things, no application was made, no offer came, and the season went by.

A friend then proposed that he should go abroad with him, as a sort of companion, which he did, and he enjoyed the luxury of the Grand Tour. He returned in about a year's time, but, it was noticed, was now quite changed, having grown shattered-dilapidated, wasted, solitary and gloomy. The lustre of his eye, which had been so effective in tragedy, was dimmed. Again it was pressed on him, that he should make overtures to Garrick, but he once more declined to stoop to what he thought such a humiliation. We may have some sympathy for this dignity in the broken actor; for he had been born a gentleman, and educated as such, and something must be allowed for the stiff old "Irish pride." Among the friends who interested themselves for him was a certain young fellow " of parts," Welsh, later to be a dissenting minister, and who frequented the theatres. He was always with Mossop, hearing from him the story of his wrongs. He was known to Goldsmith, and others of that coterie; but most frequented the circle where the small snarlers and sneerers at Garrick's reputation were busy. It was said, indeed, that he had sent in a drama, on a Welsh subject, to the manager, whose rejection— and the rejection of a play seemed to be the grossest of known human injuries-inflamed the author's enmity. He took up his friend's case, and in the most bitter and personal pamphlet, made a savage onslaught on Garrick. It was quite plain, that in the materials he was prompted by Mossop, as he himself was a mere

youth, and his memory could have furnished him with but few stage recollections. There was something violent and impetuous in his nature; and those who not so long ago could recollect the placid, unimpassioned face of the Unitarian minister-his tall figure in its deep purple velvet suit-would hardly suppose that he had figured in the fierce theatrical wrangles of a past generation.*

This production was entitled "A Letter to David Garrick, on his conduct as a principal manager and actor at Drury Lane Theatre (1772);" and there were portions of it so near the truth, or so near what the world thought to be the truth, as to give Garrick sore annoyance. It told him, how strange it seemed that every actor was "shot at" in the public papers from some corner, while Garrick always escaped. When, too, any article dealing severely with Garrick was offered for insertion, it was curious how it was always declined. He had discovered the secret. Mr. Garrick was the proprietor, or part proprietor, of most of the journals. There was a grain of truth in this. "Hence, I am afraid, the inimitable Mr. Garrick, the faultless actor," &c. But he forgot that enemies could indemnify themselves in pamphlets, as he was doing. Too many persons were inclined to attack Garrick's reputation. "Would to God I could defend you!" How unworthy were the arts, by which the manager and actor tried to crush every one with talent. First, he resorted to mimicry. It is well known that Quin was long the object of this ridicule; but he was too strong. Others of less power and ability were crushed and

* Taylor.

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