UNION, STRENGTH, PROSPERITY.
Naturally and justifiably jubilant is Colley Cibber when giving the
history of the united companies. That union led to a prosperity
of twenty years, though the union itself did not last so long. We
now find houses crowded beyond anything known to that generation;
and that not so much from surpassing excellence on the part of the
actors, as from their zeal, industry, and the willingness with
which they worked together. This success doubled the salaries of
the comedians, and "in the twenty years, while we were our own
directors," says Colley, with honest pride, "we never had a creditor
that had occasion to come twice for his bill; every Monday morning
discharged us of all demands, before we took a shilling for our own
use."
These halcyon days had, no doubt, their little passing clouds;
some prejudices and jealousies would arise among the leaders, as
excellence began to manifest itself from below; but these, as Cibber
remarks, with a lofty philosophy, were "frailties, which societies of
a higher consideration, while they are composed of men, will never
be entirely free from." Cibber and his fellows deserved to prosper.
Although they enjoyed a monopoly they did not abuse it; and £1500
profit to each of the three managers, in one year, the greatest sum
ever yet so realised on the English stage, showed what might be done,
without the aid of "those barbarous entertainments," of acrobats
and similar personages, for which the dignified Cibber had the most
profound and wholesome horror.
While the management was in the hands of Cibber, Wilks, and Dogget,
the good temper of the first was imperturbable. He yielded, or seemed
to yield, to the hot hastiness of Wilks, and lent himself to the
captious waywardness of Dogget. However impracticable the latter
was, Cibber always left a way open to reconciliation. In the very
bitterest of their feuds, "I never failed to give him my hat and
'_your servant_,' whenever I met him, neither of which he would ever
return for above a year after; but I still persisted in my usual
salutation, without observing whether it was civilly received or
not." Dogget would sit sullen and silent, at the same table with
Cibber, at Will's--the young gentlemen of the town loitering about
the room, to listen to the critics, or look at the actors--and Cibber
would treat the old player with deference, till the latter was
graciously pleased to be softened, and ask for a pinch from Colley's
box, in token of reconciliation.
Almost the only word approaching to complaint advanced by Cibber
refers to public criticism. The newspapers, and especially _Mist's
Journal_, he says, "took upon them very often to censure our
management, with the same freedom and severity as if we had been so
many ministers of state." This is thoroughly Cibberian in humour
and expression. For these critics, however, Colley had a supreme
contempt. Wilks and Booth, who succeeded Dogget, were more sensitive,
and would fain have made reply; but Cibber remarked that the noise
made by the critics was a sign of the ability and success of the
management. If we were insignificant, said he, and played only to
empty houses, these fellows would be silent.
When the fashion of patronising the folly of pantomimes came in,
Cibber reluctantly produced one at Drury Lane, but only "as crutches
to the plays." In the regular drama itself, it seemed immaterial
to him what he acted, so that the piece was well supported; and
accordingly when the "Orphan" was revived, and the town had just been
falsely told that Cibber was dead, "I quietly stole myself," he says,
"into the part of the Chaplain, which I had not been seen in for many
years before;" and as the audience received him with delight, Colley
was satisfied and triumphant.
In the first season the poets were less successful than the players;
Johnson's "Wife's Relief,"[94] and Mrs. Centlivre's "Perplexed
Lovers," were failures. But the lady fell with some _éclat_. The
epilogue produced more sensation than the play. Prince Eugene
was then in England, and to Mrs. Oldfield were entrusted lines
complimentary to the military talents of the Prince, and his brother
in arms, the Duke of Marlborough. Political feuds were then so
embittered, that the managers were afraid to allow the epilogue to
be spoken; but on the second night, they fortified themselves by the
Chamberlain's licence, and brave Mistress Oldfield delivered it, in
spite of menacing letters addressed to her. The piece fell; but the
authoress printed it, with a tribute of rhymed homage to the prince,
who acknowledged the same by sending her a handsome and heavy gold
snuff-box, with this inscription:--"The present of his Highness
Prince Eugene of Savoy to Susanna Centlivre." Those heavy boxes--some
of them furnished with a tube and spring for shooting the snuff up
the nose, were then in fashion, and prince could hardly give more
fitting present to poetess than a snuff-box, for which--
"Distant climes their various arts employ,
To adorn and to complete the modish toy.
Hinges with close-wrought joints from Paris come,
Pictures dear bought from Venice and from Rome.
* * * * *
Some think the part too small of modish sand,
Which at a niggard pinch they can command.
Nor can their fingers for that task suffice,
Their nose too greedy, not their hand too nice,
To such a height with these is fashion grown,
They feed their very nostrils with a spoon."
So sang the Rev. Samuel Wesley, in his somewhat indelicate satire on
snuff, addressed to his sister, Keziah. Mrs. Centlivre's box probably
figured at Drury Lane, and in very good company, with other boxes
carried by ladies; for, says the poet--
"They can enchant the fair to such degree,
Scarce more admired could French romances be,
Scarce scandal more beloved or darling flattery;
Whether to th' India House they take their way,
Loiter i' the Park, or at the toilet stay,
Whether at church they shine, or sparkle at the play."
The great night of this season was that in which Philips' version of
Racine's "Andromaque" was played,--the 17th of March, 1712. Of the
"Distressed Mother," the following was the original cast:--Orestes,
Powell; Pyrrhus, Booth; Pylades, Mills; Andromache, Mrs. Oldfield;
Hermione, Mrs. Porter. The English piece is even duller than the
French one; but there is great scope in it for good declamatory
actors, and Booth especially led the town on this night to see in him
the undoubted successor of Betterton.
All that could be done to render success assured, was done on
this occasion, not only by the poet, but by his friends. Before
the tragedy was acted, the _Spectator_ informed the public that a
masterpiece was about to be represented. On the first night, there
was a packed audience of hearty supporters. During the run of the
play,[95] the _Spectator_ related the effect the tender tale had had
on Sir Roger de Coverley.
We learn from Addison, in the puff preliminary, that at the reading
of the "Distressed Mother," by one of the actors,--the players, who
listened, were moved to tears, and that the reader, in his turn,
was so overcome by his emotions, "that he was frequently obliged
to lay down the book, and pause, to recover himself and give vent
to the humanity which rose in him at some irresistible touches of
the imagined sorrow." On the first night of its being played, the
performance was said to be "at the desire of several ladies of
quality." Sir Roger de Coverley, with Will Honeycombe and Captain
Sentry, backed by two or three old servants,--the Captain wearing the
sword he had wielded at Steinkirk, are described as being in the pit,
early--four o'clock--before the house was full and the candles were
lighted. There was access then for the public for a couple of hours
before the curtain rose. The Knight thought the King of France could
not strut it more imposingly than Booth in Pyrrhus. He found the plot
so ingeniously complicated, that he could not guess how it would end,
or what would become of Pyrrhus. His sympathies oscillated between
the ladies, with a word of smart censure now and then for either;
calling Andromache a perverse widow, and anon, Hermione "a notable
young baggage." Turgid as this English adaptation now seems,--to
Addison, its simplicity was one of its great merits. "Why!" says Sir
Roger, "there is not a single sentence in the play that I don't know
the meaning of!" It was listened to with a "very remarkable silence
and stillness," broken only by the applause; and a compliment is paid
to Mills who played Pylades, in the remark, "though he speaks but
little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as well as any of them."
The epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Oldfield, and undoing all the soft
emotions wrought by the tragedy, was repeated twice, for several
consecutive nights. The audience could not have enough of it, and
long years after, they called for it, whenever the piece was revived.
Budgell was the reputed author, but Tonson printed it, with Addison's
name as the writer. The latter, however, ordered that of Budgell to
be restored, "that it might add weight to the solicitation which he
was then making for a place."
Thus Ambrose Philips showed that he could write something more
vigorous than the Pastorals, which had given him a name while at
the University. He took higher rank among the wits at Button's
Coffee-house, and had no reason to fear the censure or ridicule of
men like Henry Carey, who fastened upon him the name of Namby Pamby.
Success made the author not less solemn, but more pompous. He wore
the sword, which he could boldly use, although his foes called him
Quaker Philips--with an air; and the successful author of a new
tragedy could become arrogant enough to hang a rod up at Button's,
and threaten Pope with a degrading application of it, for having
expressed contempt of the authors Pastorals.[96]
Whatever may be thought of this, Rowe and Philips were the first
authors of the last century who wrote tragedies which have been
played in our own times. But a greater than either was rising; for
Addison was giving the last touches to "Cato;" and he, with Steele
and others, was imparting his views and ideas on the subject to
favourite actors over tavern dinners.
At the close of this season, was finished the brief career of an
actor, who was generally considered to possess rare talents, but
who was variously judged of by such competent judicial authority as
Steele and Cibber. I allude to Richard Estcourt. His London career
as a player lasted little more than half a dozen years, during which
he distinguished himself by creating Serjeant Kite and Sir Francis
Gripe. Downes asserts that he was a born actor. Steele mournfully
says, "If I were to speak of merit neglected, misapplied, or
misunderstood, might I not say that Estcourt has a great capacity?
but it is not the interest of those who bear a figure on the stage
that his talents were understood. It is their business to impose upon
him what cannot become him, or keep out of his hands anything in
which he could shine." Chetwood alludes to his habit of interpolating
jokes and catches of his own, which raised a laugh among the general
public, but which made critics frown. Cibber has been accused of
being unjust to him, but Colley's judgment seems to be rendered with
his usual fairness, lucidity, and skill.
"This man," says Cibber in his _Apology_, "was so amazing and
extraordinary a mimic, that no man or woman, from the coquette to the
privy-counsellor, ever moved or spoke before him, but he could carry
their voice, look, mien, and motion, instantly into another company.
I have heard him make long harangues and form various arguments,
even in the manner of thinking, of an eminent pleader at the bar,
with every the least article and singularity of his utterance so
perfectly imitated that he was the very _alter ipse_, scarce to be
distinguished from his original. Yet more, I have seen upon the
margin of the written part of Falstaff, which he acted, his own notes
and observations upon almost every speech of it, describing the true
spirit of the humour, and with what tone of voice, with what look or
gesture, each of them ought to be delivered. Yet in his execution
upon the stage, he seemed to have lost all those just ideas he had
formed of it, and almost through the character he laboured under a
heavy load of flatness. In a word, with all his skill in mimicry, and
knowledge of what ought to be done, he never upon the stage could
bring it truly into practice, but was, upon the whole, a languid,
unaffecting actor."
His Kite, however, is said to have been full of lively, dashing,
natural humour. Off the stage, Estcourt's society was eagerly sought
for, and he was to be met in the best company, where, on festive
nights, he recited, gave his imitations, and was not too proud
to pocket his guerdon. The old Duke of Marlborough gladly held
fellowship with Estcourt, and as the latter occasionally got guerdon
out of the Duke, he must have been a great and very affecting actor
indeed. It was probably his spirit of good fellowship which induced
him to leave the stage (in 1711) for another calling. This change was
sufficiently important for the _Spectator_ to notice, with a fine
bit of raillery, too:--"Estcourt has lain in, at the Bumper, Covent
Garden, neat, natural wines, to be sold wholesale, as well as retail,
by his old servant, trusty Anthony (Aston). As Estcourt is a person
altogether unknowing in the wine trade, it cannot but be doubted that
he will deliver the wine in the same natural purity that he receives
it from the merchants," &c.
On the foundation of the "Beef Steak Club," Estcourt was appointed
_Providore_; and in the exercise of this office to the chief wits and
leading men of the nation, he wore a small gold gridiron, suspended
round his neck by a green silk riband. Dr. King alludes to the
company, their qualities, and the dignity of the ex-actor, in his
_Art of Cookery_:
"He that of honour, wit, and mirth partakes,
May be a fit companion o'er beef steaks.
His name may be to future times unrolled,
In Estcourt's book, whose gridiron's made of gold."
Estcourt died in 1712, and was buried in the "yard" of St. Paul's,
Covent Garden. Near him lie Kynaston and Wycherley, Susanna
Centlivre, Wilks, Macklin, and other once vivacious stage celebrities
of later times.
I have already had to notice, and shall have to do so again, the
despotic power exercised by the Lord Chamberlain over theatrical
affairs. One of the most remarkable instances presents itself
this year, in connection with the Opera House, indeed, but still
illustrative of my subject. John Hughes, who will subsequently appear
as a dramatic author, of purer pretensions, had written the words for
the composer of "Calypso and Telemachus." A crowd of the "quality,"
connoisseurs and amateurs, had attended the rehearsal, with which
they were so satisfied that a subscription was formed to support the
performance of the opera. This aroused the jealousy of the Italian
company then in London, who appealed for protection to the Duke of
Shrewsbury, the then Chamberlain.
This Duke was the Charles Talbot, in whose house it had been
decided that William of Orange should be invited to England, and
who, corresponding with James after William was on the throne, had
been discovered, and forgiven. He had been loved, it is said, by
Queen Mary and the Duchess of Marlborough; but this able, gentle,
wayward, and one-eyed statesman, was at this present time the
husband of an Italian lady, and on this fact, albeit she was not
a _dulcis uxor_, the Italian singers founded their hopes. As the
lady's brother was hanged at Tyburn, half a dozen years later, for
murdering his servant, Shrewsbury had no great cause, ultimately, to
be proud of the connexion. Nevertheless, it served the purpose of
the foreign vocalists, it would seem, as the Chamberlain protected
their interests, and issued an order for the suppression of the
subscription, adding, that the doors must be opened at the lowest
playhouse prices, or not at all. Even under this discouragement the
opera was played with success, and was subsequently revived, with
good effect, at Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Romantic drama, light, bustling comedy, with less vice and not much
less wit than of old, and the severest classical tragedy, challenged
the favour of the town in the Drury Lane season of 1712-13. Severe
tragedy won the wreath from its competitors.
First on the list was fat Charles Johnson, who was even a more
frequent lounger at Button's than Ambrose Philips, and who had a play
ready for representation every year and a half. It is a curious fact,
that his "Successful Pirate," a sort of melodrama, in five acts, the
scene in Madagascar, and the action made up of fighting and wooing,
aroused the ire of the virtuous Dennis. This censor wrote to the Lord
Chamberlain, complaining that in such a piece as the above the stage
was prostituted, villainy encouraged, and the theatre disgraced; that
same theatre where, a few nights previously, had been acted the "Old
Batchelor," and the "Committee," which some people, like Sir Roger,
considered a "good Church of England comedy." The piece, however,
made no impression; nor was much greater effected by that learned
proctor, Taverner's "French Advocates,"[97] nor by the farcical
"Humours of the Army," which the ex-soldier Charles Shadwell had
partly constructed out of his own military reminiscences, as he sat
at his desk in the Revenue Office at Dublin.
Equally indifferent were the public to a comedy called the "Wife of
Bath," written by a young man who had been a mercer's apprentice in
the Strand, and who was now house-steward and man of business to
the widowed Duchess of Monmouth at her residence, no longer in the
mansion on the south side of Soho Square, about to be turned into
auction rooms, but in fresh, pure, rustic, Hedge Lane, which now, as
Whitcombe Street, lacks all freshness, purity, and rusticity. The
young man's name was Gay; but it was not on this occasion that he was
to make it famous.
In stern tragedy, the "Heroic Daughter," founded on Corneille's
"Cid," wrung no tears,[98] and "Cinna's Conspiracy" raised no
emotions. The sole success of the season in this line was Addison's
"Cato," first played on the 14th of April, 1713; thus cast: Cato,
Booth; Syphax, Cibber; Juba, Wilks; Portius, Powell; Sempronius,
Mills; Marcus, Ryan; Decius, Boman; Lucius, Keen; Marcia, Mrs.
Oldfield; Lucia, Mrs. Porter.
Of the success of this tragedy, a compound of transcendent beauties
and absurdity, I shall speak, when treating of Booth, apart. It
established that actor as the great master of his art, and it brought
into notice young Ryan, the intelligent son of an Irish tailor, a
good actor, and a true gentleman. "Cato" had the good fortune to be
represented by a band of superior actors, who had been enlightened
by the instruction of Addison, and stimulated, at rehearsals, by
the sarcasm of Swift. Factions united in applause; purses--not
bouquets--were presented to the chief actor, and the Cato night was
long one of the traditions about which old players loved to entertain
all listeners.
While thus new glories were rising, old ones were fading away or
dying out. Long-nosed Tom Durfey was poor enough to be grateful for a
benefit given in his behalf, the proceeds of which furnished him with
a fresh supply of sack, and strengthened him to new attempt at song.
About the same time died the last of the actors of the Cromwellian
times, Will Peer, one who was qualified by nature to play the
Apothecary in "Romeo and Juliet," and by intelligence to deliver with
well-feigned humility the players' prologue to the play in "Hamlet,"
but whom old age, good living, and success rendered too fat for the
first and too jolly for the second.
In the season of 1713-14, Booth was associated in the licence
which Wilks, Cibber, and Dogget held at the Queen's pleasure.
Dogget withdrew on a pecuniary arrangement, agreed upon after some
litigation, and the theatre was in the hands of the other three
eminent actors. The old pieces of this season were admirably cast; of
the new pieces which were failures it is not necessary to speak, but
of two which have been played with success from that time down to the
last year, some notice is required. I allude to Rowe's "Jane Shore,"
and Mrs. Centlivre's "Wonder." The tragedy was written after the
poet had ceased to be Under-Secretary to the Duke of Queensberry,
and after he had studied Spanish, in hopes of a foreign appointment
through Halifax, who, according to the story, only congratulated
him on being able to read Don Quixote in the original! "Jane Shore"
was brought out, February 2, 1714. Hastings, Booth; Dumont, Wilks;
Glo'ster, Cibber; Jane Shore, Mrs. Oldfield; Alicia, Mrs. Porter.
A greater contrast to "Cato" could not have been devised than this
domestic tragedy, wherein all the unities are violated, the language
is familiar, and the chief incidents the starving of a repentant
wife, and the generosity of an exceedingly forgiving husband. The
audience, which was stirred by the patriotism of "Cato," was moved
to delicious tears by the sufferings and sorrow of Jane Shore, whose
character Rowe has elevated in order to secure for her the suffrages
of his hearers. The character was a triumph for Mrs. Oldfield, who
had been trained to a beautiful reading of her part by Rowe himself,
who was unequalled as a reader by any poet save Lee; and "Jane
Shore," as a success, ranked only next to "Cato." The third, sixth,
and tenth nights were for the author's benefit. On the first two the
boxes and pit "were laid together," admission half-a-guinea; the
third benefit was "at common prices."
Much expectation had been raised by this piece, and it was realised
to the utmost. It was otherwise with the "Wonder," from which
little was expected, but much success ensued.[99] The sinning wife
and moaning husband of the tragedy were the lively lady and the
quick-tempered lover of this comedy. The Violante of Mrs. Oldfield
and the Don Felix of Wilks were talked of in every coffee-house. The
wits about the door, and the young poets in the back room at the
new house set up by Button, talked as vivaciously about it as their
rivals at Tom's, on the opposite side of the way; and every prophecy
they made of the success of the comedy in times to come, does credit
to them as soothsayers.
The death of Queen Anne, on the 1st of August 1714, cannot be said
to have prematurely closed the summer season of this year. However,
the actors mourned for a month, and then a portion of them played
joyously enough, for a while, in Pinkethman's booth, at Southwark
Fair.
At this period the stage lost a lady who was as dear to it as Queen
Anne, namely, Mrs. Bradshaw. Her departure, however, was caused
by marriage, not by death; and the gentleman who carried her off,
instead of being a rollicking gallant, or a worthless peer, was a
staid, solemn, worthy antiquary, Martin Folkes, who rather surprised
the town by wedding young Mistress Bradshaw. The lady had been on the
stage about eighteen years; she had trodden it from early childhood,
and always with unblemished reputation. She had her reward in an
excellent, sensible, and wealthy husband, to whom her exemplary and
prudent conduct endeared her; and the happiness of this couple was
well established. Probably, when Martin was away on Friday evenings,
at the Young Devil Tavern, where the members of the Society of
Antiquaries met, upon "pain of forfeiture of sixpence," Mrs. Folkes
sat quietly at home, thinking without sadness of the bygone times
when she won applause as the originator of the characters of Corinna,
in the "Conspirator,"[100] Sylvia, in the "Double Gallant," and
Arabella Zeal, in the "Fair Quaker." In other respects, Mistress
Bradshaw is one of the happy, honest women who have no history.
If the age of Queen Anne was not quite so fully the golden age of
authors as it has been supposed to be, it was still remarkable for
a patronage of literature hitherto unparalleled. Addison, Congreve,
Gay, Ambrose Philips, Rowe, were among the dramatic authors who, with
men of much humbler pretensions, held public offices, were patronised
by the great, or lived at their ease. With the death of this Queen,
the patent or licence, held by Wilks, Cibber, Booth, and Dogget, died
also. In the new licence, Steele, who, since we last met with him at
the play had endured variety of fortune, was made a partner. He had
married that second wife whom he treated so politely in his little
failures of allegiance. He had established the _Tatler_, co-operated
in the _Spectator_, had begun and terminated the _Guardian_, and had
started the _Englishman_. He had served the Duke of Marlborough in
and out of office, and had been elected M.P. for Stockbridge, after
nobly resigning his Commissionership of Stamps, and his pension as
"servant to the late Prince George of Denmark." He had been expelled
the House for writing what the House called seditious pamphlets,
and had then returned to literature, and now to occupation as a
manager. From the new government, under the new king, by whom he
was soon after knighted, Steele had influence enough to ultimately
obtain a _patent_, in the names of himself, Booth, Wilks, and Cibber,
which protected them from some small tyrannies with which they were
occasionally visited by the officials in the Lord Chamberlain's
office.
The season of 1714-15 was not especially remarkable, save for this,
that the great actors who were patentees frequently played small
parts, in order to give young actors a chance. It was not given,
however, to every young actor; for, on the 20th of April, 1715, when
Rowe's "Lady Jane Grey" was produced (Dudley, Booth; Lady Jane, Mrs.
Oldfield), the very insignificant part of the Lieutenant of the Tower
was played by a new actor from Ireland,--one James Quin, who was
destined to equal Booth in some parts, and to be surpassed in some,
by an actor yet at school,--David Garrick.
[Illustration: (James Quin.)]
Charles Johnson was, of course, ready with a comedy, stolen from
various sources,--"Country Lasses." Gay, who had returned from
Hanover with the third Earl of Clarendon, whose secretary he had
become, after leaving the service of the Duchess of Monmouth,
produced his hilarious burlesque of old and modern tragedies,--the
"What d'ye call It?" The satire of this piece was so fine, that deaf
gentlemen who saw the tragic action and could not hear the
words, and the new sovereign and court who heard the words but could
not understand their sense, were put into great perplexity; while the
honest galleries, reached by the solemn sounds, and taking manner for
matter, were affected to such tears as they could shed, at the most
farcical and high-sounding similes. It was only after awhile that the
joke was comprehended, and that the "What d'ye call It?" was seen to
be a capital burlesque of "Venice Preserved." The very Templars, who
of course comprehended it all, from the first, and went to hiss the
piece, for the honour of Otway, could not do so, for laughing; and
this only perplexed the more the matter-of-fact people, not so apt to
discover a joke.[101]
Rowe's "Lady Jane" did not prove so attractive as "Jane Shore." There
were only innocence and calamity wherewith to move the audience; no
guilt; no profound intrigue. But there is much force in some of the
scenes. The very variety of the latter, indeed, was alleged against
the author, as a defect, by the many slaves of the unity of time and
place. It was objected to Rowe, that in his violation of the unities
he went beyond other offenders,--not only changing the scene with
the acts, but varying it within the acts. For this, however, he had
good authority in older and better dramatists. "To change the scene,
as is done by Rowe, in the middle of an act, is to add more acts to
the play; since an act is so much of the business as is transacted
without interruption. Rowe, by this licence, easily extricates
himself from difficulties, as in 'Lady Jane Grey,' when we have been
terrified by all the dreadful pomp of public execution, and are
wondering how the heroine or poet will proceed; no sooner has Jane
pronounced some prophetic rhymes than--pass and be gone--the scene
closes, and Pembroke and Gardiner are turned out upon the stage."
The critic wished to stay and witness a "public execution," not
satisfied with the pathos of the speech uttered by Jane, and which,
for tenderness, sets the scene in fine contrast with that of the
quarrelling and reconciliation between Pembroke and Guilford. Rowe's
Jane Grey interests the heart more fully than Jane Shore or Calista:
but the last two ladies have a touch of boldness about them, in which
the first, from her very innocence, is wanting; and audiences are,
therefore, more excited by the loudly-proclaimed wrongs of the women
who have gone astray than by the tender protests of the victim who
suffers for the crimes of others.
George Powell ended his seven and twentieth season this year, at
the close of which he died. For the old actor gone, a young actress
appeared,--Mrs. Horton, "one of the most beautiful women that ever
trod the stage." She had been a "stroller," ranting tragedy in barns
and country towns, and playing Cupid, in a booth at suburban fairs.
The attention of managers was directed towards her; and Booth, after
seeing her act in Southwark, engaged her for Drury Lane, where her
presence was more agreeable to the public than particularly pleasant
to dear Mrs. Oldfield.
FOOTNOTES:
[94] Acted about seven times. In second edition Dr. Doran quotes
a letter from Cromwell to Pope in which is stated that this play
brought Johnson £300.
[95] Acted about nine times.
[96] This story is not true. (Second edition).
[97] Should be "Female Advocates."
[98] Yet it was played about eight times.
[99] It was acted only six times.
[100] Should be "Confederacy."
[101] Quoted from a humorous account of the piece's reception,
written by Pope.
[Illustration: SPILLER'S BENEFIT TICKET.]