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1731, as Chamont, in Otway's "Or-
phan." The character partakes a
little of the tragic bully, but is effec-
tive in the hands of a spirited actor,
and was a favourite with Garrick in
his earlier days. Voltaire says, sar-
castically, yet not without truth, of
this "hot-brained, noisy, boist'rous
ruffian," as Castalio calls him, "There
is in the play a brother of Monimia,
a soldier of fortune, who, because he
and his sister are cherished and main-
tained by this worthy family, abuses
them all round. 'Do me justice, you
old Put,' says he to the father, or,
damme, I'll set your house on fire.'
'My dear boy,' says the accommodat-
ing old gentleman, you shall have
justice.' The Orphan" is too
coarse and indelicate for modern fas-
tidiousness. Its last revival was at
Covent Garden, in 1815, for Miss
O'Neill, supported by Young, Charles
Kemble, and Conway, when it com-
manded twelve repetitions.

Delane followed up his successful opening by the capital parts of Othello, Orestes, Essex, Oroonoko, Hotspur, and Leon, and selected Richard the Third for his first benefit. Here he continued sharing reputation and leading characters with Giffard until 1735. On the 25th of October in that year, he seceded to Covent Garden, enlisted under the banners of Rich, and made his first bow at the west-end on that evening, as Alexander the Great, which he repeated three nights in succession. At Covent Garden he continued for seven seasons, with the exception of short visits to Dublin, as a star, in 1737, 1739, and 1740. In 1742 he shifted his quarters to Drurylane. During the time above named he fairly divided laurels with Quin, then at his zenith. In the "Life of Theophilus Cibber," published in 1740, we find this paragraph:-"When Booth quitted the stage, Quin was for some time without a competitor; but all on a sudden there appeared at Goodman's Fields a young tragedian from Dublin. This was Delane. Novelty, youth, a handsome figure, an expressive face, a gentlemanlike demeanour, took off from any severe criticism on his elocution and action. In short, though so far from the polite end of the town, he drew several fashionable audiences, and became in such a degree of repute, that comparisons were made between him and

Quin, nor was he without admirers of both sexes, who gave him the preference. In 1735 he engaged with Rich at Covent Garden, and in two or three years he reached that prominent station on the stage which most of the other actors could not in many years attain to."

This, on a smaller scale, was a foreshadowing of the more complete and permanent revolution in public taste and opinion, destined in the following year to be accomplished by a more commanding genius; and such were the position and prospects of Delane when Garrick rose, also in the east, in the same locality of Goodman's Fields, on the 19th of October, 1741, and speedily distanced all rivalry, throwing the old school, its followers, pupils, and worshippers into the background. Not content with legitimate triumph, and victory by fair superiority of talent, he had recourse to mimicry, and availed himself of a faculty of imitation with which he was singularly endowed, much to the annoyance and injury of the established performers. It is sore enough to have your self-love wounded, but worse, when diminished popularity leads to depreciation of market value. Garrick saw that the greater number of those with whom he was determined to cast in his lot were mistaken in their style of acting-stilted, rather than natural, and bred up in a school of stiff, conventional declamation, from which they either dared not, would not, or could not emancipate themselves. They recitatived instead of reciting, and intoned or chanted without pathos or passion. Antony (commonly called Tony) Aston, in his little book, written as a supplement to Colley Cibber's "Apology," circa 1747, says, speaking of the great Mrs. Barry, "Neither she, nor any of the actresses in her times, had any natural tone in their speech." The young reformer might have been satisfied with "showing this up" by the contrast of his own familiar and fervid manner; but in order to display the errors of his contemporaries in the most glaring and ridiculous light, when he acted Bayes in the "Rehearsal," which he did, for the first time, on the 3rd of February, 1742, he ever and anon checked the performers, who are supposed to be repeating their parts to him, as we

have all seen Puff do in the "Critic," in modern times, and showed them how to deliver their speeches in what he called the true theatrical flourish. For this purpose he selected some of the most eminent favourites of the day, and by his wonderful powers of mimicry was able to assunie, and, of course, to colour up the exact peculiarities and deportment of each in his turn. Delane, who stood in the first rank, was tall and comely, had a clear and strong voice, but no variety of tone regulated by feeling or emotion. Garrick began with him. He retired to the upper part of the stage, and drawing his left arm across his breast, rested his right elbow upon it, raising a finger to his nose, with the expression of his face as solemn as if he were going to preach a sermon. He then came forward in a stately gait, nodding his head as he advanced, and, in the exact tone of Delane, spoke the famous simile of the boar and sow. The audience recognised the burlesque, screamed with delight, and vociferated "encore."

Hale, of Covent Garden, had a striking figure, with an extensive and melodious voice, and was in the habit of playing lovers. Garrick chose a speech suited to the occasion, and in a soft, plaintive accent, without a vestige of real feeling, vox et præterea nihil, gave an exaggerated resemblance of Hale in

"How strange a captive am I grown of late," &c.

from Varanes, in the "Force of Love." Ryan had a croaking, drawling accent. Garrick gave a grotesque imitation of his manner, by speaking in a tremulous raven-tone of voice, "Your bed of love from dangers will I free," &c.

He never attempted to mimic Quin, whose style was equally open to attack. Either he really respected his talent, or was afraid of him; for Apemantus was a man of the sword, not to be trifled with, and ready to betake himself to his tools on slighter provocation than that would have been. He had twice killed his opponent in fair combat, and fought a third and impromptu duel with Theophilus Cibber under the piazza in Covent Garden. Little David was more inclined to be a member of the

peace congress. Although he had enough, and to spare, of the irritable petulance belonging to power and prosperity, he was not constitutionally pugnacious, and would have referred a

quarrel to Touchstone's seventh course, and have backed out logically rather than proceed to extreme measures. Murphy could not remember whether Garrick burlesqued any actor besides the three we have named. Davies adds Bridgewater and Giffard. Cooke, a poet, biographer, and barrister, who wrote the "Elements of Dramatic Criticism," says, in his "Life of Macklin," that Garrick was admonished to omit the travesty of his manager by a challenge and a puncture in the sword-arm. But nobody believed the tale when told, as Cooke cited no authority, and, with many features of invention, it had none of what the French designate vraisemblance.

Delane suffered much in the estimation of the town by Garrick's ludicrous imitation. His progress received a check, and if it be true that he took to drinking, this may perhaps have been an exciting cause. When the public have once been taught to laugh at what formerly called forth their serious interest and admiration, a Rubicon has been passed which seldom admits of return. Hale was present one night at Garrick's Bayes, and laughed heartily at his imitations of Delane and Ryan; but when it came to his own turn to be taken off, he was shocked at the mortifying scene, and felt the folly and injustice of approving that ridicule of others which he could not bear himself. When Garrick had become a prosperous manager, unrivalled in professional reputation, and courted by all classes, at the solicitation of several friends, the remonstrances of the actors, and from a conviction that his full-blown fortunes required not the spurious aid of mimicry, which was but a trifling feather in his cap of fame, for once in his life, as Tate Wilkinson satirically expresses it, he did a generous action, and gave up what he no longer wanted.

When Garrick was so bitterly offended with Foote, Wilkinson, and Henderson, for presuming to take him off, he should have called to mind how long and often he had inflicted that pain on others, When,

in 1758, at the request of Sparks of Covent Garden, he promised to put a stop to Wilkinson's imitations at Drury-lane, Wilkinson again exclaimed, "Bless his goodnature!" We marvel that Delane and Ryan, who were men of pluck and spirit, submitted tamely to the ridicule and attending damage. Perhaps they thought with Quin, that the new style was "heresy, not reformation," and that the public would grow tired of it, when the first blush of novelty had passed over. However skilfully imitation may be executed, it reflects faults rather than beauties, and therefore cannot be a flattering or impartial portraiture. Edmund Kean was endowed with this faculty, though not to such an extent as his more versatile type and predecessor. As a vehicle for its indulgence, he usually selected Sylvester Daggerwood, on his benefit nights, and always concluded by a harlequin leap through the scene. His best hits were Braham and Incledon, as Richard and Richmond, in the dialogue preceding the fight in "Richard the Third." The late Charles Young, occasionally in private, gave excellent copies of Garrick and Henderson in Lear and Falstaff, which he had acquired from contemporaries of both.

Supposed imitation or resemblance sometimes vanishes entirely when the parties are placed in juxtaposition. Miss Cushman was generally pronounced an exact counterpart, in features, voice, and manner, of an eminent male tragedian; so much so that she was often called Mr.

in petticoats. When, at last, they acted together, the similarity disappeared, and the marked contrast astonished the audience. Mr. Junius Brutus Booth was said to look and act exactly like Edmund Kean; but the fallacy of the impression evinced itself conclusively on that memorable night of "Othello," when Kean snuffed out his reputed double at Drury-lane. This J. B. Booth, when he enacted Sir Giles Overreach, carried in one of his hands, in the last scene, a piece of sponge saturated with rose-pink, and during the concluding frenzy, contrived to pass it to his mouth, unseen by the spectators, so that when he fell, he conveyed the horrible idea of having burst an internal vessel. This was "art pro

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ducing nature," with a vengeance. As one of the "startling sensation effects," in one of the recently-current new versions of the old "Heart of Mid - Lothian, triply dramatized with prodigious success by Dibdin, Terry, and Murray of Edinburgh, in 1819 and 1820, Jeanie Deans presented herself to the Duke of Argyle with the semblance of bare and bleeding feet, as if she had then and there rushed in from her four hundred miles' walk on the hard and dusty road. The outrage on delicacy and good taste was as flagrant as the most unnecessary violation of the novelist's minute description of the Edinburgh lassie's toilet and chaussure on that momentous occasion.

with

When Garrick entered on management at Drury-lane in 1747, he found Delane a well-established member of the old company, and, perhaps from some compunctious visitings, retained him in the prominent position he had long held, associating Barry with him. He gave them both many opportunities, to husband his own attraction, or when he wanted to dine with an archbishop or a duke, or to entertain a foreign ambassador at his own house. It was quite true, as Dr. Johnson said to Sir William Jones, at Garrick's funeral, more than thirty years later, that the obligations between the great actor and his art were reciprocal. His art made him rich, and he made his art respectable. In 1748, Delane visited Edinburgh professionally, in company Sparks, during the London recess, and met with a flattering reception. He was greatly impressed by the talents of Mrs. Ward, the leading actress and favourite of the Northern metropolis, and, in an evil hour, recommended her to Rich, who had a vacancy, instead of to his own employer, who had none; an act of apparent disloyalty by which the latter was mortally offended. Before this, Garrick had publicly expressed himself the familiar friend of Delane, and took a pleasure in walking with him in the street, arm and arm. But Delane, soon after his arrival from Scotland, accidentally met Garrick under the piazza at Covent Garden, who not only would not return his salute, but gave him such a look of anger and disdain, as few men besides himself had the power of bestow

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Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,

Whose meal and exercise are still together;

Who twin, as 'twere, in love inseparable, Shall, within this hour, on a dissension of a doit,

Break out to bitterest enmity."

Garrick, to his discredit it must be recorded, finding that Mrs. Ward, was well received by the town, encouraged her to break her engagement with Rich, which she was the more easily tempted to do, as Miss Bellamy was in possession of many of the characters she wished to play. Mrs. Ward speedily made her first appearance at Drury-lane, as Cordelia to Garrick's Lear. Several years later, she was the original Lady Randolph, at Edinburgh, in Home's tragedy of "Douglas." A better understanding arose subsequently between the managers of the rival London theatres, under the reigns of Harris and Sheridan.

It was

settled that neither should engage a performer from the other house, until after the expiration of the season. Delane, at Covent Garden, played seconds to Quin, from 1748 to 1750, and occasionally such first-rate parts as Hotspur, Lord Hastings, Oroonoko, Antony, Young Bevil, Varanes, and Henry the Fifth. His last appearance occurred on the 22nd of March, 1750, only eight days before his death, as Piercy, in Banks's old tragedy of "Virtue betrayed, or Anna Bullen," which had been revived, after a slumber of thirty years, for Mrs. Woffington's benefit, on the 17th of the same month. A repetition of the play had been announced for the 24th, but it was postponed on account of Delane's sudden illness. We know not where he was buried. Most probably in St. Paul's, Covent Garden, the most popular resting-place of the

actors of his time. Delane died eleven years before Churchill wrote the "Rosciad," or the satirist would surely have found room for an actor of his marked peculiarities on the capacious gibbet whereon he impaled nearly all his surviving contemporaries.

LACY RYAN, the faithful Pylades of Quin through life, was always reputed to be an Irishman, and so called himself; but in some brief memoirs published after his death, it was said that he was born in the parish of St. Margaret, Westminster, and about the year 1694. His names, sponsorial and patronymic, have no Saxon flavour in them; if they are not of truly Milesian descent, they are exceedingly happy counterfeits; we, therefore, in the absence of better proof to the contrary, retain him in our present list. His godfather, Mr. Lacy, an attorney, resident in London, took charge of his education at St. Paul's school, and intended to bring him up to the law. But he soon imbibed a strong propensity for the stage, and through the interest of his countryman, Sir Richard Steele, became a member of the Haymarket company in 1710. One of the first parts he was set to perform was Seyton, an elderly officer in "Macbeth," at which time he was about sixteen years of age. Betterton, who was then acting Macbeth, at seventy, and as it happened, for the last time, had not seen Ryan before he presented himself to him when the time for his entry came on at night, and was surprised at the apparition of a boy in a huge cauliflower wig, profusely powdered, such as our judges were wont to wear upon the bench. However, by his looks, he encouraged the neophyte to deliver himself boldly of his part, and when the scene was over, commended the young aspirant for what he pronounced a creditable effort, but severely reproved old Downes, the prompter, for sending on the stage a child, to represent a man advanced in life."

Three years later, Addison's celebrated tragedy of "Cato" was produced at Drury-lane. By this time, Ryan had advanced so far as to be intrusted with the character of Marcus, and to be honoured with the special instructions of the author and

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Cato, although produced late in the season, and during the run of benefits, was repeated eighteen times, an extraordinary success at that period. Addison made the theatre a present of whatever profits he might have claimed; the authorities therefore held themselves bound to spare no cost on the decorations, and they were amply rewarded. The three managing actors, Wilks, Dogget, and Cibber, cleared each £1,350. Classical stage costume in Queen Anne's time might have been expensive, but it was strangely fanciful. Pope gives us an idea of how Addison's play was mounted:

"Booth enters,-hark! the universal peal! But has he spoken? Not a syllable. What shook the stage, and made the people stare?

Cato's long wig, flower'd gown, and lacquer'd chair."

A print of Sheridan, in 1770, who succeeded Quin, who succeeded Booth, is a fair fac-simile of a portly alderman, as he descends to his breakfast, en robe de chambre.

The attraction of "Cato" was partly owing to its poetical merits, which would be more coldly estimated now, and in some degree to Booth's acting; but chiefly to party spirit. The Whigs applauded every line in which liberty was mentioned, as a satire on the Tories, and the Tories echoed every round of applause to show that the satire was unfelt. They even collected fifty guineas in the boxes during the first performance, and presented them to Booth by the hands of Lord Bolingbroke, as a slight acknowledgment "for his honest opposition to a perpetual dictator, and for his dying so bravely in the cause of liberty." Dennis's analysis of Cato is one of the most amusing specimens of spiteful criticism ever penned. It is easily met

with, as Dr. Johnson has given it nearly entire in his "Life of Addison." The love scenes in "Cato" are mawkish and uninteresting. The finest poetical passage is the far-famed soliloquy on the immortality of the soul, which children learn by heart, and clergymen quote in the pulpit. Yet Addison, who was a moral and religious man (with a weakness for brandy, according to Horace Walpole), has been solemnly accused as an advocate of suicide, and his play condemned as anti-Christian, because Cato dies by his own hand. Surely no deduction can well be more illogical than this. The poet handles a wellknown historical subject, and treats it historically. If he had altered the catastrophe, he would have falsified a memorable event, and have changed the leading incident of his drama. Cato of Utica is not a Christian but a heathen. He reasons, not from Gospel revelation, of which he had no prophetic dawnings, but from the pagan philosophy in which he had been educated. If it is lawful to read history for the purposes of instruction, it cannot be unlawful to mould it into a poem ; and when that poem assumes a dramatic shape, there can be no more harm in acting it than in singing a song which has been composed to be sung, or in eating a dinner which has been cooked to be eaten. If Cato were represented as a Christian, and reconciling himself to suicide on Christian arguments, the case would be widely altered, and the charge against Addison might stand good. Suicide, which, in the Christian code, is a crime of the first magnitude, was considered by the most enlightened heathens, under particular circumstances, as an incumbent duty, and the crowning test of virtue. But so cautious is the Christian poet to avoid the imputation which has been unjustly cast on him, that he puts into the mouth of his dying hero a doubt, suggested by his own reverence for Christian doctrine :

"A gleam of light Breaks in on my departing soul. Alas! I fear

I've been too hasty. O, ye powers, that

search

The heart of man, and weigh his inmost
thoughts,

If I have done amiss, impute it not ;-
The best may err.”—

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