effort he said,-it had been the custom on such occasions to address friends in a farewell epiloguehe had intended following the practice, but when he came to attempt it, found himself quite as unequal to the writing of it, as he now would be to its delivery. The jingle of rhyme-the language of fiction-would but ill suit his present feelings. The moment was a terrible one for him, now parting for ever from those who had lavished on him such favours, and such kindness; and upon the very spot where all these favours were received, he was now-here he was utterly overcome, and could not go on, from his tears. Recovering himself, he merely added, that he should never forget their goodness, and though his successors might have more ability, they could not surpass the pains he had taken to win support, nor the deep gratitude he felt. On this he retired slowly-up-up the stage, his eyes fixed on them with a lingering longing. Then stopped. The shouts of applause from that brilliant amphitheatre were broken by sobs and tears. To his ears were borne from many quarters the word "Farewell! Farewell!" Mrs. Garrick was in her box, in an agony of hysterical tears. The wonderful eyes, still brilliant, were turned wistfully again and again, to that sea of sympathetic faces, one of the most brilliant audiences perhaps that ever sat in Drury Lane: and at last, with an effort, he tore himself from their view.

Though an afterpiece was to follow, it was not suffered to be played; nor could the actors find spirit to perform it, after the affecting bit of tragedy that they had witnessed. When the curtain descended on that fatal tenth of June, it indeed shut out the greatest of English actors, whose like has never been seen since.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GARRICK CIRCLE.-CHARACTER.

1776.

Now was to commence for him, a new shape of existence. With all that most reasonable excuse of weariness and ill health, he must have been looking back wistfully to the old profession: after all, to the actor en retraite, with opulence and ease and retirement from toil, nothing can have the old exquisite charm of the "House," no company can equal the brilliant company, the rows above rows of faces in the boxes. Nothing can sparkle like the footlights, and no scent surpass the old familiar playhouse perfume.

Now we, also, may take the opportunity of glancing at that domestic circle who were about him, and of whom he was to see much more-those relatives who were so dependant on him, and for whom he and Mrs. Garrick had done so much.

It always seemed a pity that such a pair-so affectionate to all the world-had no children of their own, no objects for that affection. It would have been the fitting complement for their happy existence, and would have smoothed down many of those peculiarities, for which an empty household is often responsible. Instead, he expended that affection on nieces and nephews, the children of George.

Peter Garrick's soul never travelled above the Lichfield business, the wine trade, and perhaps fishing. "Garrick and Bailey" was a well known firm in Lichfield. Still he was always glad that his London brother should try and get him something. That good brother tried again and again: but it was very hard to find what would suit Peter. When the Duke of Devonshire became a Lord of the Treasury, in 1756, he invited Garrick to breakfast with him, and the actor took advantage of that friendly intimacy to plead for his brother Peter. He promised to do something "to draw you," writes David to Peter, "out of your melancholy, disagreeable situation. Indeed it is unworthy of you."* His old townsfolk from the country he did not forget, and was glad to see and entertain them, when they came to London. "Last night I had some old Lichfielders to sup-Levett, the two Robinsons, and two Garricks, Dick Bailye."† Peter never married, but lived on in the old house, and survived his great brother some fifteen years. Their sister Merriall-the only one that survived-had married Mr. Thomas Docksey, a Lichfield gentleman of fortune; and that family might reasonably look to the bachelor relative, who was said to have accumulated 30,000l., for a provision. But as he grew old he became childish, and would give away large sums of money to any one he met, and at last fell under the influence of a designing apothecary, named Panting. This person, with the assistance of a brother, who was an attorney, concocted a will, which they produced as his. It was contested by Mrs. Docksey, who had been named

* Forster MSS.

+ Ibid.

Peter's heir in a previous will. The case was conducted by Erskine, who, in one of his finest efforts, exposed the scheme of the apothecary and the lawyer, with masterly effect and success.* The will was set aside. George Garrick, secretary, deputy, unofficial agent, and "factotum," at Drury Lane, was as familiar to the profession as the manager himself. By himself he never could have been heard of. His was a

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fussing," meddling, whispering nature, a little mysterious, because known to have the ear of the greater David, between whom and troublesome persons he interposed usefully. In many instances George complicated things, and often brought trouble to the manager. There was another brother, "Billy," a Captain in the army, who was never known outside his profession, and died obscurely at Minorca. Two sisters, Magdalen and Jane, "Lenny and Jenny," were long since dead; a third, as mentioned, had married Mr. Docksey, or Doxey, a man of good fortune in Lichfield.

George Garrick first married a daughter of Mr. Carrington, a king's messenger, and lived with him in Somerset House. He had a large family, for all of whom the generous actor provided, though it was expected that Mr. Carrington, who was well off, would contribute. To the end he was extravagant, and sometimes dissipated. When Garrick was abroad, an anonymous letter reached him, warning him of the

The trial took place in St. Mary's Church! The speech is in Coleridge's Watchman.

+ It was often asked in the green-room, what name should be given to the salary he received for his nondescript services. Bannister said, "hush money;" for when David was playing, George was always keeping silence at the wingsstepping on tiptoe, and calling "hush!" Whenever he joined the company, he was always asking, "Had David wanted him?" and it was a green-room jest, that he died so soon after his brother, "because David wanted him."

lavish way in which his brother was "keeping women about him," a costly table, &c. But it had no effect on David. George was solicitor to the house-prepared all the actors' agreements, and managed the legal matters. For these services he had £150 a year from the theatre. Garrick himself added another hundred a year, and he had besides a fortune with his wife. On such an income, he very improvidently sent his two sons to Eton, at a cost of £170 a year, which left a very small balance. He often asked for loans-even for two hundred pounds, which was sent at once. Money seemed to be the test of affection invariably required from David Garrick. It was George's duty to have settled matters relating to the Fermignac affairs, but he had neglected them for years, and let them get into confusion. The only way his good-tempered brother showed how he felt such treatment, was by "a coldness;" and nothing more delicate, more significant of wounded affection, more humble and sincere interest, can be imagined than an appeal of David's, written after an inseparable intimacy of some thirty years. George Garrick had of a sudden set up horses, carriages, and a country house, without

* Garrick Cor., vol. ii. p. 198. "Dear Brother," runs his grateful answer, "the great agitation of mind I have been in will, I hope, plead my excuse for not returning you sooner my most affectionate thanks for your very kind and brotherly answer to my letter. Indeed, my dear brother, you have affected me much with your great kindness, and I could now dash out my brains that I should have either neglected or offended you; and I can assure you that the pangs I have felt from your withdrawing your love and affection from me, had at times deprived me not only of my senses, but almost of my life. For indeed it has been the cause of many and very long, as well as very expensive illnesses. This, I hope,"

(his expenses for education, &c.,) "will in some measure account for my application to you; but you will wrong me much, should you in the least think that I have not the warmest sense of gratitude and affection to my sister and you, for your unbounded goodness to my children. Give me leave to assure you both that I shall ever feel it, and that I shall never forget it."

VOL. II.

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