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the city of Ipswich, where, in the summer 1741, there was a regular com pany of comedians. Garrick’s diffidence was itill so great, that he assumed the name of Lyddal; and, that he might remain unknown, he chose, for his first appearance, the character of Aboan, in the tragedy of Oroonoko. In that disguise he passed the rubicon; but his reception was such, that, in a few days, he ventured to throw off his black complexion, and thew himself in the part of Chamont, in the Orphan. The applause he met with encouraged him to display his powers in comedy. The inhabitants of Ipswich were not the only attendants at the theatre; the gentlemen, all round the country, went in crowds to see the new performer. Ipswich has reason to be proud of the taste and judgment, with which they gave the warmest encouragement to a promising genius. The people of that city were the first patrons of a young actor, who, in a short time, became the brilliant ornament of the English Itage.

* Garrick, from that time, spoke on all occafions of the encouragement he received at Ipswich with pride and gratitude. He used to say, that, if he had failed there, it was his fixed resolution to think no more of the stage ; but the applause he met with inspired him with confidence. He returned to town before the end of the summer, resolved in the course of the following winter to present himself before a London audience. To gain this point, he concerted all his measures; but the road before him was by no means open. It was necessary to procure a station at one of the theatres. For that purpose, he offered his service to Fleetwood, and after him to Rich. The two managers considered him as a mere strolling actor, a vain pretender to the art, and rejected him with disdain. They had reason, however, in the following season to repent of their conduct, Garrick applied to his friend Giffard, the manager

of Goodman's Fields, and agreed to act under his management at a salary of five pounds a week. Having gained confidence in his powers from the encouragement he received at Ipswich, he resolved to think no more of subordinate characters, but to strike a bold stroke, and set out at the very head of the profession. The part he chose was Richard III. a great and arduous undertaking. He had studied the character, and his feelings told him, that he should be able to acquit himself with reputation. Old Cibber had long before prepared the play with considerable alterations, and the new matter introduced by him was, with great judgement, selected from Shakespeare himself. He acted Richard with great applause, and he tells us, he made Sandford his model. He adds, that Sir John Vanbrugh told him, that' he never knew an actor profit so much by another : you have the very, look of Sandford, his gesture, gait, /peech, and every motion of him; and you have borrowed them all to serve you in that character,' But this borrowing fo exactly and minutely from a contemporary actor does not convey the idea of a great tragedian. In fact, Cibber was a moft excellent comedian, but by no means qualified for the great emotions of the tragic muse. His voice was feeble, swelling frequently to a drawling tone, and altogether illfuited to the force and energy of Richard. Garrick forned to lacky after any actor whatever; he depended on his own genius, and was completely an original performer. All was his own creation : he might truly say ' I 'am myself alone !' His first appearance on the London stage, was at Goodman's Fields, on the 19th of October 1741. The moment he entered the scene, the character he assumed was visible in his countenance ; the


of tiis imagination was such, that he transformed himself into the very man ;



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the passions rose in rapid succession, and, before he uttered a word, were legible in every feature of that various face. His look, his voice, his atti. tude, changed with every sentiment. To describe him in the vast variety that occurs in Richard, would draw us into too much length. The rage and rapidity, with which he spoke,

* The North !--what do they in the North,

When they should serve their Sovereign in the West ? " made a most astonishing impression on the audience. His foliloquy in the tent-scene discovered the inward man. Every thing he described was almoit reality ; the spectator thought he heard the hum of either army from

camp camp, and steed threatening steed. When he started from his dream, he was a spectacle of horror : he called out in a manly tone,

“ Give me another horse ; “ He paused, and, with a countenance of dismay, advanced, crying out in a tone of distress,

• Bind
up my

6 and then, falling on his knees, said in the most piteous accent,

“ Have mercy Heaven! "In all this, the audience faw an exact imitation of nature. His friend Hogarth has left a most excellent picture of Garrick in this scene. He was then on the eve of a battle, and, in spite of all the terrors of conscience, his courage mounted to a blaze. When in Bosworth field, he roared out,

“ A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! “ All was rage, fury, and almost reality. To be convinced of this, the reader needs only to see a most admirable picture of him by Mr. Dance, * whose pencil has given immortal fame to Garrick, and has done equal honour to himself. It is no wonder that an actor thus accomplished made, on the very first night, a deep impression on the audience. His fame ran through the metropolis. The public went in crowds to see a young performer, who came forth at once a complete master of his art. From the polite ends of Westminster the most elegant company flocked to Goodman's Fields, insomuch that from Temple Bar the whole way was covered with a string of coaches. The great Mr. Pope was drawn from his retreat at Twickenham, and, we are assured, Lord Orrery was so struck with the performance, that he said, I am afraid the young man will be spoiled, for he will have no competitor.'

s In the course of the season at Goodman's Fields, Garrick appeared in a variety of characters ; in Lothario, Chamont, and several parts in comedy, such as Sharp, in his own farce of the Lying Valet, Lord Foppington, Captain Plume, and Bayes in the Rehearsal. About the end of two months, he saw that he was the grand magnetic that drew the town to Goodman's Fields, and, of course, thought that his reward was not in any degree ade, quate to his services. Giffard was sensible of it, and, from that time, agreed to give him half the profits. Flushed with success, Garrick undertook the

* " See Appendix, No. XXVIII.”


difficult character of King Lear. He was transformed into a feeble old man; still retaining an air of royalty. Quin, at the time, was admired in that character, but to express a quick fucceffion of passions was not his talents. Barry, some years after, ventured to try his strength in this bow of Ulyfjes; and certainly with a most harmonious and pathetic voice was able to affect the heart in several passages, but he could not, with propriety, represent the old king out of his senses. He started, took long and hasty fteps, ftared about him in a vague wild manner, and his voice was by no means in unison with the sentiment. It was in Lear's madness that Garrick's genius was remarkably distinguished. He had no sudden starts, no violent geiticulation ; his move. ments were slow and feeble ; misery was depicted in his countenance ; he moved his head in the most deliberate manner; his eyes were fixed, or, if they turned to any one near him, he made a pause, and fixed his look on the person after much delay ; his features at the same time telling what he was going to say, before he uttered a word. During the whole time he presented a fight of woe and misery, and a total alienation of mind from every idea

, but that of his unkind daughters. He was used to tell how he acquired the hints that guided him, when he began to study this great and difficult part ; he was acquainted with a worthy man, who lived in Leman-ftreet, Goodman's Fields ; this friend had an only daughter, about two years old; he Itood at his dining-room window, fondling the child, and dangling it in his arms, when it was his misfortune to drop the infant into a flagged area, and killed it on the spot. He remained at his window screaming in agonies of grief. The neighbours flocked to the house, took up the child, and delivered it dead to the uuhappy father, who wept bitterly, and filled the street with lamentations. He loft his senses, and from that moment never recovered his understanding. As he had a fufficient fortune, his friends chose to let him remain in his house, under two keepers appointed by Dr. Monro. Garrick frequently went to see his distracted friend, who passed the remainder of his lite in going to the window, and there playing in fancy with his child. After some dalliance, he dropped it, and, bursting into a flood of tears, filled the house with shrieks of grief and bitter anguish. He then sat down, in a pensive mood, his eyes fixed on one object, at times looking flowly round him, as if to implore compassion. Garrick was often present at this scene of misery, and was ever after used to say, that it gave him the first idea of King Lear's madness. This writer has often seen him rise in company to give a representation of this unfortunate father. He leaned on the back of a chair, seeming with parental fondness to play with a child, and, after expressing the most heart-felt delight, he suddenly dropped the infant, and instantly broke out in a most violent agony of grief, fo tender, so affecting, and pathetic

, that every eye in company was moistened with a guh of tears. There it was, faid Garrick, that I learned to imitate madness; I copied nature, and to that

success in King Lear. It is wonderful to tell that he descended from that first character in tragedy, to the part of Abel Drugger; he represented the tobaccc-boy in the truest comic ftile: no grimace, no ftarting, no wild gesticulation. He seemed to be a new man. Hogarth, the famous painter, faw him in Richard III. and on the following night in Abel Drugger: he was so ftruck, that he said to Garrick, you are in your element, when you are begrimed with dirt, or up to your elbow. in blood.

The managers of Drury-Lane, and Covent-Garden played to thin houses, while Garrick drew the town after him ; and the actors beheld his prodigious

owed my


fuccess with an evil eye. Quin, in his farcastic vein, said, this is the wonder of a day; Garrick is a new religion ; the people folloto him as another Whitfield; but they will.foon return to church again. The joke was relished, and soon spread through the town. Garrick thought it required an answer : he replied in the following Epigram :

“ Pope Quin, who damns all Churches but his own,
Complains that Heresy infeits the towns
That WHITFIELD GARRICK has milled the

And taints the found religion of the Stage.
He says, that fchism has turn’d the Nation's braing
But eyes will open, and to Church again.
Thou GRAND İNFALLIBLE! forbear to roar;
Thy Bulls and Errors are rever'd no more.
When Doctrines meet with genr’al approbation,

It is not Heresy, but REFORMATION. " Quin, was now, like his own Falstaff, not only witty in himself, but the cause of wit in others. The lines contain more truth than is generally found in Epigrams. Garrick's file of acting was universally acknow. ledged to be a reformation. He was the undoubted master of the fock and baskin. He aspired also to the rank of a dramatic writer, and to the Lying Valet, which had been performed with applause, he added the farce of Lethes in which he acted three different characters. In the month of May 1741, he closed the season at Goodman's Fields, after a career of the most brilliant success."

Peddie's Defence of the Associate Synod.

(Continued from P. 134.) *HE proposed alterations in the Formula, were they riot con

nected with other circumstances exciting suspicions, we really should not consider as big with danger. It must be admitted, that a Formula, extremely proper and ever necessary in a church established by law, may, in some less important particulars, be improper and even absurd in a church holding the same faith, constituted in the same manner, and using the same forms of worship, if that church be only tolerated. Thus, the question--" Do you think that you are truly called according to the will of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the due arder of this realm, to the ministry of the church?” is, with great propriety, put to the candidate for deacon's orders in England, but the clause, printed in italic characters, could not, without absurdity, be put in Scotland, or even in England, at the ordination of a man whose calt was to serve the church in America. The mere alteration of the Formula therefore ought to excite no fufpicion, if that alteration do not open a door to the introduction of licentious principles. The only alteration proposed to be made by the Associate Synod, which is of the smalleit consequence, occurs in the 4th question. That question, as it stands in the old Formula, is thus exprefled : NO. XXXIV. YOL. VIII.





" Do you acknowledge the perpetual obligation of the National Covenant of Scotland, particularly as explained in 1638, to abjure Prelacy and the Five Articles of Perth, and of the Solemn League and Covenant ? And do you acknowledge, that public Covenanting is a moral duty under the New Testament difpenfation, to be performed when God in his Providence calls to it?

Instead of this question, the Associate Synod proposed the following:

"Do you, wITH THE LIMITATIONS SPECIFIED IN ASSOCIATE SYNOD, 17-, approve of the Covenants national and folemn league, as a solemn engagement on the part of our Fathers, to cleave to the TRUTHS of Christ, and to hand them down to succeeding generations? And do you acknowledge that, in virtue of these Covenants, an additional guilt will be contracted by the present and future generations, if they shall renounce these Reformation principles?

The act of the Associate Synod, here referred to as specifying limitations, is the act of forbearance; and we must say that the new question, confidered in conjunction with it, would be greatly preferable to the old, had not thole men excited suspicions against every thing which they have done by their worse than Jesuitical doctrine respecting the obligation of oaths. Dr. Porteous is, indeed, highly offended at them for substituting in their facred question an ait of their Synod instead of the acts of the General Assembly, 1647 and 1648; and says, that, by this conduct, they “ undoubtedly intended to throw off, in the most public manner, all connection with the Church of Scotland, to renounce all relation to her, with all hopes of her reformation, and to make a return to her communion impollible, whatever change of circumstances might lead to it.”

Assuredly we mean not to plead the cause of the feceders, of whom we know very little ; but the cause of truth we shall always confider as sacred by whomsoever it may be maintained. The Assemblies of 1647 and 1648 were the most turbulent and intolerant crews that ever met to prescribe articles of faith to a Chriftian nation; and if the Affociate Syncd have sincerely renounced the principles of compulsion, which in matters of religion were avowed by them, they could not, without the grofleft inconsistency, require their candidates for orders to profess their belief in the whole doctrine of the confefion of faith, larger and shorter catechifins, &c. as they were received and approved by those afiemblies. Upon what ground the Doctor calls the fubftitution of an act of their own Synod in the room of the acts of those icbellious conclaves, a renunciation for ever of all relation to tire church of Scotland we cannot conceive ; for he knows well, and, indeed, 1:0 man, who is not an absolute stranger to the history of Great Britain, and to the prctent state of the church of Scotland, can be ignorant, that the Formula of that church makes no mention of the Afendlies of 16.47 and 164%; but merely requires the candidate for orders to receive the Weftminster confeffion, &c. as “ approved by the General Afienblies of this national church."


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