The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-09-09
q Observation-Disclosures MONDAY, sErllMBER O. 1897

which he was now about TO turn his reluctant
back. He had had the good sense to feel that
verse would be too restricting vehicle for his
feelings of sorrow, and with his fine sensi-
tive countenance quivering with unfeigned
emotion, he advanced and addressed the
audience in these simple but touching
words:--
"Ladies and Gentlemen:-It has been ousto-
mary with persons under my circumstances to
address you in farewell epilogue. | had the
same intention, and turned my thoughts that
way; but found myself then as incapable of
writing such an epilogue as / should be now
of speaking It, The jingle of rhyme and the
language OF fiction would but ill suit my pre-
sent feelings. This is to me very awful
moment; it is no less than parting forever
with those from whom l have received the
greatest kindness and upon the spot where
that kindness and your favors were enjoyed.
(Here his voice failed him; he paused till a
gush of tears relieved him) Whatever may
be the changes of my future life, the deepest
impression of your kindness will always re-
main here--here in my heart, fixed and unal-
terable. l will very readily agree 20 my sue
cessors having more skill and ability for their
station than ! have had, but l defy them all
to take more uninterrupted pains for your
favor, or to be more truly sensible of 1t than
is your grateful humble servant"
Having uttered these sentiments, he bowed
respectfully to all parts of the house, and
at slow pace, and with much hesitation
withdrew forever from the presence of the
town.
The audience felt what it was losing
and was reluctant to part parting is
such sweet sorrow. They felt, as Dr.
Browne had written, that this great
genius had dignifed the stage, had ere
stored it to the fulness of its ancient splendor,
and with variety of powers beyond example
established nature-Shakespeare and himself'
Of tha Of Mr oh, i,
was eclipsed by his exit. Men were seeing
and hearing, for the last time, what Smollett
had praised:--
"The sweetness and variety of tones, the
irresistible magic of his eye, the fire and
vivacity of his action, the elegance of atti-
tudes, and the whole pathos of expression"
Every face in the theatre was clouded with
grief, tears were bursting from many eyes,
and rolling down many cheeks. The sorrow
was electric, and spread from heart to heart
The cry of "farewell'' resounded from box to
box, and seat to seat, till it became mighty
agitated clamor like the moan Of a troubled
cream. A sun had gone down after day OF
changeless lustre; the end of the theatrical
world seemed come.
Garriok soon after signed the deeds for the
sale OF half his patent to Sheridan, Ford, and
Llndley, and retired to his pretty and tran
gull villa at Hampton. He died on January
70, l779, at his house, No. Adelphi-terrace.
de was buried grandly in the Abbey-a fit
ting place for the grave of so wonderful a
man. Years afterwards, DIR. Johnson and
Boswell were one evening, in the summer
evening stiffness, looking over the rails of
Adelphi-terrace at the Thames flowing below
them, dark, silent, and mysterious as Lethe.
After an interval of thoughtful silence Bos-
well said:-
~ was thinking just then of two friends
we nave lost, who once lived in the build
lngs behind us. Topham Beauclerk, and Gar
rick"
SAY, SIR" said the great man, tenderly,
"and two such friends as can never be sup
plied.'
1t is hard, almost impossible, to decide now
whethersGarrick was the greatest actor that
had appeared up to his own time. Quin was
too heavy and deliberate to be compared with
him. But Betterton must have been great
genius to have fascinated Steele, and to have
won the highest eulogies of clever and saga
cious observer of such experience as Cibber.
His agony as ''Othello, his graceful energy
in the speech to the Senate, the reverential
love with which as "Hamlet'' he addressed
the 'Ghost, seem to have almost transcribed
any effort of Garricks; but then Betterton
was probably as much too oratorical and con-
ventional as Kemble seemed to be beside
Edmund Kean, or as Quin himself beside Gar
rick. The man, too, who used to play tMac-
BETH in brown velvet court-dress must
nave had a different ideal to our own more
naturalistic school, or he would have felt the
outrageOusness Of such a convention.
Perhaps, after all, it is by a resume of Gar
rick anecdotes that we get the best idea of the
great actor. One of his most extraordinary
powers seemed to have been the instantaneous
qulckness with which he could assume any
character, pass from tears to laughter Better
ton, when dressed for Lear remained Clear"
and took his wine at the side-scenes with the
gravity of a monarch Garrick would rise
from the side of dead "Cordelia," skip into
the greenroom, and gobble like turkey cock
to amuse "Peg Wofington'' or Mrs. Give.
He played the dagger-scene in ordinary dress
to please Grimm, and the room, full of Ger
man critics, burst into involuntary shonts of
applause. The next moment he was giving
them pastrycook's boy who has let tray Of
tartets fall in the gutter; and is at first stupe-
fed, then noisy in his blubbering. We all
know the story of the Garrick fever, a fresh
epidemic that he caused by his crowded
houses. The prOverb still extant, of 'clever
as Garrick, speaks loudly, too, for his genius
and his fame. He astonished Hogarth by as
suming the face of Fielding, of whom no por-
trait existed. In Paris once he nearly fright
ened the driver of a facre into fits by getting |
in at one door in the dusk, getting out at the |
other, and returning to get in each time with |
new face and walk. When he and Pre- |
vile, the French actor, both competed which !
could feign drunkenness the better while |
riding Garrick carried off the bell, in the |
opinion of every one, by showing that Preville |
was fairly drunk everywhere except his legs, |
but that they remained stolidly sober. When |