little was left to the share of any individual; like the extension and dissipation of water into dew, there was not quantity united sufficiently to quench any man's thirst; but this is in the inevitable state of things: Garrick, no more than another man, could unite what, in their natures, are incompatible.

GIB. But Garrick not only was excluded by this means from real friendship, but accused of treating those whom he called friends with insincerity and double dealings.

JOHNS. Sir, it is not true; his character in that respect is misunderstood: Garrick was, to be sure, very ready in promising, but he intended at that time to fulfil his promise; he intended no deceit: his politeness or his goodnature, call it which you will, made him unwilling to deny; he wanted the courage to say No, even to unreasonable demands. This was the great error of his life: by raising expectations which he did not, perhaps could not, gratify, he made many enemies; at the same time it must be remembered, that this error proceeded from the same cause which produced many of his virtues. Friendships from warmth of temper too suddenly taken up, and too violent to continue, ended as they were like to do, in disappointment; enmity succeeded disappointment; his friends became his enemies; and those having been fostered in his bosom, well knew his sensibility to reproach, and they took care that he should be amply supplied with such bitter potions as they were capable of administering; their impotent efforts he ought to have despised, but he felt them; nor did he affect insensibility.

GIB. And that sensibility probably shortened his life.

JOHNS. No, sir, he died of a disorder of which you or any other man may die, without being killed by too much sensibility.

GIB. But you will allow, however, that this sensibility, those fine feelings, made him the great actor he was.

JOHNS. This is all cant, fit only for kitchen wenches and chambermaids: Garrick's trade was to represent passion, not to feel it. Ask Reynolds whether he felt the distress of Count Hugolino when he drew it.

GIB. But surely he feels the passion at the moment he is representing it.

JOHNS. About as much as Punch feels. That Garrick

himself gave into this foppery of feelings I can easily believe; but he knew at the same time that he lied. He might think it right, as far as I know, to have what fools imagined he ought to have; but it is amazing that any one should be so ignorant as to think that an actor will risk his reputation by depending on the feelings that shall be excited in the presence of two hundred people, on the repetition of certain words which he has repeated two hundred times before in what actors call their study. No, sir, Garrick left nothing to chance; every gesture, every expression of countenance, and variation of voice was settled in his closet before he set his foot upon the stage." (*)

(*) [This is conformable with the opinion of Grimm and Diderot, and with the admission of Mr. Kemble; but it must not be understood too literally. A great actor prepares in his study, positions, attitudes, the particular mode of uttering certain passages, and even the tone which is to be adopted; and having once ascertained, both by thought and experience, what is best, he will naturally adhere to that, however often he may play the part; but it is equally certain, that there is a large portion of the merit of a great theatrical exhibition which is not reducible to any rule, and which depends, not only on the general powers of the performer, but on his health, his spirits, and other personal circumstances of the moment which may tend to encourage or restrain his powers. And it may be safely affirmed, that although no actor ever fancies himself Othello, or any actress Calista, yet that the unpremeditated emotions last alluded to constitute a great part of the charm which distinguishes on the stage excellence from mediocrity.-C.]

PART XVI.

ANECDOTES AND REMARKS,
BY MADAME D'ARBLAY. (*)

412. Mr. Bewley.-Johnson's Hearth-Broom.

IN 1760, Mr. Burney found an opportunity of paying his personal respects to Dr. Johnson, who then resided in chambers in the Temple. While awaiting the appearance of his revered host, Mr. Burney recollected a supplication from Mr. Bewley, the philosopher of Massingham, to be indulged with some token, however trifling or common, of his friend's admission to the habitation of this great man. Vainly, however, Mr. Burney looked around the apartment for something that he might innoxiously purloin. Nothing but coarse and necessary furniture was in view; nothing portable-not even a wafer, the cover of a letter, or a split pen, was to be caught; till, at length, he had the happiness to espy an old hearth-broom in the chimney corner. From this, with hasty glee, he cut off a bristly wisp, which he hurried into his pocket-book; and afterwards formally folded in silver-paper, and forwarded, in a frank to Lord Orford, for Mr. Bewley; by whom the burlesque offering was hailed with good-humoured acclamation, and preserved through life.

(*) [Formerly, the celebrated Miss Fanny Burney, author of Evelina," &c.; from whose interesting Memoirs of her father, Dr. Burney, these anecdotes are taken.]

413. Music.

Dr. Johnson, who had no ear for music, had accustomed himself, like many other great writers who have had that same, and frequently sole, deficiency, to speak slightingly both of the art and of its professors: and it was not till after he had become intimately acquainted with Dr. Burney and his various merits, that he ceased to join in a jargon so unworthy of his liberal judgment, as that of excluding musicians and their art from celebrity. The first symptom that he showed of a tendency to conversion upon this subject, was upon hearing the following paragraph read, accidentally, aloud by Mrs. Thrale, from the preface to the History of Music, while it was yet in manuscript: “ The love of lengthened tones and modulated sounds, seems a passion implanted in human nature throughout the globe; as we hear of no people, however wild and savage in other particulars, who have not music of some kind or other, with which they seem greatly delighted.' "Sir," cried Dr. Johnson, after a little pause, "this assertion I believe may be right." And then, seesawing a minute or two on his chair, he forcibly added, "All animated nature loves music-except myself!"

Some time later, when Dr. Burney perceived that he was generally gaining ground in the house, he said to Mrs. Thrale, who had civilly been listening to some favourite air that he had been playing, "I have yet hopes, madam, with the assistance of my pupil, to see yours become a musical family. Nay, I even hope, sir," turning to Dr. Johnson, "I shall some time or other make you, also, sensible of the power of my art." "Sir," answered the Doctor, smiling, "I shall be very glad to have a new sense put into me!"

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414. Dr. Burney.

The Tour to the Hebrides being then in hand, Dr. Burney inquired of what size and form the book would be. "Sir," he replied, with a little bow, "you are my model!" Impelled by the same kindness, when my father lamented the disappointment of the public in Hawkesworth's Voyages,-"Sir," he cried, "the public is always disappointed in books of travels; except yours." And afterwards, he

said, that he hardly ever read any book quite through in his life; but added, "Chamier and I, sir, however, read all your travels through; except, perhaps, the description of the great pipes in the organs of Germany and the Netherlands."

415. Streatham Library.

Mr. Thrale had lately fitted up a rational, readable, wellchosen library. It were superfluous to say, that he had neither authors for show, nor bindings for vanity, when it is known, that while it was forming, he placed merely one hundred pounds in Dr. Johnson's hands for its completion; though such was his liberality, and such his opinion of the wisdom as well as knowledge of the Doctor in literary matters, that he would not for a moment have hesitated to subscribe to the highest estimate that the Doctor might have proposed. One hundred pounds, according to the expensive habits of the present day, of decorating books like courtiers and coxcombs, rather than like students and philosophers, would scarcely purchase a single row for a book-case of the length of Mr. Thrale's at Streatham; though, under such guidance as that of Dr. Johnson, to whom all finery seemed foppery, and all foppery futility, that sum, added to the books naturally inherited, or already collected, amply sufficed for the unsophisticated reader, where no peculiar pursuit, or unlimited spirit of research, demanded a collection for reference rather than for instruction and enjoyment.

416. Streatham Gallery.

This was no sooner accomplished, than Mr. Thrale resolved to surmount these treasures for the mind by a similar regale for the eyes, in selecting the persons he most loved to contemplate, from amongst his friends and favourites, to preside over the literature that stood highest in his estimation. And, that his portrait painter might go hand in hand in judgment with his collector of books, he fixed upon the matchless Sir Joshua Reynolds to add living excellence to dead perfection, by giving him- the personal resemblance of the following elected set; every one of which occasionally made a part of the brilliant society of Streatham. Mrs. Thrale and her eldest daughter were in