ture in the drama is, would condemn it as a paltry, petit impropriety: but the truth is, he behaved in this trick (for a mere trick it is in his acting) as he did when he played Othello first. When he was ftudying that part, he confidered that Quin was a large, corpulent man; and that he himself was a diminutive, mean figure for the Moor; therefore, he knew that Quin could not fall fuddenly on the ground, as it were in a fit, with out greatly hurting himself, and, perhaps, raifing laughter, in the audience; but that he, with his infignificant perfon, could do it without the rifk of either; and therefore introduced that shameful scene of the epilepfy in the fourth act, which, inftead of being applauded, ought to have been exploded with indignation and contempt for his impudence-in the firft place, in offering fuch an abfurd paffage to a thinking and fuppofed judicious public; and, in the next place, for restoring a paffage, which, in the records of the theatre, had never been acted; and which, on and off the stage, must be looked upon as an excrefcence of the worst fort, of the great genius that produced it. The fame trick he played in this fleeping excrefcence of king Lear-he knew that Barry, on account of his fize, could not be carried off the stage with the fame cafe that he could, and therefore introduced it.

bounded on one fide by fufpicion, by envy on the other, by avarice in the front, and by pale fear in the rear, with felf in the centre. Out of these limits he never expatiated or tranfcurred, unlefs fear and oftentation exerted their functions conjointly.

He could never enjoy the convivial felicities of fociety; efpecially with thofe perfons who were most capable of tafting, contributing, and adminiftering the unreferved, undefigning, free enquiries of improved, ingenious minds. He had read and heard that the more refined and thinking minds, of all ages, had a particular pleasure in the mental intercourfe of the ingenious few. Of this custom he was refolved to avail himfelf-but it was just as a hypocrite avails himself of religion, by oftentation and impofture-for he herded conftantly with wits, and was, in letters, a profeffed tartuff to all.

He had a hackneyed kind of metaphorical, theatrical, tinfelled phrafeology, made out of tags and ends, quotations and imitations of our Englifh poets; and, indeed, from the Greek and Latin authors, as often as his memory ferved him with the fcraps and mottos it has quaintly picked up; for he knew no book of antiquity, nor, indeed, of modern note. Prior, La Fontaine, Swift's poetry, and a few more of that kind excepted; these he conftantly imitated, plundered, difguifed, and frittered into occafional prologues, epilogues, and complimentary poems, upon parrots, lapdogs, monkies, birds, growing wits, patrons, and ladies. But what he most excelled in, was, in writing epigrams and fhort poems in praise of himself and his productions, and in defamation of a rival actor, or of any of those poor people of the ftage, whom he wished to be unpopular. With fuch fhreds and patches he constantly fed the daily papers, the reviews, and magazines.

Each of his associate wits had a pe

culiar quaintnefs of phrase and greeting: fuch as My fprig of Parnaffus, let me pour my incenfe.'

He laboured for private efteem, but always in vain! Fear, envy, and avarice, were feen even in deeds, that appeared convivial, benevolent, and liberal. He was a maker of profeffions, but a flave to intereft. He was honoured as an actor, hated as a man, and despised as an author. He ever made friendship a footftool to his interest and ambition. The two men that he was moft obliged to, he always hated and feared. He ruined the one, and planned the deftruction of the other. He could have no lafting intimacy with any body. He was totally void of any kind of addrefs to men or women, in any rank or cir. cumftance of life, that the judicious, and those who had thought of that art, called genteel or well-bred.

His art in acting confifted in inceffantly pawing and hauling the characters about, with whom he was concerned in the scene--and when he did not paw or haul the character, he ftalked between them and the audience and that generally when they were speaking the most important and interefting paffage in the fcene, which demanded, in propriety, a ftri& at-, tention. When he fpoke himfelf, he pulled about the character he spoke to, and fqueezed 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, forrow, rage, confifted in squeezing his hat, thumping his breast, strutting up and down the ftage, and pawing the characters that he acted with.

In private life, had this man been interdicted the ufe of mimicry, of fimulation, and diffimulation, he would have appeared, what in reality he was, a fuperficial infignificant man. But with the help of thofe arts, he was

entertaining, and appeared fagacious, learned, good-natured, modeft, and friendly to thofe who had no dealings with him-but to those who had, he was known to the very heart; for his attachment to intereft in dealings made.him as obvious, as if nature had made a window to his heart. Our actions are the only true teftimonies of our probity. Our intimates, and those with whom we chufe to retire and live in private, furnish the beft proofs of the ftrength or weakness, riches or poverty of the mind. The paltry actions of this man are well known: his intimates I need not defcribe. The tree is known by its fruit.

An ancient philofopher, fpeaking of envy, characterizes it very finely, by faying, it is of that perverse, unfociable, felfish nature, that, were it abfolute, it would rather forego the indifpenfible influence of the fun, than participate the blessing with mankind. This defcription of envy may seem to fome men to be exaggerated and hyperbolical; but thofe who have obferved this paffion in its extremes, in the commerce of the world, or, as Milton has characterized it in his Paradife Loft, will find it to be naturally juft. A ftronger inftance of its influence fure never was known, than in the perfon we have now under confideration; for, not fatisfied with endeavouring to deftroy the fame of every contemporary actor, he attacked even that of the actreffes, and fucceeded. Nor was the traducement of the living fame of male and female, of every age and rank upon the stage, fufficient to gorge the maw of envy : it flew to the dead! and infidiously broke open the hallowed tombs of Betterton, Booth, Wilkes, and other honoured fpirits, nature's favourite children, who had been fostered and perfected by art, applaufe, and timeand, when living, whom envy's felf allowed to be nature's darling fons, and art's perfect pupils: yet, these very fpirits would he flily bring upon

the

the carpet; mimic, though he never faw them; tell anecdotes of them, and traduce their immortal fame, by figmatizing them as mannerists, and denominating them as perfons who fpoke in recitative. Thus would he ferve them up to ignorant people, who believed and wondered; and to dependants and flatterers, who retailed the libellous anecdotes, invectives, and quaint conceits, and concluded that the art was never known but by the narrator, who, with an apparent modefty, and a concealed impudence, made himfelf the hero of the hiftorical criticifm.

His mind was bufied upon the external and partial looks, tones, gaits, and motions of individuals in their ordinary habits. Of the paffions, their degrees and kinds, and of their influence upon the organs, and their impreffions upon the body, he knew but very little, very little indeed! His mind and knowledge were, like his body, little, pert, acute, quick, weak, eafily fhocked and worn down, fubtile, plaufible. By this external partial imitation of individuals, he continually exercifed his mind and body. This wretched buffoonery comprised his knowledge, his humour, his learning, converfation, wifdom, virtue, elegance, breeding, and his companionable qualities. His mimickry, both off the ftage, and on it, ferved him, inftead of figure, grace, character, manners, and of a perfect imitation of general nature, as it paffes through human life, in every character, age, rank and ftation.

He introduced fleep into Lear; fhewed how the body dreamt in Richard. He also introduced fleep into Sir John Brute; and, for many minutes, to the extravagant fatisfaction of the audience, cut the faces of an ideot, a lunatic, a ftupor: fo expert was he in all the trick of the face, which the good people acknowledged as an imitation of a drunken man falling afleep.

Whenever a mananger fets up his own power, tafte, or avarice, against the power, judgment, or entertainment of the people, he forfeits every right to their favour; nay, he merits their contempt and refentment. Garrick never obliged the public in any one article during the time of his management; on the contrary, he took every step by which he could erect himfelf into a tyrant, to crush the spirit and genius of merit both in actors and authors; to corrupt the public tafte; to fill his own coffers; and to make his own judgment the ftandard of every fpecies of dramatic merit.

His wit always wanted ftrength, his defcriptions humour, his manner pleafantry, his conduct integrity, his difpofition good nature, and his deportment decency.

Dialogue between Mr Macklin, and his Biographer.

This dialogue took place in September 1796, when he was, according to this account, one hundred and fix years old. It affords an affecting inftance of the decay of the human powers.

Well, Mr Macklin, how do you do to-day?

Why, I hardly know, Sir; I think I am a little better than I was in the morning.

Why, Sir, did you feel any pain in the morning?

Yes, Sir, a good deal.
In what part?

Why, I felt a fort of a-a-a (fhaking his head) I forget every thing; I forget the word: I felt a kind of pain here, (putting his hand upon his left breaft) but it is gone away, and I am better now.

How do you fleep, Sir?

Not fo well as I could wish: I am become more wakeful than ufual; I awoke laft night two or three times; I got up twice, walked about my room here, and then went to bed again.

Do