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Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013182906 
 
WORKS ON THE STAGE 
 
 BY THE SAME WRITER 
 
 LIFE OF GARRICK t 
 
 LIVES OF THE KEMBLES 
 
 LIVES OF THE SHERIDANS 
 
 LIFE OF SIR HENRY IRVING 
 
 LIFE OF WATTS PHILLIPS 
 
 LIFE OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES 
 
 NEW HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 ROMANCE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 ART OF THE STAGE : A Lecture at the 
 
 Royal Institution 
 CHARLES LAMB ON THE STAGE 
 PRINCIPLES OF COMEDY S- DRAMATIC 
 
 EFFECT 
 PROVERBS AND COMEDIETTAS 
 VANDERDECKEN : A Drama 
 THE WORLD BEHIND THE SCENES 
 SHAKESPEAREAN REPRESENTATION : 
 
 Its Laws and Limits 
 SAMUEL FOOTE : A Biography 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE FAMILY SCHOOL-DAYS — LIFE AT COLLEGE - 1 
 
 II. THE GOODEEE MURDER — FOOTE ON TOWN - - 20 
 
 III. UPON THE STAGE - - - S3 
 
 IV. MIMICRY ... - - 45 
 V. " THE DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING " - - 57 
 
 VI. FOOTE's FIRST COMEDY, " THE KNIGHTS " ELOPE- 
 MENT TO FRANCE - - - 70 
 VII. FOOTE, GARRICK, AND JOHNSON - - - 80 
 VIII. TATE WILKINSON - - 112 
 IX. DRURY LANE CONFUSION - 127 
 
 X. "the author" VISITS TO SCOTLAND - 145 
 
 XI. DUBLIN BROILS - - - 166 
 
 XII. "the minor" - ... 176 
 
 XIII. " THE MINOR " — Continued - - 183 
 
 XIV. FOOTE, WIT AND HUMORIST - - 197 
 XV. "the mayor of GARRATT'" — GEORGE FAULKNER - 225 
 
 XVI. A SERIOUS ACCIDENT HAYMARKET PATENT - 245 
 
 XVII. THE HAYMARKET THEATRE - - 251 
 
 XVIII. F00TE''s COMEDIES- - - - 264 
 
 XIX. foote's COMEDIES — Continued - - - 286 
 
 XX. THE STRATFORD JUBILEE " THE MAID OF BATH " - 301 
 
 XXI. PUPPET-SHOWS - - - 318 
 
 XXII. THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " - - - 335 
 
 XXIII. FINALE - - - 
 
 INDEX 
 
 359 
 375 
 
SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 A BIOGRAPHY 
 
 "By 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A. 
 
 " HE WAS A FINE FELLOW IN HIS WAY ; AND THE WORLD IS 
 REALLY IMPOVERISHED BY HIS SINKING GLORIES : I WOULD REALLY 
 HAVE HIS LIFE WRITTEN WITH DILIGENCE.'' DR. JOHNSON 
 
 LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS 
 
 MCMX 
 
 5 
 
 CO 
 
h 
 
 3o>+>^' 
 
 1^1! rifhtt reserved] 
 
SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 1720—1740 
 THE FAMILY — SCHOOL-DAYS — LIFE AT COLLEGE 
 
 It might, perhaps, seem an exaggeration or a surprise 
 were I to say thsCt I am about to introduce to the 
 reader the most remarkable and one of the most 
 gifted persons that ever figured on the Enghsh stage. 
 It would indeed be difficult to decide whether he was 
 more remarkable on the stage or off it. No actor has 
 been so successful as dramatist, no actor such a wit 
 or humorist, and, finally, no actor has had so stirring 
 and adventurous a course. He was a gentleman by 
 birth and breeding, yet grew up and was trained in 
 taverns and pothouses. He spent his life mimick- 
 ing respectable people, making them odious and 
 ridiculous, and thus secured a handsome living — yet 
 was never challenged or chastised. He was said to 
 have run through three large fortunes. There is no 
 story, therefore, more likely to be fuU of interest 
 and excitement. A restless, energetic personage — 
 perpetually moving to and fro — now in this kingdom, 
 now in that. A strange parti-coloured life indeed, 
 full of contrasts — he was now flourishing, now in straits 
 
 1 
 
2 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 — but always contrived to come to the surface. 
 People are very partial to such adventurous careers ; 
 we must ever follow with the most intense interest 
 the most vivacious and " incompressible " being of his 
 time — a professed and ever-ready wit, a brilliant writer, 
 an excellent actor, though chiefly in his own pieces. 
 In fact, his play and himself were inseparable. 
 
 It is odd that, while everybody with a hfe worth 
 writing has had his life written, this remarkable and 
 attractive man should have been passed by. My old 
 friend John Forster indeed devoted a Quarterly 
 Review paper to a complete account of him and his 
 works, expounded in that rather impressive magis- 
 terial tone which is found in most of his writings. 
 But though he was an admirable critic, well schooled, 
 far beyond any that we can boast at the present 
 time, and full of knowledge of the period, one is 
 surprised at the too partial and too indulgent 
 tone in which he deals with Foote's character and 
 proceedings. One would think he was dealing with 
 one of the respected, well-estabUshed, irreproachable 
 personages of that era, such as Garrick or Goldsmith. 
 He overlooks always the turbulent and dramatic — 
 if utterly irresponsible — character of Foote's course, 
 which seemed to be directed by no principle but the 
 wanton humours of the moment.* 
 
 It is certain that the popular estimate of Foote will 
 have to be revised. He is usually assumed to have 
 been merely a rough jester, a clever dramatist and in- 
 different actor ; he passes across Bozzy's pleasant stage 
 one in a long procession of performers. It is clear 
 now that he was a great force in the society which he 
 
 * The account, much enlarged, was later included in his agree- 
 able volume of collected essays. 
 
CH. I] THE FAMILY 3 
 
 ruled and intimidated for nearly the whole of his 
 career, and that he attracted all eyes. What 
 Mr. Foote said or did or would do was a matter 
 of importance, and he did pretty much as he liked 
 without anyone daring to interfere. This alone was 
 an extraordinary performance and quite unique. 
 Like Johnson, he ruled in every degree of society. 
 He must really be classed, therefore, with the great 
 leading group — with Johnson, Garrick, Goldsmith, 
 BosweU ; iadeed, one might put him with Garrick 
 and Johnson for his power and directing influence on 
 society. I fancy no one will rise from the perusal of 
 these pages without assenting to this conclusion. 
 
 Foote's father was a man of some importance in the 
 town of Truro, and is described as " a very useful 
 magistrate." He was Member of Parliament for 
 Tiverton, Commissioner of the Prize Office, and 
 Receiver of Fines for the Duchy. He died at his 
 country-house on March 12, 1754, when seventy-six 
 years of age, and was buried at St. Clement, Truro. 
 He thus witnessed much of his erratic son's course. 
 The family had another residence at Lambesco, where 
 their ancestors had lived at the time of Charles II. 
 His marriage with Eleanor, only daughter ol 
 Sir Edward Goodere, was to further strengthen 
 its importance, and shows that Mr. Foote was an 
 ambitious and pushful man. This lady lived to be 
 eighty-four, and seems to have had but a distressful, 
 chequered life. Her famous son, who was certainly 
 accountable for many of her troubles, was christened 
 at St. Mary's Church, Truro, in January 1720. 
 
 Samuel is commonly stated to have been born at 
 the Red Lion in Boscawen Street, at one time the 
 residence of Henry Foote, his relative. But he first 
 
 1—2 
 
4 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 saw the light at Johnson Vivian's house, close by the 
 inn. The owner was twice Mayor of Truro — in 1741 
 and in 1754. The house has been pulled down. 
 The letters J. F. are stiQ to be read over the inn 
 door, or were some years ago.* 
 
 We find a Samuel Foote who was born in 1761, 
 and who claimed to be connected with the greater 
 Samuel. It is known that the actor left two illegiti- 
 mate sons, one of whom would most likely have been 
 named after him. This Samuel went into the army, 
 but speedily left it and became manager at Pljrmouth, 
 where his daughter, afterwards the celebrated singer, 
 was born. It is not at all unUkely that their theatrical 
 complexion was due to a connection with the great 
 jester. I have often thought also that Jesse Foot — 
 without the final e — may have been connected with 
 the actor, as he was intimate with Murphy and wrote 
 his life. Polwhele, in his reminiscences, seems to 
 make allusion to Foote's wife, " a near relative of my 
 mother's and a bosom friend of Sam Foote's wife, of 
 
 * In the libellous letter which the pseudo-Duchess of Kingston 
 wrote to Samuel Foote during the disastrous conflict that destroyed 
 him, we find this passage : 
 
 " Mr. Foote is said to be descended in the female line from one 
 Harnass (Harness?), a merry-andrew who exhibited at Totnes 
 in Devonshire, and afterwards figured in the character of a mounte- 
 bank at Plymouth. This same merry-andrew's daughter married 
 a Justice Foote of Truro, Cornwall. There is a man now living 
 who has often been more delighted with the nimble feats of this 
 active merry-andrew than with all the grimace of features it is 
 in the power of our modern Aristophanes to assume." I recall with 
 pleasure a truly interesting evening I spent seated beside the 
 Rev. Mr. Harness, who was of this family. It was at the send-off 
 dinner, on the eve of Dickens's second visit to America. All the 
 time I was thinking. Could this hale and hearty old person have 
 actually been at school with Byron ? 
 
CH. I] THE FAMILY 5 
 
 St. Clement's, who had possibly pretensions to beauty. 
 But she was as arrant a fool as our comedian's 
 ' pretty simpleton.' " 
 
 Samuel Foote was indeed to shed an heraldic lustre 
 over the guild of wits and dramatists, for few could 
 boast better pedigree or connections — at least, on his 
 mother's side. His mother, Eleanor Goodere, was 
 daughter of a Baronet, Sir Edward Goodere, of 
 Hereford. She had two brothers — John and Samuel 
 —each of whom succeeded to the baronetcy in an 
 unusual and unexpected way, both dying violent 
 deaths within a few weeks. Samuel left five 
 children, the eldest of whom. Sir Edward, became a 
 lunatic. Amid such strange and gloomy associations 
 was the obstreperous and jovial wit to start on his 
 course. But such recollections never disturbed him 
 for a moment. 
 
 To a strain of insanity, inherited or developed, 
 might be traced something of Foote's erratic course. 
 His forbears on the mother's side were certainly 
 thus tainted. His two uncles must have been thus 
 partially afflicted. There was a third uncle, Sir John 
 Dinely, whose eccentricities and oddities were familiar 
 to the public. Mrs. Foote, his mother, though a 
 weU-born lady, was at least singular in her manners. 
 As to Foote himself, he was so disorderly and incon- 
 stant, so reckless in his habits, so devoted to pleasures 
 and revelling, that he can hardly be considered to 
 have been directed by ordinary common - sense or 
 restraint. 
 
 This alliance with the Gooderes was to bring to 
 the Foote family an inheritance of tragic horrors. 
 Sir Walter Scott might have wrought them into a 
 tale as gloomy as that of Lammermoor. Strange that 
 
6 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 one whose life was a perpetual jest should have come 
 of such sad forbears ! 
 
 The third son of Sir Edward Goodere, of Burhope 
 in Herefordshire, was Edward ; his mother a sister of 
 Lord Rockingham's. The Goodere estate was slender, 
 worth not more than a thousand or so a year. The 
 young man fell in love with the only daughter of Sir 
 John Dinely, a great heiress, as she was considered, 
 having about £3,000 a year. She encouraged his 
 addresses, which were prosecuted with great secrecy ; 
 but the matter was discovered, and her family 
 showed much hostility. The young lady, however, 
 had her way, and the pair were married. On her 
 father's death she inherited the whole of his estate, 
 which brought a substantial addition to the fortunes 
 of the Goodere family. All was settled on the eldest 
 son, who was to take the name of Dinely. There 
 were three sons and one daughter ; the second and 
 third sons were to be heroes of the tragical episode. 
 The eldest was brought up to great expectations, to 
 be the Squire and inheritor of the estate ; the other 
 two were sent to sea. The heir went to Ireland, and 
 was there killed in a duel. Djang, Lady Goodere 
 left her whole fortune to her second son, excluding 
 her husband from any share — to his deep resentment ; 
 but later on he " married a fortune." Here was the 
 first stage or beginning of the series of vendettas and 
 animosities which were to rage in this ill-starred family. 
 The now elder brother. Sir John Dinely Goodere, 
 nourished an unreasoning hatred and dishke of the 
 younger, who was a good officer and much esteemed 
 by his friends. Sir John had been unfortunate in his 
 second marriage, and was believed to have treated his 
 wife with cruelty. The younger brother took her 
 
CH. I] THE FAMILY 7 
 
 part, and tried to protect her. Sir John determined 
 to cut off the entail as soon as his son grew up, so as 
 to exclude the brother from any chance of succeeding. 
 The son, however, died, and the whole property was 
 then settled on the daughter, who, we are told, " was 
 married to one Mr. Fote, a gentleman belonging to 
 the law " ; after her on her son, Edward ; and eventu- 
 ally on the celebrated wit and player. When Sir 
 Edward Goodere died, he had left his own estate of 
 Burhope to his eldest son. Sir John, but for his life 
 only ; after which it was to pass to the Captain. 
 
 The new Baronet was furious at this disposition, 
 grudging his brother even this small and rather remote 
 solatium. It was even said that Sir John denied his 
 father a decent funeral, giving him merely a pauper's 
 burial, which the other tried in his own way to protest 
 against. This further inflamed the enmity between 
 the brothers. 
 
 Sir John's matrimonial trouble now took a strange, 
 disastrous turn. He presently brought an action for 
 crim. con. against a Sir R. Jason, and gained £500 
 damages ; though there was a story that one of the 
 witnesses confessed on her death-bed to having been 
 suborned to give false testimony. Next we hear of 
 this extraordinary Baronet indicting his wife for a 
 conspiracy to take his hfe, the lady being found 
 guilty and ordered to be imprisoned and pay a fine. 
 The Captain brother lent her the money. What 
 unseen strife must have been raging all the time 
 beneath the surface ! 
 
 Sir Edward died insane about 1761, and was suc- 
 ceeded by his brother John, a spendthrift. What 
 little of the family estate remained the latter soon 
 wasted ; and about 1770 he was obhged to sell the 
 
8 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. t 
 
 family place — Burhope— to Sir James Peachey, and 
 he was speedily reduced to a state of destitution. 
 The legend, therefore, of some two or three fortunes 
 coming to Foote through his mother seems improb- 
 able enough. Such estate as there was passed to 
 John Foote, his elder brother. But it has been stated 
 over and over again that shfe became a wealthy 
 heiress, owing to the unlucky fate of her brothers. 
 
 Reduced to penury, the last Baronet, Sir John, 
 obtained, through the interest of Lord North and 
 other friends, a nomination as a Knight of Windsor. 
 He dropped the title of Goodere, and was henceforth 
 known as Sir John Dinely. He, too, was certainly 
 an oddity, his eccentricities verging on lunacy. 
 Charles Lamb has left a quaint and sjnnpathetic 
 account of his oddities, very minutely etched. His 
 costumes were grotesque, in spite of which he always 
 obtruded himself into crowds. His aim was to dis- 
 pose of his title in marriage, and on profitable terms. 
 He had a sort of form of proposal drawn up and 
 printed, which he distributed among " hkely " ladies. 
 
 To WDliam Cooke, known as " Conversation " 
 Cooke — who has not been much considered in Uterary 
 annals — we owe a great deal, owing to his acquaint- 
 ance with two distinguished personages of his era, 
 namely, Goldsmith, his fellow-countryman, and Foote, 
 with whom he was most intimate. Had we been 
 without his recollections of " Goldy," we should have 
 lost one of the most valuable and " characteristical 
 portions " of his life. For the two Irishmen, so alike 
 in their careless lack of responsibility, cast their lot 
 together and opened their hearts to each other. 
 Cooke understood " Goldy " better than most of his 
 friends. He seems to " have hung loose " upon 
 
CH. I] SCHOOL-DAYS 9 
 
 society, especially in connection with what might be 
 called " the rowdier element," and in this way became 
 intimate with Foote.* He was, moreover, a man of 
 soUd gifts, had been called to the Bar, and was the 
 author of a legal work that has passed through several 
 editions. He survived until 1824, at which time he 
 must have met and helped Mr. Croker in his great 
 work. 
 
 This legal training and legal practice — for he 
 followed the circuit — must have lent a certain exact- 
 ness to what he reported of Foote. His information 
 is very full, and there are few mistakes. He seems to 
 have been on confidential terms with the wit, to have 
 been his companion at suppers and other jovialities, 
 and, above all, to have displayed a sympathy and 
 intelligence which proves that he understood his hero's 
 character. The style, however, is bald and common- 
 place, though his dramatic criticisms are fairly 
 intelligent. Without him it would have been im- 
 possible, early or late, to draw up any memoirs of this 
 remarkable man — hence our deep obligation to him. 
 
 Cooke gives this account of the boy and his early 
 education : 
 
 " The school to which he was sent [Worcester 
 Grammar-School] was at that time under the care of 
 Dr. Miles, a particular friend of his father's, and a 
 man of great eminence in the discharge of his duties. 
 Many stories are told of his freaks while he resided 
 at this school, such as his being the leader and con- 
 triver of a ' barring-out,' of blacking his master's face 
 whUe asleep, forming artificial earthquakes under his 
 
 * He wrote a poem called " The Art of Living in London," 
 which by a strange error Boswell has attributed to Johnson : " His 
 Ofellus, or the Art of Living," etc. 
 
10 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 master's chair, etc. ; all of which, however, did not 
 impede his progress in learning, as he went through 
 his school exercises with at least as much credit as 
 some of the first scholars in his class. 
 
 " Though these frolics marked the general eccen- 
 tricity of his mind, the following circumstance first 
 unfolded those pecuKar talents for mimicry which 
 afterwards so much distinguished him among all 
 classes of society. 
 
 " Being at his father's house during the Christmas 
 recess, a man in the parish had been charged with a 
 bastard child ; and this business being to be heard the 
 next day before the bench of justices, the family 
 were conversing about it after dinner, and making 
 various observations. Samuel, then a boy between 
 eleven and twelve years of age, was silent for some 
 time ; at last he dryly observed, ' Well, I foresee how 
 this business wiU end, as well as what the justices 
 will say upon it.' — ' Ay,' said his father (rather 
 surprised at the boy's observation) ; ' well, Sam, let 
 us hear it.' Upon this the young mimic, dressing 
 up his face in a strong caricature likeness of Justice 
 D , thus proceeded : 
 
 " ' Hem ! hem ! here's a fine job of work broke out 
 indeed ! a feller begetting bastards under our very 
 noses (and let me tell you, good people, a common 
 labouring rascal, too), when our taxes are so great and 
 our poor-rates so high ; why, 'tis an abomination . . . 
 therefore, I say, let him be fined for his pranks very 
 severely ; and if the rascal has not money (as, indeed, 
 how should he have it?), or can't find security (as, 
 indeed, how should such & feller find security?), let 
 him be clapped up in prison till he pays it.' 
 
 " ' Justice A will be milder, and say, " Well, 
 
CH. i] SCHOOL-DAYS 11 
 
 well, brother, this is not a new case . . . therefore, 
 though the man has committed a crime — and indeed, 
 I must say, a crime that holds out a very bad example 
 to a neighbourhood like this — yet let us not ruin the 
 poor fellow for this one fault : he may do better 
 another time, and mend his life ; therefore, as the 
 man is poor, let him be obliged to provide for the 
 child according to the best of his abilities, giving two 
 honest neighbours as security for the payment." ' 
 
 " He mimicked these two justices with so much 
 humour and discrimination of character as ' to set 
 the table in a roar ' ; and among the rest his father, 
 who demanded why he was left out, as he also was 
 one of the Quorum. Samuel for some time hesitated ; 
 but his father and the rest of the company earnestly 
 requesting it, he began : 
 
 " ' Why, upon my word, in respect to this here 
 business, to be sure it is rather an awkward aflfair ; 
 and to be sure it ought not to be — that is to say, the 
 justices of the peace should not suiFer such things to 
 be done with impunity : however, on the whole, I am 
 
 rather of my brother A 's opinion, which is, that 
 
 the man should pay according to his circumstances, 
 and be admonished — I say admonished* — not to 
 commit so flagrant an offence for the future.' " 
 
 That worthy and industrious scholar. Dr. Nash of 
 Worcestershire, tells us that the boy Foote's turn for 
 mimicry was perfectly natural — i.e., it came to him 
 
 * " This word ' admonished ' was a favourite word of his father's 
 on the bench, which, with his plain, matter-of-fact manner of 
 pronouncing it, and twirling his thumbs at the same time, drew so 
 correct a picture of the justice as met the warmest approbation of 
 the whole company, and even of his father, who, so far from being 
 offended, rewarded him for his good humour and pleasantry." 
 
12 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 by nature. " When a boy of ten years old, he excelled 
 in it, and being acquainted with and related to many 
 of the principal famihes at Worcester, where I went 
 to school with him, he was frequently invited to their 
 houses on Sundays and holidays. The next day the 
 whole school was made idle by attending to Foote's 
 taking off and ridiculing all the parties he had seen 
 the preceding day." 
 
 On his completing his course at the grammar- 
 school, a happy chance suggested his being sent to a 
 University. It fell out that Worcester College, after 
 several changes of fortune, and after bearing the name 
 of St. John Baptist's Hall, was refounded as it 
 were by Sir Thomas Cookes, who was a second cousin 
 of our hero. The young Samuel Foote had thus a 
 claim to be received on the foundation, and on ap- 
 plication was duly elected scholar. Dr. Gower being 
 Provost, of whom an account is found in Dr. King's 
 " Anecdotes." 
 
 Here is the college record, extracted from the 
 books : 
 
 Extract from Minutes of Worcester College 
 
 Under date June 8, 1737. 
 
 At the Election of Scholars, Samuel Foote at Worcester School 
 put in his claim as relation to the Founder, upon which the Provost 
 and Mr. Tottie, Electors, thought it expedient to have recourse to 
 some civilian. Dr. Brookes, Professor of Law, was consulted, and 
 gave his opinion in favour of the claim. 
 
 Mr. Foote was accordingly elected. 
 
 June 29, 1737. 
 
 Scholars Admitted. 
 
 Samuel Foote. 
 Samuel Neale. 
 
CH. I] LIFE AT COLLEGE 13 
 
 Pedigree submitted to Dr. Brookes, who reported upon it that 
 Samuel Foote was Founder's kin — consanguineous and cognatus : 
 
 Sir Edward Dinely== Founder's mother 
 Sir Edw, Goodyer==daughter 
 
 Mr. Foote=daughter 
 
 i 
 
 Samuel Foote. 
 (Our Founder was Sir Thomas Cookes, Bart.) 
 
 His course seems to have been a lawless and 
 tumultuous one, and, strange to say, was tolerated by 
 the authorities, just as in his later life he all but com- 
 pelled the pubhc to endure his excesses. During 
 his residence he paid a visit to Bath to enjoy its 
 gaieties ; when returning to Oxford he astonished the 
 Dons with a sort of triumphant entry. He was 
 seated on a coach, a disreputable companion by his 
 side, two footmen behind, and all his clothes laced 
 over. For this he was duly reprehended, and Mr. 
 Forster says he quitted the college in consequence of 
 this freak, "but without any public censure." This, 
 it will be seen, is a mistake. The tradition, however, 
 among his intimates was that he in some sort attended 
 to his studies, that he was well read in the belles-lettres, 
 and showed genuine taste for Latin and Greek, which 
 he never lost. This is proved by the many allusions 
 in his dramas, which could have been furnished only 
 by a well-educated man. He had always, indeed, a 
 pride in his classical gifts. 
 
 Long after, when his master. Dr. Miles, went to 
 see him, the pupil gave him a handsome piece of plate 
 from his sideboard. The old man admired his fine 
 things, and asked what they might have cost. " I 
 
14. SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 know not what they cost," said Foote, " but 1 shall 
 soon know what they wiU fetch." 
 
 Cooke must have had from Foote himself these 
 reminiscences : 
 
 " Gower was a man of considerable learning, but 
 rather of a grave, pedantic turn of mind ; and pedantry 
 was to Foote an irresistible bait for every kind of wit 
 and humour. . . . 
 
 " One of the first tricks he played upon the doctor 
 was the following : The church belonging to the 
 college fronted the side of a lane where cattle were 
 sometimes turned out to graze during the night, and 
 from the steeple hung the bell-rope, very low in the 
 middle of the outside porch. Foote saw in this an 
 object likely to produce some fun, and immediately 
 set about to accomplish his purpose. He accordingly 
 one night slily tied a wisp of hay to the rope, as a bait 
 for the cows in their peregrination to the grazing- 
 ground. The scheme succeeded to his wish. One 
 of the cows soon after smelling the hay, as she 
 passed by the church door, instantly seized on it, 
 and, by tugging at the rope, made the bell ring, 
 to the astonishment of the sexton and the whole 
 parish. . . . 
 
 " An event of this kind was to be explored, for the 
 honour of philosophy as well as for the quiet of the 
 parish. Accordingly the doctor and the sexton agreed 
 to sit up one night, and, on the first alarm, to run out 
 and drag the culprit to condign punishment. Their 
 plan being arranged, they waited with the utmost 
 impatience for the appointed signal : at last the bell 
 began to sound its usual alarm, and they both sallied 
 out in the dark, determined on making a discovery. 
 
 " The sexton was the first in the attack. He 
 
CH. I.] LIFE AT COLLEGE 15 
 
 seized the cow by the tail, and cried out 'it was a 
 gentleman commoner, as he had him by the tail of 
 his gown'; while the doctor, who had caught the 
 cow by the horns at the same time, immediately 
 replied, ' No, no, you blockhead ! 'tis the postman, 
 and here I have hold of the rascal by his blowing- 
 horn.' Lights, however, were immediately brought, 
 when the character of the real offender was discovered, 
 and the laugh of the whole town was turned upon 
 the doctor. 
 
 "At another time, when Foote was enjoined to 
 learn certain tasks in consequence of his idleness, he 
 used to come forward with a large foho dictionary 
 under his arm, and present himself before the doctor 
 with great seeming gravity and submission. ' Well, 
 sir, what do you want V — ' Sir, I am come to do away 
 the imposition laid upon me.' — ' What do you mean 
 by imposition ? I would have you know, sir, I impose 
 upon nobody.' — ' I am sure then, sir, if you did not 
 impose this duty upon me, I should never have taken 
 a natural fancy to it.' 
 
 " Here the doctor usually growled, and desired him 
 to go on, which the other generally did with a degree 
 of talent and perspicuity that often confounded his 
 examiner. After this the doctor would read his pupil 
 a lecture on idleness, and on the great danger of 
 following the ebullitions of fancy in preference to 
 the dictates of sober judgment ; describing also the 
 figure he might make in the world if he took the 
 proper course, and, on the contrary, the contempt and 
 misery which must follow a life of inattention and 
 dissipation. 
 
 " The doctor, in delivering this lecture to his pupil, 
 did it in a sour, dogmatical, pedantic manner, accom- 
 
16 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 panied with a number of hard words and quaint 
 phrases ; the other, being prepared for these, immedi- 
 ately interrupted him, and after begging pardon, with 
 great formahty, would take his dictionary from under 
 his arm, and, pretending to find the meaning of the 
 word, would say, 'Very well, sir; now please to 
 go on.' " 
 
 It is strange that so exuberant an alumnus should 
 not have been recalled by his contemporaries. But 
 we search the innumerable memoirs without finding 
 any mention of this lively scholar. 
 
 Dr. Nash, who was his school-fellow, has some 
 anecdotes of his eccentric doings, which forecast 
 vividly enough all the special traits of the later 
 Foote. Thus, the boy ridiculing the families whom 
 he had amused with his mimicries, for his own enjoy- 
 ment, was truly the later Foote when at full growth. 
 It was what he called a favourite trick of his. He 
 was likely also to entertain his college with the 
 same arts. 
 
 Nash mentions a little college incident which 
 throws much light on Foote's position and status. 
 He was called upon to repeat in Hall some classical 
 extracts. He selected Horace's "Ibam forte via 
 sacrS.," which he recited with such infinite dramatic 
 humour that the whole college, even the gravest of 
 them, could not refrain from loud laughter. This 
 shows that he was respected and tolerated for his 
 cleverness ; and this idea of interpreting the satire 
 after a theatrical fashion was original in a mere youth. 
 No doubt he was encouraged ; they were, perhaps, 
 rather proud of him, and inclined to shut their eyes 
 to his licence. 
 
 In spite of many pranks and irregularities, young 
 
CH. I] LIFE AT COLLEGE 17 
 
 Foote contrived to remain at the college for over 
 three years. His behaviour, however, gave serious dis- 
 pleasure to the authorities. But at last matters came 
 to a crisis. He began to find all restraint intolerable, 
 and finally took the course of leaving the coUege for 
 days at a time. This could not be endured, and 
 was at last dealt with in summary fashion. An 
 extract from the college minutes very graphically 
 sets out his fate. Thus early do we find the real Sam 
 Foote exactly what he was always to be — reckless, 
 impudent, careless of his own interests. The mystery 
 is, how he contrived to remain so long and keep up 
 the necessary attendance at schools, lectures, etc. 
 Long after, he actually appealed to his " University 
 education " as a claim for respect. 
 
 In January, 1740, his friends and relatives were to 
 learn that he had mysteriously disappeared — having 
 " taken French leave " — and I am indebted to the 
 kindness of the present Master of Worcester CoUege 
 for the following pithy extracts from the books, which 
 teU the tale : 
 
 January 28, 1740. 
 
 Samuel Foote, after a course of many irregularitys and lying out 
 of the College, upon the 30th of December was imposed by the 
 Provost, which he neglected to bring, but lay out of College again 
 on the l6th day of January, and went the next day out of town 
 without leave, for which reasons a citation was ordered to be put 
 up as this day in the following form : 
 
 Whereas Samuel Foote, Scholar of the College, has, in 
 defiance of the Statutes and the authority of the College, pre- 
 sumptuously and insolently absented himself without leave 
 asked of the Provost, this is to require the said Foote to 
 return to the College within twenty days after the date of 
 this present, and to answer to such things as shall be alledged 
 
18 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. i 
 
 against him, or to be deprived of his Scholarship and of all 
 privileges and advantages belonging to it. 
 
 February 25. 
 
 The said Foote not appearing to the citation, his Scholarship 
 was declared void this day. 
 
 It will be seen that nearly a month's grace was 
 allowed him for his return. This short and business- 
 like record was the finale or " curtain " of the first 
 portion of Foote's career. His fate, however, was 
 different from that of SheUey and others who have 
 been expelled or "drummed out." He is fairly 
 entitled to claim that he had not been compelled to 
 leave. He had quitted the coUege, and, as a penalty, 
 forfeited his office and its emoluments. Though he 
 did not choose to return, we do not find that his 
 name was removed from the books. Long after, 
 Foote used to boast of his University training, which 
 he would hardly have done had he been disgraced.* 
 That he was weU grounded in the classics Mr. 
 Forster has shown by testimony — " well known in 
 living memory at Eton " (that is, at the date of his 
 writing) — of a venerable Mr. Knapp. This gentleman 
 used to be invited to dinner with Foote by Dr. 
 Barnard, the Provost, and distinctly recalled Foote 
 reciting long passages from Aristophanes in the 
 
 * His friend Dr. Johnson also had been obliged to quit his 
 college, but from default of funds, after three years' stay, and 
 without a degree. We can scarcely accept Mr. Croker's and Dr. 
 Birkbeck Hill's theory, that Johnson only remained about a year 
 at Oxford. He would never have assumed the airs of a Uni- 
 versity man on so slender a foundation. Boswell, who questioned 
 him closely on many occasions as to his University life, states 
 positively that he was there for over three years. 
 
CH. I] LIFE AT COLLEGE 19 
 
 original Greek. In fact, all through he displayed an 
 unostentatious familiarity with " the classics," and the 
 spirit of the classics, that seems unusual. The col- 
 lege authorities must have been satisfied with their 
 pupU, and, but for his disorderly life, he might have 
 taken a good degree — which, like his admirer Johnson, 
 he had to forego.* 
 
 * I have been able to find only one representative of the family, 
 Mr. Thomas Foote, of Trenwheal, Godolphin, in Cornwall. He is 
 the grandson of one of Foote's sons, and he has been good enough 
 to supply me with some particulars. When I was a boy there was 
 a "high toast" snufF in fashion, known as Lundy Foot. I well 
 remember his shop in Dublin, at the corner of Great Brunswick 
 Street, and always had a suspicion that this merchant belonged to 
 the Foote family. It seems that JeflFrey Foote (born in 1704) 
 had married a daughter of one Lundy. They had a son, Lundy 
 Foote, who died in 1805, and was, no doubt, the snuff-manufacturer. 
 My speculation that Miss Foote the singer was also a connection 
 is confirmed by Mr. Thomas Foote. He tells me that she was a 
 daughter of his father's • cousin. Lundy Foote's son was a sea- 
 captain, and was drowned in the Tamar River. 
 
 2—2 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 1741 
 THE GOODERE MURDER — FOOTE ON TOWN 
 
 Only a week or two after this flight the whole 
 kingdom was busy with a crime of an appalling 
 character, which became the " sensation of the hour." 
 This was the murder of Foote's uncle, Sir Edward 
 Goodere, by his brother, under circumstances of 
 atrocious violence and cruelty. The incidents are 
 found in an account of the trial, which took place on 
 March 25, 1741, and which it were best to give in 
 fuU:* 
 
 The trial was on March 25, 1741. Smith, an 
 attorney, related how, on "the Sunday before this 
 murder was committed, the deceased, by my invita- 
 tion, was to dine at my house the Sunday following ; 
 of which the prisoner being apprised, came into the 
 neighbourhood, and having sent for me, earnestly 
 entreated me to admit him, the prisoner, into the 
 
 * The strange character of this " murder most foul," and the 
 unusual recklessness, with indifference to consequences, of the 
 murderer, suggests another more modern case of the same violence, 
 viz., Thurtell's murder of Weare at Elstree, dictated by the same 
 unleavened motive of pure hatred. Thurtell had much the same 
 determined purpose. Both showed the same hardened coolness and 
 indifference afber the deed. Late in life Foote had a cottage at 
 Elstree, which might have been Thurtell's. 
 
 20 
 
CH. II] THE GOODERE MURDER 21 
 
 company of his brother, the deceased, under pretence 
 (as the prisoner said) of accommodating their differ- 
 ences in an amicable manner. He was at the College 
 Green coffee-house. I went to him ; and was so 
 pleased with the proposal of the prisoner, and the 
 hopes of their accommodation, that without the least 
 hesitation I immediately introduced the prisoner into 
 the company of his brother, the deceased ; and in 
 such a manner did the prisoner behave, that, seem- 
 ingly, the deceased and he were as good friends as 
 ever. After dinner I withdrew, and left them by 
 themselves for the space of an hour, till I was called 
 in ; and after we had smoked a pipe together, Mr. 
 Goodere took his leave of Sir John in the most 
 friendly and affectionate manner possible. I believe 
 it might be near six o'clock in the evening." 
 
 Next is the testimony of one of the gang of mur- 
 derers, Charles Bryant : " I was one of the six men 
 hired by Captain Goodere, the prisoner at the bar, to 
 seize the deceased, and forcibly to run him aboard 
 the Ruby man-of-war, then lying in King's Road. 
 We met by the prisoner's directions at the White 
 Hart, on CoUege Green, where we had a handsome 
 dinner ; and were placed in the balcony, that we 
 might be ready to receive the signal, and obey the 
 word of command, without giving the least suspicion 
 to the people of the house. . . . About six o'clock in 
 the evening the signal was given ; when we left the 
 White Hart, and overtook the deceased just before 
 he came to College Green coffee-house ; where I and 
 five others seized him at the word and command of 
 Goodere. We then immediately rushed on the de- 
 ceased, and dragged him along towards the Rope 
 Walk, where was a gang of twelve more, who were 
 
22 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 ready to assist us according to the prisoner's instruc- 
 tions. We then hurried the deceased along towards 
 the Hot Wells, where a boat waited purposely to 
 receive him." 
 
 As to what took place on board, Jones, cooper of 
 the Ruby, swore : " On Sunday, January the 18th, 
 about seven at night, the Captain brought his brother. 
 Sir John, on board, and conveyed him down to the 
 Purser's cabin by force. When he was down, the 
 Captain asked ' whether the cabin was clear ' (for 
 the Thursday before the murder the Captain had 
 ordered me to get the Purser's cabin ready for a 
 gentleman who was coming on board). I answered, 
 ' Yes, sir.' Then he opened the door, and the people 
 of the ship forced Sir John in, he groaning aU the 
 while. 
 
 "When he was in, the Captain called for his 
 steward, and told him to bring a bottle of rum and a 
 glass. The Captain then asked Sir John how he 
 did. Sir John complained of pains, especially in his 
 thigh. The Captain asked him ' if he would drink a 
 dram.' Sir John said 'he had drunk nothing but 
 water for two years.' The Captain then asked him ' if 
 he would have any rum to bathe his thigh.' Sir John 
 answered, ' No.' Then the Captain ordered a dram 
 for Mahony and Elisha Cole (the person first designed 
 to commit the murder, but was too drunk for the 
 purpose), and after they had a dram they all came 
 out of the cabin. 
 
 " Shortly after this, the Captain called one of the 
 carpenters to put two strong bolts on the Purser's 
 cabin door, which was accordingly done, when Sir 
 John asked ' if he could speak with any of the officers 
 on board.' The carpenter made answer, and said, ' I 
 
CH. II] THE GOODERE MURDER 23 
 
 am the carpenter.' Sir John asked ' if he could speak 
 a word with him.' He repUed, 'an hundred if he 
 pleased.' Then the carpenter opening the door in 
 order to clench the staples, Sir John asked him 
 ' what his brother Sam was going to do with him. 
 — What ! is he going to murder me V The carpenter 
 rephed, ' No, he is willing to have your company, sir ; 
 he does it for your good.' 'But,' said Sir John, 
 ' what will become of all my servants and estate all 
 this time ?' On this the carpenter retired. . . . 
 
 " I then went to bed, when about two or three in 
 the morning my wife waked me, and I heard a vast 
 strugghng at first, and the old gentleman crying out, 
 ' Twenty guineas — take it — take it — oh ! must I die ? 
 must I die ?' when very soon after aU was quiet. 
 Then a candle was handed into the cabin, and I saw, 
 through the crevice of the partition, Mahony hold the 
 candle in his hand, and White plunder Sir John's 
 pockets, turning his body in order to come at them, 
 and then take out his watch and money ; but White 
 not getting the watch out of Sir John's pocket easily, 
 Mahony said to him, ' Damn it ! lay hold of the 
 chain,' by which they got the watch out. In about 
 a minute after this, I saw a white hand on the throat 
 of the deceased, which I took to be the Captain's, 
 when presently all went out of the cabin and left the 
 deceased alone. 
 
 " Then I went to the Doctor's mate and sentry, and 
 by their opinion they took the old gentleman to be 
 dead ; from thence I went to the Lieutenant, and 
 told him what I had heard and seen, and that 
 Mahony and White had murdered the gentleman, 
 and that I believed the Captain was concerned. The 
 Lieutenant was very dubious about this matter at 
 
24 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 first, telling me ' he did not think the Captain would 
 be guilty of any such thing ' ; but in giving him such 
 plain demonstrations of the fact he began to think 
 there was something in it. While they were talking, 
 a midshipman came to acquaint the Lieutenant that 
 the Captain had ordered White and Mahony ashore, 
 but he swore they should not go ashore, for that they 
 were the two persons who kiUed the gentleman ; but 
 the midshipman returning to the Captain, he ordered 
 'that they should be put ashore immediately,' and 
 accordingly they were. 
 
 " About nine or ten in the morning, the Lieutenant 
 and gunner contrived a method how they should 
 secure the Captain, which was, that I should go in 
 and complain that I had lost six guineas out of my 
 chest. Accordingly, going in with this complaint, I 
 seized him as he was walking with his hands behind 
 his back, and the rest immediately rushed in and 
 secured him. Upon the Captain's being thus seized, 
 he cried out, ' Hey dey I what have I done ? what 
 have I done ?' — I replied, ' Sir, you are my prisoner ; 
 you was the cause of your brother's death last night. ' 
 — The Captain replied, ' If there is murder done in 
 the ship, I know nothing of it.' Accordingly he was 
 secured, and the barge ordered out for four of the 
 crew to pursue White and Mahony. . . . 
 
 " The Captain being called upon for his defence, 
 pleaded the utmost innocence, alleging, 'how it 
 could be thought he could be guilty of the murder 
 of his brother Sir John, whereas by his death he lost 
 at least forty thousand pounds — that the sickness and 
 disorder of the house he was confined in debarred 
 him of his lawyers and friends conversing with 
 him. . . . 
 
CH. II] THE GOODERE MURDER 25 
 
 " In vindication of his causing Sir John to be seized 
 in the manner he was, he urged that he was a lunatic, 
 and therefore he did it in order to take better care of 
 him ; that his being taken in the daytime on board 
 was plain there was no secret design, or that he was 
 to have any harm come to him ; and that even at 
 Mr. Smith's he behaved in a very mad manner, and 
 took no leave ; that the people on board knew of his 
 coming a week before, therefore, he said, he must be 
 very silly to bring a person before three hundred evi- 
 dences to commit so vile an act, where nothing can 
 be a secret above four hours. The prisoner then 
 called two young women to prove Sir John a lunatic ; 
 one of whom beheved him to be a lunatic or mad, 
 because he Avould get up in the middle of the night 
 and disturb the family ; and the other, because he 
 would sometimes busy himself in hanging on the pot, 
 and other such menial offices. A gentleman was called 
 to prove that Sir John had made his will several 
 months before ; but being asked concerning the dis- 
 position of Sir John, he replied ' that he was a good 
 friend, a loving neighbour, and a kind landlord ; and 
 that he was so far from being a lunatic, as to be fully 
 competent to negotiate aU his own affairs with his 
 tenants, etc' 
 
 " Another gentleman was called by the prisoner to 
 his character : when being asked whether he knew 
 Sir John to be anyways mad, or the like, he de- 
 clared ' that he thought him so far from it, that 
 he had more sense than all the whole family put 
 together.' Mr. Smith also proved Sir John to be in 
 his perfect senses when he left his house on Sunday, 
 the 18th of January. — The trial lasted nine hours ; 
 when the evidence appeared so full and satisfactory 
 
26 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 to the jury, that in less than fifteen minutes they 
 returned a verdict of guilty against the Captain and 
 Mahony. 
 
 " Charles White was tried the next day for the said 
 murder, and for robbing Sir John of eight guineas 
 and a gold watch ; who was found guilty on both 
 indictments. The day after, they all three received 
 sentence of death, and in a few days afterwards 
 suffered the public execution of the law." 
 
 Such was the dreadful tale. And who would not 
 conceive that the young lad Foote — for such he was 
 — just escaped from coUege, would be overwhelmed 
 and crushed by the terrible and disgraceful catas- 
 trophe ?— he would fly from the town to some obscure 
 corner in the country, go abroad or anywhere to hide 
 his head. But nothing of the kind occurred. 
 
 There was a vein of eccentricity, coupled with a 
 lack of feeling, always to be displayed in his char- 
 acter ; and on this occasion he " carried it off " with a 
 certain coolness and indifference that approached 
 effrontery. It did not affect him in the least. He 
 even suffered himself to be introduced by his friend 
 Cooke in a mixed company as " the young gentleman 
 whose uncle had been hanged for the murder of his 
 brother" a presentation which, no doubt, had great 
 success, and caused much amusement. This was 
 quite in character with his reckless temperament. 
 
 It wiU, indeed, be found, as we go on, that almost 
 everything in Foote is to be a surprise. The un- 
 expected is always certain to happen. This was 
 owing to the reckless caprice of his character. But 
 who could have expected that a young fellow of good 
 connections and fashion — for he was now being 
 launched in society — should have set his name to a 
 
CH. II] FOOTE ON TOWN 27 
 
 sort of "catchpenny" or Newgate Calendar pamphlet* 
 that set out a popular account of the tragedy, in- 
 cluding even the "last dying speech of the male- 
 factor " ? It seems incredible ! 
 
 The vulgar form of the hawker's broadsheet is 
 adopted. Here is a young fellow of twenty, fond of 
 pleasure, wasteful, busy about town, a gentleman, 
 and yet he writes and publishes " a full and true " 
 account of his two uncles' disgrace, in phrases 
 borrowed from the Calendar! What could he 
 mean ? Mr. Forster, charitable to him always, 
 thinks that it was to earn a few pounds — ten, it was 
 said — which he needed much. But this does not 
 account for his lack of propriety. I am inclined, 
 however, to fancy that an explanation can be found 
 less discreditable to Foote's character. There were 
 quite a number of these pamphlets issued, all 
 describing the incidents of this " brutal and bloody " 
 murder, and the execution, " last words," etc. But 
 in one of them, which is before me, there is a vindica- 
 tion of the murderer, or at least an extenuation of 
 his acts. This could only have been written by a 
 relation, who shows himself well acquainted with the 
 family history. Foote's name is not to this pamphlet. 
 
 The murdered Baronet had left a widow, who 
 married again. She, too, had her eccentric chapter. 
 
 * "The Genuine Memoirs of Sir John Dinely Goodere, Bart., 
 who was murdered by the Contrivance of his Own Brother on Board 
 the Ruhy Man of War in King's Eoad, near Bristol, Jan. 17, 1740. 
 Together with the Life History and Last Dying Words of his Brother, 
 Captain Samuel Goodere, who was executed at Bristol on the 15 th 
 day of April, 1741, for the Horrid Murder of the said Sir J. D. 
 Goodere. Dedicated to the Rt. Worshipful H. Combe, Mayor of 
 Bristol. By S. Foote, of Worcester College, Oxford, etc., and nepherv 
 to the late Sir John D. Goodere. Price 6d." 
 
28 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 There was a sort of adventurer named William 
 Rayner, a printer in Whitefriars, who in 1730 pub- 
 lished " an infamous libel," for which he was brought 
 before the Court of King's Bench and imprisoned. He 
 had been appointed guardian to a family of the name 
 of Spendelows, but through some chicanery contrived 
 to secure his ward's property. He then married the 
 widow, through whom the property of Charlton, 
 which was her dower, came into his hands ; this he 
 speedily disposed of. Thus even the connections of 
 this ill-fated family were to have this sort of doubtful 
 cast. 
 
 Owing to the catastrophe in the Goodere family, 
 the estate of the murdered man seems to have passed 
 to the murderer brother for but a brief tenure, and 
 from him to Mrs. Foote, of Truro. This sudden 
 accession of wealth did not, of course, benefit " Sam," 
 as he was only the third son, the eldest being a 
 clergyman, the second John. The eldest seems to 
 have inherited no cash, and as he was a feeble sort of 
 creature, and actually dependent on his brother Sam, 
 it must be that the estates passed to his brother 
 John, who assumed the name of Dinely. 
 
 Mrs. Foote, as we have seen, had become an heir- 
 ess. Her son fancied that he was likely to become 
 wealthy, and accordingly we find him recklessly 
 embarking on a course of extravagance and folly. 
 He has always been supposed to have entered at the 
 Temple, but his name is not to be found in the 
 books, so that he must simply have had rooms there, 
 living as a sort oi fashionable Templar. 
 
 His friend Cooke tells us that " he was seen at the 
 Temple pro formti, in handsome chambers, sur- 
 rounded by a well-furnished library. He is remem- 
 
CH. iij FOOTE ON TOWN 29 
 
 bered by a few now living, in that situation ; and 
 they report him to have been one of the greatest 
 beaux (even in those days of general dress) as well as 
 one of the most distinguished wits who frequented 
 the Grecian and the Bedford. 
 
 " These coifee-houses at that period (now full sixty 
 years ago) were frequented principally by dramatic 
 wits and young Templars. The Grecian had held its 
 charter for wit and taste ever since the beginning of 
 the last century. Here the Templars opened their 
 morning rounds in their elegant robes de chambre and 
 morocco shppers, and from this place many of the 
 papers of Addison in the Spectator are dated. 
 
 " The Bedford principally laid claim to dramatic 
 criticism, when that science bore a much prouder 
 name in the annals of literature than it does at 
 present. Here the wits generally supped after the 
 play, and passed judgment freely on the several 
 authors, actors, and managers." 
 
 At the coffee-houses " Foote appeared in the flush 
 of youth, wit, and fortune. Dr. Barrowby, no mean 
 judge in everything which respected elegant know- 
 ledge, was present at his first exhibition at the Bed- 
 ford, and he always spoke of him as a young man of 
 most extraordinary talents. ' He came into the 
 room,' said he, ' dressed out in a frock suit of green 
 and silver lace, bag-wig, sword, bouquet, and point 
 ruffles, and immediately joined the critical circle of 
 the upper end of the room. Nobody knew him. 
 He, however, soon boldly entered into conversation, 
 and by the brilliancy of his wit, the justness of his 
 remarks, and the unembarrassed freedom of his 
 manners, attracted the general notice. The buzz of 
 the room went round, " Who is he ? Whence comes 
 
30 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 he ?" etc., which nobody could answer ; until, a hand- 
 some carriage stopping at the door to take him to the 
 assembly of a lady of fashion, they learned from the 
 servants that his name was Foote, that he was a 
 young gentleman of family and fortune, and a student 
 of the Inner Temple.' , . . 
 
 " But he was incapable of the ordinary restraints of 
 life. He dashed into all the prevaihng dissipations 
 of the time, and what the extravagance of dress, 
 living, etc., had not done, the gaming-table finally 
 accompUshed. He struggled with embarrassments 
 for some time, but . . . soon found himself at a stand ; 
 his creditors grew obstinate and impatient ; his friends, 
 as is usual in such cases, deserted him, and he found 
 that something must necessarily be done to provide 
 the means of subsistence." Thus reduced to actual 
 poverty, he suflfered severe privations, and was hardly 
 sure of a dinner. But his boisterous, irrepressible 
 spirit carried him through. Once, finding his stock- 
 ings in holes, he purchased a pair and threw away the 
 old ones, intending to put the new ones on at some 
 retired corner. He was, however, captured and 
 carried away to dine by some jovial friends, who 
 presently " smoked " — according to their slang — his 
 boots, and hailed the discovery. But the ready 
 Foote was prepared for them. " In the summer," he 
 explained, " I never wear stockings untU I dress for 
 the evening. You see I have them here, quite 
 ready ;" and he pulled out his pair. So it passed as 
 one of his frolics. 
 
 This coffee-house and tavern life, so followed by 
 gentlemen of condition, seems strange. Nothing is 
 more singular than the contrast between the common 
 social life in London of those times and that of our 
 
CH. II] FOOTE ON TOWN 31 
 
 own day. Conviviality and pleasant company was 
 the prevailing note ; much time was devoted to the 
 coffee-house and club life, where people sat and 
 drank and talked for half the night. There was, 
 apparently, not much to do except to " live pleasantly." 
 Joking, too, and frolics of various kinds were in 
 demand. A genuine humorist had a reputation, 
 and became a conspicuous public character. Nowa- 
 days such gifts bring no actual profit, save among the 
 humorist's ovni intimates. Conviviality of the up- 
 roarious, enjoyable kind is not in vogue, perhaps 
 because there is no one now possessed of such enter- 
 taining gifts as to make his company sought for. The 
 meeting for talk, discussion, pleasantry, has disap- 
 peared. It is no libel on our society to say that nowa- 
 days nobody knows how to talk, and few care to listen. 
 How wonderful it seems, to think of people going to 
 a coflFee-house or tavern, of set purpose, to sit there 
 tiU the small-hours, discussing interesting topics, 
 making merry and saying witty things, as Johnson 
 and his Bozzy used to do, and as some years later Cole- 
 ridge and Lamb did at the old Salutation Tavern. 
 The Literary Club — ^who could conceive of it now as 
 it was in its prime days, when the members met at 
 the tavern to talk !* 
 
 It is strange, however, that in most capitals, save 
 that of England, this sort of coffee-house intercourse 
 
 * Many years ago I was the founder of a society called the Boz 
 Club, in memory of Dickens, which originally counted not more 
 than thirty members or so. We met for a social dinner, when those 
 who had known Dickens told, one after the other, their experiences. 
 We had discussions, too. But by-and-by the spirit of the day 
 prevailed. The club was re-formed, enlarged to 1 50 members, and 
 a single annual dinner at the Savoy Hotel was established. Thus 
 it had to fall into line with the others. 
 
32 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ii 
 
 still continues. Nothing so much astonishes the un- 
 sophisticated tourist as the brilliant scene of an even- 
 ing on the Paris boulevards, vsrhere the huge spaces in 
 front of the caf^s are black with vast crowds of talkers 
 and drinkers ; and the same is witnessed in almost 
 every leading town. It is so, too, in Germany and 
 Belgium.* 
 
 So lately as the time of the last French Empire 
 this coiFee-house hfe still obtained, and there were 
 vast numbers of witty writers who spent their nights 
 at caf6s famous for their choice Hving. There is a 
 curious record called " Les Soupeurs de mon Temps," 
 which describes the jovial doings of these places — the 
 rare dishes, the drinks, and, above aU, the wit and 
 practical jokes. If we read the hfe of Vivier, the 
 horn-player, we shall become acquainted with, perhaps, 
 the best practical jokers that ever lived. These men 
 were ever ready with repartee or bon-mot, and were 
 lineal descendants of our Foote. But aU, almost 
 without exception, ended disastrously, dying of 
 apoplexy, paralysis, idiocy, and other miseries, and, 
 of course, steeped in debt as well as in wine. 
 
 * Lately, arriving in Brussels at night-time, I found the huge 
 Place in front of the Nord Station almost filled with seated crowds, 
 all busy chattering — a most .animated and dramatic scene. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 1744 
 UPON THE STAGE 
 
 To return to our hero. The University had been 
 tried and given up ; the law had been attempted and 
 given up ; society and the coflfee-houses had failed 
 him. What was he to turn to next ? 
 
 It seems extraordinary that a young gentleman of 
 good family and connections, after having tried his 
 hand at the Bar, should ever have thought of the 
 stage. He was conscious that he had a gift of mimicry, 
 but he cannot have hoped to live on this unsub- 
 stantial prop. It is not unlikely that he thought of 
 the success of his friend Garrick, a gentleman who 
 had also tried mimicry, and had gone on the stage ; 
 and why should not another gentleman of talent do 
 just as well ? — for Foote did not lack a good conceit of 
 himself, and even then may have felt the envy, 
 jealousy, and dislike always to be found in his rela- 
 tions with the actor. Though he had learnt nothing 
 of the law, yet from his satirical parodies, his know- 
 ledge of the terms, processes, and absurdities, it is 
 clear that he was well skilled in its devices. He was 
 devoted to a gay life ; he could teU a story, make a 
 humorous joke, and, above aU, take o^with any man ! 
 He knew all the players, and went behind the scenes. 
 
 33 3 
 
34 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. hi 
 
 How natural, then, that he should think of the stage 1 
 In no profession are assurance, confidence in oneself, 
 disregard or contempt of others, with the knack of 
 persuading others, such valuable assets as upon 
 the stage. In our experience, how often have we 
 seen men with small gifts thus compelling the public 
 to accept them, and their own fellows to beheve in 
 them ! If they are rough-tongued in addition, the 
 terror of being able to punish is added. Foote, young 
 as he was, took his place at once. He questioned the 
 authority of old stagers, and laid down the law with 
 the best. His convivial mimicries were applauded. 
 He was an extraordinary amateur. There have 
 been a number of " gentlemen " on the stage, 
 some even managing, but some stiU amateurs, and 
 amateurs they will be to the end.* At the same time, 
 where real ability is present, it breaks down all the 
 barriers of caste, lack of apprenticeship, etc. Foote 
 was of good lineage — of " gentle blood " on both sides. 
 When at the full tide of success, he and Garrick 
 might be said to " top " or dominate the stage ; the 
 spectacle was presented of two " gentlemen born " 
 holding the very first position, each with his own 
 theatre and company. It might be said that the 
 mark of the amateur is practically indelible ; for the 
 diiFerence between such and the true professional is 
 marked, because the amateur has never been disci- 
 plined. His social position gives him an introduction ; 
 he is spared, or spares himself, training and discipline. 
 But the discipline of the true actor is, or should be, 
 
 * A curious illustration of this truth could be found in a com- 
 parison of George Grossmith and Corney Grain, the latter an 
 amateur pur sang. He was amusing and entertaining ; but there 
 was a solidity and certainty about "Gee-Gee, " due to training, 
 which made him superior. 
 
CH. Ill] UPON THE STAGE 35 
 
 more moral than technical — a training to be patient, 
 bear privation and delays, study hard, hope for the 
 best, and wait promotion. Modesty and obedience 
 also must be there. Only long years of service will 
 teach these things. Now that the country stock 
 companies are gone, there can be none of this educa- 
 tion. Actors are now trained by the run of a single 
 play, which is no training at aU, whereas under the 
 old system an actor has been known to play two or 
 three hundred characters within a year. 
 
 It should be borne in mind that native force of 
 character and an ardent ambition go almost as far 
 upon the stage as talent ; and so does personality. 
 These qualities, as in Foote's case, are as good as 
 talent, and are not to be resisted. Garrick also, 
 besides his store of ability, had a strange charm in 
 private life that drew admiration. He was a man of 
 genuine ability in all directions. The pair, both 
 gentlemen and amateurs, were thus able to dispense 
 with the proper schooling or education, though 
 Garrick — and this is not generally known — had much 
 practice with a sort of travelling company. He cer- 
 tainly played in London under an assumed name 
 before his first appearance at Goodman Fields ; and at 
 Ipswich, where he is supposed to have had merely 
 one trial performance, I find he acted regularly with 
 the company. 
 
 There was about town at this time a very remark- 
 able, rather eccentric man and actor, Charles Macklin, 
 well noted for his violent ways, who was ever in revolt 
 or conflict, but who generally carried his purpose by a 
 power of tongue and action. He was an admirable 
 performer, and in his view of stage propriety far in 
 advance of his time ; an excellent dramatist, with 
 
 3—2 
 
36 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. hi 
 
 wonderful observation of character and human nature; 
 a cultivated man, able to set forth his views in 
 lectures. He has always been presumed to have 
 been a centenarian, but, as the date of his birth cannot 
 be ascertained, this must be a matter of speculation. 
 He, however, lived very nearly for the fiill term of a 
 hundred years, in a strange series of embroilments. 
 He actually killed a fellow-actor in a brawl. His hard, 
 grinding voice and bitter tongue were the subject 
 both of fear and ridicule. His correct reading of 
 Shylock as an ordinary human being, and not as a 
 grotesque buffooning Jew, or as the late Henry Irving's 
 " gentlemanly Jew," won for him the praise of Pope. 
 His face was all gnarled and scored — " cordage " some- 
 one called the lines ; so that Quin declared : " If the 
 Almighty writes a legible hand, that fellow is a 
 villain !"* It is curious to note how much violence, 
 assault, and quarrelling in his time prevailed on the 
 stage. Violence was his regular method of protest. 
 
 What an amazing, unreasoning, violent, and gifted 
 group was that of the four actor Irishmen — Macklin, 
 Mossop, Sheridan, Murphy — aU tumultuous, aU 
 inviting someone to " tread on the tail of their coat "; 
 while three of the four were fine, conspicuous players. 
 It might be said that most actors from that country 
 have had this characteristically impetuous nature, f 
 
 * Macklin had three pauses : the first moderate, the second 
 longer, the last — or " my grand pause," as he termed it — so long 
 sustained that the prompter thought his memory had failed, and 
 loudly gave him his cue several times over, so that the audience 
 heard. The actor was so infuriated that he rushed from the stage 
 and knocked his unhappy prompter down. " The fellow interrupted 
 me in my grand pause !" This has a suggestion of Macready. 
 
 t The extraordinary and inexplicable contribution of Ireland to 
 the English stage is something marvellous. The list includes every 
 
CH. Ill] UPON THE STAGE 37 
 
 Macklin's course shows clearly that the actor of the 
 time had not merely to win his position on the stage, 
 but had also to fight his way in the common social 
 life of the day. There were factions to which pro- 
 minent players belonged ; each having his party and 
 partisans. This led to the formation of marked 
 combative characters, with endless jealousies, hatreds, 
 and even serious battles. As actor he was remark- 
 able ; as writer of comedies he was reaUy at the top. 
 One cannot say too much in praise of his admirably- 
 conceived character of Sir Pertinax in his great 
 comedy.* It is difficult to account for the sort of 
 " hooligan " or disorderly element, as it might be 
 termed, then rife among the players of the period. It 
 was due, I think, to the unrecognized conditions under 
 which the profession was then followed. Perhaps "pro- 
 fession " is almost too respectable a word for the time. 
 Up to the passing of the Licensing Act, which was 
 but half a dozen years before Foote came on the 
 scene, there were droves of persons who went about 
 
 chief performer : Quin, Delane, Clive, Woffington, FitzHenry, 
 O'Neill, Macready, Moody, Charles Kean, Mrs. Glover, Boucicault, 
 the Farrens, Barry, Miss Smith (the admired of Paris and 
 Berlioz), Abington, Mossop, Sheridan, Macklin, Murphy, Barry 
 Sullivan, Gustavus Brooke — second-rate artists, no doubt, but 
 powerful players. And as for dramatists, what a contribution ! 
 — Farquhar, Goldsmith, Sheridan — all of the very first and choicest 
 class — with O'Keeffe, Murphy, even Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 * Anyone who is fortunate enough to have seen the late Samuel 
 Phelps in the part — as I did often — has seen a unique and powerful 
 performance. It was one of those creations which only one person 
 in the course of several generations is likely to furnish. It was 
 almost perfect. Figure, voice, accent, humour, ferocious tragedy, 
 earnestness — nothing was wanting. The curious element was that 
 Phelps seemed a revival of the author himself. 
 
38 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. hi 
 
 the country much as showmen used to do at the 
 fairs, willing to amuse anyone that would listen: 
 "Strollers" they were properly called — poor half- 
 starved creatures, often glad to divide as their profits 
 a few candle-ends. A raw turnip taken from a field 
 was often their dinner, as it was in the case of the 
 great John Kemble. Thus pressed by their neces- 
 sities, they were regarded with suspicion and dislike in 
 the place which they invaded, very much as bands of 
 foreign gipsies are now. As " rogues and vagabonds," 
 they were treated most unceremoniously. The 
 beadle was their enemy ; once so respectable a man 
 as Tate Wilkinson, manager of York, Hull, and other 
 theatres, was ordered by the magistrates to quit the 
 town with his followers and baggage. 
 
 " MackUn," Cooke teUs us, " had collected a 
 company at the little theatre in the Haymarket, all 
 novices in the art, whom he undertook to instruct 
 in the principles of the drama, of whom Mr. Hill 
 gives an account in a work called ' On Stage 
 Recitation.' ' There was a time,' he says, ' when that 
 extravagance which has been recommended for farce 
 had its place in tragedy, both in action and deUvery ; 
 the gestures were forced and beyond aU that ever 
 was in nature, and the recitation was a kind of 
 singing.' " 
 
 It was during this venture at the " Hay." that 
 he oflfered an opportunity to the young Foote of 
 trying his powers. On February 6, 1744, it was 
 announced : " At the New Theatre in the Haymarket 
 a Concert, and after it ' OtheUo. ' Othello — a gentleman 
 (Foote) ; Ludovico — a gentleman (one Mr. HUl) ; 
 lago — Macklin. The character of Othello will be 
 new dressed after the custom of his country. No 
 
CH. Ill] UPON THE STAGE 39 
 
 money will be taken at the doors, nor any person 
 admitted but by printed tickets, which will be 
 delivered by Mr. Macklin." This was a device to 
 avoid the penalties of trespassing on the patents of a 
 great house, but it is astonishing how so palpable an 
 artifice could have been tolerated. Macklin was, of 
 course, responsible for the "new dressing" of the 
 Moor. 
 
 " How a man so exclusively comic as Foote," says 
 Cooke, " should think of a tragic part for his d^but, 
 and one where aU the contending passions of tragedy 
 are so powerfully dehneated as in ' Othello,' would be 
 a matter of surprise, did we not consider that the 
 prevaihng passion of most of our stage candidates 
 points to the lover and the hero. These seem to be 
 the general pursuits of most young minds. . . . 
 
 " Though the generality of the audience received 
 him with every degree of indulgence, and many of 
 the first distinction cheered him, from personal and 
 family knowledge, his performance on the whole was 
 found to be too imperfect for either pubhc or private 
 patronage. Mackhn, who was the lago in this play, 
 said on this occasion, ' It was httle better than a 
 failure.'" 
 
 Foote, Hill, and Macklin, appearing together on 
 'the stage, made a singular combination. Had they 
 " clubbed " their strange adventurous lives, the result 
 woiold have been bewildering. Hill came from a 
 httle apothecary's shop, to which he returned again 
 after his failure. He dubbed himself a Knight, and 
 was always known as Sir John Hill. One of his 
 astounding performances filled twenty-six gigantic 
 folios, and contained 1,600 copperplates ! We must 
 be grateful to him for prompting Garrick to one of 
 
40 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. hi 
 
 the wittiest of epigrams. A farce of his completely 
 failed, and he laid the blame on the manager, who 
 pleasantly retorted : 
 
 " For physic and farces 
 His equal there scarce is : 
 His farces are physic. 
 His physic a farce is." 
 
 He attacked everybody, like his two fellow-per- 
 formers. 
 
 " This failure induced Foote to listen to the advice 
 of his friends, and to think of comedy as more suitable 
 to his figure, talents, and natural feelings ; but, un- 
 fortunately, the part in comedy which he adopted 
 seemed to be nearly as much out of his reach as 
 Othello was in tragedy : it was in no less a character 
 than that of Lord Foppington in ' The Relapse,' in 
 which he made his second appearance on the 9th 
 of April following. . . . 
 
 " The manager himself played Loveless (a gay, well- 
 bred man of intrigue), which was a part so little fitted 
 to Macklin's powers that it must have been either 
 uncommon vanity or the general poverty of the 
 company that could force him into it. . . . 
 
 " Disappointed in these two characters, his next 
 attempt was in Pierre in ' Venice Preserved,' which 
 turning out equally unsuccessful, at last induced him 
 to abandon for ever all thoughts of tragedy, and enjoy 
 himself in that element for which nature had so pre- 
 eminently qualified him. In pursuance of this reso- 
 lution, he engaged the next winter at Drury Lane 
 Theatre, where, turning his thoughts entirely to 
 comedy, he successively appeared in Fondlewife, Sir 
 Paul PUant, Bayes, etc." 
 
 He may be considered to have had his first regular 
 
CH. Ill] UPON THE STAGE 41 
 
 engagement in 1745-46, under Lacy, in a company 
 that included WoflSngton, Yates, Delane, the Mack- 
 lins, and others. He made his first appearance on 
 November 1, 1745, when he performed in " The Con- 
 stant Couple," as Harry Wildair, supported by Mrs. 
 Woffington. This was a great advance in so short a 
 time, and showed that he had already taken a good 
 position.* 
 
 The young feUow must have had energy and 
 enterprise, for we find in 1744 that, though as yet 
 
 * At the Haymarket he played Lord Foppington, another 
 light comedy part ; on the 25th he was seen in " The Drummer " 
 as Tinsel ; on the 27th as Lord Foppington ; on December 7 as 
 Sir Harry ; on December 1 3 as Bayes. 
 
 On October 13, 20, and 23, the play was repeated. On March 2 
 was the last performance of the season, " by a set of gentlemen for 
 diversion, being the last time of their performing that play. On 
 April 6 ' The Relapse ' was played, the part of Lord Foppington 
 being taken by the gentleman who lately played Othello." 
 
 At his benefit on April 14 he played Sir Courtly. Mrs. Woffington, 
 however, did not play for him, though he had played for her, and 
 though she played for three or four benefits within that week. 
 Perhaps there had been a quarrel. 
 
 These performances during his first season, with his many times 
 of performance, show that Foote at once got to the front rank. 
 Says Cooke : " His Ben in ' Love for Love,' though much followed 
 for a time, was perhaps the worst of all his performances, except 
 his Othello. It had none of the genuine naivete and simple sprightli- 
 ness of the sailor ; and, as if afraid of doing too much (his general 
 failing), here he did too little. A contemporary writer (who, if 
 unbiassed, was a competent judge of theatrical merit) says : ' It was 
 as lifeless a lump of insipidity as I ever saw ; he had not even his 
 usual confidence in the part, but shrunk from it, as under a timid 
 impression of not doing it proper justice.' Yet, such is the caprice 
 of public taste that his Ben was the great object of attraction for 
 many nights in one season, and crowded boxes of beauty and 
 elegance gave another proof how little fashionable criticism is to 
 be relied on." 
 
42 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. m 
 
 imperfectly equipped for his profession, he had set off 
 to play in Dublin, Here again he was following 
 Garriek's example, who had made a triumphant 
 success in that city. He seems to have done fairly 
 well, and had some good audiences. It will be seen 
 later how much he was attracted to this capital, 
 having visited it so many times in his course, viz., in 
 1744, 1757, and 1760. Owing to his showy personaUty, 
 he was always looked on as something more than a 
 travelling actor. He established the most familiar 
 relations with his audiences, and in social life was 
 heartily appreciated, while his wit and rough humour 
 found admirers everywhere. No wonder that he 
 ever thought kindly of his Irish friends. 
 
 StiU, the new actor felt that, so moderate had been 
 his success, he was not likely to make his fortune in 
 the legitimate drama. As he humorously expostu- 
 lated, " If they won't have me in tragedy, and I am 
 not fit for comedy, what the deuce am I fit for?" 
 Here we may note that shrewdness and sense that 
 was always found in Foote. At once he drew the 
 logical conclusion, saying to himself: "I must find 
 some other department for which I am fit." 
 
 And what was the new departure that he meditated ? 
 Reckoning up his resources, he had boldly and 
 recklessly determined to take a new and original 
 line, and become a professional mimic. He would 
 mimic all the world- — notably public personages, with 
 his friends and fellow-players among the rest. Among 
 his companions at the Bedford and the coffee-houses, 
 more probably at the Covent Garden pothouses, he 
 had been obtaining great applause for his imitation 
 of friends and boon comrades that were weU known 
 to the company, and it appears he "took them off" 
 
CH. Ill] UPON THE STAGE 43 
 
 in a most vivid, striking way, and to immense applause. 
 For nothing is so amusing as the mimicry of those 
 we know well. 
 
 At starting I claimed for Foote an extraordinary 
 originality of talent and methods, and this can be 
 supported by the fact that he was the first to elevate 
 mimicry into a regular profession or dramatic system, 
 breaking into the ranks of society to secure material, 
 and actually compelling society to furnish him with 
 subjects. He could say: "Yonder is a public man 
 of eccentric ways ; I will have Am." " There is a man 
 whom I know and all the world knows ; he will do 
 for me." This, as I said, is a different thing from the 
 ordinary mimic's treatment. There is something 
 dramatic here, for he "took off" the character of the 
 man, showed what he would say and do in a new 
 situation, serious or absurd. And then, the wonder 
 that he was privileged to take these gross liberties, 
 the victim submitting in most cases ; friends and 
 society generally looking on and applauding ! We 
 have never had such a state of things before or since, 
 and it could only have been devised and carried out 
 by an original genius. 
 
 The condition of the stage at the time was eminently 
 favourable to this special style of exhibition. Dramatic 
 work was practically confined to the two great patent 
 theatres, where the old and old-fashioned " stagers " 
 declaimed in a stilted, solemn fashion. We can recall 
 the vivid description of Quin and his fellows, vnth 
 their antiquated dresses and pompous methods. As 
 is well known, the coming of Garrick as a player 
 brought about a complete revolution, and his exertions 
 as manager introduced a more free and natural treat- 
 ment, with an order and decency behind the scenes 
 
44 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. hi 
 
 which were sadly wanted. All the old conventions 
 were swept away. Foote, who offered himself with- 
 out training or schooling, was weU suited to figure as 
 reformer. He was unshackled by traditions, and, with 
 his robust character, was fitted to strike out a line of 
 his own. He had no respect for persons. He was 
 " the sapper " of the stage, for whom " nothing was 
 sacred." 
 
 From the days of Dryden it seems that this fashion 
 of mimicking professional players was a suitable form 
 of entertainment. Even the popular Garrick had 
 been used to convulse audiences by imitating the 
 stage dying agonies of Quin and others of the good 
 old school ; the victims were much hurt, and clamoured 
 loudly. Foote, instead of dealing with this vulgar 
 element in a casual way, determined to make a system 
 of it. It should be a dramatic entertainment. Then 
 he found, perhaps to his surprise, that he had yet 
 another resource by him, the power of writing Kvely 
 sketches of characters and amusing dialogue. At 
 once he constructed some very lively scenes, which 
 were a complete novelty for the public. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MIMICRY 
 
 The craving for mimicry has always been found 
 irrepressible, and has constantly tended to encroach 
 on the legitimate iQterests of the stage. It may be 
 said that the origin of our " music-hall " enter- 
 tainments is due to this relish for burlesque of the 
 failings and absurdities of our neighbours. A certain 
 indulgence, or even licence, has been extended to this 
 species of enjoyment. There the mimic can revel in 
 spontaneous antics, and draw the attention of a 
 crowded house. He is stimulated by obstreperous 
 laughter to "go one better." It is certainly a great 
 temptation both for performer and audience. But to 
 the cultivated or well-regulated mind it seems extra- 
 ordinary that entertainment can be found in such 
 things. 
 
 Even up to our time there lingered on at taverns 
 such as the Coal Hole and Cider Cellars a sort of 
 gross entertainment, given while the guests smoked, 
 ate, and drank ; such as sham trials at law, etc. At 
 these places some extraordinary perverted talent used 
 to be exhibited. To-day at the music-halls nothing 
 " goes down " so well as an imitation of some noted 
 actor disloyally done by some clever brother. 
 
 There can be no doubt that this drawing from the 
 life, or imitation, not merely of physical defects 
 
 45 
 
46 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 and oddities, but of traits of character, becomes under 
 certain conditions of careful study and nice obser- 
 vation a valuable method of producing vivid and 
 dramatic scenes or effects. AU the great writers, 
 either in dramas or novels, have used this method, 
 and must use it. Many, either from haste or care- 
 lessness, have simply transferred the original to their 
 work, the result being mere recognition of the original. 
 But the genuine masters do not copy hne for line 
 or tint for tint. They search for the root or keynote 
 of the character. This they make their own, and 
 play upon it after their own fashion.* 
 
 When the function of the stage is found in study 
 of intellectual work, the actor naturally acquires a 
 certain nobiUty of character, and such high themes 
 influence his nature. Nowadays the actor has become 
 merely an element in a show made up of mimicry, 
 buflfboning, flourishing, grimacing, grotesque dresses, 
 hme-hghting, paint, wooden structures, canvas, and 
 the hke, and must be affected by his surroundings. 
 He is a portion of the theatrical mechanism. One 
 result is that the low and vmeducated find their 
 way in. Anyone who stands at the stage-door and 
 watches the strange miscellany that passes in becomes 
 conscious of something inferior. Even the "car- 
 penters," as they are called, have not the clean and 
 honest air of the common mechanic. There is a 
 suggestion of the public-house. This may seem harsh 
 
 * It was thus, we may be certain, that Boz developed his 
 characters. In the case of the strange dialect of Mrs. Gamp, he 
 may have heard one of these repulsive creatures " propoging " 
 something, or declaring " which her name is Harris." From these 
 scraps he could equip himself with an entire language, and could 
 put her in new situations of his own devising. 
 
CH. IV] MIMICRY 47 
 
 and exaggerated, but it will be agreed there is some 
 foundation for it. 
 
 When Foote, with Macklin and Wilkinson, in- 
 troduced these fair-green methods, with the " rough 
 and tumble" of the booth, the audiences began to 
 lose respect for their entertainers. Hence the quarrels, 
 disputes, interruptions, and the mixing up of audience 
 and players. When the audience was brought on the 
 stage by mimicry, it was natural that the player should 
 go forth among the audience, and for a time convert 
 the open street into a stage. This simple view reaUy 
 accounts for all the strange disorders and riots, 
 the breaking of benches and chandehers, the con- 
 tentions between rival actors, and other disgraceful 
 episodes. What sort of stage discipline or illusion 
 could there be when, on a benefit, an amphitheatre was 
 raised, which was crowded by fine ladies and gentle- 
 men who could converse with the players ? 
 
 Another form of this personal exhibition, now 
 unknown and forgotten, was the once famihar and in- 
 dispensable Prologue or Epilogue, filled with aU kinds 
 of famihar allusions. It was a sort of bridge between 
 the stage and the pit, between the audience and 
 actor, as, indeed, the place from which it was dehvered 
 — always in front of the curtain — clearly shows. 
 The speaker half belonged to the stage and half to the 
 audience, while what he spoke was in a sort of serious 
 or famUiar — often buffooning — strain. Audience and 
 speaker thus came to be on the most intimate terms. 
 There were jokes and topical allusions, and very httle 
 about the real matter in hand — to wit, the play. In 
 the case of a prominent performer and proprietor such 
 as Foote was, here was a rare opportunity for exhibit- 
 ing his satire and ridicule. He even used to carry on 
 
48 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 this extra business when the curtain went up, and did 
 not scruple to introduce "Mr. Foote " himself, manager 
 and actor, talking famiharly with his stage carpenters, 
 prompter, or candle-snuffers, who bore the names they 
 had in ordinary hfe. All this was damaging to stage 
 illusion and to the proper dignity of the profession ; 
 and it is difficult to understand what sort of enter- 
 tainment could be extracted from such exhibitions. 
 " Mr. Foote," however, was exhibited, and could, as it 
 is called, " show off " and fool it to the " top of his 
 bent." 
 
 This method of mimicry on the stage, and of mimicry 
 actors, was brought into fashion by that popular bur- 
 lesque " The Rehearsal," written by the Duke of 
 Buckingham. This the comedians grew to be fond 
 of setting off, in the mock tragic portions, by imita- 
 tions of their feUow-players. Resentment is almost 
 invariably excited by such mimicry. No one, how- 
 ever good-humoured, can be pleased or indifferent at 
 seeing his ways taken off, even with a favourable colour. 
 Wilkinson's diverting memoirs are fuU of the quarrels 
 and bitter enmities engendered by these attempts. I 
 think it was Mathews who was once performing in 
 this way, taking off his brethren, when he suddenly 
 recollected that a worthy old actor whom he had long 
 known — a personal friend, too — was actually present 
 while this ridicule was going on. Greatly shocked, he 
 ran up to him and affectionately apologized. The 
 other did not understand. " My dear friend, did you 
 mean that for me? Don't distress yourself; there 
 was not the least likeness." 
 
 In Foote's day, mimicry was a recognized accom- 
 plishment. In social life, an " agreeable rattle " who 
 could " take off " a weU-known acquaintance was in 
 
CH. IV] MIMICRY 49 
 
 much demand. Ladies and gentlemen, even, were 
 accustomed to display their ability in this depart- 
 ment at parties. Dr. Johnson spoke with praise of 
 a well-known London lady who excelled in mimicry. 
 " I believe," he added, perhaps significantly, " she has 
 now gone mad." 
 
 It is well known that George IV., a Prince of 
 many accompKshments, was an incomparable mimic, 
 and used to convulse his friends by taking oiF his 
 own Ministers, foreign visitors, and others, in the 
 most humorous and hfe-like fashion. The Duke of 
 Wellington, no indulgent critic of such "pranks," 
 was compelled almost to wonder and admire. " He 
 told me," says Mr. Croker, " that when he went with 
 the Chancellor to accept the government. His Majesty 
 was in bed groaning, and appeared very miserable and 
 unhappy ; but as the conversation went on he grew 
 better, sat up in the bed, and began to describe all 
 his communications with his late Ministers, mimicking 
 them aU to the life, and exhibiting such a drama, so 
 lively, so exact, so amusing, that the Duke never saw 
 anything like it — Goodrich, Lansdowne, and, above 
 aU, Anglesey, whom he positively made himself look 
 like. I myself never saw anyone who exhibited the 
 niceties of character with so much discrimination. 
 As a mere imitator he has some superiors ; but I 
 have never seen his equal for a combination of per- 
 sonal imitation with the power of exhibiting the mental 
 character."* 
 
 * In Edinburgh there was a famous mimic, Dr. CuUen, who is 
 mentioned by Boswell. His reputation as such was truly extra- 
 ordinary. Ougald Stewart declared that " he was the most perfect 
 of all mimics"; and Lord Cockburn says that he could copy, not 
 merely the looks, tones, peculiarities, etc., but " the very words — 
 
 4 
 
50 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 Foote was not altogether original in his mimetic 
 methods, fo^r we can trace his system of mimicry and 
 burlesque to Henry Fielding, who found profit and 
 a regular substance in such pieces. Like Foote, he 
 had ridiculed actors and authors, and brought public 
 men, poUticians, and others, on his stage. The familiar 
 " Tom Thumb " became a vehicle for ridiculing con- 
 temporary writers. In " Pasquin," " The Historical 
 Register," and other pieces, he introduced Ministers — 
 Walpole as Quidam ; and a further attempt, which 
 was not successful, led in 1737 to the famous Licensing 
 or Controlling Act, which gave the Lord Chamber- 
 lain supreme powers to authorize, suspend, or wholly 
 forbid, any piece which was to be set upon the stage. 
 Under this code the istage has been directed for 
 some hundred and thirty years, and, it must be said, 
 with great advantage : no excess in the way of per- 
 sonahty has been tolerated, though there have been 
 at times fits of occasional indulgence. 
 
 nay, the very thoughts '' — of his subjects. Thus, in a tavern, sitting 
 in one of the boxes, as they were called, he would take off Principal 
 Robertson, giving indecorous toasts, speeches, and remarks, so 
 that those on the other side of the partition went away perfectly 
 shocked at the scandalous exhibition. This droll performance, 
 however to be deprecated, gives a good idea of the higher class 
 of mimicry. 
 
 Once one of the students at his college "broke out" — he was 
 boarding with Dr. Robertson— when Cullen, arriving early in the 
 morning, imitated the President's heavy step on the stairs, entered, 
 and, sitting behind the curtain, gave the youth a severe lecture on his 
 conduct, which brought him to a state of contrition and penitence, 
 on which he was forgiven. By-and-by arrived the real President, 
 who sat behind the curtain and administered a stern rebuke. The 
 youth could only repeat his penitential assurances, but remonstrated 
 against this double "jobation." "Ah," said the President instantly, 
 " I see my friend Cullen has been here !" 
 
CH. IV] MIMICRY 51 
 
 And yet such personalities have ever had a strange, 
 fascinating attraction. There can be little doubt at 
 the present time that, were the Censor at aU to relax 
 his vigilance, and suffer delineations of well-known 
 public men to be introduced under grotesque con- 
 ditions, they would be welcomed with the keenest 
 enjoyment, and even rapture. To see one we know 
 well, clearly and accurately taken off, is a truly 
 amusing, if unbecoming, entertainment, sure to en- 
 gender perhaps the heartiest laugh of our experience. 
 But all the time it is but an illegitimate form of being 
 amused, and would speedily pall. The performer 
 has to go on peppering and " peppering still higher," 
 until the imitation becomes licentious. 
 
 It was extraordinary that at this moment the most 
 disorderly and personal of aU known satirists and 
 mimics should come forward on the scene, and begin 
 a successful career in defiance of this new and stringent 
 law. In his case it would seem to have been a mere 
 " dead letter." It was not to apply to this extra- 
 ordinary being, this man of power who succeeded in 
 at once amusing and terrifying the whole community, 
 amusing the man of pleasure and the laughers, terri- 
 fying the timorous and weaklings. How this came 
 to pass one may fairly wonder. But it was simply 
 because Foote was a man of power, " incompressible " 
 (it cannot be too often repeated), without sentiment, 
 feeling, or delicacy ; ready to trample on and " wipe his 
 shoes " on anyone that attempted to oppose him. To 
 such the community is ever ready to give way. They 
 may condemn, but they admire aU the time, Titmarsh, 
 in an invaluable bit of practical advice, bids everyone 
 go forward and roughly claim the best place or the 
 best seat, when dozens will retire before him. Anyone 
 
 4—2 
 
52 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 with the proper air of authority wUl find that this is 
 so. Foote knew his company perfectly. But, as I 
 have shown, the severity of the Licensing Act was 
 really intended for political offenders. 
 
 Foote's success in this " line " naturally engendered 
 imitators, if not rivals, and he must have been a good 
 deal disturbed later on by the rise of an enter- 
 tainer, the novelty of whose methods secured him 
 large audiences. The town began to run after George 
 Alexander Stevens, who had reaUy struck out some- 
 thing new. He appeared behind a long table, and 
 was enclosed between two screens which met at an 
 angle. It was a very clever and original perform- 
 ance. It was so pleasantly and even wittily put 
 together that it could be read as well as it could be 
 enjoyed on the stage. For it was issued as a volume, 
 and passed through many editions. The hvely author 
 had prepared a number of modelled heads representing 
 many types — ^poUticians, writers, players, etc. — on 
 which he commented in a very satirical and amusing 
 way, introducing personal allusions that were eagerly 
 caught up by the audiences. He in many points 
 suggested the present Mr. George Grossmith, who 
 takes off the various types of society— wise and foohsh 
 — in such brUliant fashion. 
 
 It would seem that a mimic of the first rank — that 
 is to say, a mimic of genius — must be also an actor of 
 the first rank. We can boast of but two performers 
 reaching this standard, and both were actors of 
 reputation. These exceptional men were Foote and 
 Mathews the Elder. There was one similarity in their 
 methods, but both furnished sketches of characters, 
 both were socially successful. Mathews, of course, 
 had none of Foote's obstreperous personality, and his 
 
CH. IV] MIMICRY 53 
 
 sketches were superficial enough. He was altogether 
 on a lower plane than Foote, and had too much 
 of the common " showman's " arts. It was strange, 
 too, that both these eminent mimics should have 
 closed their course in disastrous fashion. There is 
 nothing more piteous in stage annals than Mathews's 
 collapse both in health and fortune simultaneously, 
 he dying in a sort of wreck, everything lost, save 
 the tender and devoted wife and his faithful son. 
 Mathews too, Uke Foote, had lost the free use of one 
 limb owing to a frightful accident. 
 
 By the agreement of all the critics of his day, 
 Mathews possessed Foote's wonderful power of 
 realizing the character of the person he represented, 
 of becoming inspired, as it were, by aU his thoughts, 
 feelings, and humours. Both had that miraculous 
 faculty of thinking or speaking upon a given subject 
 almost exactly as the person himself would think or 
 speak. 
 
 When Scott read the wonderful lines on Higgin- 
 botham's death in the " Rejected Addresses," he 
 seemed almost to recognize his own words, and de- 
 clared that he must have treated the incident in the 
 same way. For this reason, Foote's talent must be 
 set far above mere vulgar imitation. It becomes the 
 inspiration of the actor. Foote always relied upon 
 this internal power, which helped him to reproduce 
 the mental and physical oddities of his subject ; but 
 here Mathews was inferior, for he relied on elaborate 
 make-up, as it is called, and he had, besides, the 
 natural power of altering his features and figure. 
 Finally, Foote had the power of dramatic creation: for 
 he could both write and realize the most original types 
 of character. Altogether, here were two very remark- 
 
54 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 able persons, geniuses perhaps, who filled a large space 
 in the life of the time. 
 
 The career of Foote, and that of other satirists who 
 followed him, suggests the significant reflection that 
 in our day such persons would have no opening for 
 their talent — for the simple reason that there is no 
 material. There is nothing for them to mimic. In 
 Foote's time, oddity and character were found every- 
 where, almost in abundance. The lack of communica- 
 tion between the country and the towns left aU the 
 grotesqueness of provincial life unchanged, offering 
 a rich store for the town satirist to work on.* 
 We have only to read the comedies of Goldsmith, 
 Colman, Morton, Reynolds, to see what a number of 
 eccentric types were abroad and accepted. Now those 
 steam-roUers of uniformity — communication by rail- 
 way and the press — have crushed out all angularities 
 and projections, and made one general smoothness. 
 Quaint, natural oddity, once so relished, is almost 
 thought an oiFence. Stranger stUl, it furnishes no 
 amusement, because not understood ; all is at one 
 dead and monotonous level and one fixed pattern. 
 And so it comes about that a brUliant delineator of 
 
 * These simple folk came to town, some with a favourite expres- 
 sion, which they brought constantly into their talk ; others with 
 odd gestures and odd clothes, which attracted no attention at home ; 
 some " sucked an oyster off their wrist," like Cadwallader, at every 
 speech. These things made the town laugh. Foote found characters 
 everywhere. Nothing is more curious than the reading of Colman's 
 or Morton's comedies, with the amazing but highly amusing figures 
 they contain : the two Rapids (father and son), the one always 
 bidding the other to "keep moving" ; Sir Abel Handy, the amateur 
 inventor ; the Country Lout, etc. Even the restrained comedy treat- 
 ment of Goldsmith could not secure acceptance for his Croaker, 
 a truly diverting character. Sir Antony Absolute, with his fits of 
 rage, is looked on with a sort of antiquarian curiosity, for no father 
 
CH. IV] MIMICRY 55 
 
 Foote's pattern only finds that " the eyes of men are 
 idly bent on him." 
 
 It was reserved for Foote to introduce a higher and 
 more intellectual style, based on the study of the 
 subject's character, placing him in new situations 
 which called out a fresh and varied display of oddities. 
 He would use these elements as a basis, and could 
 create a sort of finished character under the very ribs 
 of his mimicry. He had besides, as we shall see later, 
 an incomparable dramatic gift, writing character scenes 
 in the most dramatic fashion ; and it is rare to find a 
 player possessing this double power. Here was Foote's 
 true merit, and though he garnished his work with 
 vulgar personalities and caricature, he appealed to the 
 judicious by drawing a striking and interestiag char- 
 acter. This brought him within the domain of art. 
 
 Connected with the changes in manners and taste is 
 the singular phenomenon — which I have never even 
 seen noted — of the complete extinction or disappear- 
 ance of the " low comedian " — indeed, of low comedy 
 itself. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the 
 present generation know nothing of broad comedy, 
 have no taste for it, and, when some stray scrap 
 of it is offered, do not recognize or understand it. 
 Yet thirty or forty years ago, as many will recall, 
 low comedy was a distinct branch — a loadstone of 
 attraction. Every play had its low comedian. There 
 was a whole corps of broadly humorous players, so 
 well trained and practised that their mere glance or 
 
 nowadays thus menaces his son or flourishes his stick at him. In 
 all the favourite pieces presented at the fashionable theatres, 
 fathers, lovers, sisters, wives, move softly about the stage, do 
 nothing violent, and do everything in the same way. And this 
 seems a correct enough representation of the time. 
 
56 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. iv 
 
 laugh used to convulse the house : Buckstone, Wright, 
 Compton, Toole, Paulton, Terry, John S. Clarke, 
 Brough. Of these the measure was specially taken 
 by the theatrical tailors, and plays were "written 
 round " them. They had a rollicking heartiness, 
 a thick rich voice, roguish eyes, a perpetual good 
 humour, and a certain slyness of manner — as in the 
 case of Compton — with much eccentricity. Such 
 were the gifts necessary. All gone now ! It would 
 be difficult to find anyone who knows the traditions 
 of this "broad" treatment. Everything is done so 
 correctly and genteely that even the servants are as 
 deliberate and stately as their masters. 
 
 To this class Foote certainly belonged ; his acting 
 was of the broad-comedy cast. AU his characters have 
 a certain energy, and require to be given with 
 enormous spirit, filled out with play of feature, quaint 
 glances, restlessness, gestures, grotesque dress, every 
 resource, and, where possible, with well -studied 
 mimicries. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 1747 
 "THE DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING " 
 
 Within three years Foote could seriously think of 
 taking the Haymarket Theatre as manager with a 
 new entertainment. He ought to have anticipated 
 the difficulties of such a step, for no house was allowed 
 to compete with the two great theatres enjoying 
 patent rights ; and the world might have lost the 
 apparition of Garrick's entertainment at Goodman's 
 Fields had not the device, or trick, been thought of — 
 of calling it a " concert." Foote had prepared a new 
 and special " show " of his own devising. He had, as 
 we have seen, long been practising his mimicries, and 
 now announced an odd piece or show, which he 
 called " The Diversions of the Morning " — a sort of 
 " half play." Here was the announcement : 
 
 "At the Theatre in the Haymarket this day 
 [April 22, 1747] will be performed a Concert of 
 Musick, with which will be given gratis a new enter- 
 tainment." The principal characters were by Foote, 
 Shuter (who had come from Drury Lane to join 
 Foote for the summer months), Costello, and others. 
 There was a farce called " The Credulous Husband," 
 from Congreve's "Old Bachelor" — Fondlewife by 
 Foote — and an Epilogue, "to be spoken by the same 
 performers as in the Bedford CoiFee-House." 
 
 57 
 
58 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 Here we have the beginnings of his long line 
 of personalities. 
 
 This show of Foote's was really an original device. 
 It was neither play nor monologue. A strange half- 
 painter, half-actor, who hung loose upon the coffee- 
 house, had a clever gift of taking off the various 
 friends and characters who frequented this place. 
 He did not merely simulate their oddities, but he 
 gave a reproduction of the person. This struck 
 Foote, who had much the same gift, and it occurred 
 to him that he might work the mimicked person into a 
 regular stage character. Then was suggested another 
 device. He would have a set of hving puppets — 
 a few figures who were to say nothing and do nothing 
 but what he told them, thus avoiding the monotony 
 of a one-man recitation. Hence " The Diversions." 
 
 What was "The Diversions of the Morning"? 
 Mr. Forster says it was never printed, so we 
 must guess or "piece out" its purpose. But Tate 
 Wilkinson has given an act of it in his memoirs, 
 which supplies a fair idea of the treatment. It was 
 clearly modelled on a portion of " The Rehearsal," 
 just as Sheridan modelled his " Critic," or portions of 
 it, on Foote's sketch. 
 
 He introduced a regular procession of popular 
 players, ridiculing them as he went along. 
 
 Thus, in the case of Woodward, he was puzzled to 
 find any trade he was fit for ; therefore he spoke 
 the following speech, in his voice and manner, from 
 Sir Fopling Flutter : 
 
 " Wherever I go, there goes a gentleman — upon 
 my life a gentleman ; and when you have said a 
 gentleman, why, oh ! \_here Foote dropped Woodward's 
 voice and manner'] you have said more than is true." 
 
CH.v] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 59 
 
 He was also severe on Garrick, who was apt to 
 hesitate (in his dying scenes in particular), as in the 
 character of Lothario : 
 
 "... adorns my fall, and chea — chea — chea — chea 
 — chea — cheers my heart in dy — dy — dying." 
 
 It was remarkable that at starting, even, he pre- 
 ferred to mimic the physical defects of his brethren 
 — always a rather cruel and unhandsome thing. 
 Thus he exhibited Quin, from his sonorous voice 
 and weighty manner, as a watchman : " Past twelve 
 o'clock, and a cloudy morning." 
 
 Delane was supposed to have but one eye, there- 
 fore he fixed him as a heggar-man in St. Paul's 
 Churchyard: "Would you bestow your pity on a 
 poor blind man !" 
 
 And Ryan, whose voice for oddity and shrillness 
 was remarkable, was exhibited as a razor -grinder : 
 " Razors to grind, scissors to grind, penknives to grind." 
 
 Mrs. Woffington, who, though beautiful to a degree, 
 had a most unpleasant squeaking pipe, was shown as 
 an orange-woman to the playhouse : " Would you have 
 some oranges— have some orange-chips, ladies and 
 gentlemen ? — would you have some nonpareils ? — 
 would you have a bill of the play ?" 
 
 Now, here was truly an extraordinary spectacle, one, 
 too, of a disorderly and unbecoming sort. To realize 
 its character, we have only to suppose that in our own 
 day some smart forward feUow, well known at the 
 leading theatrical club as a lively humorist and half- 
 amateur actor, were to take a theatre, say the Hay- 
 market, and announce that he invited all Londoners 
 to come and hear him take off his brethren ! In 
 all these variations he took a wide range, selecting 
 some well-known oddities for treatment. The West- 
 
60 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 minster Justice, Sir Thomas de Veil, with Cock 
 the fashionable auctioneer, were duly ridiculed. It 
 was amazing how patiently these folk suffered ; no 
 one thought of chastisement — for a time, at least. 
 
 He was not, however, without competitors. At 
 the time there were a number of vain, talking mount- 
 ebanks about, all struggling to catch the public eye. 
 Witness that eccentric being " Orator Henley," who 
 was presently " shown up " by Foote, though indeed 
 he himself, from his perpetual speech, just as well 
 deserved the title of " Orator Foote." This Henley 
 was a good specimen of the " tub-spouter "; he had 
 the full command of a foul and scurrilous tongue. 
 He had so-called "chapels" of his own, to which 
 people were drawn in the hope of hearing something 
 amusing. 
 
 Once, however, in this very year 1747, he and 
 Foote got into a dispute, both interchanging plenty 
 of gross " BilUngsgate." The quarrel ended in the 
 orators appearing on the stage of the little Hay- 
 market, where the pair fought to the enjoyment of 
 the listeners. Foote, however, was overmatched in 
 scurrility, and held to have the worst of it. He had 
 his revenge, for next year he introduced his opponent 
 into his "Auction." 
 
 " The Diversions " was a very free comment on 
 things in general, but prominently ridiculing the 
 famiUar devices of the stage. Actors and writers had 
 long this fancy for exhibiting the rather repulsive 
 prose of life behind the scenes — a foolish proceeding, 
 as it destroys the air of mystery, diminishes the 
 public respect, and impairs the players' own dignity. 
 Coming forward as a manager, or rather as Foote 
 himself, he chattered away, giving his own mimicries, 
 
CH.v] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 61 
 
 and saying whatever came into his head as being 
 likely to produce a laugh. 
 
 The humour of the thing was that the young man 
 seemed to be accepted at his own valuation. The 
 coffee-houses and taverns had stamped their seal on 
 his mimicries. One who when a child could mimic 
 his own father to his face was more than ready to 
 mimic his brethren, in this wholesale and deliberate 
 fashion. He made it a show, a means of earning his 
 hvelihood. It seemed extraordinary courage or im- 
 pudence. Impudent or not, the attempt was entirely 
 successful. 
 
 " He soon found," says Cooke, " that he reckoned 
 without his host ; for, whether from the alarm excited 
 in the theatres royal, or the resentment of most of the 
 performers who smarted under the lash of his mimicry, 
 the civil magistrates of Westminster were called upon 
 to interfere ; and, under the sanction of an Act of 
 Parliament, for limiting a number of playhouses, sent 
 a posse of constables, who, entering the theatre, 
 dismissed the audience, and left the laughing Aris- 
 tophanes to consider of new ways and means for his 
 support." 
 
 But Foote, ever irrepressible as incompressible, was 
 not to be daunted. Within a few days he had devised 
 a second scheme of an elusive kind, destined to be 
 extremely successful and bring him much money. 
 It furnished him with full opportunity for displaying 
 his special view of humour and frolic. This was what 
 he called his " giving tea " — a sort of colloquial 
 " drawing-room entertainment," as it might be called. 
 He affected to receive his friends and entertain them, 
 not at a theatre, but at his own house. 
 
 Foote was thus victorious. He dared to oppose 
 
62 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 these high powers, and fought the battle to the 
 end. There can be no doubt that the law was 
 violated, as he had produced a farce. This, however, 
 he dropped. 
 
 On Friday, April 24, the town was informed that 
 " On Saturday noon next, at 12 o'clock, at the new 
 Theatre in the Haymarket, Mr, Foote begs the favour 
 of his friends to come and drink a dish of chocolate 
 with him : and 'tis hoped there wiU be a great deal 
 of good company and some joyous spirits : he will 
 endeavour to make the Morning as Diverting as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 No further interference was attempted ; he pro- 
 ceeded with his work, growing bolder and more 
 popular every day. 
 
 On June 1 it was given out, "At the request of 
 several persons who are desirous of spending an hour 
 with Mr. Foote, but find the time inconvenient, 
 instead of chocolate in the morning, Mr. Foote's 
 friends are desired to drink a dish of tea with him at 
 half-past six this day, to-morrow, and Wednesday, at 
 which time they are obliged to give over, most of the 
 company being engaged to set out on Thursday for 
 country expeditions. N.B. — Doors to be opened at 
 i after 4." Then followed : " June 6th, the 35th day 
 and positively the last, at the desire of several persons 
 of quality, Mr. Foote will give tea this day at \ after 6, 
 having persuaded all the performers to postpone their 
 journey tiU Monday."* 
 
 In this fashion Foote began his system of levelling 
 
 * It will be noted that here he anticipated our morning 
 performances. With us half-past two, or two, is thought tolerably 
 early, but noon seepis somewhat inconvenient. We shall see later 
 how he introduced the practice at Edinburgh. 
 
CH.v] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 63 
 
 the barriers between the stage and the public, and so 
 finally introduced what might be likened to the coarse, 
 happy-go-lucky methods of the seaside performances 
 on Margate sands. 
 
 The imitation of Macklin and his oddities, in 
 " The Diversions," is an admirable tour de force, and 
 reads almost as well as though it had been recited 
 before us. As a piece of humour it is excellent. 
 He is presumed to be giving a lesson on Othello to 
 his pupil Bounce : 
 
 " Begin at ' Othello's occupation's gone.' Now 
 catch at me, as if you would tear the very strings 
 and all. Keep your voice low — loudness is no mark of 
 passion. — Mind your attitude. Bounce. Villain — '■ — 
 Puz. Very well ! Boun. Be sure you prove my love 
 
 a w Puz. Admirable ! Boun. Be sure on't 
 
 Puz. Bravo ! Boun. Give me the occular proof 
 
 Puz. Lay your emphasis a httle stronger upon occ — 
 
 occ — occ Boun. Occ — occ — occular proof 
 
 Puz. That's right ! Boun. Or, by the worth of my 
 
 eternal soul, Thou hadst better been born a dog 
 
 Puz. Grind dog — a d-o-o-g, lag Boun. A 
 
 do-og, lago, than answer my wak'd wrath. Puz. 
 
 Charming ! — Now quick \_Speaking all the time.] 
 
 Boun. Make me to see it, or at least so prove it. 
 That the probation bears no hinge or loop, To hang 
 
 a doubt on ; — or wo Puz. A httle more terror 
 
 upon woe — wo-o-e, like a mastiff in a tanner's yard — 
 
 wo-o-o-e \_They answer each other, Wo-o-o-e, etc. J 
 
 Boun. Upon thy life. If thou dost slander her, and 
 
 torture me Puz. {pushing him away). Oh ! go 
 
 about your business— 'twon't do — go, go — I am sorry 
 I have given you this trouble. Boun. Why, sir, 
 I Free. Oh ! pray, Mr. Puzzle, let me intercede 
 
64 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 for him. Puz. [as Mr. Macklin). Zounds, sir! do 
 you consider the mode of the mind, that a man's 
 soul is tost, and lost, and crost, and his entrails broil- 
 ing on a gridiron. — Bring it from the bottom 
 
 of your stomach with a grind — as to-r-rr 
 
 Boun. Torr — rture me Puz. That's my meaning. 
 
 Boun. Never pray more ; abandon aU remorse 
 
 Puz. Now out with your arm, and show your chest. — 
 There's a figure ! Boun. On horror's head- 
 
 Puz. Now out with your voice. Boun. Horrors 
 
 accumulate Puz. Now tender. Boun. Do deeds 
 
 t6 make heav'n weep Puz. Now terror. Boun. 
 
 AU earth amaz'd ! — For no thing canst thou to dam- 
 
 na Puz. Grind na-na, na, na, tion Boun. 
 
 Na, na, na, tion add greater than that. Puz. Now 
 throw me from you, and I'll yield. — Very well, keep 
 
 that attitude. — Your eye fix'd There's a figure ; 
 
 there's a contrast." 
 
 All which is truly diverting, and must have had a 
 droll effect. 
 
 Not content with this, he was longing to fly at 
 higher game. He saw that his audiences would relish 
 such an attempt. 
 
 In a letter written to Peter Garrick at Lichfield, 
 and filled with theatrical gossip,* Windham described 
 Foote as giving his " Tea," and as being determined 
 " to bring out that very weak and abusive caricature " 
 of the two managers, Garrick and Lacey. Lacey, 
 
 * From the Forster manuscript, and quoted in my "Life of 
 Garrick." The generous owner, I remember well, used to allow 
 me day after day to range through his valuable papers, and copy 
 whatever suited my purpose. Forster told me that he always 
 intended writing Garrick' s life, having such a rare mass of 
 materials by him, but that he cheerfully handed it over to his 
 friend. 
 
CH.v] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 65 
 
 he said, was infuriated, and swore that he would 
 break Foote's neck. He also complained to the 
 licenser. But the prudent Davy sent to him privately 
 to teU him that he did not at all object, and that 
 " Mr. Foote was quite welcome " to deal with him. 
 He was afraid that it would be given out that the 
 step was taken at his instigation, so courteous was 
 he. This, however, shows that Johnson was not the 
 first to threaten the mimic with a cudgel, and it would 
 seem, indeed, that the threat had availed. 
 
 " The Auction " was the next form of his humour 
 — a rambling commentary on persons and things 
 in general, with humorous comments and mimicries 
 after the pattern of his "Diversions." There is 
 no copy of it in print, so we cannot learn exactly 
 what it was Uke. Foote described his "show" as 
 being held at " the Auction Room, late the little 
 Theatre in the Hay" — a device probably intended 
 to baffle the censors. On April 18 he gave out a 
 performance "for the sufferers in a late calamity, 
 when Mr. Foote wiU exhibit a choice collection of 
 pictures." On June 11 there was "Foote's Sale" for 
 the thirty-fifth time, and on the 14th and 16th there 
 was " Tea " — last times of performance. During 
 next season " The Auction " continued to draw. On 
 January 2 he was announcing a charitable perform- 
 ance for the Lock Hospital. 
 
 On the 14th Foote's "The Auction" was to be "per- 
 formed, positively last time " — a fallacious announce- 
 ment ; for on January 25, " by particular desire, Foote 
 will exhibit some entire new lots, consisting of a 
 poet, a beau, a Frenchman, a miser, a tailor, a sot, 
 two young gentlemen, and a ghost — two of which are 
 originals, the rest copies from the best masters. With 
 
 5 
 
66 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 an oration, and a dance called Prince Eugene's 
 March. Places for the boxes to be taken at the 
 auction room ; the auction to begin at half-past six." 
 From this it is clear that Foote was about to enlarge 
 his system, and extend his ridicules from his own 
 fellows to the outside world. His announcement 
 meant that he would be " general " in the case of all 
 save two. One of these can be identified. There was 
 a quack oculist — Chevalier Taylor, as he called him- 
 self — who was skilful in his art, and wrought cures, 
 but who combined with his science a vast deal of 
 absurdity and quackery. He was introduced and 
 ridiculed. 
 
 Woodward, that brilliant comedian whose portrait 
 by Grisoni, in the Garrick Club, is itself a speaking 
 comedy, resenting Foote's freedoms with his brethren, 
 contrived what he called a Uttle " retaliatory " piece, 
 which he called "Tit for Tat," in which were the 
 lines : 
 
 " Called forth, see poor I appear 
 To try one fall with this famed auctioneer." 
 
 And in the character of Foote, he said : 
 
 " But when I play'd Othello, thousands swore 
 They never saw such tragedy before." 
 
 Foote heard that this skit was to be produced 
 at Garrick's theatre, and actually wrote a sort of 
 insolent, threatening letter to the great manager, 
 warning him at his peril not to allow it. He cared, 
 he said, as httle for the actor's attempts as he did 
 for the manager's " passive wit," but he might 
 mention that he had a plan for a short farce, which 
 would be wormwood to some, entertaining to many, 
 and very beneficial to Samuel Foote. In conclusion. 
 
CH.v] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 67 
 
 he removed himself from the free list, saying, "If 
 the bookkeeper returns this he will be cheating you 
 of five shillings — a sum not very contemptible to you. 
 This insulting stroke shows that Foote had already 
 " taken his hne " as to Garrick — viz., that of hectoring 
 and intimidation. And he knew how well it would 
 answer, for in judging character he was infinitely 
 shrewd. Not to our surprise, we find Garrick writing 
 to him in the mildest, most conciliatory way. How 
 could he be oiFended at the character ? — " that of a 
 smart, pleasant, conceited fellow and a good mimic " ; 
 and there were some amiable vices " which can never 
 be applied to you." This was a compliment in return 
 for the sneer. Thus began their long bickering. 
 WhUe Foote insulted, Garrick ever temporized. 
 The result proved that the last was the wiser 
 policy. 
 
 Foote now offered " some new lots " — a poet, a 
 beau, etc. Woodward on his benefit night returned to 
 the attack, and publicly threatened him with " a dish 
 of his own chocolate with an addition of one mew at 
 his cats." Foot;e wrote in the papers that the Italian 
 cats would not do, so he had disposed of them to 
 Drury Lane. He promised to exhibit a portrait of 
 Harry the Smuggler (so he called Woodward) as he 
 looked at his trial — that is, " when begging pardon as 
 the Prodigal Returned"; the Smuggler Foiled, etc. 
 How incredibly puerile are these squabbles of the 
 mummers, and the supreme vanity of these appeals 
 to the public to decide ! One thinks of Johnson's con- 
 temptuous verdict on the rival claims of two inferior 
 poets — " Sir, there is no settling the precedence 
 between a flea and a louse." Woodward, however, 
 was not to be intimidated, and Garrick did not 
 
 5—2 
 
68 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. v 
 
 interpose. So when he took his benefit on March 18, 
 " by particular desire " — an old-standing dramatic 
 falsehood, but a useful one — Woodward announced 
 that he would present his very good friend the 
 Auctioneer with " Tit for Tat," or one dish of his 
 own chocolate. And when Shuter and Costello took 
 their benefit at Old Drury on May 15, they presented 
 " The Auction " and " A Smuggling Episode called 
 Tit for Tat, or the Smuggler Foiled at his Own 
 Weapons." There was also a portrait of " Harry the 
 Smuggler as he looked at his own trial." Why he 
 was called the Smuggler, or what his trial was about, 
 we cannot guess. Thus early was the young man 
 embroiled with his comrades, and through one of these 
 he had ventured even to challenge Garrick. People 
 were already somewhat in awe of him. 
 
 On January 16, after the last performance of " The 
 Auction," a strange riot took place at Foote's theatre, 
 arising out of the " Bottle Hoax," or exhibition of a 
 conjurer who " undertook to enter from the stage into 
 a quart bottle without equivocation, and there sing a 
 song." An extraordinary excitement was caused by 
 this announcement. It was firmly beheved that the 
 thing would be attempted. However, the conjurer 
 not appearing, a dreadful riot broke out, in which the 
 interior was quite demohshed — furniture, boxes, etc. — 
 the disorder being led by the Duke of Cumberland. 
 An attempt was made to show that Foote had nothing 
 to do with the speculation, on the ground that he had 
 taken possession of the money, in order to return it 
 to such as claimed it, should they have destroyed his 
 house. It looks very much as though it had been one 
 of Foote's choice practical jokes. There was a " fast " 
 Duke also concerned with it. Ten days later a play 
 
CH.V] "DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING" 69 
 
 was given, so the playhouse could not have been- 
 seriously damaged. 
 
 In this new venture, Foote's deportment to his 
 assistants was ingenious enough, and helped the 
 dramatic illusion. He generally put them to act as 
 what they really were — that is, untrained novices 
 whom he instructed in presence of the audience. 
 He knew how to turn their mistakes and bashfulness 
 to account. This prompted many of his humorous 
 speeches and allusions. But he always remained the 
 attraction, the one and only Foote. People " went to 
 see Foote," not his play. And it is to be feared that 
 here is one of the fixed abuses or corruptions of the 
 stage : for even nowadays people " go to see," or used 
 to go to see, not the play, but Irving in the play, 
 Lewis Waller, Martin Harvey, and the rest. 
 
 This system of Foote's was really an invention of 
 his own. The purely monologue entertainment, where 
 a single person bore the whole on his shoulders, was 
 always monotonous and required relief, Still, our 
 modem showmen have always clung to it. But it 
 occurred to Foote that he might supplement his efforts 
 by having a few passive assistants, lay -figures as it 
 were, on whom he might exercise his wit, who would 
 suggest to him remarks and commentaries. There 
 was ingenuity and dramatic interest in this idea, but 
 it required a man of much readiness and cleverness to 
 carry the idea out. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 1749—1752 
 
 FOOTE's first comedy, " THE KNIGHTS " — ELOPEMENT 
 
 TO FRANCE 
 
 As I have said, the surprises oflEered by Foote were 
 to be never-ending. He had not yet found what 
 suited him : tragedian, comedian, mummer, and mimic 
 — he had tried all ; but though the mimicry had 
 " caught on," it was but a limited field, for he had 
 presently exhausted all the grotesque types about 
 him. Yet he had learned to portray types of char- 
 acter. He could analyze, discriminate, and colour 
 all kinds of oddities in the most admirable way. 
 What if he now tried his hand at a regular drama ? 
 And presently this energetic man had written a very 
 spirited and amusing comedy of a farcical sort, 
 showing full knowledge of all stage devices. And 
 though but a first attempt, both Goldsmith and 
 Sheridan did not disdain to draw some inspiration 
 from it. 
 
 This piece was entitled " The Knights," for it dealt 
 with the oddities of two eccentric knights. One of 
 the leading characters. Sir Penurious Trifle, a rather 
 far-fetched name, was played by Foote himself. 
 There is an extraordinary mechanical defect in the 
 treatment of this character, who never appears, but 
 
 70 
 
CH. VI] HIS FIRST COMEDY 71 
 
 is described ; and then Foote, as Hartop, another 
 of the characters, simulates him with all his curious 
 phrases, mannerisms, etc. There is something false 
 and t*?iscenic in this notion, though Foote no doubt 
 very cleverly contrasted the two characters, Hartop 
 and Sir Penurious. The spectator must have been 
 confused, and scarcely able to distinguish between 
 Foote himself, Hartop, and Sir Penurious. And the 
 more perfectly and elaborately the last was given, the 
 more certain one would be that in real Hfe no one 
 could mimic thought and eccentricity of mind so fully. 
 
 Considering that it is a first attempt, it causes 
 surprise at the power and force displayed in the two 
 leading characters, whom he had " picked up " on 
 a journey. Sir Gregory, in particular, has strange 
 oddities of phrase, betokening, not, as in the case of 
 Dickens, superficial eccentricity, but real mental 
 obhquityand confusion.* Witness this little display: 
 
 Says the knight : " Mr. Jenkins, I am your 
 humble servant ; a strange town this, Mr. Jenkins ; 
 no news stirring, no papers taken in ! Is that gentle- 
 man a stranger, Mr. Jenkins ? Pray, sir, not to be 
 too bold, don't you come from London ? Hart. But 
 last night. Sir Greg. Lack-a-day ! that's wonder- 
 
 * Apropos of this second knightj " Sir Gregory Gazette," a person 
 apparently so named because he was fond of reading newspapers, 
 how amazing it seems nowadays that anyone in nature should 
 be called Sir Anthony Absolute, or Mrs. Candour, or Surface, or 
 Snarl ! Who can even conceive of such a monstrosity as a person 
 called MacSarcasm, or Sir Pertinax MacSycophant ! — it bewilders 
 one even to think of it. Yet even Boz in these later days used 
 to devise names of the same character : Lord Frederick Verisopht 
 and Sir Mulberry Hawk. Incredible ! As though giving a burlesque 
 name to a person would help him in the least to produce any sort of 
 effect in the world. 
 
72 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vi 
 
 ful ! Mr. Jenkins, introduce me. Jenk. Mr. 
 
 Hartop, Sir Gregory Gazette, Sir Greg. Sir, I am 
 
 proud to Well, sir, and what news? You 
 
 come from Pray, sir, are you a Parliament- 
 man ? Hart. Not I indeed, sir. Sir Greg. Good 
 lack ! maybe belong to the law ? Hart. Nor that. 
 Sir Greg. Oh, then, in some of the offices — the 
 Treasury or the Exchequer ? Hart. Neither, sir. 
 Sir Greg. Lack-a-day ! that's wonderful ! Well, but, 
 
 Mr. Pray, what name did Mr. Jenkins, Ha 
 
 Ha Hart. Hartop. Sir Greg. Ay, true ! 
 
 what, not of the Hartops of Boston ? Hart. No. 
 Sir Greg. Maybe not. There is, Mr. Hartop, one 
 thing that I envy you Londoners in much — quires of 
 newspapers ! Now, I reckon you read a matter of 
 eight sheets every day ? Hart. Not one. Sir Greg. 
 Wonderful ! then, maybe you are about Court ; and 
 so, being at the fountain-head, know what is in the 
 papers before they are printed. Hart. I never trouble 
 my head about them. — An old fool ! {Aside.\ 
 Sir Greg. Good lord ! Your friend, Mr. Jenkins, is 
 very close. Jenk. Why, Sir Gregory, Mr. Hartop 
 is much in the secrets above ; and it becomes a man 
 so trusted to be wary, you know. Sir Greg. May 
 be so, may be so. Wonderful ! ay, ay, a great man, 
 no doubt. Jenk. But I'll give him a better insight 
 into your character, and that will induce him to 
 throw off his reserve. Sir Greg. May be so ; do, do ; 
 ay, ay ! Jenk. Prithee, Jack, don't be so crusty — 
 indulge the knight's humour a little ; besides, if I 
 guess right, it may be necessary for the conduct of 
 your design to contract a pretty strict intimacy here. 
 [Aside.] Hart. Well, do as you wiU. 
 
 Next let us turn to the other knight, Foote's 
 
CH. VI] HIS FIRST COMEDY 73 
 
 character, one of the most extraordinary displays of 
 eccentricity that can be conceived. His ideas travel so 
 fast, and grow so jumbled, that he has to leave them all 
 inchoate and undeveloped ; 
 
 "Hart. Where did I leave off, hey, you Dick? 
 Tim. About coffee and tea. Hart. Right, you, 
 right ! true, true ! so, God, you knight, I used to 
 breakfast at this coffee-house every morning ; it 
 cost me eightpence, though, and I had always a 
 
 breakfast at home no matter for that, though 
 
 there I breakfasted, you Dick, God, at the same 
 table with Lord Tom Truewit : — you have heard of 
 Truewit, you knight ; a droll dog ! you Dick, he told 
 us the story and made us die with laughing : — you 
 have heard of Charles the Second, you knight ; he 
 was son of Charles the First, King here in England, 
 that was beheaded by Oliver Cromwell : so what 
 does Charles the Second, you knight, do ; but he 
 fights NoU at Worcester ; a town you have heard of, 
 not far off; but all would not do, you ; God, Noll 
 made him scamper, made him run, take to his heels, 
 you knight ; — Truewit told us the story, made us die 
 with laughing ; I always breakfasted at the coffee- 
 house ; it cost me eightpence, though I had a break- 
 fast at home so what does Charles do, but hid 
 
 himself in an oak, an oak-tree, you, in a wood called 
 Boscobel, from two Itahan words, bosco hello, a fine 
 wood, you, and off he marches : but old NoU would 
 not let him come home ; no, says he, you don't come 
 here ! — Lord Tom told us the story ; made us die 
 with laughing ; it cost me eightpence, though I had 
 
 a breakfast at home so, you knight, when Noll 
 
 died. Monk there, you, afterwards Albemarle, in the 
 North, brought him back ; so, you, the Cavaliers ; 
 
74 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vi 
 
 you have heard of them ? they were friends to the 
 Stuarts ; what did they do, God, you Dick, but they 
 put up Charles in a sign, the royal oak ; you have 
 seen such signs at country alehouses. ... It made 
 us all die with laughing I Lord Tom told the story ; 
 I always breakfasted at the cofFee-house, though it 
 cost me eightpence, and I had a breakfast at home 
 hey, you knight ! what, Dick, hey !" 
 
 AH this is really wonderful, from its tumultuousness, 
 as I may call it, and confusion. How original the 
 interjections ! The use of " you," etc., is as amazing 
 as origiaal. 
 
 With a lack of dramatic propriety, or craze for 
 mere buffooning, Foote spoiled his work by adding 
 an unmeaning parody of an Itahan opera, giving what 
 he announced as a " Cat's Opera."* This, however, 
 was omitted after a few performances. 
 
 As was to be expected, this erratic being was now 
 preparing one of his "surprises." Here he was with 
 a managerial burden on his back, a regular theatre, 
 a clever corps of actors engaged, and a fairly success- 
 ful piece, when of a sudden it was learned that he had 
 disappeared — had fled to France, and was not likely 
 to return ! It has not been said that he wished to 
 escape from creditors ; it may have been that he had 
 just now inherited one of the fortunes that came 
 
 * " On the last rehearsal Harris was missing ; and as nobody knew 
 where he lived, Shuter was prevailed upon to find him out, if 
 possible. He inquired in vain for some time ; at last he was 
 informed that he lived in a certain court in the Minories, but at 
 what house he could not exactly learn. This information was 
 enough for a man of congenial talents like Shuter ; for the moment 
 he entered the court he set up a cat-solo, which instantly roused 
 his brother musician in his garret, who answered him in the same 
 tune." — Cooke. 
 
CH. VI] FLIGHT TO FRANCE 75 
 
 to him, and that, tired of work, he wished to enjoy 
 it — that is, spend it. There was much talk and 
 speculation, but the matter was soon forgotten, 
 
 A couple of years and more went by, but his 
 shifting career was still of sufficient iaterest to attract 
 public curiosity. One strange report was accepted 
 for a time : that " he had been hanged " in France for 
 some offence — a strange, odd shape for it to assume, 
 considering the family history. But all such stories 
 were set to rest by his sudden appearance in town. 
 
 The wonder was that his absence seemed to have 
 made no difference in his position. Most persons 
 when they faU out of a profession find it difficult, 
 if not impossible, to recover their old place ; but 
 here was Foote in far better case, having even im- 
 proved his condition, installed at Old Drury, the 
 manager subservient, and a new comedy called 
 " Taste " accepted ! What was his power over the 
 great actor? How did he so suddenly attain the 
 supremacy over him which was never shaken ? 
 
 Foote might weU protest in his preface that he 
 would ever "retain the most grateful remembrance 
 of his assistance, assiduity, and kind concern at the 
 broken progress and untimely end of this my last 
 and favourite offspring." The piece did come to an 
 untimely end, and, meeting with opposition for some 
 nights, was withdrawn. 
 
 It must have been a little humiliating for the great 
 David to come forward dressed as an auctioneer, 
 announcing himself thus : 
 
 " Before this court I, Peter Puff,* appear, 
 A Briton born, and bred an auctioneer." 
 
 * It is not clear why Puff should be described as an auctioneer, 
 as he seems to have been no more than a picture-dealer, or " faker," 
 
76 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vi 
 
 There was a good deal of wit, however, in some of 
 his strophes. Thus, alluding to the craze for buying 
 " curios " : 
 
 " Oh ! think on us what various ills will flow 
 When great ones only purchase what they know." 
 
 " I here declare on oath, 
 I never yet sold goods of foreign growth. 
 Ne'er sent commissions out to Greece or Rome ; 
 My best antiquities are made at home. 
 I've Romans, Greeks, Italians, near at hand. 
 Three Britons all, and living in the Strand." 
 
 This, however, was merely the text for Foote's 
 piece. 
 
 The comedy was no more than a bald framework 
 which he covered over almost entirely with mimicries 
 and personalities. The Chevalier Taylor, as he was 
 called (or as he chose to caU himself), was again a 
 conspicuous figure, and offered a subject for ridicule. 
 He was known as the " Itinerant Ocuhst," for, though 
 he had much skiU in eye cases, he affected the ways 
 of a charlatan, going about the country making 
 speeches, etc. One of his patients was Gibbon. Odd 
 to say, he himself was to die blind. Johnson said of 
 him that " he was an instance of how far impudence 
 will carry ignorance." One Langford was said to be 
 the original of " The Auctioneer." 
 
 In a fit of generosity he claimed to have written 
 the piece to benefit James Worsdale — a sort of half- 
 artist, half-actor, and in social life a licensed droU. 
 
 who attended sales. " Auctioneer " may have been used in this 
 sense — that he was a go-between and agent for the amateurs. A 
 fine mezzotint by MacArdell was published of " Mr. Garrick " in the 
 character of an auctioneer, so the impersonation must have obtained 
 some popularity. 
 
CH. VI] FLIGHT TO FRANCE 77 
 
 This Worsdale must have been a quaint rascal, 
 for, having been colour-grinder to Sir G. Kneller, he 
 set up a claim to be his natural son — an original 
 stroke ! He was also supposed to take the credit of 
 theatrical pieces written to his order. His family 
 was not much, but he was an amusing comrade — 
 no doubt this was his claim to Foote's patronage. 
 Worsdale acted Lady Pentweazle, which later became 
 a highly popular and effective character. 
 
 But the piece was a failure. Foote was deeply 
 mortified, as is evident from his sneers at the ig- 
 norance of his audience. "Juno Lucina, Jupiter 
 Tonans, with other gentlemen and ladies of antiquity, 
 were, I dare to say, utterly unknown to my 
 friends of the gaUery ; nor do I beheve they had 
 many acquaintances in the other parts of the 
 house." 
 
 The name of this piece was " Taste," and it was 
 intended to ridicule the craze for buying antiques. 
 Puff, the fashionable auctioneer, is a truly amusing 
 character, and, had he been in " Sherry's " hands, 
 would hkely enough have uttered many of his sayings. 
 His foreign jargon is very original. Thus : " I was 
 come to bid for paints for de Elector. Oh, dare are 
 good pieces ; but dare is one I like mightily : the off 
 sky and home track is fine, and the maister is in it." 
 "What is the subject?" " Dat I know not. Vat 
 I minds, vat you call the draws and the colours." 
 Noticing a " lillee swelf" (Uttle swelling) on Juno's 
 half-foot, Puff pronounces that it " looks hke bad pro- 
 portion." Still, " Dat is fine ; the maister is in it." 
 
 There are many pleasant touches, such as : " Squire 
 FeUtree has been, and insists on Miss Rachel's picture 
 being immediately finished and carried home ; as to 
 
78 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vi 
 
 his wife and children, he says you may take your own 
 time." 
 
 PufF asks : " Are the antique seals come home ?" 
 " No, but they will be finished next week." He also 
 asks : " Where is de Hercules' Calf ? Upon my word, 
 'tis a very large calf — big, big, big all de way up, all 
 de way down. Lord, I beheve this Hercules was an 
 Irishman !" 
 
 " Here, gentlemen, here's a curiosity — a medal, 
 the only one in the visible world ; there may be some 
 
 underground." Lord takes it up. " Fine indeed ! 
 
 Will you permit me to taste it ? It has the relish." 
 
 Granted the topic of a fashionable taste for mutUated 
 antiques, nothing could be more pleasantly or even 
 wittily played with. As I said, we have an antici- 
 patory echo of Sheridan. Play or action there was 
 none. The dealers and their confederates talk over 
 their plans, the victims arrive and talk, and finally 
 the trick is exposed. The cast was wonderfully 
 strong — Palmer, Yates, Cross, Blake, Shuter, TasweU, 
 Worsdale, and CosteUo — all suppUed from his stock 
 company. But it did not go down. Perhaps it was 
 too good, though " the maister is in it." 
 
 Foote could not disguise his vexation at the failure 
 of his play. He puts it, as we have seen, on the 
 ignorance of " my very good friends of the gallery." 
 The Latin allusions must have been unknown. 
 
 That Foote was witty as well as humorous, that he 
 could delineate strokes of character with the best, 
 there can be no doubt. The personages he introduces 
 never flag ; if he suppUes a witty person, he is always 
 witty when the occasion calls, though everything that 
 he utters be not witty. We feel that they could say 
 it, though they do not. Our moderns know nothing 
 
CH. VI] FLIGHT TO FRANCE 79 
 
 of this reserve. We have in our time soi-disant 
 " witty dialogue," as it is called — a number of smart 
 things artificially strung together ; but we have no 
 writer who can conceive a reaUy humorous character, 
 independent of written talk. The significant note of 
 the incident was the incipient influence of Foote upon 
 Garrick. 
 
 This domination of a pushful young man over 
 another of estabUshed reputation is so strange a 
 phenomenon, and opens so much concerning the 
 relations of the pair, that it is worth considering in 
 detail. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 rOOTE, GARRICK, AND JOHNSON 
 
 Long and rarely interrupted was to be Foote's con- 
 nection with this " abridgment of all that was pleasant 
 in man," the brilliant and ever-engaging Garrick. 
 Who could dishke such a being, or annoy him, or hbel 
 or ridicule him ? No one, indeed, save those whom he 
 had laid under serious obligation. The elder Dumas 
 once astonished a party by announcing that he had 
 written to a friend to lend him a sum of money, 
 " and, would you beheve it," he said, " this man, to 
 whom I have never refused anything, and on whom 
 I have conferred innumerable benefits, has actually 
 sent the money!" There was a deep philosophy in 
 this. Garrick never relaxed his kindness to Foote ; 
 his money, his theatre, his service, were always ready. 
 But Foote was an everlasting thorn in his side. This 
 seems unaccountable. Gibes, sneers, abuse, threats 
 of exhibition on the stage, quarrels — such was the 
 return; but nothing could ruffle or interrupt the 
 prudent Garrick's kindnesses. I say the " prudent," 
 for the manager felt deeply aU these attacks ; but he 
 was really in terror of his " friend," and hoped against 
 hope to conciliate him. The astute Foote also knew 
 this fact well, and never abated his animosity. This 
 
 80 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 81 
 
 offers a curious spectacle of human character ; for one 
 would imagine that it would have been to his interest 
 to conciliate Garrick, who was so profitable a friend. 
 What, then, could have been his motive ? I suppose 
 that a constitutional disUke, and, it must be said, a 
 jealousy of the other's superior success, must have 
 triumphed over his own interest. It was intolerable 
 to him that a being so much his inferior, as he con- 
 ceived him to be, should enjoy such advantage and Uve 
 in the " lap of luxury "; whUe he, a poor struggUng 
 feUow, of infinitely greater talent, wit, and general 
 ability, was compelled to use all sorts of shifts to 
 " keep his head above water " and his place in social 
 life. Garrick's assured superiority was not to be 
 shaken; but Foote could at least disturb his course, and 
 in their private relations could assert his superiority by 
 making his friend tremble before him. And he could 
 also bring him down to his own level by gibes and 
 aspersions. He was "the meanest hound " and "the 
 stingiest of men." All which seems rather ignoble. 
 Still, it may be considered that by his own follies 
 and recklessness he was in miserable straits ; that his 
 " trade " was the maligning of everyone, friend or 
 enemy ; that his mind was soured and jaundiced ; 
 and that, in short, il faut vivre. And this was his 
 way of earning his living. It is altogether an extra- 
 ordinary phenomenon : the undisturbed relations of 
 the two men — intimate friends, yet enemies ; with 
 kindness on one side, abuse on the other ; with bene- 
 factions repaid by sneers and calumnies. 
 
 It will be noted that all our great and leading 
 performers have been personages of mark off the 
 stage as well as upon it. Garrick, Foote, Kemble, 
 Mrs. Siddons, Kean, Macready, Irving — all these were 
 
 6 
 
82 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 playing to double audiences : to one before the stage, 
 to another outside the theatre. It will be said that 
 the outside audience is due to the one within, but this 
 is disproved by the exceptions; for in the case of 
 retiring natures the public does not trouble itself 
 much. In Foote's case, it is hard to fix on the line 
 that divided his stage from his common life. He, in 
 truth, was appearing on many stages — as a satirist, as 
 a joker ; now as a manager, now as an actor, now as 
 a writer ; but everywhere talked of, applauded, or 
 quarrelled with. What Mr. Foote thought, said, or 
 did, was all-important. We can gather the value 
 of this importance from the extraordinary impression 
 left by him on Dr. Johnson. It is difficult not to 
 enroll Foote in the list of recognized actors ; it might 
 almost be said that he worked his way to the front 
 rank. This is proved by his steady appearance 
 during a long course of years at the leading theatres 
 as a legitimate performer. 
 
 Both were quite young men, and nearly of the 
 same age ; but Garrick was older in his experience, 
 in his wonderful prudence and restraint — never, in 
 famiUar phrase, "giving himself away." This the 
 other was always doing ; though by a sort of jugglery 
 he contrived to get back what he had given. 
 
 The praises of Garrick have been sung by many 
 admirers and biographers. His was a fine, high- 
 souled temper ; he was above meanness, was generous, 
 forgiving of injuries. But there were some strange 
 elements in his character — a curious dread of oppo- 
 nents, a lack of courage in confronting them, a 
 nervousness, together with a sort of jealousy that 
 disturbed his repose. It seems difficult to conceive 
 of this amiable man being so intimidated by Foote 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 83 
 
 as to allow respectable players of his own and other 
 theatres to be mimicked and ridiculed on his stage. 
 And by-and-by, when an opening came, we find 
 him, with smiling reluctance and enjoyment, consent- 
 ing that Foote himself, who had caused him such 
 worry, should in his turn be mimicked and ridiculed. 
 How demoralizing, therefore, was this system, which 
 cankered, as it were, all the honourable traditions of 
 the stage ! 
 
 The relations of this remarkable pair, both men 
 of exceeding wit and talent, are so interesting and 
 piquant that the spectacle becomes a sort of stage 
 entertainment, which we follow with amusement. It 
 really makes a portion of Foote's life. The society 
 round them watched their contests with daily enjoy- 
 ment. Both were men of the world, but with 
 different systems — ^Garrick always cautious and 
 reserved, never " giving away " his interest or " burn- 
 ing his boats "; Foote thinking only of a momentary 
 victory, sparing no one, not even that all-important 
 person, Foote himself; and recklessly sacrificing his 
 interests on the shghtest suggestion of advantage. 
 Then would come alternations of good humour and 
 the most intimate friendship, to be succeeded by 
 threatenings and menaces ; by money borrowed and 
 returned in a new fit of ill-humour. They were cer- 
 tainly two extraordinary men, but the success on the 
 whole was with Garrick, who was ever amiable, good- 
 tempered, and forgiving. At the close he had the 
 general advantage ; was stiU popular and admired, 
 while the hapless Foote sank to the bottom, for ever 
 ruined in character and fortune. 
 
 Was this treatment of Garrick by Foote — con- 
 sistent, so to speak, in its inconsistency — mere 
 
 6—? 
 
84 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 waywardness and capriciousness ? or was it deliberate ? 
 In common life we often meet persons of this tempera- 
 ment, who are subject to fickle " humours " — who are 
 now pleasant and friendly, and now of a sudden 
 turn "nasty" and hostile without reason. Such 
 people are really unstable, "infirm of purpose," 
 because they lack self-control. But I am afraid it 
 looks as though this behaviour of Foote's was a 
 deliberate and settled policy. He had taken the 
 measure of the actor's timorousness, and saw that he 
 could work on it to his interest ; and this by show- 
 ing no such weakness as gratitude or kindness, but 
 by keeping him " under his thumb," as it were. The 
 result proved his sagacity, and for a long series of 
 years he terrorized him to his own profit and interest. 
 
 No one knew so well as Garrick the inestimable, 
 precious value of the astute Talleyrand's maxim : 
 " Pour jouir de la vie il faut glisser sur beaucoup " — 
 that is, you are to ignore trifling irritations and dis- 
 putes ; raise no questions of inferior importance, but 
 put them aside. In every transaction with Foote we 
 can see this principle applied ; even when Foote was 
 coarsely insulting, Garrick smilingly affected to think 
 it a mere good joke. He was not to be provoked. 
 Anyone with the firmness and restraint necessary to 
 carry out this policy will find his way through the 
 world smooth, and will subject many things and 
 persons to himself. 
 
 The relations between the pair, as I have said, 
 make up quite a serious portion of Foote's life ; it 
 even shaped his whole character. 
 
 It will be interesting to hear the pleasant, candid, 
 plain - speaking Tom Davies, Bozzy's introducer 
 to Johnson — that pleasantest of all known introduc- 
 
CH. viij FOOTE AND GARRICK 85 
 
 tions — on this vendetta. His life of the great actor is 
 a very agreeable one, written in a clear, Hmpid style, 
 and full of information. 
 
 " It is almost impossible," he says, " to date the 
 origin of Foote's settled malevolence to Mr. Garrick ; 
 however, we may venture to say that it did not break 
 out with any degree of violence till after the Duke 
 of York had obtained a patent for him of the Hay- 
 market Theatre. They were then rival managers. . . . 
 Whatever were Mr. Garrick's real thoughts of Foote, 
 he continually spoke of him as a man of very great 
 abihties, and the most entertaining companion he 
 ever knew. He, notwithstanding, could have no 
 affection for one whom, in his heart, he feared ; all 
 the praises which he bestowed on Foote were, for 
 that reason, suspicious ; they were indeed thrown 
 away upon him, for he constantly railed at Mr. 
 Garrick in all companies. His abilities as an actor, 
 he questioned, in contradiction to all the world; his 
 compositions as a writer, he treated with scorn ; 
 virtues, as a member of society, he had none ; he was 
 covetous and tricking; in short, according to his 
 opinion, he was everything that was mean and un- 
 worthy of a gentleman. Neither his family, his friends, 
 nor acquaintance, were spared by this strange wit, who 
 ran a-tilt at everybody, and was at the same time 
 caressed, feared, admired, and hated by all.* 
 
 "In the meantime these rival wits would often 
 meet at the houses of persons of fashion, who were 
 glad to have two such guests at their table, though 
 
 * I have put these lines in italics because they seem to me one 
 of the most singular and unique drawings of a character that we 
 can conceive of. It is something almost terrible to think of, and 
 yet is as true as it is admirably delineated. 
 
86 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 they certainly should have entertained their friends 
 separately ; for Mr. Garrick was a muta persona in 
 the presence of Foote — he was all admiration when 
 this genius entertained the company, and no man 
 laughed more heartUy at his lively sallies than he did. 
 It must be owned that he tried aU methods to con- 
 ciliate Foote's mind ; so far, at least, as to prevail 
 upon him to forbear his illiberal attacks upon him 
 when absent. The more sensibUity Mr. Garrick dis- 
 covered, the greater price the other put upon his 
 ceasing from hostihties. Lord Mansfield was not 
 unwiUing to silence such a battery of ridicule as 
 Foote could raise against him, or any man, the 
 greatest and the wisest in the kiagdom, and often 
 invited him to his table." 
 
 Foote's termagant temper was constantly goaded 
 almost to fiiry by this jealousy of his friend, inflamed 
 by the spectacle of his constant success and his 
 ever cahn restraint. At times, moUified and repentant, 
 he made such amends as he could ; but presently 
 there would come a fresh outburst. Here is a 
 typical scene. Garrick has just come in, fresh from 
 one of his noble titled friends, and eager to let drop 
 particulars so as to impress. Now might Foote 
 say to himself : " I will take him down a peg !" 
 And he begins to tell of a new performer whom he 
 had heard that day, and who would echpse them all ! 
 No one came near him. Garrick all the time is on 
 thorns ; anything of a new actor worried him visibly. 
 He gave himself away. Foote, after thus torturing 
 him — " twisting the hook in his gizzard," as he put 
 it — bursts into a loud laugh, and tells him that he 
 was only speakmg of Mr. Pitt, one of whose great 
 orations he had just heard. Garrick he thus played 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 87 
 
 upon again and again. But what will be said of the 
 actor's weakness in accepting such treatment ? 
 
 Foote was never tired, it must be said, of thus 
 torturing him. When a hat went round for contri- 
 butions, and the collection was very successful : " If 
 Garrick hears of this, he will certainly send us his 
 hat !" If he were looking fruitlessly for a guinea 
 which he had dropped : " Where on earth can it have 
 gone to?" "To the devil, I think," said Garrick. 
 " Let you alone for making a guinea go farther than 
 anyone else," was the reply. When the actor was 
 dining with him, and Mr. Garrick's servants were 
 announced, Foote would say, sotto voce : " See that 
 the plate is locked up." This was a joke, but 
 certainly a gross, unmarmerly one. 
 
 " Garrick lately invited Hurd," said Foote to a 
 friend of Rogers, " to dine with him in the Adelphi, 
 and after dinner they walked up and down. As they 
 passed and repassed the dining-room windows, Garrick 
 was in a perfect agony, for he saw a thief in one of the 
 candles ; and yet Bishop Hurd was of too much con- 
 sequence to be left, to save his tallow. " How character- 
 istic of Foote to furnish this tale, or rather his 
 interpretation of it ! It is impossible that it could 
 have happened. The proprietor of a house where 
 a candle is left to itself in this state may feel a httle 
 nervous. But as for " saving his tallow," that was all 
 Foote's invention. 
 
 It was the redoubtable Doctor who repeated one 
 truly clever speech of his. " There is a witty, satirical 
 story of Foote," said Johnson. " He had a small 
 bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau. ' You will 
 be surprised,' he said, ' that I allow him to be so near 
 my gold, but you wiU observe he has no hands.' " 
 
88 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 Witty and satirical indeed 1 Mr. Forster sees in it " a 
 tribute of affection and a friendly goodwill," for he 
 urges that, if Foote disliked Garrick, he would not 
 have allowed his bust to be so near him. But this is 
 being a little too "literal." 
 
 Once Foote was giving a dinner at which were 
 young Mr. Lyttelton, a fashionable scapegrace, and 
 two other gentlemen. Garrick used to teU the story, 
 beginning always, "For you must know that Foote 
 hates me," said he. The young man began describing 
 the actor as " so mean " to one of the gentlemen, 
 who defended Garrick in spirited fashion. The 
 other then said that it was his father's opinion also. 
 The discussion became warm, but the host said not a 
 word. Garrick was deeply wounded. It was easy to 
 carry off this treatment Ughtly, as being Foote's 
 way, and the way he treated everybody. But it 
 harassed the victim and became a sort of perse- 
 cution. The amiable Mrs. Garrick, sitting for her 
 portrait to Reynolds, complained to him that this 
 ceaseless, unaccovmtable hatred was embittering their 
 lives. Reynolds, who had always a low opinion of 
 Foote, comforted her, and said that he behaved so 
 because he felt his inferiority, and tried in this way to 
 put himself on a level. Davies teUs us that Garrick 
 in society shrank from competition with Foote, and 
 remained silent. "The reason was," said Reynolds, 
 " that he disdained to compete with one whose style 
 of talk and wit was vulgar merriment, indecency, and 
 impiety. 
 
 The forbearance and regard shown to Foote by 
 Garrick was indeed almost a letter of recom- 
 mendation. But there was one other greater than 
 Garrick, whose appreciation may be considered a 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 89 
 
 patent of nobility. This was Dr. Johnson, that 
 other " Sam," whose cordial admiration for Foote's 
 great gifts seemed to be unbounded. Whenever 
 Foote was discussed before him, he was prompted to a 
 sort of outburst of praise, accompanied by a fine 
 criticism of his versatility and spontaneous power — a 
 criticism expressed in the happiest phrase. The 
 subject had an extraordinary attraction for him, yet, at 
 the same time, for Foote's character he had nothing 
 but reprobation. 
 
 I confess there is something piquant in this 
 appreciation, extorted as it were from this great man. 
 BosweU has furnished many briUiant portraits and 
 sketches of notable men, but it may be doubted if 
 there be one drawn with more power and pains both 
 by Johnson and by his follower than the series of 
 Foote sketches. They stand out and linger in the 
 memory. In these relations to the sage we have 
 Foote's whole course and character drawn in a few 
 rapid strokes. 
 
 Thus, at the " Mitre," Boswell found fault with his 
 practice of turning his visitors and guests into 
 ridicule. " It was making fools of his company," he 
 said. The sagacious Doctor, always a man of the 
 world, replied : " Why, sir, when you go to see Foote, 
 you do not go to see a saint ; you go to see a man 
 who will be entertained at your house, and then bring 
 you on a pubHc stage. Sir, he does not make fools of 
 his company ; they whom he exposes are fools already : 
 he only brings them into action." How true and 
 sensible was this, and how fair to the actor ! 
 
 And how often did they come back to this topic, 
 as though it had an absorbing interest for both ! 
 " Foote," said Boswell, " has a great deal of humour." 
 
90 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 Johnson agreed. " He has a singular talent of 
 exhibiting character." "Sir," said Johnson, "it is 
 not a talent — it is a vice ; it is what others abstain 
 from. It is not comedy, which exhibits the character 
 of a species, as that of a miser gathered from many 
 misers ; it is farce, which exhibits individuals." How 
 acute is this criticism, which goes to the very root of 
 dramatic action — mere imitation, as the Doctor put 
 it, being a vice, not a talent. 
 
 When Johnson heard of Foote's disastrous ride, 
 BosweU reminded him that this accident would help 
 Foote to mimic George Faulkner more closely ; on 
 which the Doctor was prompted to invent a new and 
 grotesque word. " George," he said, " will rejoice at 
 the depeditation of Foote." Thus was the actor ever 
 stimulating the wits of the pleasant pair. 
 
 Foote must always have dreaded Johnson's sayings 
 at his expense, they were so vigorously teUing and so 
 well seasoned by the Doctor's wit. How racy, for 
 instance, was the comment when he was told that Foote 
 " had been kicked in Dublin !" We can speculate 
 what an ordinary man would say : " Serve him right 
 — a good lesson," etc. But Johnson was ever original. 
 He paid him a seeming compliment : "I am glad of 
 it. He is rising in the world. When he was in 
 England, no one thought it worth while to Mck him." 
 The best part of this jest was its truth, and the 
 contempt must have hurt more than the kicking. We 
 may indeed wonder how Foote always contrived to 
 escape without chastisement. No doubt the saying 
 was repeated to the wit, and rankled. 
 
 During their travels they were constantly talking 
 of Foote. Indignant with a Highland host who had 
 "entertained them meanly," Boswell suggested that 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 91 
 
 he would do for one of Foote's farces, and that " the 
 best way to get it done would be to bring Foote to be 
 entertained at his house." The old Doctor agreed. 
 " Sir, I wish he had him. I who have eaten his bread 
 will not give him to him ; but I should be glad if he 
 came honestly by him." 
 
 When the Doctor was depreciating the artificial 
 methods of actors, his friend urged that in a room you 
 would respect Betterton far more than Foote. John- 
 son betrayed his admiration. " Why, sir," was the 
 retort, " if Betterton were to walk into this room with 
 Foote, Foote would soon drive him out of it. Foote, 
 sir, quatenios Foote, has powers superior to them all." 
 
 This is reaUy excellent. Nothing can be better than 
 his account of the wit when he was exhibiting him- 
 self : " Foote being mentioned, Johnson said : ' He is 
 not a good mimic' One of the company added : ' A 
 merry-andrew, a buffoon.' Johnson. But he has wit, 
 too, and is not deficient in ideas or in fertility and 
 variety of imagery, and not empty of reading ; he has 
 knowledge enough to fill up his part. . . . Then, he 
 has a great range for wit ; he never lets truth stand 
 between him and a jest, and he is sometimes mighty 
 coarse. Garrick is under many restraints from which 
 Foote is free. Wilkes. Garrick's wit is more like 
 Lord Chesterfield's. Johnson. The first time I was 
 in company with Foote was at Fitzherbert's. Having 
 no good opinion of the fellow, I was resolved not to 
 be pleased — and it is very difficult to please a man 
 against his will. I went on eating my dinner pretty 
 sullenly, affecting not to mind him. But the dog was 
 so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down my 
 knife and fork, throw myself back upon my chair, and 
 fairly laugh it out. No, sir, he was irresistible. He 
 
92 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 upon one occasion experienced, in an extraordinary- 
 degree, the efficacy of his powers of entertaining. 
 Amongst the many and various modes which he tried 
 of getting money, he became a partner with a small- 
 beer brewer, and he was to have a share of the 
 profits for procuring customers amongst his numerous 
 acquaintance. Fitzherbert was one who took his 
 small-beer ; but it was so bad that the servants 
 resolved not to drink it. They were at some loss 
 how to notify their resolution, being afraid of offend- 
 ing their master, who they knew liked Foote much as 
 a companion. At last they fixed upon a Uttle black 
 boy, who was rather a favourite, to be their deputy 
 and deliver their remonstrance ; and having invested 
 him with the whole authority of the kitchen, he was 
 to inform Mr. Fitzherbert, in all their names, upon a 
 certain day, that they would drink Foote's small-beer 
 no longer. On that day Foote happened to dine at 
 Fitzherbert's, and this boy served at table ; he was 
 so delighted with Foote's stories, and merriment, and 
 grimace, that when he went downstairs he said: 'This 
 is the finest man I have ever seen. I will not deliver 
 your message. I will drink his small-beer.' " 
 
 Foote took pride in repeating to his fi"iends a 
 testimonial of Johnson's appreciation : " For loud, 
 obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, I know not his 
 equal." Admirably chosen words these, and Foote 
 might well be proud. Who can forget one epigram- 
 matic passage, one of the finest things Johnson ever 
 said? In the Hebridean tour he compared Foote and 
 Garrick, alluding to their habits of mimicry. " Garrick 
 is restrained by some principle, but Foote has the 
 advantage of an unUmited range. Garrick has some 
 delicacy of feeling ; it is possible to put him out ; 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 93 
 
 you may get the better of him. But Foote is the 
 most incompressible fellow I ever knew ; when you 
 have driven him into a corner, and think you are sure 
 of him, he runs between your legs or jumps over your 
 head, and makes his escape." An admirable, vivid, 
 dramatic passage, discriminating, and one which never 
 leaves the memory. Yet another occasion furnished 
 the same phrase in a varied form : " One species of 
 withe has in an eminent degree — that of escape. You 
 drive him into a corner with both hands ; but he is 
 gone, sir, when you think you have got him, like an 
 animal that jumps over your head." It is hard to say 
 which of the two forms is to be preferred, both are so 
 picturesque and witty, and the distinctions made are 
 so acute. And again, on another occasion, he said 
 that, " though he made you laugh, he had the air of 
 a buffoon paid for entertaining the company." He 
 indeed well deserved his hire. " By his fashion of 
 telling a story he subdued avarice and roused 
 stupidity." There is a subtlety in this which might 
 not be understood at first. To unloose purse-strings 
 and win over the miser by tickling his midriff — here 
 was evidence of high powers and charm. Rousing 
 stupidity was even more difficult ; but that he did in 
 the case of the black boy, who would, he swore, drink 
 his small-beer. 
 
 Still, the Doctor, as I have said, though appreciating 
 Foote's talent, had but a mean opinion of his moral 
 character. When Foote told him anything, he said 
 he always dismissed it as a shadow. When he was 
 reminded that Foote's aim was only to supply images 
 and pictures, Johnson said roughly "that he was 
 quite impartial, for he tells lies of everybody." He 
 told Mr. Cradock that " when you are in Foote's 
 
94 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 company you have no right to look for truth." How 
 epigrammatic the form, " no right to look for " ! 
 
 The allusion in Johnson's anecdote to Foote's having 
 at one time taken to the calling of brewing beer— and 
 of bad beer, too — suggests the odd shifts to which the 
 actor was reduced in search of a living.* It is plain 
 from the story that Foote's friends had to order this 
 inferior article from the histrionic brewer, who 
 laughed, and sent them so bad an article that the 
 servants revolted. As a matter of course, the experi- 
 ment was but short-Hved, and the actor tried his 
 friends' good nature with something else. 
 
 The pleasant " Bozzy," who sympathized with any- 
 thing that was really humorous, gives a pleasant 
 sketch of Johnson, Sheridan, and Foote, all in a 
 group. Here is the way he puts it : " He laughed 
 heartily when I mentioned to him a saying of his 
 concerning Mr. Thomas Sheridan, which Foote took 
 a wicked pleasure to circulate : ' Why, sir. Sherry is 
 dull — naturally dull; but it must have taken him a 
 great deal of pains to become what we now see him. 
 Such an excess of stupidity is not in nature. So,' said 
 he, ' I allowed him all his own merit. ' " One cannot help 
 liking the sketch of Foote going about and retailing 
 this truly comical speech, " taking a wicked pleasure " 
 — a happy phrase of " Bozzy's " — in doing so. We hke 
 
 * At the last moment I have come upon a passage in the New New- 
 gate Calendar which helps to explain matters. Charles Price, better 
 known as " Old Patch," a notorious swindler, issued an advertise- 
 ment, inviting persons to contribute £500 to a scheme that was 
 certain to "secure a large fortune within a very 'short time." Foote 
 caught at the bait, which proved to be a brewery, but which failed, 
 as was described by Johnson. The schemer proposed to him to join 
 in a bakery, to which the humorist is said to have replied, "No, as you 
 have brewed, so you may bake ; but I am cursed if ever you bake as 
 you have brewed." 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 95 
 
 Johnson " laughing heartily " at his own wit, and we 
 like " Bozzy's " pleasant appreciation of the whole. 
 
 Foote's good taste as a critic is shown by a little 
 incident in Murphy's early life, when he was con- 
 ducting the Gray's Inn Journal. He was in the 
 country with Foote, and said he must go to town to 
 arrange the next number of his paper. His friend 
 said : " Why go ? Here is a French magazine with 
 a very pretty Uttle Oriental tale ; translate it and 
 send it up." Murphy did so ; but the story proved 
 to be one translated from the Rambler. This led to 
 Murphy's acquaintance with Johnson. 
 
 The Doctor had but a poor opinion of his 
 mimicry, and, indeed, of mimicry in general. " ' It is 
 amazing,' said Boswell, ' how a mimic can not only 
 give you the gestures and voice of a person whom he 
 represents, but even what a person would say on any 
 particular subject.' Johnson. Why, sir, you are to 
 consider that the manner and some particular phrases 
 of a person do much to impress you with an idea of 
 him, and you are not sure that he would say what 
 the mimic says in his character. Boswell. I don't 
 think Foote a good mimic, sir. Johnson. No, sir ; 
 his imitations are not hke. He gives you something 
 different from himself, but not the character which 
 he means to assume. He goes out of himself, without 
 going into other people. He cannot take off any 
 person unless he is strongly marked, such as George 
 Faulkner. He is hke a painter who can draw the 
 portrait of a man who has a wen upon his face, and 
 who therefore is easily known. If a man hops upon 
 one leg, Foote can hop upon one leg. But he has 
 not that nice discrimination which your friend seems 
 to possess. Foote is, however, very entertaining with 
 
96 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 a kind of conversation between wit and buffoonery." 
 This is all accurately and acutely distinguished. 
 And yet the two men aU but came to blows I Foote 
 longed to ridicule his admirer, while Johnson calmly 
 checked him by a firm and decided menace. This 
 situation, however, did not alter their relations ; and, 
 on the news of Foote's death, the Doctor declared 
 that " he was a fine fellow." 
 
 Boswell tells the story in his usual happy fashion : 
 " Foote, who so successfully revived the old comedy 
 by exhibiting living characters, had resolved to 
 imitate Johnson on the stage, expecting great 
 profits from his ridicule of so celebrated a man. 
 Johnson being informed of his intention, and being 
 at dinner at Mr. Thomas Davies's the bookseller, 
 from whom I had the story, he asked Mr. Davies 
 'what was the common price of an oak stick'; and 
 being answered sixpence, ' Why then, sir,' said he, 
 ' give me leave to send your servant to purchase me 
 a shilling one. I'll have a double quantity." Who 
 will not respect the sturdy, gallant old fellow ? 
 
 Johnson's utterances on the subject of Foote 
 show how deeply, in its various capacities, Foote's 
 character and abihties had impressed him. In the 
 case of no other does he expend so much critical 
 refinement, so hvely and ever willing a spirit of dis- 
 quisition, as he does in that of this singular man. 
 The whole forms a very accurate and telling delinea- 
 tion of Foote done by a masterly and sympathetic 
 hand. And yet behind all there is a good-natured 
 indulgence. He really admired the man ; we seem 
 to be looking at one of ZofFany's spirited and vividly 
 coloured portraits, such as hang in the Garrick Club. 
 They form, as it were, the true official recognition of 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 97 
 
 Foote's general talent, which has certainly received a 
 fair measure of appreciation from his contemporaries ; 
 but none of these have the value of his deliberate 
 judgment dehvered by one of the great critics of 
 his time. It is, perhaps, a unique specimen, for the 
 sage has not spoken with such deliberate pains or 
 sympathy of Garrick or Goldsmith or any of his other 
 contemporaries. 
 
 When Foote went to Paris, where he often found 
 himself, he was always in the best company. Once it 
 chanced that, while he was there in 1775, Dr. John- 
 son arrived. Foote used to give amusing descriptions 
 of his odd figure, dress, etc., which he says perfectly 
 astonished the French — the old brown coat, plain 
 shirt, etc. He described him as inveighing against 
 actors, French or others, likening them all to 
 " dancing dogs." " But you will allow, sir, that some 
 are better than others ?" " Yes, as some dogs dance 
 better than others." Angelo, that vivacious fencing- 
 master, when on a visit to Paris, met Foote, who was 
 figuring away in the best theatrical set, giving dinners 
 to Pr^vHle at his hotel in the Rue Colombier. For 
 this artist he exhibited his imitations of Garrick and 
 others. Pr^ville enjoyed these portraits, and in his 
 turn gave the French players. As all were laughing 
 heartily at the Garrick mimicry, he turned to the 
 young Angelo, and said : " If you go home and teU 
 Garrick, you young dog ! I'll have you broke on the 
 wheel." 
 
 Foote was no " family man," but we rarely find in 
 the chronicles of Uterary characters so complete an 
 obliteration of all the domestic feehngs and associa- 
 tions. It may have been that his family cast him off, 
 but, whatever be the reason, we hear nothing of the 
 
 7 
 
98 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 worthy old Cornish squire and his family all through 
 the son's erratic and even meteoric course. 
 
 His father and mother lived to see his prosperity, 
 though their own, in spite of luck, appeared to 
 have decayed. In fact, we hear odd tales of his 
 mother in London suffering from debt and other 
 privations : but we do not hear of the father, who 
 was alive at the time. She is described as having 
 written to him from a debtors' prison, begging assist- 
 ance : " Dear Sam, — I am in prison. Come and see 
 me and help me," etc. To which he replied : " Dear 
 Mother, — So am I, which prevents his duty being paid 
 to his loving mother by her affectionate son, Sam 
 FooTE." There can be little doubt of the truth of this 
 incident. He could not resist the jest, which is quite 
 in keeping with his character. But he wished merely 
 to give her a fright, just as Tony Lumpkin drove his 
 mother round and round her garden. For he adds a 
 " P.S.," telling her that he is sending his attorney to 
 help her, and adds seriously : " In the mean time, let 
 us hope for better days." This is, I think, inconsistent 
 with a manufactured story. 
 
 It seems impossible to explain this complete 
 collapse of a well-to-do coimty family which had 
 inherited a fortune. But one might reasonably 
 suspect that the dissolute Foote had somehow con- 
 trived to get control of the estates, which may account 
 for the story of three fortunes coming to him. He 
 was so rough and powerful that his family were not 
 likely to have resisted his masterful pressure. In- 
 compressible himself, he could fatally compress 
 others. 
 
 Foote had a brother who, to make the family 
 party completely grotesque, adopted the clerical 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 99 
 
 profession, which he cannot be said to have adorned 
 or followed. He seems to have had the full irregu- 
 larity of his brother without any of his talent ; 
 " a humdrum, quiet kind of man," Cooke describes 
 him, who went through life " mostly unbeneficed in 
 his profession " — a happy turn. This contrast between 
 the brothers must have been amusing to lookers-on. 
 Foote had to support him, allowing him £60 a 
 year — somewhat irregularly paid, we may suspect. 
 He good-naturedly gave him " the run of his theatre," 
 where this odd parson was always to be seen gossip- 
 ing in the green-room and " fussing " about. One 
 night the Duke of Cumberland asked his name : 
 " Who is that httle feUow in the shabby plush coat ?" 
 " Oh, that's my barber," said Foote. But the Duke 
 found out later that it was his brother, and taxed the 
 actor with the deception, which Foote put off with a 
 humorous excuse. 
 
 Here arises a question which has never been clearly 
 resolved, and for which evidence is curiously lacking. 
 In the case of most Uterary men, it is known for 
 certain that they had been either married or un- 
 married ; but it is characteristic of this erratic being 
 that he should have contrived to leave the matter 
 quite uncertain. It would seem that this was the 
 most convenient arrangement for him. In the 
 official books there is no trace of a wife or her name- 
 connections. Mr. Forster declares positively that 
 Foote was never married ; yet it is all but certain 
 that he was. For anyone who has gone carefuUy 
 through his Life must arrive at the conclusion that he 
 was married. His friend, " co-drinker," and biographer, 
 assumes the fact as a certainty, and relates various 
 anecdotes about the much-tried lady. Had he had any 
 
 7—2 
 
100 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 doubt, he would certainly have questioned his friend 
 upon the point, and his friend would have readily 
 furnished a comic account of the lady. A reckless 
 young feUow such as Foote was, who had tried every- 
 thing in Ufe that brought excitement, and had not 
 omitted taking any foolish step that could be com- 
 mitted, was not likely to omit that of an improvident 
 marriage. 
 
 We may take it as a certainty that he found some 
 girl whom he fancied, married her, and then became 
 repentant of his folly. For this folly he was to punish 
 her, as though it were her own fault, by prompt 
 neglect and dismissal. This was Foote's way in most 
 things. 
 
 This poor lady must have had a weary time of it 
 with her too exuberant husband. She is described 
 as being mild and tolerant, and gently accepting her 
 treatment. He was fond of making her the butt of 
 his broad humour. His biographer is even minutely 
 particular in his statement. " He married early in hfe," 
 he says, " a lady in Worcestershire, a choice that met 
 with the approbation of his family. They had no 
 children, and she died early." He then gives a rather 
 ghostly story, which Foote was fond of rehearsing, 
 how on their wedding tour, at Truro, they one night 
 heard a concert of music, which they fancied was 
 some sort of charivari in compliment to their arrival, 
 but were assured that no one knew anything of the 
 matter or had heard the music. Foote went on to 
 relate — and he told the tale often — that he had 
 marked down the day and hour, and found later that 
 it was the day and hour of his uncle's murder. No 
 doubt an hallucination of some sort, but it will be 
 noted how Foote's wife figures in the matter. If we 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 101 
 
 accept the dates, the young man must have been very- 
 precipitate in his marriage, as indeed we might have 
 expected. Not unhkely is it that the lady may have 
 brought him the money which he was so lavishly 
 squandering in making a figure in town. 
 
 " This lady," Cooke tells us, " was kept so much in 
 the background by the gay, licentious, eccentric life 
 of her husband, that little is known of her history, 
 except that she was the very reverse of him. Mildness 
 and forbearance seemed to be the leading features 
 of her character ; and these qualities could serve as 
 no lasting checks upon a man of his temper. . . . 
 
 " Dr. Nash of Worcester, being in town one spring 
 not long after Foote's marriage, intended to pay his 
 old fellow-coUegian a visit, but was much surprised 
 at hearing that he was in the Fleet Prison. Thither 
 he hastened directly, and found him in a dirty two- 
 pair-of-stairs back-room, with furniture every way 
 suitable to such an apartment. The doctor began to 
 condole with him, when Foote cut him short by turn- 
 ing the whole into raiUery : ' Why, is not this better,' 
 said he, ' than the gout, the fever, the smallpox, and 
 
 " The thousand various ills 
 That flesh is heir to " ? 
 
 ' This is a mere temporary confinement, without 
 pain, and not very uncongenial (let me tell you) to 
 this sharp biting weather.' . . . 
 
 " Laughing on in this manner, the doctor perceived 
 something stir behind him in the bed, upon which he 
 got up, and said he would call another time. ' No, 
 no,' said the other ; " sit down : 'tis nothing but my 
 Foote.' ' Your foot !' said the doctor ; ' well, I want 
 no apologies — I shall call another time.' 'I tell you 
 
102 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 again, it is my Foote,' and then, going over to the 
 bed, revealed the poor shrinking lady." 
 
 At last he tired of her and dismissed her. The 
 unhappy wife of the great and popular wit was 
 thrown upon her own resources. Friends now remon- 
 strated, and at last induced him to receive her again. 
 An inferior Irish player named Costello, one of 
 Foote's " laughing junto," was accordingly despatched 
 to bring her to Blackheath, and this fellow, who was 
 driving, contrived to overset the vehicle, and the 
 poor lady's face was much injured and disfigured by 
 the accident. 
 
 There was to have been a sort of dinner to celebrate 
 her return, at which Murphy assisted. On his arrival 
 he asked, " Had the lady arrived ?" when Foote 
 broke out into one of his coarse jests. " You will 
 find her in the drawing-room, and, if you like, can 
 study geography in her face, which is now a regular 
 map. You can see the Blue Mountains, the Black 
 Forest, and the Red Sea, and also," touching his 
 forehead, " the Scilly Islands." It was idle to look 
 for good taste or self-respect from this irrepressible 
 jester. 
 
 One of Foote's smaller satellites in his coterie was 
 Arthur Murphy, a clever Irish adventurer, who 
 worked his way to importance by a threatening use 
 of his pen, intimidating when he could not convince 
 or attract. Garrick was to experience his harassing 
 persecution. He was a sort of theatrical free-lance, 
 a man of great and various abilities, critic, dramatist, 
 wit to a certain extent, a pleasant convivial com- 
 panion. His comedies have high merit from their 
 genuine spirit and vivacious characters. But, like 
 Foote, he was an adventurer, and constantly " in hot 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 103 
 
 water," always prompt to resent fancied or real 
 grievances. Miss Burney gives a pleasing sketch of 
 him in her agreeable " Diary." When he was touched 
 or offended he became a bitter foe, as Garrick found 
 to his cost in their dispute about the authorship of 
 " The Clandestine Marriage." The literary society 
 of the time owed a great deal of its dramatic spirit 
 and animation to pleasant Irishmen, who by their 
 talents, alternate good-humour and quarrels, increased 
 the pubUc stock of harmless pleasure. Without such 
 a figure as Goldsmith, with his amiabihty and naivetd, 
 Burke, Murphy, and others, Boswell's incomparable 
 work would have lost much of its attraction.* 
 
 Courage in dealing with persons of Foote's type, 
 who assail and ridicule unoffending persons, is the 
 surest protection. The trading satirist has to rely 
 on bullying methods, and tries to " carry it off" by 
 intimidation. But Foote was occasionally to be 
 confronted with calm, resolute men, who pressed him 
 into a corner ; then his methods forsook him, and he 
 became reasonable. He was several times in this 
 mortifying situation, but on the whole he escaped 
 with comparative impunity. His most signal defeat 
 was at the hands of Dr. Johnson, an awkward 
 customer to tackle. But Johnson knew his man, 
 and — quite an unusual thing in the case of such 
 victims, with whom Foote took French leave (that 
 is, no leave at all) — Johnson's sanction had to be 
 obtained. 
 
 * Murphy contended that he was present at Boswell's intro- 
 duction to Johnson in Davies's bookshop. Boswell proves clearly 
 by his account that this could not have been the case. The 
 mistake is characteristic of the imaginative cast of Murphy's 
 countrymen, which often thus confuses different seasons and 
 localities. 
 
104 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 Murphy was seven years at St. Omer's Catholic 
 college, a circumstance which did not escape Churchill 
 in his scathing lines. Though he died a Commissioner 
 of Bankrupts, both Gray's Inn and the Temple de- 
 clined to receive him, on the ground of his having 
 been on the stage. Lincoln's Inn showed him more 
 liberality. He wrote some thirty pieces for the 
 theatre. Adventurer as he was, he was exceedingly 
 clever and decorous. In Miss Burney's " Diaries," as 
 I have said, he is shown forth as a good-natured, 
 important, and rather stately personage. He died 
 in 1805, when seventy-five years old. Foote had 
 his quarrels vnth Murphy ; they seemed to be allies 
 and enemies alternately ; but Foote never forgot his 
 interest and profit, and never pushed a quarrel beyond 
 the possibility of reconciliation. 
 
 ChurchUl seems to have loathed him, and to have 
 been possessed with a peculiar rancour against him. 
 He describes him as one " Whom dulness only kept 
 from being mad." He went on : 
 
 " What though the sons of nonsense hail him sire. 
 Auditor, Author, Manager, and Squire . . . 
 When motionless he stands, we all approve ; 
 What pity 'tis the Thing mas made to move ! 
 
 " The hopeful youth a Jesuit might have made, 
 Bred at St. Omer's to the shuffling trade ; 
 With various readings stored his empty skull, 
 Learn'd without sense and venerably dull. 
 His name had stood in City annals fair. 
 And prudent Dulness marked him for a Mayor." 
 
 He then asks : 
 
 " What then could tempt thee in a critic age 
 Such blooming hopes to forfeit to the stage ? 
 Could it be worth thy wondrous waste of pains 
 To publish to the world thy lack of brains ? 
 
CH. viij FOOTE AND GARRICK 105 
 
 " Or might not Reason e'en to thee have shown 
 Thy greatest praise had been to live unknown ? 
 Yet, let not vanity like thine despair : 
 Fortune makes Folly her peculiar care." 
 
 These insulting taunts must have rankled, and 
 what a sensation they must have caused ! We have 
 only to think of someone addressing such personalities 
 to a popular actor of our day. A cry would rise up 
 from end to end of the kingdom, followed by a 
 pohce-court case, or an action for swinging damages, 
 or both. 
 
 Foote, after his return, thought he could turn his 
 foreign experiences to profit. With his usual keen- 
 ness, he had taken note of the ridiculous behaviour 
 of his country-folk in France, and their absurd 
 attempts at aping foreign ways and habits. The 
 piece was a sort of farce, called "The Englishman 
 in Paris," and was, indeed, a weU-cropped acreage 
 of absurdities. It must be said that he treated it 
 with a boisterous humour and gaiety. Later, he 
 good-naturedly made it a present to his old friend 
 Macklin, and " wrote up " the female character for 
 Macklin's daughter. It is likely that he offered the 
 piece to Garrick, but, as it happened, it was produced 
 at Covent Garden on March 17, 1753, with great 
 success. We can almost follow Garrick's nervous 
 caprices and changes by watching the bills, for after 
 a few months we find the new play and its author at 
 Drury Lane. He may have fancied, perhaps, that 
 he had lost a good thing. 
 
 Foote himself, when at Drury Lane, took the 
 character of Buck on October 20, and induced his 
 friend Garrick to supply a special prologue of a 
 personal and familiar character, setting out various 
 
106 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 adventures, or rumours of adventures, which had 
 befallen Foote in Paris. These famiharities read 
 strangely now, but the audiences then relished hear- 
 ing such details about their favourites. 
 
 It is astonishing to see how Garrick obsequiously 
 attended on his wishes. The return of this vaurien 
 he thought should be celebrated. He was ever 
 ready to write for him one of his welcoming pro- 
 logues, and even to speak it. Before now he had 
 written another for one of his friend's pieces ; when 
 Foote, with his usual coolness, came forward and 
 spoke these lines about himself: 
 
 " Sir Peter Primrose, smirking o'er his tea. 
 Sinks, from himself and politics, to me. 
 ' Paper ! boy.' — ' Here, sir, I am.' — ' What news to-day ?' 
 ' Foote, sir, is advertised.' — ' What ! run away ?' " 
 
 It goes on : 
 
 " ' No, sir ; he acts this week at Drury Lane.' 
 ' How's that ?' (cries feeble Grub) : ' Foote come again ? 
 / thought that fool had done his devils dance : 
 Was he not hang'd some months ago in France ? 
 
 " Upstarts Mac-hone, and thus the room harangued : 
 ' 'Tis true, his friends gave out that he was hang'd ; 
 But, to be sure, 'twas all a hum ; because 
 I've seen him since ; and after that disgrace. 
 No Jontleman would dare to show his face.' " 
 
 " To him replied a sneering bonny Scot : 
 ' You reason right, my friend ; hang'd he was not ; 
 But neither you nor I can tell how soon he'll gang to pot.' " 
 
 This is surely undignified. We cannot but wonder 
 at Foote's delivering such speeches all at his own 
 expense. 
 
 Murphy, noting the success of this piece, which 
 offered a fine opportunity for Foote's mimicries, wrote 
 
CH. vii] FOOTE AND GARRICK 107 
 
 a sequel, which was to be called " The Englishman 
 Returned from Paris," and in his effusive confidence 
 entrusted his friend with the details of his plan, the 
 plot, characters, etc. The wily Foote listened and 
 noted, and with all speed worked these very materials 
 into a piece of his own with the same title, which 
 he at once brought out at Covent Garden, to the 
 amazement and indignation of his friend ! 
 
 This piece of sharp practice — or bad faith, as some 
 might call it — was largely characteristic of Foote — it 
 belonged to his methods ; and yet on this occasion 
 he was not as lawless as usual, and something could 
 be said for him. The original idea and the original 
 piece were his own, and he might fairly claim the 
 exclusive right of adding a second part. Murphy 
 was a trespasser, and was stung to fury at what 
 he considered a treacherous breach of faith. A 
 violent quarrel followed. Foote's sequel was success- 
 ful. Murphy's — who had so foolishly hesitated in 
 preparing his version — a failure. Infuriated by these 
 misfortunes, he wrote a sort of farce called " The 
 Spouter," into which he introduced Foote, Garrick, 
 and some others who had injured him ; treating 
 them with the coarsest ridicule. 
 
 Rancorous as were now these enemies, and ir- 
 reconcilable, we find them in a short time on the 
 best of terms and joiaed in management. Murphy 
 always followed Foote's tactics in the case of Garrick, 
 worrying and harassing him tiQ he cried for quarter. 
 A slight dispute with Garrick as to the authorship 
 of a character he worked up into an almost ferocious 
 encounter. By-and-by, after many of these tussles, 
 the asperities were worn away, and we find Murphy 
 enjoying the society of Johnson and the Thrales — 
 
108 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 looked up to with respect, and apparently become a 
 moderate, placid man. 
 
 It can hardly be said that gratitude was one of 
 Foote's assets. Macklin, his old patron, now retiring 
 from the stage, on which he had Uved in constant 
 turmoil, was taking farewell benefits, etc., and 
 announcing a strange scheme of a tavern in Covent 
 Garden with which was to be combined a lecture- 
 haU, where he would instruct the pubUc in the 
 oratorical art and other subjects. His idea was that 
 the lecture would induce the hearers to repair to 
 the tavern and restore their strength with dinner and 
 drink. Foote, as was to be expected, ridiculed the 
 old actor, and went about — and heartily enjoyed 
 going about — ^prophesying that he would not keep 
 to his engagement of retiring, and would, further, be 
 made bankrupt by the tavern — in both of which 
 prognostics he proved to be right. The strange thing 
 was that he found such rehsh in poor old Mackhn's 
 scheme that he began a sort of persistent persecution. 
 Accordingly, when the actor had started his show and 
 begun his lectures, his old friend stood at the bottom 
 of the hall making ridiculous remarks, interrupting 
 and putting awkward questions, to the infinite 
 annoyance of the lecturer, who, out of patience, would 
 say, " Sir, do you understand what you are talking 
 about ?" " No, sir, do you ?" was the retort. 
 
 Once, Macklin was expatiating on the memory, and 
 the methods of strengthening it by repeating strings 
 of words, when his persecutor is said to have written 
 down a grotesque passage which he gravely challenged 
 the lecturer to get by heart on the spot. This was 
 the famous " nonsense " speech : 
 
 " So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf 
 
CH. VII] FOOTE AND GARRICK 109 
 
 to make an apple-pie, and, at the same time, a great 
 she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into 
 the shop. ' What, no soap V So he died, and she 
 very imprudently married the barber ; and there 
 were present the Picninnies and the JobKllies and 
 GarolUlies and the Grand Panjamdrum* himself, 
 with the little round button at top, and they all fell 
 to playing the game of Catch-as-catch-can till the 
 gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots, "t 
 
 It was much praised as a piece of Gilbertian 
 nonsense, but I confess one can scarcely join in 
 Mr. Forster's extreme admiration. It is grotesque, 
 no doubt, but it has always seemed to be rather 
 
 * With the use of the word Panjamdrum as personifying 
 some lofty or magnificent person I lately found myself connected in 
 a rather curious way. Sir J. Murray, the gifted editor of the great 
 English Dictionary, was treating the word with illustrations, etc., 
 when it was found that I — humble I ! — had used it in the year ] 860, 
 and it would seem this had been the earliest instance of its use as 
 a description. This I was inclined to doubt, and search was made 
 for the book in which it appeared. I could, however, give no aid, 
 as, after so many years, my mind was naturally a perfect blank on 
 the matter. So it was duly registered in the dictionary in this 
 general way : " Great Panjamdrum — Fitzgerald." A year or two 
 later the place occurred to me, but it was then too late to amend. 
 " But what Fitzgerald .''" future readers will ask. 
 
 t This is not altogether so incoherent as it aflFects to be. The 
 Irish wit and orator, Curran, once made use of it to set down a 
 foolish man who was chatting in confused fashion with " dull " 
 incongruous stories. He got into " a bog " in the middle of one of 
 his stories : " And so and so — no — and so, it being dark — Sir John 
 
 said — no, the cook said " " Stop, sir !" roared Curran ; " I 
 
 will finish your story for you. So — they wanted a rush-light ! and 
 — so — the great *^e-bear was walking about the town — so — he 
 popped his head into the barber's shop, and said : ' What ! no soap ?' 
 So — he died — she married the barber — the powder blew out of 
 their shoes, etc." 
 
110 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vii 
 
 a manufactured jest and lacking in spontaneous- 
 ness. There are some other natural specimens of 
 incongruity which are more telling. The grave 
 nonsense of " Alice in Wonderland " has never been 
 surpassed for its aU but convincing absurdity. No one 
 ever can help smiling, even after endless repetitions, at 
 the Judge's rebuke : " Prisoner, you have had a good 
 education and been brought up by pious parents, 
 instead of which you go about stealing ducks " (or 
 some form to that effect). 
 
 This bit of grotesque seems to have made its first 
 appearance in print in 1825, in Miss Edgeworth's 
 story " Harry and Lucy," and she names Foote 
 as its author. The story, however, is not mentioned 
 in either Foote's or Macklin's memoirs. It has been 
 also attributed to Quin the actor, who is said to have 
 devised it to provoke Foote.* This egregious piece 
 of nonsense has appealed even to classical scholars, 
 and we have versions in Latin and Greek. Thus in 
 the former — viz., " Tweed of Oriel " — of which here 
 are some telling lines : 
 
 " Jamque aderat studio ludorum accensa juventus 
 Jobiliana cohors^ Garanini sequa catervoe. 
 Impubesque manus Picaninnia quos super omnes 
 Panjamdri regale decus, etc. 
 
 Foote, with all his smartness, could not have 
 improvised an elaborate composition of this kind. 
 It was too good for that. But is it not likely that 
 all this was a confederacy ? — for a droll scene 
 occurred in the piazza of Covent Garden, that 
 elegant structure of Inigo Jones, half of which 
 
 * There is an Irish version also, slightly varied. See " Book of 
 Quotations," by W, Qurney Benham, p. 4.49. 
 
CH. vii] FOOTE AND GARRICK 111 
 
 was pulled down many years ago. The actors were 
 fond of using it as a promenade before dining at 
 the Bedford or other coffee-houses. Here Foote 
 and Macklin used to meet, each with a party of 
 friends, passing and repassing. Foote was all the time 
 railing at Macklin, ridiculing him to his own party in 
 a loud voice. Macklin retorted, to his friends, and the 
 encounter was pursued for some time with contending 
 animosity. Finally the actors went off to dinner, 
 leaving the two leaders behind, when, to the surprise 
 of Murphy, who witnessed the scene, both advanced, 
 and, on Foote's proposal, went off to a tavern to dine ! 
 Murphy told this story to Taylor the journalist, and 
 it shows how little such apparent quarrels in the 
 profession are to be taken seriously, especially where 
 mutual interest depends on harmonious relations. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TATE WILKINSON 
 
 To an eccentric yet interesting being we owe some 
 of the most important details of Foote's life and 
 character. There is such a dearth of authentic 
 and intimate information concerning him that we 
 must welcome this history with something like 
 gratitude. Tate Wilkinson's career was all through 
 associated with that of Foote : he was his pupil 
 and a sort of henchman and satellite ; he was his 
 devoted friend at times, and often his enemy. He 
 lived with him, travelled with him, was one of his 
 company, affected to be his rival, at times hearing 
 the welcome cry, " Foote outdone !" He knew 
 him thoroughly, and no one has more skiLftiUy 
 depicted that strange character, a compound of 
 talent, meanness, jealousy, bluster, tolerance, and 
 good-nature. 
 
 The form in which this record* is set forth is 
 unique and original. No other book can be com- 
 pared to it for form or matter. Too much praise 
 cannot be given to its natural vivacity, or to the 
 amusing scenes it sets forth — above all, to its ad- 
 
 * "Memoirs of his own Life," 4 vols., York, 1790; "The 
 Wandering Patentee, or History of the Yorkshire Theatres ;" and 
 " The Actor's Tablet," 1795. 
 
 112 
 
CH. VIII] TATE WILKINSON 1 13 
 
 mirable delineations of character, which are almost con- 
 vincing. The dialogues, incidents, all are sui generis 
 and most amusing. But what shall be said of the 
 style, the English — so rude, full of strange incoherent 
 utterances, yet not unpicturesque ? There are sen- 
 tences without formal beginning or end. Yet the 
 whole effect is not bad, but persuasive and interesting, 
 often eloquent. Foote, however, is the hero ; we see 
 him here as we see him nowhere else. We hear him 
 talk and jest in his rough style. The situations in 
 which he is made to figure are really diverting, and 
 told with infinite spirit. At the same time, it may 
 be admitted that there is an amount of colouring 
 which must be allowed for. For this Wilkinson was 
 a smaU-minded creature, envious, jealous, mean, and 
 even revengeful ; and his accounts often reflect these 
 unpleasant feelings. But it is easy to separate these 
 clouding elements ; and he remains always an acute 
 observer. 
 
 How strange, then, that the one modern critic, 
 an admirable and weU-schooled writer of the old 
 pattern, who has attempted a serious, deUberate 
 sketch of Foote's life, should have so completely set 
 aside these valuable contemporary memoirs, dis- 
 daining to use them in any fashion ! " They are 
 worthless," he used to say to me. He did not 
 think it was even necessary to show that they were 
 worthless. Like Podsnap, in his friend's story — 
 drawn, it is said, from this model — "he waved it 
 out of existence." Now, I have gone over all the 
 statements and details carefully, and found them 
 wonderfully correct. If the whole be a fiction, Wil- 
 kinson becomes a genius of high mark, from his 
 capacity of devising or inventing all these comedy 
 
 8 
 
114 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vm 
 
 scenes, dialogues, and strokes of character, the mere 
 reading of which convinces us of their truth. 
 
 Next to Foote the figure of Garrick stands out. 
 We have a perfect picture of his various quaUties, 
 drawn admirably. His good-nature, easy conquest 
 by flattery, apparent stinginess in trifles,* generosity 
 in great matters, are all set out with much acuteness. 
 The scene of his visit to Portsmouth is described 
 delightfully, and leaves a pleasing picture of the 
 great man's condescension to the poor strolling 
 actor with whom, arm in arm, he walked about in 
 town. 
 
 As these scenes display Foote's character and 
 methods in a most dramatic fashion, and carry 
 forward the details of his hfe, I shall lay them before 
 the reader at length in the very words of the chronicler. 
 
 Wilkinson obtained an introduction to the great 
 man Garrick, and was invited to wait on him at South- 
 ampton Street to display such gifts as he had. He 
 was allowed to give some of his impudent mimicries, 
 and, knowing the manager's weakness, adroitly 
 introduced one of Foote, which caused the great 
 actor's brilliant eyes to flash with enjoyment. 
 Wilkinson was treated with much favour and 
 bidden to call again. When he presented himself, 
 
 * Take, for instance, that capital trait at Portsmouth when he 
 admired a roquelaure of Wilkinson's, and asked him to order him 
 one like it ; then, his slight testiness and annoyance when 
 reminded of the debt. Another characteristic trait at a Drury 
 Lane rehearsal was his surprisingly coarse and indescribable 
 criticism of Tate's acting, intended as a stroke of humour, and 
 as such circulated in the theatre as a bon-mot, even the ladies slily 
 enjoying it. This adroit form of flattery was known to be pleasing 
 to the great man. That the incident is true, no one who reads it 
 can doubt. 
 
CH. viii] TATE WILKINSON 115 
 
 " Mr. Garrick said, ' Young gentleman, I have seen 
 Mr. Lacey, and we have determined to put you on 
 the books at thirty shillings per week the ensuing 
 season. . . , As I am on the wing, do oblige me 
 with a repetition of what you recited last Saturday.' 
 I readily compUed, and executed it with spirit. 
 From the imitation of Foote I proceeded with great 
 alacrity to several others ; and when I came to those 
 of Mr. Barry and Mrs. Wofiington, as Macbeth and 
 Lady Macbeth, I was obhged to stop, he seemed so 
 truly entertained. I thought it very comical, and, 
 that the joke might not be lost, I laughed too ; 
 but on the merriment ceasing, I perceived a con- 
 cealed third laugher — the Lady Teazle behind the 
 screen, which greatly puzzled me ; when on a sudden 
 a green cloth double door flew open, which I found 
 led to a little breakfast parlour, and discovered 
 a most elegant lady — no less a personage than 
 Mrs. Garrick, who had, it seems, been purposely 
 posted there for her secret opinion of my imitations 
 of Foote. . . . 
 
 "Mrs. Garrick apologized for her rudeness and 
 intrusion — confessed she had taken possession of that 
 snug spot unobserved, at the desire of Mr. Garrick, 
 as, from his account of my imitations on the Saturday, 
 she expected to be much gratified ; but when she 
 heard the tones of Mrs. Woffington, the ridicule 
 was so strongly pointed that it was not in her 
 power to refrain from laughter, by the pleasure and 
 great satisfaction she had received. If it had hap- 
 pened otherwise, Mrs. Mouse would not have appeared, 
 but kept snug in her hole." 
 
 He was thereafter regularly installed at the theatre, 
 and tells us what followed : " The last week of Mr. 
 
 8—2 
 
116 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. viii 
 
 Foote's playing in Drury Lane, previous to his intended 
 trip to Ireland, he was accidentally with Garrick, 
 after his performance of Kitely, as was Mr. Holland 
 and others. The conversation by chance turned on 
 imitation. Garrick said, ' Egad, Foote ! there is a 
 young fellow engaged with me who I really think is 
 superior to either of us at mimicry. I used to think 
 myself well at it, but I actually give him the 
 preference. He has tried to resemble me, but that 
 will not do ; though Mrs. Garrick says she is sure he 
 will be like me.' ' Damn it !' says Foote, ' I should 
 like to hear him.' Holland, with Garrick's appro- 
 bation, came immediately to inquire for me. I was 
 soon found in the green-room, and escorted to the 
 manager's cabinet, he assuring me that Mr. Garrick 
 wanted to see me on particular business. My heart 
 panted with fear, doubt, and hope, on this unex- 
 pected summons ; after an awkward entrance and a 
 silence of a few minutes, my suspense was eased by 
 Mr. Garrick very good-naturedly saying that he had 
 spoke well of me to Mr. Foote, and desired I would 
 satisfy that gentleman with a taste of my quahty, such 
 as first struck my fancy ; adding that he expected I 
 would do my best in order to convince his good friend, 
 Mr. Foote, that his assertions of my merit were not 
 exaggerated. I complied, and (as the phrase is) took 
 off several performers — Barry, Sparks, Woffington, 
 Ridout, Sheridan, etc, — received high encomiums and 
 thanks, made my bow, and retired from the august 
 assembly. ... 
 
 " The next day a friend who was intimate with 
 Foote waited on me with that gentleman's compli- 
 ments, intimating that he was going to Dublin for 
 a few weeks in five or six days' time. He had 
 
CH. viTi] TATE WILKINSON 117 
 
 observed Mr. Garrick thought me only fit for his 
 Hobby Horse in the Rehearsal, and if I wished to be 
 released from such tyranny, he would be glad of my 
 company to Ireland at his own expense, and he 
 would fix me on genteel terms with Mr. Sheridan 
 — that I should appear in Othello, and he would act 
 lago. This was a cheering cordial elixir to my 
 drooping spirits, and to my still more drooping 
 pocket." 
 
 Nothing could suit Foote better ; the young man 
 was exactly what he wanted. The arrangement was 
 duly made, and the curiously assorted pair started 
 together for Dublin. 
 
 The old system of stage touring, when the actor 
 set forth on a toUsome journey for a short engagement 
 in the North or South, was a useful and amusing 
 form of discipline. He was thrown on his own 
 resources and among strangers — hostile or jealous 
 comrades — and had to exert all his energies. Some 
 of these peripatetics developed great spirit and gifts. 
 The provincial managers were rare folk, often highly 
 eccentric, such as Wilkinson later at York, and 
 Mrs. Baker on the Kent " circuit." From this lady, 
 Boz, who had read the old memoirs, very likely 
 adapted the worthy, mirth-moving Mrs. Crummies.* 
 
 The success of the venture depended a good deal 
 on personal character. Foote — one of the social 
 " hustlers," as the Americans have it — wherever he 
 went was likely to carry all before him, and to engross 
 all attention as the central figure. His obstreperous 
 voice, bustling, overpowering ways, and roguh jokes, 
 were irresistible. On his various tours, notably to 
 
 * The reader of Dibdin's and Charles Mathews's memoirs will 
 find her portrait well drawn. 
 
118 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. viii 
 
 Dublin, he made large sums, besides being joyously 
 entertained ; and he was now making a descent on 
 that jovial capital. 
 
 To any diligent reader of the old memoirs deal- 
 ing with the eighteenth century, nothing seems so 
 surprising as the comparative ease and frequency 
 with which long journeys were accomphshed. People 
 seemed to think Uttle of starting for Paris or Dublin 
 or Edinburgh, and endured the fatigue and discomforts 
 of the coach or chaise as a matter of course. Actors 
 particularly seemed to be continually on the road. 
 The journey to Paris could be made in about three 
 days, and those to Dublin and Edinburgh in about the 
 same time. The cost must have been serious. We 
 can imagine the discomfort of forty hours in a coach 
 or chaise. But, reaUy, it might be said that people 
 set off then with the same carelessness as they do now 
 on a railway journey, and thought as httle of the 
 business. 
 
 Tate now proceeds to recount their adventures on 
 the road : " I met Mr. Foote at the Bedford Arms, 
 and in one hour after set off with him in a post-chaise, 
 and his servant on horseback. We only travelled 
 that night to his little cottage at Elstree, in Hertford- 
 shire. . . .* On the following day we went with 
 Captain Bonfoy for Park Gate, as the Captain said 
 he would sail that afternoon. Here we were 
 detained with several persons of fashion, who had 
 been impatiently attending on the caprice of the wind 
 — Mr. Hill, an elderly gentleman. Lord Macartney, 
 Mr. Leeson, now Lord MiUtown, and several others. 
 We all went on board, but all returned as the wind 
 
 * Could this have been the scene of the later notorious murder 
 of Weare by Thurtell ? 
 
CH. VIII] TATE WILKINSON 119 
 
 continued obstinate. We all messed together ; for 
 Foote's company, as he was well acquainted with 
 each, was the only treat that truly dreary place 
 Park Gate could afford. Our patience being ex- 
 hausted, it was unanimously agreed that we should 
 proceed to Holyhead. Horses were hired ; this was 
 early in November, and was not pleasing. ... I 
 thought we were aU to have set off together ; 
 they went at seven o'clock in the morning, requesting 
 Foote's company at each house they stopped at ; but 
 Foote and myself remained behind, and on my asking 
 him the reason of his delay, he answered that it was 
 a rule of his, and worth my observation — ^that when- 
 ever he met with persons of distinction and fortune 
 on the road, travelling to small inns (as was, and is, 
 the case on the Welsh roads), he made it a rule 
 always to be half a day behind or before them, as, 
 with all their politeness, they expected the best 
 accommodations, or, if they were so kind as to offer 
 you a preference, you could not in policy or good 
 manners accept such an offer. . . . 
 
 " And at nine at night, all dark and dismal, did we 
 roll in the boat belonging to the pacquet, over waves 
 most dreary to behold ; for the whiteness of the 
 breakers shone double from the darkness of the night. 
 When handed into the pacquet, I asked for a bed ; 
 but they were all secured, not even one for Mr. Foote, 
 as plenty of cash from the great people had made 
 that request impossible to be comphed with. The 
 cabin was wedged like the Black Hole at Calcutta. 
 The tumultuous moving of the ship soon made my 
 " inquiries after a bed of down quite needless. . . . The 
 storm increased, but the wind was fair for Ireland ; 
 as to death, I was so truly sick that I was very 
 
120 SAMUEL POOTE [ch. viii 
 
 indifferent whether I sunk or swam. Mr. Foote was 
 tolerably well, and walking most of the night from 
 place to place. 
 
 " Thank God, we arrived safe in Dublin Bay about 
 twelve o'clock, and by one were taken in a Dunlarey 
 hoy to Dublin Quay. A coach conveyed us to a 
 tavern in College Green, where we were regaled — 
 I say we, though I continued very sick and much 
 out of order. ... In about an hour Mr. Foote went 
 to the lodgings provided for him, and left me to take 
 care of myself. I inquired for a hotel, and was 
 directed to one on Essex Quay, to which place I 
 took coach ; where, overpowered with illness, sickness, 
 and fatigue, I went to bed and lay till Monday 
 noon." 
 
 Here the youth fell seriously iU of a fever, and 
 lay for some weeks in a precarious way. Some 
 Dublin friends, however, found him out and took 
 care of him. But he complains bitterly that he was 
 completely forgotten and abandoned by his principal. 
 
 Foote's behaviour to this certainly unhappy youth 
 whom he had brought over in his train does seem 
 unfeeling and heartless. StiU, he had heard that the 
 young man was suffering from a dangerous fever, and 
 no doubt thought that he must give up aU hope of 
 reaping any benefit from his services, or was in dread 
 of the contagious disease. WUkinson was deeply 
 indignant at this neglect. 
 
 But from his rather prejudiced account it is clear 
 that the actor's behaviour was really more thoughtless 
 and careless than unkind. He came at once when 
 he was sent for, and then showed himself inclined to 
 look after his prot^g^. In his position as a star 
 actor, much sought after, he had little time to be 
 
CH. VIII] TATE WILKINSON 121 
 
 hunting through Dublin for a follower. " Will you 
 believe it," Tate tells us, " that all this time of my 
 severe suffering, notwithstanding Mr. Foote must 
 have heard I had left the hotel and tavern with 
 evident marks of indisposition, he never once (to 
 the disgrace of Christianity be it asserted) made 
 inquiry whether I was living or dead ; or if living, 
 whether I had decent necessaries. . . . 
 
 " Before I was able to go abroad, or even to leave 
 my apartment, I sent my compliments to Mr. Foote, 
 to acquaint him where I was ; for Mr. and Mrs. 
 Chaigneau were so offended at such brutality of 
 behaviour towards me, that neither of them had given 
 him any inteUigence concerning me. Mr. Foote, 
 by way of apology, said he could not see me for three 
 or four days for fear of catching the infection from 
 the fever ; professed himself anxious to supply my 
 wants, which he was informed was at that time quite 
 unnecessary. After that he waited on me as my 
 most anocious friend, and in about three weeks I 
 recovered." 
 
 Sheridan was then the manager at Crow Street. 
 
 " It was appointed for me to appear the Monday 
 following in Mr. Foote 's ' Tea,' in the character of 
 a pupU under Mr. Puzzle, the supposed director of 
 a rehearsal ; Mr. Puzzle by Mr. Foote. It was 
 agreed that I should appear as Mr. Wilkinson (his 
 pupil) when called upon, and repeat just what I could 
 select to please myself — not any regular character. 
 When the night came, Lord Forbes, Mr. Chaigneau, 
 and all my friends, went to encourage and support 
 me, and engaged all they knew for the same purpose. 
 One lucky circumstance was, my not being known as 
 a performer ; therefore I had their wishes and pity in 
 
122 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. viii 
 
 a high degree — but great fear of my not being able to 
 succeed. . . . 
 The bill ran thus : 
 
 After the Play 
 
 Mr. Foote wUl give TEA. 
 
 Mr. Puzzle (the Instructor), MR. FOOTE. 
 
 First Pupil by a YOUNG GENTLEMAN 
 
 ( Who never appeared on any Stage before). 
 
 By eight in the evening I was in full dress behind the 
 scenes. I had never been there before ; the company 
 were aU strangers to me. ... I, on reflection, soon grew 
 weary of my solitary seat in the green-room — alone 
 in a crowd — and between the play and farce looked 
 through a hole in the curtain, and beheld an awful 
 pleasing sight — a crowded, splendid audience, such as 
 might strike the boldest with dismay. 
 
 " The farce began, and Mr. Foote gained great 
 applause, and roars of laughter succeeded. In the 
 second act my time of trial drew near. In about 
 ten minutes I was called — ' Mr. Wilkinson ! Mr. 
 Wilkinson I' Had I obeyed a natural impulse, I was 
 really so alarmed that I should have run away. But 
 honour pricked me on ; there was no alternative. 
 My brain was a chaos ; but on I went, and must 
 have made a very sheepish, timid appearance, as from 
 fear, late illness, and apprehension, I trembled hke a 
 frighted clown in a pantomime ; which Foote per- 
 ceiving, good-naturedly took me by the hand and led 
 me forward, when the burst of applause was wonderful, 
 and apparently that of kindness and true benevolence. 
 But it could not instantly remove my timidity ; and 
 I had no prompter to trust to, as all depended on 
 myself. 
 
 " Foote, perceiving I was not fit for action, said to 
 
CH. VIII] TATE WILKINSON 123 
 
 his two friends on the stage (seated like Smith and 
 Johnson in ' The Rehearsal ') : ' This young gentleman 
 is merely a novice on the stage ; he has not yet been 
 properly drilled. But come, my young friend, walk 
 across the stage ; breathe yourself and show your 
 figure.' I did so ; the walk encouraged me, and 
 another loud applause succeeded. I felt a glow, 
 which seemed to say : ' What have you to fear ? 
 Now, or never ! This is the night that either makes 
 you or undoes you quitel' And on the applause 
 being repeated, I said to myself: ' That is as loud as 
 any I have heard given to Mr. Garrick.' I mustered 
 up courage, and began with Mr. Luke Sparks of 
 London (brother to Isaac Sparks, then in Dublin) 
 in the character of Capulet. Most of the gentlemen 
 in the boxes knew aU the London players. They 
 were universally struck with the forcible manner of 
 the speaking, and the striking resemblance of the 
 features — a particular excellence in my mode of 
 mimicry. A gentleman cried out : ' Sparks of 
 London ! Sparks of London !' The applause re- 
 sounded, even to my astonishment ; and the audience 
 were equally amazed, as they found something where 
 they in fact expected nothing. Next speech was 
 their favourite Barry in Alexander, universally known 
 and as universally felt. I now found myself vastly 
 elated and clever ; fear was vanished, and joy and 
 pleasure succeeded : a proof what barometers we are 
 — how soon elated, and how soon depressed ! When 
 quite at ease, I began with Mrs. Woffington in Lady 
 Macbeth, and Barry in Macbeth. The laughter 
 (which is the strongest applause on a comic occasion) 
 was so loud and incessant that I could not proceed. 
 This was a minute of luxury ; I was then in the 
 
124 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. vm 
 
 region of bliss. I was encored ; yet that lady had 
 declared in London, on hearing 1 was to go with 
 Foote to Ireland : ' Take me off — a puppy ! If he 
 dare attempt it, by the living G — d, he will be stoned 
 to death 1'* Here the lady was mistaken ; for, on 
 repeating the part, the second applause was longer 
 than the preceding. A sudden thought occurred ; I 
 felt aU hardy, all alert, all nerve, and immediately 
 advanced six steps ; and before I spoke I received 
 the full testimony of ' true imitation.' My master, 
 as he was called, sat on the stage at the same time ; 
 I repeated twelve or fourteen lines of the very pro- 
 logue he had spoke that night (being called for) to 
 the author, and he had almost every night repeated. 
 I before Mr. Foote presented his other self; the 
 audience, from repetition, were as perfect as I was ; 
 his manner, his voice, his oddities, I so exactly hit 
 that the pleasure, the glee it gave, may easily be con- 
 ceived, to see and hear the mimic mimicked ; and it 
 really gave me a complete victory over Mr. Foote, 
 for the suddenness of the action tripped up his 
 audacity so much that he, with all his effrontery, 
 sat foolish, wishing to appear equally pleased with 
 the audience, but knew not how to play that difficult 
 part. He was unprepared ; the surprise and satis- 
 faction was such that, without any conclusion, the 
 curtain was obliged to drop with reiterated bursts of 
 applause. . . . 
 
 " When the farce, called ' Tea,' was concluded, I 
 had great congratulations paid, seriously and ironically. 
 Mr. Foote affected to be vastly pleased, but in truth 
 it was merely affectation, so differently do we feel for 
 
 * Bernard the actor describes very minutely the whole, but says 
 that Peg herself was present in the boxes. 
 
CH. viii] TATE WILKINSON 125 
 
 ourselves when ridicule is pointed at us ; but he said 
 it was perfectly well judged to make free with him, 
 yet he did not think it very like himself, for it cer- 
 tainly was my worst imitation, but he rejoiced at my 
 good fortune. In truth, Mr. Foote got the cash — 
 not me ; what I did was for him, as he acted on 
 shares, and the fuller the house, the greater was his 
 profit. He was piqued and chagrined ; but as he had 
 kept within no bounds himself, and made free with 
 aU characters whatever — stage, pulpit, bar, public 
 and private peculiarities, benefactors, patrons, friends 
 as weU as foes — he could not, with any degree of 
 sense, appear displeased or censure me for what I 
 had done, but kept his resentment locked up for a 
 more proper and convenient opportunity, as he con- 
 sidered the repetition of himself in my imitations was 
 to his advantage, by the evident partiahty the public 
 had shown me. He made himself, therefore, toler- 
 ably easy, and may be truly said to have pocketed 
 the affront. 
 
 " The conversation the next day, particularly of 
 all my eager, partial friends, was an universal cry of 
 ' Foote outdone ! Foote outdone ! — the pupil the 
 master !' And this was greatly assisted by their 
 agreeable disappointment ; for I do not believe any 
 one of them, however warm they might have been in 
 their wishes for my welfare, but trembled for the 
 event. They felt unhappy lest I should make a 
 despicable attempt and be universally disapproved, 
 and then reflected within themselves : ' Good Heaven ! 
 what is to become of this poor youth ? What can he 
 do for a subsistence ?' . . . 
 
 " Mrs. Woffington, being so well known to all 
 ranks and degrees, was of infinite assistance to me as 
 
126 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. viii 
 
 an imitator. After the first night of my performance, 
 Mr. Sheridan appointed me a salary of three guineas 
 per week, and requested, with my approbation (which 
 was readily obtained), that Mr. Foote would wnrite to 
 Mr. Garrick to grant permission for my continuance 
 in Dublin tiU the end of February. Foote was 
 obhged to go to England with all speed, as he had 
 stayed beyond his time ; but I was left behind." 
 
 It was not surprising that Foote cast off his young 
 supporter ; for it was an outrageous piece of impu- 
 dence to mimic his master in his own presence before 
 a crowded audience, and the cries of "Foote out- 
 done !" could not have been palatable. There was 
 something piquant in the notion of the mimic being 
 mimicked ; but it is even more piquant to find that 
 all through the Foote who terrorized others was him- 
 self beginning to be in dread of the new mimic, and 
 at once began to conciliate him. 
 
 It was said, in a letter from Dublin, that he had 
 set up as a fortune-teller, with a room hung with 
 black and a dark lantern. Sending out handbills, he 
 wrote his visitors' fortunes without asking them any 
 questions. No one guessed that this was the great 
 comedian, and he is said to have cleared some £30 
 a day at 2s. 6d. a head. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 1758 
 DRURY LANE CONFUSION 
 
 FooTE, having achieved what success he could, but 
 somewhat discomfited, presently returned to England, 
 leaving his unexpected competitor behind him. The 
 latter unscrupulously seized on Foote's pieces, and 
 had a very good season indeed, for he had become 
 decidedly popular. The sympathies of the vulgar 
 went out to the impudent youth who had ventured 
 to beard the eminent comedian, and make him 
 ridiculous. By-and-by he also returned to town. 
 There he might have expected to be pursued by the 
 animosity of the man he had so insulted. But nothing 
 of the kind followed. Bitter as Foote could be, his 
 bitterness was ever restrained by the sense of his 
 personal interest. He reflected that the youth was 
 engaged, as he was himself, at Drury Lane, and that 
 his wisest course would be to conciliate him. 
 
 We now find him at Drury Lane Theatre as 
 viceroy over his half-friend, half-enemy. There can 
 be little doubt that Foote had expressed what with 
 another would be a desire, but with him was an 
 imperative demand, that this should be arranged. 
 So there was to be the incursion of not one but two 
 disorderly mimics into a stately, well-regulated house 
 
 127 
 
128 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 — conducted on lines that suggest the antique Theatre 
 Fran9ais — who were to reduce all to confusion. 
 Garrick, we may be certain, was helpless in the 
 matter. The junior mimic supplies a most diverting 
 picture of the emeutes that broke out almost at once. 
 
 " I was pursuing my walk," he says, "when a strong 
 voice issued from a dining-room window with great 
 vehemence, calling out : ' Wilkinson ! Wilkinson ! 
 Wilkinson !' I looked round, and soon spied my 
 Master Foote, as he was termed. . . . 
 
 " He eagerly repeated his astonishment at not 
 having seen or ever heard from me ; he was quite 
 anxious to know what I had been doing since he last 
 saw me in Ireland, and what and when 1 was to 
 appear at Drury Lane, not having a doubt of my 
 success, let the character be what it would. He had 
 the repeated pleasure of meeting with his friend 
 Colonel Thornton . . . who told him that he was 
 acquainted with me at Portsmouth, and had been 
 much entertained with my performances at that 
 theatre. Mr. Foote insisted on my staying dinner, 
 which invitation I could not refuse ; after dinner, and 
 while the glass was circulating, he intimated a wish 
 I would make my first appearance at Drury Lane, 
 as his pupU, in a farce he had newly furbished up, and 
 titled ' The Diversions of the Morning '; and added : 
 ' You must, Wilkinson, plainly see and be convinced 
 that dirty hound Garrick does not mean to do you 
 any service or wish you success ; but on the con- 
 trary he is a secret enemy, and if he can prevent 
 your doing weU be assured he will. I know his 
 heart so well, that if you give me permission to ask 
 for your first attempt on his stage, and to be in my 
 piece, the hound will refuse the moment I mention 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 129 
 
 it ; and though his little soul would rejoice to act 
 Richard III. in the dog-days, before the hottest 
 kitchen fire for a sop in the pan, yet I know his 
 mean soul so perfectly that, if, on his refusal, 1 with a 
 grave face tell him I have his figure exactly made 
 and dressed as a puppet in my closet, ready for 
 public admiration, the fellow will not only consent 
 to your acting, but, what is more extraordinary, his 
 abject fears will lend me money, if I should say I 
 want it.' This, I must own, seems a severe picture,! 
 but the traits are from the life, and a true delineation 
 of character. . . . 
 
 "With very little thought I assented to Mr. 
 Foote's proposal, which I just now mentioned, of 
 playing in his farce ; and verily believe, if I had not, 
 that I never should have had an opportunity of 
 appearing on Drury Lane stage, unless in some part 
 totally unfit for me, when Mr. Garrick would have 
 said and published he had really out of charity done 
 all he could to serve me, but found it was impossible 
 to make anything to the purpose of such a block- 
 head." 
 
 The scenes of disturbance and tumult that followed 
 at Drury Lane are as diverting as they are dramatic ; 
 for the pair of mimics succeeded in throwing the 
 whole weU-ordered interior of Garrick's theatre into a 
 state of tumult and confusion. As usual, we must 
 rely on the vivacious Tate for the details. His 
 picture of the unhappy Garrick tossed about among 
 these licentious elements is truly piteous. 
 
 Whether the manager found his attraction failing, 
 and that it was necessary to supplement his regular 
 repertoire by some broadly farcical exhibition, it is 
 difficult to decide. 
 
 9 
 
130 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 "Measure for Measure," a heavy Shakespearean 
 drama, was to open the ball, to be reheved by the 
 boisterous " fun " of the pair. Foote thought of 
 his old " show " with which he had opened the " Uttle 
 Hay.," and which had " caught on " so famously in 
 Dublin. It was an elastic performance enough, and 
 could be shaped in many ways, depending on a kind 
 of master teaching his pupil stage elocution. He 
 tacked to it a sort of first act or opening from his 
 recent piece "Taste." There was an overflowing 
 theatre ; everyone was eager to see and hear the pair ; 
 for it was known that the entertainment would be 
 singularly droU, and, above aU, marked by strong 
 personahties. Mrs. Woflfington in particular was 
 to be " taken off." The news speedily travelled to the 
 lady, and then the confusion set in. " Soon after this 
 farce was known by the town to be in rehearsal, some 
 Mrs. Candour gave my friend Mrs. Woffington the 
 alarm, who stiU lived and existed on the flattering 
 hopes of once more captivating the pubhc by her 
 remaining rays of beauty (born to bloom and fade) ; 
 and who declared she was astonished on hearing I 
 had survived my presumption in Ireland, in daring 
 (to be the devU in her likeness there) to take her off. 
 Colonel Ceesar of the Guards, who it was whispered 
 at that time was secretly married to Mrs. Woffington, 
 had been, as mentioned, at Portsmouth the night of 
 my benefit, when the Duke of York and most of the 
 principal gentlemen of the army in the kingdom were 
 at that time assembled, and were most forcibly struck 
 with the sudden and high entertainment they received 
 by seeing their favourite Woffington where she was 
 so little expected ; and, indeed, the exactness of 
 manner rendered it certainly, as a performance of that 
 
CH. ix] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 131 
 
 kind, far beyond mediocrity. . . . When she was first 
 made acquainted with my appearance in ' Queen 
 DoUalloUa,' she declared by the Hving God she was 
 amazed 'the fellow was not stoned to death in 
 Dubhn !' . . . She then deputed Colonel Caesar to wait 
 on Mr. Garrick ; he related his objections in point of 
 dehcacy and honour concerning any affront, however 
 shght, reflectedly thrown on that lady. He said to 
 Mr. Garrick he should not be surprised if young 
 Wilkinson had success on such an attempt. . . . His 
 intention as a visitor to Mr. Garrick was to inform 
 him, if he permitted such procedure or achievement 
 from Mr. Wilkinson on his stage, he must expect 
 from him (Colonel Caesar) to be seriously called upon 
 as a gentleman to answer it. Mr. Garrick immedi- 
 ately not only acquiesced, but expressed a detestation 
 of any such performance {bless his good nature !), and I 
 actually beheve would not have been displeased with 
 receiving an order from the Lord Chamberlain. . . . 
 
 " The day before the piece was to be acted he 
 summoned both Foote and me before him, and told 
 us these particulars. He informed us that his word 
 and honour was engaged to Colonel Caesar that 
 Mr. Wilkinson should not take the liberty to make 
 any line, speech, or manner relative to Mrs. Wofiing- 
 ton, or presume to offer or occasion any surmise of 
 likeness, so as to give the least shadow of offence, on 
 any account whatever. This I subscribed to on Mr. 
 Garrick's commands, and Mr. Foote became my bail 
 for the same ; for Garrick was really on this matter 
 
 very uneasy with Foote and Wilkinson — his d d 
 
 exotics. . . . 
 
 " ' The Diversions of the Morning ' was at length 
 produced in October, and to an overflowing theatre. 
 
 9—2 
 
132 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 Curiosity was universally raised, to see Mr. Foote's 
 pupil, as I was called, and indeed by many believed 
 to be. Mr. Foote's acquaintances were numerous, 
 and of the first circles ; and he took every precaution 
 and care for his own sake (for fear of failure or party) 
 to have me strongly supported, and he blazed forth 
 Wilkinson's wonderful merit, as on my success he 
 intended what he put into execution, which was, to 
 give me the labouring oar and make myself a 
 number of implacable enemies ; and as to the money 
 I brought, he judged it only safe and fit for his own 
 emolument. . . . 
 
 " The scene between Mr. Foote and myself went 
 oflF with great dclat ; on my departure from the stage, 
 while he did his puppets, etc., the audience grew 
 very impatient by seeing my exit, and judged that 
 was all the new actor was to do ; and feeling a 
 disappointment, from murmuring they grew im- 
 patient, and at last burst out into vehemently asking 
 for WUkinson, and desiring to be informed if that was 
 the only performance they were to expect from that 
 young gentleman. This loud interruption was not 
 paying him his accustomed attention, and he seemed 
 much nettled ; however, he bowed, and said the new 
 performer was only retired for a little respite necessary 
 for his following part of the entertainment. This 
 answer was approved, and Mr. Foote was proceeding, 
 but the little clamour had reached and disturbed the 
 minds of the gods, and John Bull . . . again repeated : 
 ' Wilkinson 1 Wilkinson I' Foote at this second 
 interruption grew really offended, and having secured 
 the lower house, he stopped and said to Mr. Manly 
 (Holland, who was on the stage with him) : ' Did you 
 ever hear such fellows? D — n it, they want the 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 133 
 
 fifth act of a play before the second is over !' And 
 as what he said generally passed current, this occasioned 
 an universal roar, and all went on peaceably, and with 
 great good humour, till the appointed time for my 
 second entrance, which was near the conclusion — the 
 people eager to applaud they knew not why or what, 
 but full of expectation that some strange performance 
 was to be produced. . . . The farce finished with my 
 performance, and Mr. Foote on my bow made his 
 own, not attempting to proceed, and was himself in 
 great raptures for reasons before hinted at ; but when 
 the curtain was down he went on and assured the 
 audience he was much honoured by their approbation, 
 and with their permission would the next night repeat 
 the same piece again, which they had expected he 
 would do, and returned the usual tokens of their 
 approbation." 
 
 As to Garrick's " vanity " — really, his genuine con- 
 sciousness of his own superior merit — no one who has 
 followed the course of this amiable and unselfish man 
 could say a word. This vanity, such as it was, was 
 really founded on a nervous timidity of anything that 
 might disturb his supremacy. Indeed, in ordinary 
 cases, what is thought to be a leading actor's jealousy 
 is really but an apprehension that a rival's success wiU 
 shake his position and destroy his fortunes. For 
 popularity seems to be a fixed quantity, and when a 
 new-comer secures it, the older favourite has to share 
 with him. Wilkinson has furnished a really brilliant 
 sketch of Garrick's character from this point of view. 
 The analyses of the conflicting emotions are revealed 
 by some admirable touches. I doubt if Boswell him- 
 self could have done it better. It proves, however, 
 what an easy business it was for Foote to play upon 
 
134 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 this sensitive being, the " stops " of whose nature he 
 knew so well. 
 
 Nothing can be more acute or true to character than 
 the following sketch by this shrewd observer of these 
 two eminent men and their relations: "Foote was 
 irresistible, spontaneous, and not confined to manner 
 or character ; for wherever he aimed his humour and 
 raillery he shot the object as it flew by his quick fancy, 
 and all with a superior degree to his opponents. 
 
 " When Mr. Garrick was at the noon rehearsals, he 
 ever was on the listen, and, if he heard Foote and the 
 performers joking, would enter all full of whim and 
 affected easy affability and equality, and made himself 
 one of the laughing group, and at every jest of Foote's 
 appeared to pay particular tributes of surprise, 
 applause, and attention ; but when in turn he related 
 what he had studied and prepared as very comical, 
 if the same repetition of approbation as had gone 
 before attendant to Foote's humour was wanting to 
 his, he has been cut to the soul at finding Foote's 
 superiority, which was generally the consequence when 
 both were pitched for battle and eager for victory at 
 the game of repartee and sparring sarcasm. . . . 
 
 " One great reason, as a man of wit, for Foote's 
 superiority in such convivial meetings was that he, 
 like the American, felt bold, knew his superiority, 
 which was raised by the perfect knowledge of 
 Garrick's fears, and which made Foote assail him : for 
 he gave not himself the trouble to hate. Mr. Foote 
 would frequently say to Mr, Garrick, ' Bless me ! we 
 have been laughing away our time ; it is past three 
 o'clock -, have you and Mrs. Garrick enough for a 
 third, without infringing on your servants' generosity, 
 for I know they are on board wages ? besides, the 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 135 
 
 kitchen fire may be gone out if it be one of your 
 cold meat days ; or if one of Mrs. Garrick's fast days, 
 I cannot expect a dinner on emergency.' On Foote's 
 repeating such a whimsical jargon, Garrick would act 
 a laugh like Bayes, though all the joke lay, like 
 Mr. Bayes s, in the boots. 
 
 " Many meetings have I been at between those two 
 great geniuses, and truly enjoyed them from that 
 time to the present. But Mr. Foote's knowledge of 
 Garrick was but superficial when compared with 
 Mr. Murphy's ; for Mr. Murphy's cool and sensible 
 penetration made him a perfect judge of the whole 
 inward soul of Mr. Garrick, while Foote, without 
 perplexing himself with the fatigue of thinking, was 
 contented with slighter materials to garnish his merri- 
 ment — which amply satisfied his love of satire and 
 cheerfulness. To speak seriously of these gentlemen 
 — why Foote should have entertained such an in- 
 conceivable disgust to Mr. Garrick I cannot devise, 
 unless from that implacable attendant, more or less, in 
 the human breast, called envy, which ever haunts 
 a theatre. That Garrick had much reason to be 
 offended with Foote is certain, and that he inwardly 
 hated him is as certain ; nor is that to be a matter of 
 surprise, as Foote was ever endeavouring to expose, 
 and even, if possible, to injure him. He gloried in it, 
 and seized every opportunity to have a cut at him 
 and serve him up as the maimed, not perfect Garrick 
 — unless to acknowledge perforce, like CoUey Gibber, 
 who allowed (but with great difficulty) to Mrs. Brace- 
 girdle, that really Garrick, he believed, had merit, but 
 Foote never introduced his deserts, or heard of him as 
 an actor with pleasure, or allowed him any credit for 
 his theatrical abilities, but wished the conversation 
 
136 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 was over ; or, if obliged to give his sentiments, would 
 conclude with, ' Yes, the hound had a something 
 clever ; but if his excellence was to be examined, 
 he would not be found in any part equal to CoUey 
 Gibber's Sir John Brute, Lord Foppington, Sir Courtly 
 Nice, or Justice Shallow.' . . . 
 
 " But Justice bids me say in favour of Mr. Garrick, 
 that to my knowledge he often assisted Mr. Foote 
 with sums of money, not trifling, and Foote always 
 attributed the favour done from fear, not generosity ; 
 yet it certainly was an obhgation, and that service 
 tendered when Foote has been in awkward situations 
 for want of cash, and to relate facts on aU sides I am 
 here answerable. . . . 
 
 " The next night," he says, " the house was jammed 
 in every part — the morning of which it was strongly 
 rumoured that the actors of Covent Garden were 
 highly enraged — that Mr. Sparks in particular was 
 really disordered on the occasion — Mr. Holland called 
 at the theatre and informed Mr. Garrick and 
 Mr. Foote he had actually heard that Mr. Sparks was 
 so much hurt and unhappy, that he had taken to his 
 bed and was dangerously ill ; Foote immediately 
 rephed (in his laughing manner) that it could not be 
 
 true, or, that it must be a d d lie ; for he had met 
 
 his wife with two pounds of mutton-chops on a skewer 
 for her husband's dinner. This impromptu occasioned 
 a hearty green-room laugh." 
 
 " At night the house was what we of the theatrical 
 tribe Hke to see, and term chuck full in every part. . . . 
 On my first entrance there were marks of disapproba- 
 tion, and on my second sounded to me at such an 
 alarming height, that I thought all was over ; but the 
 multitude of well-wishers, and the number whose 
 
CH. ix] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 137 
 
 curiosity had been raised, longed to be satisfied, and 
 bore all before them. 
 
 " This little piece went on in a most flourishing 
 state tiU about the fifth or sixth night, when 
 Mr. Sparks, of Covent Garden Theatre, felt himself 
 so wounded by my attack on his acting (which truly 
 was a very picturesque one, and those who remember 
 him and me at that time will allow what I have here 
 said) that he waited on Mr. Garrick, and requested 
 he would not suffer him, as a man of credit in private 
 life, and an actor of estimation in public, to be de- 
 stroyed by such an illiberal attack on his livelihood ; 
 and, as it struck at his reputation, hoped he would 
 not permit it in future as far as regarded himself, 
 whom it had rendered miserable. Garrick said : 
 ' Why, now, hey. Sparks ! why now, hey, this is so 
 
 strange now, hey, a — why, Wilkinson, and be d d 
 
 to him, they tell me he takes me off, and he takes 
 Foote off, and so — why, you see that you are in very 
 good company.' ' Very true, sir,' says Sparks, ' but 
 many an honest man has been ruined by keeping too 
 good company '; and then Sparks made his bow and 
 his exit. Mr. Garrick, however, came to the theatre 
 at noon, paraded with great consequence up and 
 down the stage, sent for me, and when I obeyed the 
 mighty summons, he was surrounded by most of the 
 
 performers. ... ' Now, hey, d n it, Wilkinson ! — 
 
 now, why wUl you take a liberty with these gentle- 
 men the players, and without my consent ? you never 
 consulted or told me you were to take off, as you call 
 it ; hey, why now, I never take such Uberties — indeed 
 
 I once did it, but I gave up such d d impudence. 
 
 Hey now, that is, I say — but you and Foote, and 
 Foote and you, think you are managers of this 
 
138 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 theatre. But to convince you of the contrary, and 
 
 be d d to ye, I here order you, before these 
 
 gentlemen, to desist from taking any Hberty with any 
 one of Covent Garden Theatre ; and I think it neces- 
 sary to avow and declare my abhorrence of what you 
 have done, and at the same time to disclaim my 
 consent or knowledge of it : I do not allow myself 
 such unbecoming liberties, nor wUl I permit them 
 from another where I am manager ; and if you dare 
 repeat such a mode of conduct after my commands, 
 I wiU fine you the penalty of your article.' . . . 
 
 " Presently entered Foote, loudly singing a French 
 song to show his breeding, and on seeing such a 
 group of actors on the stage, pronounced like Wit- 
 wou'd : ' Hey day ! what, are you aU got together 
 here like players at the end of the last act !' — then 
 said he had called at Mr. Garrick's house, and was 
 informed he should find him at the theatre ; for 
 he wanted to fix on two or three plays wherein he 
 would act on the nights of his ' Diversions of the 
 Morning.' Mr. Garrick then assumed much serious 
 consequence, and related to Mr. Foote the state of 
 affairs — that he had received strong representations 
 from Covent Garden Theatre, and had, from motives 
 of humanity and consideration, resolved to put a stop 
 to Wilkinson's proceedings, and that Mr. Tate must 
 that night perform the part of Bounce only, and 
 at his peril to disobey his orders ; and that after 
 his exit as Mr. Bounce, the piece must finish with 
 Mr. Foote's performance, and no more Wilkinson. 
 ' If indeed, now — if Wilkinson could have taken 
 me off", as Mrs. Garrick says, why, now, as to 
 that I should have liked it vastly, and so would 
 Mrs. Garrick. But I again enforce Wilkinson's not 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 139 
 
 appearing on my stage a second time' — and to my 
 astonishment Foote assented. But had I been 
 entrusted or acquainted with chicanery and the 
 mysteries behind the curtain of a London theatre 
 (though to this hour I am not above half perfect), 
 my wonder would not have been so great. . . . 
 
 " As the evening approached, I went and prepared 
 myself for Bounce only, according to order, and 
 when Bounce was finished retired to the green-room ; 
 but am certain both Mr. Garrick and Mr. Foote had 
 planted persons in the house to call for WUkinson, 
 because Mr. Foote had not gone through half his 
 performance when the call for me was universal ; 
 which could not have been the case, as it was a 
 repeated piece, and the time not come for my second 
 appearance as usual, had not some subtlety been 
 used in the business. ... I thought Mr. Foote had 
 been prepared with sufficient reasons for the omission, 
 and that he would have explained them to the 
 audience, and the farce be no more repeated. The 
 clamour continued when Mr. Foote retired from the 
 stage, and Mr. Garrick ordered the lights to be let 
 down, which consisted of six chandeliers hanging 
 over the stage, every one containing twelve candles 
 in brass sockets, and a heavy iron flourished and 
 joined to each bottom, large enough for a street 
 palisade. This ceremony being complied with, Mr. 
 Garrick said it would, with the lamps also lowered, 
 be a convincing proof to the audience that aU was 
 over ; but this only served, like oil thrown on flames, 
 to increase the vociferation. On Garrick's perceiving 
 this, he came to me in the green-room, and with 
 seeming anger and terror asked me how I had dared 
 to cause a riot and disturbance in his theatre, and 
 
140 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 send a set of blackguards into the house to call for 
 me. All I could urge in my horrid situation was, 
 asserting my ignorance of the matter, but which was 
 of no avail ; and while I was proceeding with my 
 asseverations in piano, the forte broke out into out- 
 rageous tumult. What was to be done ? I replied, 
 I would run away ; but that, Mr. Garrick said, as 
 matters stood, could not be suiFered. ' Foote ! 
 Foote ! Foote !' was echoed and re-echoed from 
 every part of the house. He had been standing 
 with the most perfect ease, and laughing aU the 
 time ; but being thus loudly summoned, obeyed the 
 call of duty, and on the stage instantly presented 
 himself; and when there was interrogated. Why 
 Mr. Wilkinson's part of the farce, that had been so 
 weU received, was omitted ? Mr. Foote made an 
 harangue, and observed, if honoured with their 
 patience to hear him, he would endeavour to explain, 
 and he hoped to their satisfaction. On this silence 
 ensued. He said he was exceedingly sorry to have 
 given cause for being called to an account for any 
 motive of their displeasure ; begged respectfully to 
 assure them that, as to the omission of Mr. Wilkin- 
 son's latter performance, it had only been introduced 
 by way of entertainment, not with intention of injury 
 to any individual whatever ; for a harmless laugh was 
 all the young gentleman had aspired to — nor could he 
 have meant more, and by so doing to add a trifle for 
 the entertainment of the public ; and Mr. Wilkinson 
 had desired him to remit his grateful acknowledg- 
 ments for the kind indulgence they had honoured 
 him with. But, very unfortunately, what had only 
 been humbly offered as harmless had been basely 
 misconstrued into wickedness. . . . 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 141 
 
 " This declamation, instead of pacifying, was treated 
 with marks of anger and contempt, and an universal cry 
 for ' Wilkinson ! Wilkinson !' On which Mr. Foote 
 advanced once more, and said, as for his own peculiar- 
 ities, if they could afford the least entertainment, 
 Mr. Wilkinson was at full liberty to exercise his 
 talents to their utmost extent ; and then added, 
 archly (for the which, I have reason to think, the 
 manager did not find himself in the least obliged), 
 he believed, nay, was assured, Mr. Wilkinson might 
 as far as respected Mr. Garrick, without any restric- 
 tions, take the same freedom. The cry was for me 
 immediately to appear, and that without delay ; 
 Mr. Foote promised I should be instantly produced, 
 and took leave with a general plaudit. On Mr. Foote's 
 return to the green-room, he laid hold of my arm, and 
 said I must go on the stage that moment. 'And 
 what must I do when I am there V says I. ' O !' 
 replied he, ' anjrthing — what you like, and treat them 
 Avith as much of me as you please.' ' Ay,' but says 
 I, ' what does Mr. Garrick say ? for without his 
 orders I cannot proceed.' ' Hey — why, now — hey !' 
 says Garrick, ' why, now, as they insist, I reaUy do 
 not see that I am bound to run the hazard of having 
 a riot in my theatre to please Sparks and the rest 
 of the Covent Garden people ; and if they are not 
 satisfied with your serving up Mr, Foote as a dish — 
 why, it is a pity, as I to-day observed, but you could 
 give me ; but that, you say, is not possible with any 
 hopes of success. Why, now — haste ! they are making 
 a devilish noise ; and so, as you have begun your 
 
 d d taking off", why, go on with it, and do what 
 
 comes into your head, and do not in future plague 
 me with your cursed tricks again.' So Sam Foote 
 
142 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 popped the ' Exotic ' on the stage ; there was no time 
 to be lost, as they feared bad consequences. I was 
 afraid to go on, but on the stage I was actually 
 pushed by Mr. Garrick and Mr. Foote, and my hair 
 did stand on end hke quills upon the fretful porcupine. 
 The curtain was dropped, and the branches also down 
 on each side. My fright was apparent, but Mr. Town 
 soon cheered my spirits, as there was not one dis- 
 senting voice in the whole audience. I began, and 
 very freely with Mr. Foote, and then was for retiring, 
 but the cry was ' No, no — ^go on, go on !' and many 
 said alpud, ' Damn it, take them aU off !' I took the 
 hint, and was encouraged at so furious a rate that 
 I went through a long course of mimicry with great 
 dclat, having permission, as I thought. My distress 
 of the morning all vanished, and was exchanged for 
 the most delightful feelings in the evening ; being all 
 elated, and, on a short reflection, relying on Garrick's 
 declaration, as the words of truth, when he had twice 
 declared nothing could please him or Mrs. Garrick 
 more than a weU-executed likeness of himself as an 
 actor ; but note, good reader, in this point I had not 
 acted with honour, but duplicity ; for whenever he 
 had jokingly asked me 'What sort of a subject I 
 could make of him V I always answered : ' I never 
 could form any resemblance whatever; for his 
 manner and tones were so natural, and his voice 
 so melodious, that any imitation was impossible.' 
 This he greedily swallowed and beheved (charming 
 flattery 1), but in the close of my performance that 
 remarkable night the audience were wonderfully 
 surprised and tickled on beholding so unexpectedly 
 a resemblance of the incomparable Roscius, which in- 
 creased my spirits to such a degree that ... I deter- 
 
CH. IX] DRURY LANE CONFUSION 143 
 
 mined to give the audience a good meal ; and finding 
 my first attack had made a favourable impression in 
 their opinions, I advanced without mercy, cried havoc, 
 and produced Mr. Garrick in three characters. . . . 
 
 "And at the last line I made my finish and exit 
 in his manner, with loud acclamations, and was all 
 ahve, alive O ! But for me personally to recite 
 these pecuharities would give a much better idea 
 than even the ablest pen can possibly describe. 
 
 "After this night all opposition or affront was 
 dropped, and the enraged performers were advised 
 to let me die a natural death, as the most prudent 
 method ; for by opposite means they rendered 
 Wilkinson popular, and by not taking umbrage he 
 would sink into insignificance. , The farce was con- 
 tinued and gained additional force ; and Mr. Foote, 
 as he reaped the profit, was highly enraptured, and 
 said Wilkinson was very clever. He was the general, 
 receiving high and honorary rewards, whilst, in fact, 
 I was merely held in rank but as a poor subaltern 
 at low pay, for standing to be shot at. . , . 
 
 "All this time I received not one guinea as a 
 present, or as a bribe, from either Mr. Garrick or 
 Mr. Foote ; nay, from that whimsical night Mr. Gar- 
 rick was so hurt and offended with my representation 
 of his likeness, that almost during the remainder of 
 the season he never deigned to let his eye grace 
 me with its observance, and of course not a single 
 word to comfort me from his royal lips; all con- 
 veyed, whenever I met him, austerity, anger, and 
 dislike. Indeed, he felt himself inwardly hurt with 
 the liberty I had taken. 
 
 " Foote, by the practice of seeing me take him oflf 
 every night, as I kept within the bounds of decorum. 
 
144 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. ix 
 
 let it not a whit disturb his repose ; for, as he obtained 
 the golden fleece — why, let the world laugh and be 
 
 And so far it became his sole business and 
 
 interest, while that farce lasted ; but as to his good 
 friendship for me, though very pleasant at the time, 
 it only extended to— iVo longer pipe, no longer dance." 
 Altogether a strange sketch of free-and-easy stage 
 manners, while the manager had to look on, tolerating 
 it all. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 1756—1759 
 "THE author" — VISITS TO SCOTLAND 
 
 We may again wonder how the correct and orderly 
 Garrick could have brought himself to tolerate these 
 unworthy exhibitions and undignified tumults. The 
 reason, it is clear, was that he was compelled to 
 accept them by his domineering actor, Foote. We 
 find the latter back again at Drury Lane during the 
 season 1756-57, when the manager, undeterred by 
 the previous failure, was induced, or felt himself 
 compelled, to accept another comedy, " The Author," 
 whose attraction was a clever but gross caricature 
 of a harmless private gentleman, a personal friend 
 of Foote's. Garrick was now to experience a whole 
 series of further troubles arising out of this un- 
 fortunate connection. 
 
 There was a well-to-do Welsh Squire ^riamed 
 Aprice — or Apreece, as it became later — evidently a 
 simple, credulous sort of provincial who wished to 
 " get into society," and who to his misfortune came to 
 know Foote. He was an eccentric, had a grotesque 
 way of speaking and of saying aloud what was passiog 
 in his thoughts, illustrated by all sorts of odd 
 ejaculations. Foote was much struck with him, 
 asked him to dinner, where he studied him at his 
 
 145 10 
 
146 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 leisure, and at last "got him." The result was the 
 amusing, truly farcical figure of Cadwallader, which 
 caused roars of laughter, and for years was acted all 
 over the kingdom. 
 
 We may imagine this poor simple country gentle- 
 man going on his way quite unconscious that he was, 
 as it were, being measured, and destined, obscure 
 as he was, to furnish laughter to the whole town. 
 Foote worked away at his canvas, and drew him 
 to his own satisfaction. At last " The Author " was 
 produced, and Mr. Cadwallader — Foote himself — 
 stepped upon the stage in a grotesque dress, copied, 
 though exaggerated, in the minutest details from the 
 victim. For our manager, to secure accuracy, would 
 stoop to buying an old suit from the valet. Let us 
 conceive the poor country gentleman, brought to the 
 house, placed by Foote in a good box to see the 
 play (he fancied, no doubt, that he was being paid 
 a compliment), and listening to the shouts of laughter. 
 It was said that he enjoyed it most of all, and he 
 was of course pointed out by Foote's chosen friends 
 as the original. It must have been a play in itself 
 to see the victim laughing and applauding through 
 the night, unconscious that he was being laughed 
 at. He little knew, poor soul ! that for the next five 
 or six years he was to be the laughing-stock of the 
 kingdom, that people would be stopping and turning 
 round in the street to look after him, saying : " There 
 he is ! That's he ! Eh, Becky, Becky !"* 
 
 * This unlucky Mr. Aprice I find attracted Foote's notice some 
 years before ; for in " The Knights " he has' a very gratuitous 
 allusion to " a collateral branch by his mother's side, the Aprices 
 of Laubridon, and we have ever since quartered on an escutcheon 
 of pretence the three goats' tails rampant, divided by a chevron, 
 field argent, with a leek pendent." 
 
CH. x] " THE AUTHOR " 147 
 
 As I have said, the plot was of the slightest. A 
 youth who had turned bookseller's hack was in love 
 with Cadwallader's sister. A colonial Governor dis- 
 guises himself as Tartar Ambassador to " get over " 
 Cadwallader, reveals himself, forgives his son, and 
 the lovers are made happy. But Foote so enriched 
 the part with comic touches, so luxuriated in bustle 
 and eccentricity, said and did such odd things, nevjer 
 flagging for an instant, and, above all, so permeated 
 the character with diverting mimicries of a living 
 person, that he carried all before him. Above all, he 
 was supported by the exuberant spirit of the admirable 
 Kitty Clive in the part of Becky. We of our time 
 have little or no idea of this tumultuous spirit, such 
 as used to be exhibited by Wright or Buckstone, 
 whose very look, with the twist of his droll mouth 
 and the tone of his voice, threw the audience into 
 convulsions of merriment. Broad, comic acting at 
 this moment is virtually extinct. 
 
 The more we consider Foote's treatment of his 
 contemporaries, and even friends, the more perplexing 
 is it to understand. Here was a man on intimate 
 terms with conspicuous men, meeting them con- 
 stantly at clubs, dinners, and convivial suppers, 
 writing them friendly letters, and yet all the time 
 taking notes of their manners and penchants, either 
 bringing them on the stage, or preparing to do so. 
 This was well known, and yet we find him treated, 
 not as a spy or treacherous guest, but accepted as a 
 personage of such importance that he is to be pro- 
 pitiated or kept in good-humour. In our time, 
 a popular or funny man who was known to be 
 giving anything like mimicry of his acquaintances 
 at his " show " would find that it led either to law 
 
 10—2 
 
148 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 or to personal chastisement. Or supposing him to be 
 one of those agreeable persons who were asked to 
 entertain parties, and that he introduced some of his 
 friends, their dress, etc., into his songs, he would 
 certainly be "dropped," "cut," or avoided. In 
 Foote's case none of these results followed, the 
 reason being that all felt his power, and that he was 
 not a man whom it was safe to offend. 
 
 I have mentioned that Foote had an amazing gift 
 of conveying personal oddities and tricks of speech 
 in suitable words. He was more than successful on 
 this occasion, and set before his audiences a perfect 
 portrait of a most diverting eccentric, who was so 
 eager and exuberant that he made use of every aid 
 — ^gesture, tones, ejaculations — to express his feelings. 
 His contentions with his Becky, his sudden appeals 
 to her, caused infinite amusement. To caU for Becky 
 became a common form. His favourite utterance 
 was " Hold ! hold !" uttered in the most comic 
 cadence. 
 
 " Cad. WeU, what say you, Mr. Cape ? Let's have 
 it, without equivocation ; or hold, hold, hold, mental 
 reservation. Guilty or not ? Cape. Of what, sir ? 
 Cad. Of what ? Hold, hold, of making love to BeU. 
 Cape. GuUty. Cad. Hey ! how ? Hold, zounds ! 
 No, what, not with an intention to marry her? 
 Cape. With the lady's approbation and your kind 
 consent. Cad. Hold, hold, what, my consent to 
 marry you ? Cape. Ay, sir. Cad. Hold, hold, 
 hold, v^at, our Bell ? To mix the blood of the 
 Cadwalladers with the puddle of a poet? Cape. 
 
 Sir? Cad. A petty, paltry, ragged, rhyming 
 
 Spri. But Mr. Cad. A scribbling, hold, hold, 
 
 hold — garreteer, that has no more clothes than backs, 
 
CH. x] " THE AUTHOR " 149 
 
 no more heads than hats, and no shoes to his feet. 
 
 *S^n, Nay, but Cad. The ofFsprmg of a dunghill ! 
 
 Born in a cellar, hold, hold, and hving in a garret — a 
 
 fungus, a mushroom. Cape. Sir, my family 
 
 Cad. Your family ! Hold, hold, hold— Peter, fetch 
 the pedigree." 
 
 As the season had closed and the novelty had 
 passed away, Foote fancied that he was perfectly 
 assured. The Apreece family may have thought that 
 it would be wisest to take no notice of the matter. 
 Three months of the season had gone by when, on 
 December 18, the family, on opening their paper, 
 were disturbed to find that Foote (for his benefit 
 night) had selected this obnoxious farce or comedy, 
 and that the tide of personalities was to be set flowing 
 once more. The victims at last turned and resolved 
 to check the abuse at once. 
 
 Foote had prepared a rather taking bill. It seems 
 extraordinary that he should run the hazard of 
 attempting Shylock, a part one would have thought 
 him wholly unfitted for. No doubt the contrast 
 with the obstreperous fun of Cadwallader would 
 attract. Wilkinson relates the sequel : 
 
 " An additional scene was wrote for me. The 
 character was entitled and called Mrs. O'Shocknesy ; 
 all was ready, rehearsed, and perfectly prepared for 
 our royal exhibition — when, O dreadful to relate ! 
 or, as Mrs. Inchbald's epilogue to ' Such Things Are ' 
 expresses it, ' Down came an order to suspend the 
 ball !' In plain English, a peremptory mandate from 
 the Lord Chamberlain to inform Mr. Garrick that 
 Mr. Aprice, a gentleman of family and fortune, had 
 made personal application to him as highly aggrieved, 
 and had urged that, at the united voice of all his 
 
150 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 connections, he desired the farce of 'The Author' might 
 be expunged from the list of theatrical pieces, they 
 having all concurred in one general opinion that the 
 character of Mr. Cadwallader was purposely written 
 and draAvn out by the writer to render ridiculous 
 Mr. Aprice, his manner, and his peculiar oddities, 
 which made him a topic for pubhc laughter and 
 satirical joke and mummery — himself and wife could 
 not go along the streets without being insulted with, 
 ' My dear Becky, and here comes Dicky,' etc. — which 
 allegations were strictly true : in short, he urged that 
 they were become common objects for laughter and 
 affront by Mr. Foote's audacious freedom ; and 
 though he honestly confessed he had with his wife 
 Dolly seen the farce, yet they could not find a 
 similitude, but his family felt injured as well as all 
 their friends, who insisted on a curb being laid on 
 Mr. Foote's licentiousness, and the only proper and 
 immediate removal of grievance rested on the sense, 
 feelings, justice, and honour of the Lord Chamberlain 
 for instant redress. His lordship . . . gave his verdict 
 against Mr. Foote : being at the very crisis, and not 
 put in force tUl the day of performance, all appeal, all 
 interest to counterbalance, was in vain ; he would 
 hear no petitions ; that day was the final will and 
 pleasure. . . . This sudden and fatal decree was 
 irrevocable, and Mr. Foote, as the command came so 
 unexpectedly, even while I was actually rehearsing 
 the new scene, was thrown into a consternation and 
 panic not to be described. . . . 
 
 " Mr. Foote appeared shocked, pale, and dejected, 
 for in ' The Author ' he had depended on honours flow- 
 ing thick upon him, which this hasty kilhng frost not 
 only nipped,! but cut the root, so as to prevent its 
 
CH. x] « THE AUTHOR " 151 
 
 being for that year a tree-beari^ng fruit ; nay, even 
 Mrs. Clive was melted, who hated him, and had said 
 but an hour before, ' You play Shylock, Mr. Foote ! 
 how the devil should you know how to act Shylock, 
 who never could play a character well in your life I' 
 ' Why not, madam V replied Foote ; ' how can you 
 teU I can't act Shylock tiU you have seen me V 
 ' Why,' replied Clive (with a woman-like reason), 
 ' because I am certain you don't know how to speak a 
 line of it.' . . . This tender Catherine (and there she 
 was clever) almost sobbed for her dear Foote when the 
 author was prohibited, and his lordship, who sent the 
 decree, did not escape her deprecations ; but the 
 secret lay here : Becky — I mean Mrs. CadwaUader — 
 her part in the farce being stopped, was as great a 
 disappointment to her as an actress, as the author 
 being sUenced was to Mr. Foote. He felt like Shy- 
 lock, which he had been rehearsing, and regretted the 
 money this stoppage would lose him, three thousand 
 ducats in that, besides other precious jewels. The 
 incomparable Clive outwardly grieved for Foote, and 
 acted it very well, though tragedy was not her forte, 
 but was inwardly assisted by her anger, and all her 
 tenderness being really moved for the loss of her dear 
 Mrs. CadwaUader ; and certainly very few such in- 
 stances of great acting ever were or wiU be produced 
 in competition with her performance of that character. 
 She there (as Cibber says in his preface) outdid her 
 usual outdoings. She was the terror of poets, 
 managers, actors, actresses, and musicians — O rare 
 Kate CUve ! — there was no resource left but to change 
 the farce, stick up fresh bills, explain the unavoidable 
 necessity for so doing, and request the usual indul- 
 gence. As to what farce — the stale ' Diversions of the 
 
152 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 Morning' was the only substitute.* These precautions 
 taken, Mr. Foote went home to dinner as sheepish 
 and with as little appetite as I had done some weeks 
 before on my general lecture day, and I dare answer 
 for him with as little relish ; for those who are blessed 
 with superabundant spirits, when once they are sunk, 
 are quite chop-fallen." 
 
 It was amusing to find how speedily chastisement 
 followed Wilkinson, and overtook him at unexpected 
 moments and places. Years later, he was busy 
 arranging his benefit in the country. On the morning 
 of the performance a number of gentlemen entered 
 during the rehearsal, and a young man, walking up 
 to him, made an unexpected address. After saying 
 that the piece " written by that scoundrel Foote " had 
 been stopped six years before, in December, 1758, 
 " My name, sir," he said, " is Aprice, and the character 
 you mean to perform is an affront to the memory of 
 
 my father, who is now dead. As his son, by , I 
 
 will not suffer such insolence to pass unnoticed or 
 unpunished ; therefore if at night you dare attempt or 
 presume to play this farce, myself and friends are 
 determined, one and all, not to leave a bench or 
 scene in your theatre. So, Mr. Wilkinson, your 
 immediate and determinate answer." The manager 
 was called in, and, being timorous, the play was with- 
 drawn and another piece substituted. No announce- 
 ment of the change was made, and there was, naturally, 
 great confusion in the audience. But the night was 
 
 * Genest says that there is a manuscript note in the British 
 Museum which states that Foote came forward during this night of 
 troubles, and defended himself from the Apreece charges. Garrick 
 was too partial to these "exotic" exhibitions. During this very 
 season he allowed a farce to be played by children. 
 
CH. x] " THE AUTHOR " 153 
 
 got through without disturbance. It was a strange 
 coincidence that brought Aprice's son on the scene, 
 but a fitting retribution. 
 
 This successful personaUty established Foote's 
 gross system on a firm and permanent basis. It 
 was now known that he would in the future supply 
 his stage regularly with this form of attraction. 
 Henceforth no weU-known person endowed with a 
 stock of oddities was secure from the manager — a 
 terrible prospect for some. Many might wonder where 
 was the licenser — his Act of 1737 being only a few 
 years old, and assumed to have been passed to check 
 disorders and protect the pubhc. Foote virtually 
 made it " a dead letter." His rampant methods had 
 intimidated all. No one dared to interfere with him, 
 for fear of worse. The licensers — the Lord Chamber- 
 lains — ^were his intimate friends, to whom he used to 
 dedicate his pieces. 
 
 But there is another view. The Act was passed 
 to check political hcence — ridicule of Ministers and 
 persons in high office. Had Foote dared to touch 
 them, he would have been promptly restrained. The 
 mere ridicule of ordinary members of society was as 
 nothing to the officials. It was a strange, curious 
 state of things, but a wonderful tribute to Foote's 
 vast power. 
 
 Wilkinson goes on : " Mr. Foote's benefit, though 
 he was disappointed of his farce of ' The Author,' was, 
 it is true, very beneficial ; but his career was stopped, 
 and our ' Diversions of the Morning,' though it had 
 afforded good dinners, suppers, etc., for several weeks, 
 would not any longer produce even tea for breakfast, 
 particularly on a sharing plan, as, like most things in 
 this world, it had had its day. So Mr. Foote, the 
 
154 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 poet, had by the approach of January, with perfect 
 ease, squandered away all the profits which arose 
 from our diversions, and as easily the massy sum of 
 his benefit night ; so all the extravagant rarities which 
 he had enjoyed in November and December were, in 
 a comparative view, to be devoured by a real good 
 stomach, by imagination, with fancied delicacies, hke 
 his own poet Mr. Crambo ; and Mr. Foote therefore 
 in earnest felt the January blasts, which cut him 
 through and through. 
 
 " A single joint of mutton was his fare, of which I 
 often partook, and he generally had one or two to 
 dine with him ; but humble port and Lisbon were the 
 only wines at dinner — no claret or Madeira, for the 
 credit had waned with the pocket. He never could 
 work till his genius was put to its wits' end. ... I 
 must allow myself at that time much obliged to his 
 good breeding, as he ever seemed glad to see me at 
 his table, and seemed to study to make that table 
 agreeable ; and, indeed, he never showed himself to 
 more advantage than when making his guests wel- 
 come, as he seemed the generous, hospitable, cheerful, 
 and sincere friend of every person who partook of his 
 fare, which was always of the best, whenever the best 
 could with convenience be procured. 
 
 " He was soon after his benefit in such a state 
 of poverty that all parties at the Thatched House, 
 Bedford Arms, etc., were obhged to be given up. 
 He appeared vexed whenever I was indispensably 
 engaged — unless, indeed, he could get much better 
 company, such as Mr. Murphy or Mr. MackHn. But 
 they were not always to be had, nor were they ever 
 hand and glove ; for whenever Macklin and he had a 
 tiff, though I beheve Mr. Foote might be the aggressor, 
 
CH. x] « THE AUTHOR " 155 
 
 yet Mr. Macklin on such broileries would treat him, 
 not only very cavalierly, but very roughly. 
 
 " At the time my company was so welcome, many 
 happy, laughing evenings have I had in James Street 
 with himself, Messrs. Murphy and Macklin. Often, 
 as the circling glass went round and warmed my vain 
 heart, Mr. Murphy and Mr. Macklin would com- 
 municate their intentions of proceeding on a play or 
 farce, or some lucky thought. Foote got all the 
 information he could, and, like Mr. Bayes, pop ! he 
 clapped it down and made it his own." 
 
 During their affectionate intimacy Foote had 
 promised his young friend to play for his benefit, and 
 the latter counted on this as a chief attraction : 
 
 " As to Mr. Foote's acting for me, I really thought 
 it a duty, as well as a debt of honour. Mr. Foote 
 came to town in a few days ; and in my biUs and 
 advertisements were published both play and farce, 
 but luckily (as it proved) I had not inserted Mr. 
 Foote's name. I called to see him, and had reason to 
 believe he was denied ; I called a second time, and 
 was then admitted. 1 congratulated him on his 
 return, and informed him of my reliance on his ful- 
 filling his promise by performing for my benefit, 
 which was to be on the 14th of May ; and on that 
 full dependence I had advertised ' The Diversions of 
 the Morning,' and had the pleasure to inform him my 
 boxes were all taken. Foote, after coughing and 
 taking a quantity of snuff, and plucking his chin with 
 tweezers — a constant habit of his in private life — at 
 length cooUy replied : ' That as a young man he 
 wished me success in the world ; but was hurt to 
 observe, the publishing of his farce was an unwarrant- 
 able freedom. His health was very indifferent, and 
 
156 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 would not permit his assisting me at my benefit. The 
 infinite services and favours he had conferred on me, 
 by introducing me to the pubUe notice of the London 
 and Dubhn audiences, were a full or more than an 
 equal compensation for such trifling, immaterial assist- 
 ance as 1 had given him, or that my vanity might 
 have supposed to have added to the success of 
 his piece by performing in it.' Then again added : 
 ' He was not well, and besides he had letters of 
 consequence to despatch, and no time to trifle away, 
 therefore must wish me a good-morning.' I was 
 truly astonished, as may be easily supposed, at such 
 an unexpected, mean, despicable behaviour ! It was 
 ingratitude in every sense of the word. 
 
 " The reader wUl recoUect what a winter of con- 
 fusion and turbulence I had undergone. The money 
 I had certainly drawn by the sweat of my brow. He 
 had feasted on my labour, and had lived in clover, 
 while I was merely buffeted from pillar to post. I 
 desired he would not by any means neglect his health 
 or his letters of consequence, for that I not only took 
 my leave of him for that day, but was determined 
 never more to trouble him with a second visit. 
 However, to try him further, I said, as the farce was 
 advertised, my loss would be irreparable if not per- 
 formed, and hoped he would not add additional 
 cruelty by inflicting a punishment unmerited, by the 
 refusal of the copy of his farce. He sternly replied, 
 indeed he should ; he had a reputation to lose, and 
 would not hazard the representation of any piece of 
 his not printed, to be mutilated, spoiled, and con- 
 demned by my ignorant bungUng. Here the visit 
 ended, and I left him most truly with an honest 
 contempt, and said to him, when at the door, ' Fare- 
 
CH. X] « THE AUTHOR " 157 
 
 well, Mr. Foote !' and determined never more to 
 renew our acquaintance. 
 
 " In this dilemma some management was necessary 
 how to cook up my biU of fare, as the 14th of May 
 required strength to make the night fashionable. My 
 best and only resource seemed to be the waiting on 
 Mr. Garrick and entreating the favour of his hearing 
 the relation of my wrongs, as I could not think of 
 any expedient for relief, unless he would for once 
 advise and assist me. This intention I put into 
 instant practice, and Mr. Garrick received my tale 
 of Ol-treatment with more attention and good-nature 
 than I could possibly have expected from our long 
 distance and quarrels. In fact, he inwardly rejoiced 
 at the destroying my connection with Foote, as he 
 thought that together we were two mischievous 
 devils, and capable of giving him great uneasiness. 
 He stepped forward, and said: 'Well, Tate' ('Oh,' 
 thought I, ' if it is well, Tate, all wiU be right '), ' you 
 will now be convinced of your error in offending me, 
 and you will learn in future, I hope, to distinguish 
 between your real friends and your professional ones.' 
 I thanked him, and urged my wish for the continu- 
 ance of the farce (which I had long in secret secured ; 
 it was correctly wrote out for me by Mr. Brown- 
 smith, under-prompter to Mr. Cross, of that theatre). 
 ' Why, now,' says Garrick, ' that is, if you have a true 
 copy — why, but what would you do with it for want 
 of Foote's characters being supplied ?' ' Oh,' says I, 
 ' do not fear that, sir, for I mean to do them myself ; 
 and in those characters I will make such an example 
 of good Mr. Foote, by fair imitation, as shall cause 
 him to remember giving " Tea " as long as he lives.' 
 
 " Garrick's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and betrayed 
 
158 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 a satisfaction he wished to conceal. He inwardly 
 hated Foote (and not altogether without reason) ; 
 he wished to frown, but, with all his ingenuity and 
 cunning, he was not an actor equal to the task, for he 
 could not hold back any longer his consent, and said 
 he was reaUy unhappy at the ill-usage I had received 
 from ' that Foote.' Foote owed me a recompense for 
 my great services ; but if I had lost a false friend, I 
 should find in him a true one ; but he must observe 
 that he expected I would not make a bad use of his 
 kindness, but plant my mimicry against Foote alone, 
 as he was a proper object, and he wished every 
 success to my benefit and performance. Nay, he was 
 so generous that he insisted on a bottle of wine being 
 brought, and after the second glass he asked me if 
 1 would drink any more, but carefuUy at the same 
 time put the cork into the bottle. ' No more, sir.' 
 Nay, he was so generous on that occasion as to give 
 me a neat new edition of ' Othello,' worth one shilling 
 and sixpence, which I have to this day preserved, and 
 have piously transmitted it to my son. When parting 
 with him, he assured me that he was so much hurt at 
 the ill-treatment I had received from Foote that he 
 never would make any future agreement with him — 
 merely words to please me on our reconciliation. . . . 
 I promised him not to introduce any mimicry that 
 might tend to the least likeness whatever of the 
 performers of either theatre. . . . 
 
 " The wished-for night arrived. A splendid and a 
 crowded house ; Lady Granard, Lady Tyrawly, Sir 
 Francis Delaval, the Duke of Portland, the Captains 
 Dives's, the Hanways, Mrs. Jones Skelton, etc., had 
 secured all my boxes. My acquaintance, with such 
 particular interest, aided by pubUc curiosity, a full 
 
CH. X] « THE AUTHOR " 159 
 
 theatre cannot be a matter of great surprise to re- 
 late. . . . 
 
 " My Lady Pentweazle went off with every success 
 my most sanguine hopes could wish for ; but when I 
 came on in the very dress Foote had worn, and as 
 Mr. Foote, the audience seemed actually astonished ; 
 and, from that point being gained, I really was for 
 the remainder of the evening persuaded by the height 
 of fancy that I was Mr. Foote. I gave aU the par- 
 ticulars he had done, with the imitation of his puppets, 
 and a new Italian burletta of my own composing, in 
 the manner of the favourite burletta-singers then at 
 the Opera House ; and what most highly pleased was 
 the conversation scene between Mr. and Mrs. Cad- 
 wallader as Mr. Foote and Mrs. Chve, which cheered 
 the audience, as they had not seen it for two years. 
 Peals of laughter attended the performance, and, I 
 may add, shouts of applause at all my strokes on 
 Mr. Foote. . . . 
 
 " When Garrick came to the theatre on the Tuesday 
 morning . . . Mr. Austin said that he greatly enjoyed 
 aU Wilkinson's strokes upon Foote. Garrick, then pre- 
 tending to be angry, said : ' Now, why, Austin, now, 
 
 what d d tricks has this friend Tate of yours been 
 
 at ? Well, and now you want him to be at his tricks 
 again on Wednesday next ? Well, now, really, Austin, 
 
 I will have no more to do with these d d exotics ! 
 
 But you say he really trimmed Foote well — ha ! ha ! 
 ha !' In the midst of this cheerful scene came a letter 
 from the Lord Chamberlain, couched in severe terms, 
 for Mr. Wilkinson's taking the liberty on Monday 
 night to restore and act a scene from ' The Author ' 
 which had been prohibited ; it had given great offence 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Aprice, and therefore it was expected 
 
160 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 no such rude infringement should be again repeated. 
 Mr. Garrick was now really angry at being called to 
 an account for my breach of his theatric laws ; but 
 I had thought it vastly clever, as it suppUed that part 
 where my imitations of the performers were usually 
 given. Mr. Austin brought me the intelligence, but 
 it chagrined me much ; for, as I had executed that 
 part so well, it was taking a principal feather from 
 my gaudy newly- acquired plume. However, high 
 authority had laid its weighty commands, and I was 
 obliged, though much against my wiU, to submit. 
 
 " The farce was nevertheless acted, but with the 
 Lord Chamberlain's cruel lopping off a principal 
 limb ; it went off vastly well, but not with such 
 acclamations as on my own night." 
 
 The luckless Foote was now so " pinched," as his 
 friend called it, that he arranged a sort of comic 
 lecture to be given at the Haymarket early in 
 December. It seems to have been a kind of rambling 
 discourse, "rather defective and lame, but in that 
 whimsical dehvery and oratorial situation in which 
 Foote was unrivalled ; as he had great spirit, fire, 
 and volubility, and was very equal and collected 
 in a situation so difficult." It was ill-prepared, too. 
 However, all his friends mustered strongly for the 
 exhibition. He ridiculed the two managers. Rich 
 and Garrick ; the latter, he said, " not even allowing 
 the writers to pick up the crumbs that fell from his 
 table " — an unfair charge, as he had been lavish in 
 presenting Foote's pieces and Foote himself. 
 
 By the time he came to the second portion of his 
 lecture, he found that he had "dried up" and had 
 nothing more to say. " He seemed to have no resource, 
 and was reduced to beg leave to sit down at a table with 
 
CH. x] "THE AUTHOR" 161 
 
 two candles and read his ilew piece, called ' The 
 Minor,' which was in a very mutilated, unprepared 
 state, and, though enforced by him, was very languid 
 to a larger audience. He soon found his experiment 
 weighed as heavily on himself as on his hearers, 
 and therefore broke up the assembled court rather 
 abruptly, apologized for the hurry, bowed, and 
 departed with neither token of approbation or dis- 
 gust, for each party seemed pleased with their 
 release." All this seemed disastrous enough. But 
 he was still Foote, the incompressible. Wilkinson 
 tells us of the next scheme that occurred to the re- 
 sourceful Foote : 
 
 "As January, 1759, had pinched, so February, 
 instead of being more calm and quiet, made the air 
 of Covent Garden far from being softened, for it 
 nipped the wit with increasing severity. Therefore, 
 as a resource, he wrote to the manager at Edinburgh. 
 Callender (as near as I can remember) was the name 
 of that commander ; the theatre at that time in 
 Scotland was only a smuggling vessel, but now it is 
 enlarged and dubbed a royal man-of-war. Mr. Cal- 
 lender wrote Mr. Foote word that himself and his 
 company would be proud of his assistance for a few 
 nights, and assured him it was a comphment his 
 coming. At that time birds of passage from London 
 to Scotland were experiments unknown, for it was 
 judged impossible for a London theatrical sunflower 
 to survive the chillness of such a barbarous Northern 
 clime." All this reads curiously now, when the 
 Scottish capital is a favourable hunting-ground for the 
 travelhng player. Foote, it will be seen, was bold and 
 enterprising. The late modern system is, however, 
 quite opposed to such individual visits ; it declines to 
 receive the profession save, as it were, en bloc, when 
 
 11 
 
162 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 the whole play, scenery, properties, and company, to 
 use the proper term, "goes on tour." The old 
 system was unquestionably a true and healthy one, 
 the local stock company being fit and ready to 
 welcome the passing guest. 
 
 When he had settled on going to Scotland, of 
 which he talked as familiarly as though he were 
 going to Drury Lane, he said airily : " But where's 
 the means? Damme, I must sohcit that hound 
 Garrick." He did so promptly, and the actor at once 
 promised him £100. "But then he lent it like 
 Mr. Garrick, and could not omit his love of parade," 
 but enjoined formalities ; such as that he should see 
 Pritchard, the treasurer, on the matter, and Foote 
 might send up in the evening, when the money would 
 be handed to him. We may be sure that all this was 
 quite true, for it was the careful Garrick's mode of 
 making — and very properly, too — the disorderly Foote 
 feel that it was a serious obligation. On the other 
 hand, Foote could not relish being sent to an under- 
 ling, so he got his friend Tate to take his note and 
 receive the cash. " He was now in such high spirits 
 that it seemed a moot point with him whether he 
 should continue in London and spend the money, or 
 undertake the journey in search of more. But for a 
 wonder prudence prevailed, and a chaise was ordered 
 for the following morning. On that evening he not 
 only feasted on Mr. Garrick's cash, but, by way of 
 returning thanks, told more ludicrous stories of him 
 than at any other time I can ever recollect. He 
 ridiculed him much as a poet, sapng : ' David's 
 verses were so bad, and he was so fond of writing, 
 that if he died first he dreaded the thought of his 
 composing his epitaph.' But wits|must be forgiven 
 for such little sallies." Thisjis an amusing scene, with 
 
CH. x] VISITS TO SCOTLAND 163 
 
 some pleasant traits of character, and about the whole 
 there is a convincing tone of truth. We can feel and 
 see the struggle that was going on in Foote's mind, 
 and the way in which he strove to indemnify himself. 
 
 " Foote at Edinburgh (to use McRuthen's words) 
 was quite a phenomenon. Everyone in London stared 
 at his strange disposition, to adventure from the 
 metropolis of England, a journey of 400 miles, to 
 Edinburgh, and wondered that an actor of eminence 
 should venture to a place where at that time a £60 
 benefit was a treasure." 
 
 He reached Edinburgh on March 15, 1759, and on 
 the 20th made his bow to a Scotch audience, in the 
 Canongate Concert Hall, with a sort of " fit-up " 
 theatre. The scheme turned out far better than was 
 expected ; he was handsomely received, played in all 
 his own pieces — in Shylock, besides Bayes' Sir Paul 
 Plyant. The morning performance — the first given 
 in Scotland — on Friday, March 30, was a genuine 
 morning performance, doors opening at eleven, curtain 
 to draw up at twelve. He was welcomed, and enter- 
 tained hospitably. He remained until May, and then 
 returned to town. 
 
 In the year 1770, Foote, who always inclined to 
 bold, ambitious schemes, conceived the idea — a perfect 
 novelty then, but much practised later — of taking his 
 whole company into " the provinces " as far as Edin- 
 burgh. He entered into negotiations with Ross, 
 manager of the Theatre Royal, a new house that had 
 been opened in Shakespeare Square only the year 
 before. Foote took a lease of it for three years, and 
 the season began about November 10. The venture, 
 however, was not successful ; he tired of it, and, 
 disposing of his lease, went back to London. 
 
 11—2 
 
164 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. x 
 
 And indeed he had a most disastrous journey^ 
 being snow-bound at Moffat, at the King's Arms.* 
 A facetious Scot, one Mr. McCuUoch of Ardwell, who 
 was at the head of the Customs, fixed to Foote's 
 chaise window some lines in the name of Boreas : 
 
 " Return your steps, I say ; 
 Let not one Foote, 'tis my request, profane 
 The sacred snows that lie on Erickslane." 
 
 Foote was amused, and told the writer " he himself 
 was game for all, as he took anyone for game that 
 suited, as of course." They became friends, and had 
 many a jovial night together. 
 
 Foote had brought Woodward, that brilliant 
 comedian, with him, also Robson, Dancer Weston, 
 Mrs. Didier, Mrs. Baker, Mrs. Jewel — about a dozen 
 in all. Rather a contrast this to the modern tourist 
 train with its hundred or so of passengers ! 
 
 On his return he settled his plans for a visit to 
 Dublin. He little dreamed that his henchman was 
 there before him, already contriving a fresh intrigue 
 for his annoyance. He would have been still more 
 surprised had he known that his good friend — or foe — 
 Garrick was at the moment indirectly concerned in 
 the plot, or favouring it indirectly. Here again 
 is an amusing episode which illustrates Garrick's 
 strangely mixed character. 
 
 To Tate Wilkinson. 
 
 " I thank you, my dear sir, for your congratulations 
 on my arrival in Scotland, where, by-the-by, I have 
 encountered more perils than in a voyage to the 
 
 * The accounts of the two journeys to Edinburgh are a little 
 confused, and this and other passages may refer to the first journey. 
 
CH. x] VISITS TO SCOTLAND 165 
 
 Indies, not to mention mountains, precipices, savage 
 cataracts, and more savage men. I was locked up 
 for near a week in a village — dirty, dismal, and 
 desolate — by a deluge of snow. 
 
 " I think of quitting this town in three weeks at 
 the farthest, and shall certainly pay my homage to 
 you in your kingdom of York ; but not with the 
 least design of becoming your subject : all my cam- 
 paigns shall end with this place, and my future 
 operations be confined to my own principality. I am 
 glad to find that your theatre stands its ground, 
 though you are so unfortunate as to hobble a little. 
 
 " I shaU let you know by a line on what day I 
 shall be likely to see you. I beg my compliments to 
 your amiable queen, and the whole royal brood. 
 " Believe me, sincerely yours, 
 
 " Samxjel Foote. 
 
 " Edinburgh, 
 
 "February l6." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 DUBLIN BROILS 
 
 FooTE seemed always to revel, as it were, in scenes 
 of confusion ; and his presence on one side or the 
 other was sure to stimulate the disorder. He was 
 going to Dublin to repair his finances, where a strange 
 condition of things prevailed. 
 
 During the season of 1759-60, a fierce contest 
 was raging between Barry's and Mossop's theatres, 
 to the utter ruin of both. Foote was engaged by 
 Barry, and was to appear as Bayes in "The Rehearsal," 
 which he was to enrich with his favourite mimicries. 
 Macklin, that ever - tempestuous spirit, violent as 
 Mossop, and a tempting enough object from his 
 eccentricities, was marked down for ridicule. The 
 scenes that followed are so racy and entertaining that 
 I cannot resist introducing them for the pleasure 
 of the reader ; they also show to what disorder 
 and confusion this licentious spirit led. 
 
 The whole city ranged itself into factions taking 
 part with one side or the other ; ladies of rank sup- 
 ported their favourites. Barry, Sheridan, and Wood- 
 ward, at Crow Street, were opposed to Mossop at 
 Smock AUey, There was no money — only noise, 
 combat, and riot. As the contest was a hfe-and- 
 death one, no missile that could damage was neg- 
 lected, and when Wilkinson, at Christmas 1759, 
 
 166 
 
CH. XI] DUBLIN BROILS 167 
 
 arrived, each party determined to secure his aid as 
 a mimic, either with or against Foote. 
 
 It must have been a scene of rich comedy when 
 Foote, already goaded to fury by the petty persecu- 
 tions of WUkinson, discovered on arriAdng that " the 
 
 fellow," the " d d pug," as he called him, was already 
 
 there, and engaged at the rival house. But what would 
 he have thought, or done, had he suspected that 
 Tate had been stimulated by Garrick to follow him ? 
 
 Foote had a great relish for Irish humour, and 
 understood it as weU as did Thackeray. He did 
 not care for the hackneyed stage stories, the blunders, 
 or the bulls. He used to relate admirably tales in 
 which there was something really witty. They 
 inspired him with wit — witness his familiar tracing 
 of the origin of the Irish beggars' clothes. He liked, 
 and was amused by, the Irish. Long after, in one of 
 his prologues, he pays a friendly compliment to Irish 
 humour. A letter from Garrick appeared in the 
 Dublin papers. The letter ran : 
 
 " I have detached Foote's pupU to help you to puU 
 down those mighty Kings. God send he may have 
 better success than the Ostrich ; for that, I am told, 
 never drew enough to pay its freight. He is aU I 
 
 can spare at present — a d d clever fellow, and 
 
 will work their buiF. If he should fail he will be no 
 loser, for he is continued on my pay. I beg you will 
 be kind to him. These cursed burletta people I took 
 from Marybone have done nothing ; I wish the devil 
 had them. For God's sake let me know if you think 
 they would go down in Dublin, and I wiU hustle 
 them off to you immediately. Tell the poor people 
 to keep up their spirits, for they may depend upon 
 every assistance that can be spared by," etc. 
 
168 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xi 
 
 Here the style and spirit betray Garrick, 
 Tate, however, may have been telling of his talks 
 with the manager, and these hints may have been 
 worked up into an imaginary letter. Foote saw 
 and heard of these things, and was at last goaded 
 into doing something, and some grotesque scenes 
 followed. 
 
 Foote was under a very remarkable and eccentric 
 personage as his manager — viz., Thomas Sheridan, 
 of whom " Bozzy " gives us a very distinct drawing. 
 His was an agitated, almost pathetic story of iU- 
 luck and trouble through a long life. A fine actor 
 of the turbulent school, he somehow never " caught 
 on." Misfortunes pursued him in battalions, and 
 at this very moment he was struggling with his 
 two colleagues against impending disasters. Here 
 were three well-inspired tragedians, Mossop, Barry, 
 Sheridan — Irish all — dogged by miseries and troubles. 
 Mossop and Sheridan were " inflated " by vanity to an 
 extraordinary extent ; they saw hatred and prejudice 
 everywhere. Sheridan unluckily attracted Foote's 
 notice, who, moreover, booked him for his next 
 " show." One of the most diverting scenes con- 
 ceivable was the reception of the impudent mimic's 
 cool proposal to take him off, and so draw money to 
 the house. Sheridan had been consulting him on 
 their desperate state.* 
 
 * " I said : ' My good Mr. Sheridan, I have hit upon the very 
 thing to establish myself as a favourite with you and the town.' 
 He seemed all impatience to know what it could be. ' My dear 
 sir, a thought has just entered my pate, which I think will draw 
 money, and be of infinite service to myself.' 'What is it? what 
 is it .''' says Sheridan, with the utmost eagerness. ' Why, sir,' says I, 
 ' your rank in the theatre, and a gentleman so well known in 
 DubUn, on and off the stage, must naturally occasion any striking 
 
CH. XI] DUBLIN BROILS 169 
 
 So strange was the behaviour of these eminent 
 Hibernian players that one is inchned to think they 
 were all a httle mad, either with vanity, jealousy, or 
 other passions. Thus, when Tate first met the two 
 protagonists — Macklin and Mossop — who were in the 
 same company, they were infuriated with him because 
 he had engaged himself to the other house. The 
 reason was plain : they feared he was going to " take 
 them all off." Mr. Mossop " breathed hard, rolled 
 his eyes, and sniffed the air ; spoke not, looked not, 
 smUed indignant, and with resentment ; put his hand 
 upon his sword : his eyes looked terror ; all was sunk 
 in silence." Macklin was angry and tragic. The 
 youth was afraid to go, could not get out of the 
 house ; and when at last he rushed away, Mossop 
 
 imitation of yourself to have a wonderful effect. I have paid great 
 attention to your whole mode of actings not only since I have been 
 in Dublin, but two years before, when you played the whole season 
 at Covent Garden Theatre, and do actually think I can do a great 
 deal on your stage with you alone, without interfering with any 
 other actor's manner whatever.' 
 
 " Hogarth's pencil could not testify more astonishment. He 
 turned pale and red alternately; his lips quivered. I instantaneously 
 perceived I was in the wrong box. It was some time before he 
 could speak ; he took a candle from off the table, and, showing me 
 the room door — when at last his words found utterance — said he 
 never was so insulted. What ! to be taken off by a buffoon upon 
 his own stage ! And as to mimicry, what is it ? Why, a proceeding 
 which he never could countenance — that he even despised Garrick 
 and Foote for having introduced so mean an art ; and he then very 
 politely desired me to walk downstairs. ... I was obliged to march, 
 and really felt petrified with my bright thought, which had turned 
 out so contrary from what I had ignorantly expected. Mr. Sheridan 
 held the candle for me only till I got to the first landing, and then 
 hastily removed it, grumbling and squeaking to himself, and leaving 
 me to feel my way in the dark down a pair and a half of steep 
 stairs, and to guess my road in hopes of finding the street door.' 
 
170 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xi 
 
 rose up of a sudden, and said : " Sir, T wish to attend 
 you." This was alarming. " But, on crossing the 
 channels, which were remarkably dirty, he offered his 
 hand very politely, then suddenly walked on for the 
 space of five or six minutes, and after a tragic ejacula- 
 tion he stopped, and said : ' Sir, Mr. Wil-kin-son ! 
 How do you dure to live, sir? You are going to 
 play in Crow Street with Barry, sir ; and, sir, I will 
 run you through the bod-y, sir, if you take the liberty 
 to attempt any maimer of mimicry on the stage. 
 You must promise me, sir, on your honour, you will 
 not dare attempt it. If you break that promise, sir, 
 you cannot live : and you, Mr. Wilkinson, must die, 
 as you must meet me the next day, and I shall kill 
 you, sir.' Wilkinson made a sort of half-laughing 
 protest to the madman, who, somewhat taken aback, 
 broke out : ' You dare not take me off, sir, more than 
 a little J if you do more, sir, you shall die !' He then 
 instantly departed, as majestic as the ghost of Caesar." 
 Wilkinson, however, according to his own account, 
 was not to be intimidated, and gave some imitations ; 
 but it appears that Mossop was more or less content, 
 declaring that the young man had done what he was 
 directed to do — i.e., had taken him off a little. 
 
 Foote must have been disgusted to find himself 
 committed to the disastrous venture. Wilkinson 
 arrived on the Christmas Day, and tells us how he 
 had been encouraged by Garrick to make free with 
 the two deserters. The great man had furnished him 
 with a letter which secured him an instant engage- 
 ment. Foote hardly calculated what an annoyance 
 this fellow was to be to him. The other, however, 
 showed much duplicity. He reasoned with himself 
 that he must keep friends with Barry and Woodward, 
 
CH. xi] DUBLIN BROILS 171 
 
 as they might be useful to him, and so resolved to 
 show mercy. They had sent an emissary deprecating 
 his mimicries, all but imploring, for any ridicule would 
 do them injury. They even offered to engage him. 
 
 Foote, however, was fair game for him. He pro- 
 ceeded to seize on all his plays, exhibitions, and busi- 
 ness, in the most lawless way, beginning with " Taste," 
 and " The Diversions of the Morning," or " Tea." 
 Foote said roughly : " D — n the pug ! What can he 
 do against me?" They had rival benefits within a 
 few days of each other, and rival supporters. Wilkin- 
 son had, no doubt, plenty of friends among the second 
 or middle classes. Tate spitefully records that his 
 friend had a thin house. 
 
 Mossop, broken down and broken-hearted, beset by 
 his creditors — his performers months in arrear and 
 half starving — this strange Mossop, inflated with 
 pride and arrogance, took on him all the airs of state, 
 and haughtily turned apphcants away. The melan- 
 choly thing was that there was no money among the 
 party — aU were " broke "; and yet the insane com- 
 petition went on.* 
 
 * Just as the play was beginning one night, an unhappy actress 
 forced her way into his room, and, falling on her knees, implored 
 Mossop : " Oh, sir, for God's sake, assist me ! I have not bread to 
 eat. I am actually starving, and shall be turned out into the streets." 
 " Mossop (in state). Wo-man, you have five pounds a week — wo-man ! 
 Mrs. Borden. True, sir ; but I have been here six months, and in 
 all that time have received only six pounds. I call every Saturday 
 for my salary, but ' No money ' is the answer. Mossop. Wo-man, 
 begone ! and, wo-man, if you dare ask me for money again, I will 
 forfeit you ten pounds." This unlucky Mossop was patronized by 
 ladies of fashion, who brought their friends to his theatre, and would 
 invite him to their routs and parties, where high play was in vogue- 
 The manager, with money in his pocket from some well-supported 
 piece, would gamble it all away, leaving his players unpaid. 
 
172 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xi 
 
 Meanwhile the pampered players, uncontrolled 
 and unpaid, had grown so careless and so insolent that 
 they fancied they could take any liberties with an 
 audience which, to say the truth, was as hcentious as 
 its entertainers. Any sort of buffooning exhibition 
 seemed to be tolerated. Such was the show with 
 which the impudent Tate, with his confederate 
 Mrs. Abington, thought they would try the patience 
 of the Dublin audience. Like all the rest, it is 
 amusingly told by one of the culprits, and is worth 
 recounting here as a specimen of the condition of 
 the stage. 
 
 Here is a specimen of this disorderly insolence. It 
 is all but inconceivable. 
 
 " Mrs. Abington had often entertained several 
 genteel parties with some droll stories of a good 
 gentlewoman she named Mrs. Fuz. I had been on 
 parties with Lord Miltown and Lord Clambrazil, 
 when in high spirits and good humour, and had 
 diverted myself and the company with stories and 
 anecdotes of my dear, favourite old lady, Mrs. White. 
 . . . Mrs. Abington had promised Lord Miltown she 
 would produce herself as Mrs. Fuz, and she would 
 prevail on her friend Wilkinson to do the same, as 
 Mrs. Jenkins (ahas Mrs. White) ; which information 
 his lordship made known to all families of distinction 
 in Dublin. But the peer did not reflect that those 
 stories told by myself or Mrs. Abington over the 
 convivial table gave a kind of explanatory key to the 
 strange characters. . . . Before the night came, we 
 often entertained ourselves with extempore rehearsals, 
 and conceived ourselves easy, perfect, and entertaining. 
 ... It was a crowded house, part of the pit laid into 
 the boxes. Mrs. Abington had ordered an excellent 
 
CH. XI] DUBLIN BROILS 173 
 
 supper, superbly lighted, etc., and had wrote a little 
 introductory dialogue scene in the street between two 
 gentlemen, giving a description of a party they were 
 that night invited to, and where two extraordinary 
 characters were asked for the entertainment of the 
 lady's guests, at whose house the rendezvous was 
 appointed ; but each person was enjoined to lay their 
 fingers on their lips, and not to laugh on any account 
 whatever, but to pay every mark of attention and 
 approbation, in order that the two ladies might with 
 more unlimited freedom display their different 
 absurdities. After the dialogue was finished, the 
 scene was drawn up, and discovered several well- 
 dressed ladies and gentlemen at supper : Miss 
 Ambrose was sitting at my elbow as the daughter 
 of Mrs. Jenkins, who intended bringing her on the 
 stage ; Mrs. Fuz was seated at one front comer of a 
 long supper-table, and I was at the other ; Mrs. Keif 
 was at the head as lady of the ceremonies, which was 
 the only good part, for there were the servants with 
 wine, and she displayed on the occasion her being 
 mistress of a good knife and fork. On being dis- 
 covered, and looking scornfully at each other, our two 
 figures had for some time a fine effect ; loud fits of 
 laughter succeeded, and from these great expectations 
 were formed. 
 
 " Mrs. Fuz then desired Mrs. Jenkins to begin, Mrs. 
 Jenkins desired Mrs. Fuz would do the same, and we 
 found ourselves in an awkward situation. But after 
 a few efforts the two ladies entered into a hobbling 
 short conversation, which was received very well 
 fi-om the eager opinion that something better would 
 follow, for the audience were all eyes and ears ; but 
 we soon flagged. Mrs. Fuz asked for a glass of wine ; 
 
174 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xi 
 
 says Mrs. Jenkins, ' Upond my sould and I will have a 
 glass of wind too.' That did not do, and the Abington 
 began to feel it a service of danger, perplexity, and 
 disgrace. Mrs. Jenkins called to her daughter to 
 act Juliet, and observe her manner, and to stick 
 herself upon the stage as if she was chilled and stabbed 
 throughout. But as she kneeled down to act Juliet, 
 the strange old lady, Mrs. Fuz, got up, gave her a 
 kick, ran away, and abandoned Mrs. Jenkins to the 
 mercy of the audience ; I was well aware of what 
 might be expected, and therefore lost no time, but 
 arose and ran after her, crying out, ' Mrs. Fuz ! Mrs. 
 Fuz !' The audience began to smoke the joke, and 
 by their tokens of anger gave the necessary hint to 
 the staring ladies and gentlemen on the stage, that a 
 retreat would not be imprudent if they regarded 
 their safety ; so they ran away also, which caused a 
 laugh, for it was evident when Mrs. Abington and I 
 had eloped they were ignorant what to do. . . . 
 
 " When the curtain dropped, which was with loud 
 marks of censure, the ladies universally arose, and, 
 by way of joke, laughed and curtsied to each other, 
 saying, ' Your servant, Mrs. Jenkins ; your servant, 
 Mrs. Fuz.' " 
 
 I have gone, perhaps, too minutely into these 
 curious scenes in order to show how contagious is what 
 may be called a tolerated Hcence, and what abuses it is 
 certain to bring about. For here we have found the 
 managers of the two patent houses — Garrick and 
 Rich — Foote, Sheridan, Mossop, the chief actors of 
 the great houses, aU thrown into confusion, set by 
 the ears, by one malicious, venomous creature. These 
 scenes are well worth reflecting upon. 
 
 How imperceptibly and yet how rapidly accom- 
 
CH. xi] DUBLIN BROILS 175 
 
 plished have been the changes in theatrical customs 
 and arrangements 1 Who thinks now of the actor's 
 benefit! Yet the benefit was at one time, to the 
 general nuisance of the playgoer, an essential element 
 in the actor's life. At the close of the season came 
 regularly a round of benefits. It was a form of 
 hcensed begging, degrading on both sides. It was 
 supposed also to make up deficiencies in the salary ; 
 but those who had most effrontery, and who were 
 skilled in the arts of begging, gained more than their 
 feUows. The more obscure actors got little. What 
 arts were employed can be seen in Boz's vivid and 
 truly humorous scenes. 
 
 " One night before my benefit happened, Mr. 
 Foote (who of all men in the world ought not to 
 have been offended) found himself much hurt and 
 wounded, and so little master of himself, notwith- 
 standing the unbounded hberties he had taken, not only 
 with the players, but also often to the disturbance of 
 the peace of private families, that he actually visited 
 me in great wrath, attended by Mr. Larry Kennedy, 
 and in Pistol-hke manner protested, ' If I dared take 
 any more liberties on the stage in future with him, 
 he was determined the next day to call me to 
 account.' But I pursued my plan, and was obliged, 
 amongst other favours to Mr. Foote, that he was not 
 observant, but let me rest in quiet. We often met 
 drawn up at noon in different parties in the Trinity 
 CoUege Gardens as perfect strangers, but never at 
 any house of visiting ; if we had, his talent or wit 
 would have forced me to have felt the severity of his 
 lash. . . . This made his visit to me a standing joke 
 against him in the green-room." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 1760 
 "THE minor" 
 
 When he was in Dublin, Foote had with him a new 
 comedy, or rather the draft of one, for it was quite 
 incomplete ; he thought he might try its eflfect upon 
 an Irish audience. It might give him an opportunity 
 of "paying off" the viper or gadfly that had been 
 harassing him. To this end he had written a special 
 character — a clever but libellous portrait of Wilkinson 
 — calling it " Shift." Its author saw no risk in failure, 
 because he intended it for a larger and more important 
 audience. He wished to see how the characters would 
 tell, and the drama work out on a small area. It was 
 not Ukely that the Dubhn audiences could recognize 
 the originals of Dr. Squintum, Mrs. Cole, and Smirk, 
 though Shift they had among them. Whitefield had 
 but a slender following in Ireland, and the Mrs. Cole 
 type was not very familiar. 
 
 Foote, no doubt, told everyone he knew in Dublin 
 who it was intended for — to wit, " the hound " Wil- 
 kinson, One must be astonished at the quiet, busi- 
 ness-like fashion in which Wilkinson accepted these 
 affronts and the falsehoods as to his birth and rearing, 
 such as his description as a crossing-sweeper or link- 
 boy. The reason was, he perfectly forecasted that 
 Foote might want him later, and would be useful to 
 
 176 
 
CH. xii] " THE MINOR " 177 
 
 him in town. So it proved ; and the pliant mime 
 found Mrs. Cole a standing character, which he acted 
 with much spirit and grotesqueness, while someone 
 else was performing Shift and describing his degrading 
 origin and situation !* 
 
 We can only understand the prodigious success of 
 the play when we consider the enormous extent to 
 which the craze for exaggerated piety had spread. 
 Whitefield's fanatical utterances at this time were 
 provoking derision. His absurd attacks on pastimes 
 and theatres — couched in almost farcical language — 
 caused resentment. But the " conversion " of a repro- 
 bate woman, whose only change of life seemed to be 
 the adoption of religious cant, caused general disgust, 
 and this phase Foote was to deal with, and with 
 infinite humour. Yet Whitefield was sincere and 
 unsparing in his labours, and it might be that the 
 actor thought that the success of a rival performer 
 would interfere with his own. Disagreeable as is the 
 description of Dr. Squintum, it is as nothing when 
 compared with the stroke of introducing Mother Cole 
 — an odious and repulsive satire, t 
 
 When the "unfortunate Dr. Dodd," as he was called, 
 got into trouble through his oiFer of money to the Lord 
 Chancellor's wife for a living, an offer which brought 
 disgrace on the notorious chaplain to the Magdalens, 
 
 * The wit of this piece is often very brilliant, and much a la 
 Congreve — as when the gay spendthrift said he was setting up an 
 opera-dancer at 300 guineas, so as to be in the fashion. "What 
 a cormorant !" says one of his friends. " She must be devilish 
 handsome !" " / am told so," says the other. " What ! did you 
 never see her ?" " No." 
 
 t Boz followed the same tactics in " Pickwick," when he showed 
 the results of the Shepherd's and Deputy Shepherd's teaching 
 on Mrs. Weller. 
 
 12 
 
178 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xii 
 
 Foote was on the watch, and introduced a Mrs. Simony 
 in his piece. The incident was a vulgar piece of 
 roguery unworthy of pubhc notice outside the courts 
 of law ; but Dodd was a notable pubhc character on 
 account of his sensational sermons at the Magdalen 
 Chapel. This was in Foote's line, and much could 
 be made of it. There was certainly something 
 unchivah-ous in thus gibbeting those who were 
 already gibbeted. Of course he " made up " the 
 character after the proper dress, manners, and other 
 peculiarities, and this secured laughter and crowded 
 houses. 
 
 It would almost seem that he had resolved to win 
 the title of Enghsh Aristophanes by satire conceived 
 on a large scale, and directed against a conspicuous 
 and growing abuse — viz., a system of hysterical 
 sanctity, which under Whitefield's guidance was 
 gathering vast crowds of devotees. He would exert 
 all his powers of humour and ridicule, and amuse 
 as well as chastise. Hence the first sketch of his 
 great and best play, " The Minor." He had made 
 regular studies for this purpose, and had attended 
 Whitefield's services. 
 
 The little-scrupulous Tate Wilkinson had been at 
 one time an active follower of Whitefield's, and thus, 
 knowing him by heart as it were, could take off all 
 his pecuUarities. He, indeed, supplies a portion of 
 a sermon which is really excellent, and probably a 
 genuine specimen. Shuter also used to attend White- 
 field's Tabernacle at Tottenham Court Road, where 
 he was so liberal in his contributions that, when his 
 benefit came on, Whitefield actually invited his con- 
 gregation to support him. Yet this traitor used, 
 with Wilkinson, to regularly attend the services, with 
 
CH. xii] "THE MINOR" 179 
 
 the view, especially in the case of Tate, of taking 
 their pastor off. Here is the portrait of Tate 
 as Shift : " Sir William Wealthy. Who were 
 your parents ? Shift. I was produced, sir, by a left- 
 handed marriage, in the language of the newspapers, 
 between an illustrious lamplighter and an eminent 
 itinerant cat and dog butcher — ' Cat's meat and dog's 
 meat ! Hearts, liver, lights, or a good sheep's heart !' 
 I dare say you have heard my mother, sir ? But as 
 to this happy pair I owe Httle besides my being, 
 I shall drop them where they dropped me — in the 
 streets.* My first knowledge of the world I owe to 
 a school which has produced many a great man — the 
 avenues of the playhouse. There, sir, leaning on my 
 extinguished link, I learned dexterity from pick- 
 pockets, connivance from constables, politics and 
 fashions from footmen, and the art of making and 
 breaking a promise from their masters. ' Here, sirrah ! 
 light me across the kennel.' ' I hope your honour 
 will remember poor Jack.' ' You ragged rascal, I 
 have no halfpence — I'U pay you the next time I see 
 you.' But, lack-a-day, sir, that next time I saw as 
 seldom as his tradesmen. Sir William. Very well." 
 
 Foote's associations with Ireland were of the most 
 agreeable kind. To the jovial natives, as they were 
 then, he was most acceptable for his wit, humour, 
 and good spirits, to say nothing of his histrionic gifts. 
 The actor loved to be what is called " king of his 
 company," and this sort of sovereignty the Irish 
 were heartily willing to afford him. English visitors, 
 indeed, have always assumed an air of haughty supe- 
 riority to the aborigines, which the latter, owing 
 
 * This was one of Foote's unscrupulous libels, as Wilkinson's 
 father was the Chaplain of the Savoy and a respectable cleric. 
 
 12—2 
 
180 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xii 
 
 perhaps to their old servitude, have accepted with 
 complacency. Foote — always rough and domineer- 
 ing, even in his most convivial moments — would tell 
 them rude truths, and when he " set down " some 
 awkward Hibernian the company joined in the ridi- 
 cule, and enjoyed the treatment their fellow had en- 
 countered. There was a young man of fashion then 
 in Dublin — Mr. Coote, later Earl of Bellamont, whose 
 Court portraits of himself and his Countess are among 
 Reynolds's most picturesque works — well noted 
 for his dandified airs and supercilious bearing. The 
 boon company was delighted to have brought him 
 under Foote's eye, and, so soon as he had gone his 
 way, set up a loud laugh, recapitulating his absur- 
 dities. But Foote said : "I see nothing absurd about 
 him. In fact, I think this Mr. Coote of yours is the 
 only weU-bred, sensible person I have met in Dublin." 
 This was insolent enough, but his obsequious followers 
 laughed and applauded. Hard drinking was then the 
 basis of all conviviality.* There was a well-knovm 
 toper. Sparks by name, who had an official title of 
 the " Lord Chief Joker," and whom Foote, no doubt, 
 often sat beside at feasts, being urged : " Now, 
 Misther Fot, ye're not drinking." Our actor must 
 indeed have been a right good companion, so diverse 
 and adaptable, suited to the company of politicians 
 like Fox, of sages like Johnson, of players, topers, 
 Lord Chief Jokers, and the like. It was a pity, as 
 
 * When the author was a boy, the taste for punch still prevailed, 
 and he recalls being shown or told of certain rosy-tinted men who 
 "could take their ten tumblers at a sitting." There were also the 
 " two- and three-bottle men." Duelling, also, was only beginning to 
 die out, and he recalls a benevolent old lawyer who had " killed 
 his man." The Irish now are almost less convivial than their 
 English and Scotch brethren. 
 
CH. xii] « THE MINOR " 181 
 
 Johnson said of his Bozzy, " that he had not better 
 bottom." 
 
 For Foote the portion of the day that was " worth 
 living for" was the supper ^the gathering of jolly 
 listeners, the applause ; the night drawn out to morn- 
 ing. In such surroundings Foote was king. 
 
 After this generation has passed away, wiU anyone 
 have anything to tell of the personages that figured 
 in festive meetings in our days ? I fear there is 
 nothing to record or to celebrate. We have, alas 1 
 no Footes, Garricks, Johnsons, Burkes, Goldsmiths — 
 all is mediocrity. There is nothing worth recording. 
 Someone, no doubt, is recording in a diary lunches 
 and dinners at the Savoy and the Hotel Cecil. But 
 nobody has said anything humorous at these places. 
 
 Foote to the last showed his attachment to the 
 Irish. He was constantly paying visits to the 
 country. When introducing " The Nabob " to his 
 admirers on November 19, 1773, Foote reminded his 
 audience that it was twenty years since he had last 
 appeared before them. He hardly forecasted that 
 this was to be his last or farewell appearance. He 
 seized that opportunity to oiFer a happy compliment 
 to those who had always been his hearty admirers : 
 
 " Humour, the foremost of the festive crew. 
 Source of the comic scene, she gave to you. 
 Humour, with arched brow and leering eye, 
 Shrewd, solemn, sneering, subtle, slow, and sly — 
 Serious herself, yet laughter still provoking, 
 By teasing, tickling, jeering, joking : 
 Impartial gift, that owns nor rank nor birth ! 
 If aught derived from her adorns my strain. 
 You gave — at least, discovered first — the vein." 
 
 Speaking as a native of the pleasant country, I can 
 testify that no happier or more exact description 
 
182 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xii 
 
 could be given of the Irish humour— such as the 
 " slowness," " sneering," " leering eye." These are the 
 elements, as indeed they were of Foote's own method. 
 Instead of slowness, however, Foote's stroke was rapid 
 and overwhelming. At present Irish humour, if not 
 extinct, is but a debased article ; one would almost 
 take it to be borrowed from the low artificial type 
 of music-hall humour. The accompaniments de- 
 scribed by Foote are always present — artfuUy used to 
 entice a laugh — but the humour is not there. Affec- 
 tation and desire of applause — this, as in other things, 
 has spoiled the market. 
 
 When he appeared in town after his Dublin 
 failure, he carried it off at the coffee-houses with 
 much flourishing and boasting. " Pooh ! hang them !" 
 (the Dublin people) ; " there was not a shilling in the 
 country but what the Duke of Bedford and I and 
 Mr. Rigby have brought away." Murphy heard him 
 saying this. He then diligently set to work to re- 
 model, and indeed rewrite, his piece.* 
 
 * I recall that clever dramatist Dion Boucicault — by no means a 
 Foote in his wit, but far superior in dramatic construction — coming 
 to Dublin to try the first sketch of his " Shaughraun." It was a 
 great festival. I attended, and was much pleased by the variety 
 of incidents and characters. Next day I went and told him so, 
 when to my surprise he said : " My friend, it won't do at all. All 
 this and that — this scene, this character, this incident — must come 
 out ; the whole must be recast and reshaped." So it was ; a really 
 vast mass of amusing things being remorselessly cast overboard. 
 This the real, well-skilled artist is always prepared to do. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 1760 
 
 " THE MiNOB " — continued 
 
 "The Minor," enlarged and equipped with new 
 characters, was brought forward at the Haymarket. 
 It was wonderfully successful, not merely owing to 
 its dramatic merits, but from the excited controversies 
 to which it gave rise. This must have been infinitely 
 acceptable to its author. It was said to be scandal 
 that religion should be ridiculed in a playhouse, and in 
 so gross a fashion. The notion of a person of Mrs. 
 Cole's infamous profession becoming a convert of 
 Whitefield's was repulsive, and it was justly urged that 
 a writer who could introduce such a personage was as 
 bad as, or worse than, the people whom he stigma- 
 tized. Such exaggeration was beyond credulity.* 
 
 The success was extraordinary ; though it was per- 
 formed by an entirely young and unpractised company, 
 it brought fuU houses for thirty-eight nights, and 
 
 * Foote's description of Whitefield in the epilogue as Dr. Sqiiintum 
 was due to an accident. He was passing by his Tabernacle, when 
 he turned in and found him " dealing out damnation " in a com- 
 fortable, unctuous way. This entertained him hugely, and out of 
 the notes he made is formed this amusing caricature. It is charac- 
 teristic of our satirist that he should have given him a name 
 drawn from a physical imperfection for which Whitefield was well 
 known. 
 
 183 
 
184 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 continued for some years as one of the stock pieces of 
 the theatre. 
 
 " The Minor " must indeed always be considered 
 Foote's best piece, it is so full of spirit, and so bright 
 and entertaining are the characters. But of plot there 
 is little. Indeed, Foote always ingeniously contrives 
 to "fend oflF" anything like story or plot ; he, as it 
 were, makes mere statements and exhibits figures. 
 It is, indeed, only by writing down a strict analysis of 
 Foote's plots that we see how poor all are. In truth, 
 they cannot be called " plots " at all. Nothing takes 
 place, and nothing is done. The author introduces 
 one of his characters, displays him, lets him discuss 
 with another character— exhibits, it may be, a certain 
 ephemeral situation, which leads to nothing. How 
 different is the growing — and yet more growing — 
 interest of the true dramatist, character working on 
 character, the excitement developing as we go on ! 
 
 In this lively piece there is a brilliantly-touched 
 character — Loader, a gambler who sees everything in 
 the light of gaming, and can express himself in gaming 
 terms only. Here Foote showed refined art. It is a 
 common true of the dramatist to furnish, say, a 
 "horsey" man with sporting phrases, but Loader's 
 talk is truly natural ; he seems to think in cards and 
 dice : 
 
 '^ Sir Geo. You had your share, Mr. Loader. 
 Loader. Who, I ? Lurch me at four, but I was 
 marked at the top of your trick, by the Baron." 
 
 As before, he introduced his Mend-enemy Wilkinson 
 as Shift. As Tate had taken him off, he now repaid 
 him in kind. Playing Mrs. Cole and Shift, he pro- 
 duced a curious complication, for Shift is disguised as 
 the auctioneer Smith, and here Foote, after first 
 
CH. xiii] " THE MINOR " 185 
 
 mimicking Tate as Shift, now mimicked a certain 
 London auctioneer.* 
 
 Again, there is a scene when Wealthy calls on his 
 spendthrift nephew. It would not be quite unworthy 
 of " Goldy." The natural coolness of the youth is 
 qviite admirable : 
 
 " R. Weal. Well, young man, and what do 
 you think will be the end of all this ? Here I 
 have received by the last mail a quire of your 
 draughts from abroad. I see you are determined 
 our neighbours should taste of your magnificence. 
 Sir Geo. Yes, I think I did some credit to my 
 country. B. Weal. And how are all these to be 
 paid ? Sir Geo. That I submit to you, dear nuncle. 
 R. Weal. From me ! — Not a soul to keep you from 
 the counter. Sir Geo. Why then let the scoundrels 
 stay. It is their duty. I have other demands, debts 
 of honour, which must be discharged. R. Weal. 
 Here's a diabolical distinction ! Here's a prostitution 
 of words ! — Honour ! 'Sdeath, that a rascal, who has 
 picked your pocket, shall have his crime gilded with 
 the most sacred distinction, and his plunder punctually 
 paid, whilst the industrious mechanic, who ministers 
 to your very wants, shall have his debt delay 'd, and 
 his demand treated as insolent, f Sir Geo. Oh ! a 
 truce to this threadbare trumpery, dear nuncle. . . . 
 R. Weal. One commission, however, I can't dispense 
 with myself from executing. — It was agreed between 
 
 * One speech shows how "old Sherry" caught the gay tone of 
 "The Mmor." The Auctioneer declares: "Oh, many an aigrette 
 and solitaire have I sold to discharge a lady's play debt ! But we 
 must know the parties ; otherwise it might be knocked down to 
 her husband himself. Ha, ha !" 
 
 t Might not these words have been spoken by Sir Peter Teazle ? 
 
186 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 your father and me, that as he had but one son and I 
 
 one daughter Sir Geo. Your gettings should be 
 
 added to his estate, and my cousin Margery and I 
 squat down together in the comfortable state of 
 matrimony. R. Weal. Puppy ! . . . Your answer, ay 
 or no ? Sir Geo. Why then, concisely and briefly, with- 
 out evasion, equivocation, or further circumlocution 
 — No. R. Weal. I am glad of it. Sir Geo. So am 
 1. R. Weal. But pray, if it wou'd not be too great a 
 favour, what objections can you have to my daughter ? 
 Not that I want to remove 'em, but merely out of 
 curiosity. What objections? Sir Geo. None. I 
 neither know her, have seen her, inquired after her, 
 or ever intend it. R. Weal. What ! perhaps I am 
 the stumbling-block ? Sir Geo. You have hit it. 
 R. Weal. Ay, now we come to the point. Well, and 
 
 pray Sir Geo. Why, it is not so much a dislike 
 
 to your person, though that is exceptionable enough, 
 but your profession, dear nuncle, is an insuperable 
 obstacle. R. Weal. Good lack ! And what harm 
 has that done, pray ? Sir Geo. Done I So stained, 
 polluted, and tainted the whole mass of your blood, 
 thrown such a blot on your 'scutcheon, as ten regular 
 successions can hardly efface. R. Weal. The deuce ! 
 . . . But then I thought her having the honour to 
 partake of the same flesh and blood with yourself might 
 prove in some measure a kind of fiiUer's-earth, to scour 
 out the dirty spots contracted by commerce. Sir Geo. 
 Impossible ! . . . Why, what apology cou'd I make to 
 my children for giving them such a mother ? R. Weal. 
 I did not think of that. Then I must despair, I am 
 afraid. Sir Geo. I can afford but little hopes. 
 Though, upon recollection — is the grisette pretty ? 
 R. Weal. A parent may be partial. She is thought 
 
CH. xm] "THE MINOR" 187 
 
 so. Sir Geo. Ah la jolie petite bourgeoise ! Poor 
 girl, I sincerely pity her. And I suppose, to procure 
 her emersion from the mercantile mud, no considera- 
 tion wou'd be spared. R. Weal. Why, to be sure, for 
 such an honour one wou'd strain a point. . . . Sir Geo. 
 So, nuncle Richard, if you will sell out of the stocks, 
 shut up your counting-house, and quit St. Mary Ax 
 
 for Grosvenor Square R. Weal. What then ? 
 
 Sir Geo. Why, when your rank has had time to rouse 
 itself, for I think your nobUity, nuncle, has had a 
 pretty long nap, if the girl's person is pleasing, and the 
 purchase-money is adequate to the honour, I may in 
 time be prevailed upon to restore her to the right of 
 her family. R. Weal. Amazing condescension ! Sir 
 Geo. Good-nature is my foible. But, upon my soul, 
 I wou'd not have gone so far for anybody else. 
 R. Weal. I can contain no longer. Hear me, spend- 
 thrift, prodigal : do you know that in ten days your 
 whole revenue won't purchase you a feather to adorn 
 
 your empty head ? Sir Geo. Hey-dey, what's 
 
 the matter now ? R. Weal. And that you derive 
 every acre of your boasted patrimony from your 
 great-uncle, a soap boiler I Sir Geo. Infamous 
 aspersion ! R. Weal. It was his bags, the fruits of 
 his honest industry, that preserved your lazy, beggarly 
 nobility. His wealth repaired your tottering haU, 
 from the ruins of which even the rats had run. Sir 
 Geo. Better our name had perished ! Insupportable ! 
 soap-boiling, uncle !" 
 
 This scene is truly admirable, and even more lively 
 and natural than any in Sheridan's play. 
 
 Not unnaturally, it went round that he had offered 
 to submit his piece to the Archbishop of Canterbury's 
 perusal. On the instant it was humorously fore- 
 
188 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 casted that Foote would gravely issue an announce- 
 ment that it had been revised by His Grace the 
 Archbishop, who would thus be accountable for 
 Mother Cole and other enormities. His Grace was 
 shrewd enough not to fall into the trap, as it was 
 considered to be.* 
 
 Foote's jest on the Archbishop of Canterbury was 
 weU founded, for he strove hard to prevent the piece 
 being hcensed, and Walpole says that the Chamber- 
 lain allowed him to strike out some passages. A 
 letter of the Chamberlain's to Garrick, however, 
 shows that this is a mistake, as an offer was actually 
 made to the Archbishop to erase any passages that 
 he objected to. 
 
 An angry controversy about " The Minor " raged 
 for a time, no doubt to the satisfaction of the 
 author. There were quite a number of pamphlets 
 issued pro and con. He was attacked from aU sides.t 
 Letters on " The Minor," prompted by friends of 
 Whitefield, appeared, and the adroit author was only 
 too glad to reply. He gave his pen fuU range, and 
 dealt roughly with his antagonists. 
 
 An extract from this lively retort will entertain 
 the reader. It is addressed with mock civUity to 
 
 * I confess that I cannot see the point of Foote's jest of opposing 
 " Tom Cant " by " Tam Cant." What was " Tain Cant " ? 
 
 f " Bozzy," then a youth at Edinburgh, was among the assailants 
 of "The Minor." He issued a sort of slight "skit," of which I 
 have never seen a copy. So thus early began their antagonism. 
 Assisted by two friends, " Bozzy " also wrote a skit on Dodsley's 
 " Cleone " — a rare thing, of which I once possessed a copy ; but, 
 alas ! not knowing its value, I destroyed it. I have never seen or 
 heard of it since. I have had, however, several of Boswell's rare tracts, 
 such as " The Cub at Newmarket," which have found a home in 
 the Johnson House Library at Lichfield. 
 
CH. xm] « THE MINOR " 189 
 
 " The Reverend Author of the Remarks, Critical and 
 Christian, on ' The Minor.' " 
 
 '' Your next remark, I think, was upon the cruelty 
 and indecency of producing your friend at the 
 theatre on the score only of a mere natural infirmity, 
 an inconsiderable weakness in the optic nerve, which, 
 instead of retaining the eyes in the reciprocal direction 
 they are generally placed in, lets them loose to run 
 rambling about the head. This criticism you sustain 
 by an observation of my own, that provincial dialects 
 are not the proper objects of comedy ; and if not 
 dialects, surely much less natural infirmities. . . . 
 
 " But this is a trifle to what occurs in the progress 
 of your poem. You there make a conveyance to 
 your disciples of certain seats, which you pretend fo 
 have in the realms above ; and you promise them not 
 only a good neighbourhood of patriarchs, apostles, 
 and martyrs, but that the Tottenham teacher himself 
 shall certainly settle among them." 
 
 The old converted Mrs. Cole,* acted by Foote 
 himself, is an inimitable character drawn with extra- 
 ordinary power and strokes of humour. I heartily 
 wish I could present some specimens to the reader, 
 but it is too coarsely drawn, and it makes us specu- 
 late how such things could be stomached by a decent 
 audience. After her conversion she calls on two of 
 her old patrons. This follows : 
 
 * Foote, ever unscrupulous, has, it seems, borrowed or " con- 
 veyed " this character from another piece which had been entrusted 
 to him by a fellow-dramatist. Reed. This writer protested : " As 
 there is a palpable similarity between Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Snarewell, 
 it may be necessary to declare that the piece was put into Mr. Foote's 
 hands in August 1758, on his promise of playing it at Drury Lane." 
 Here is a very palpable insinuation or charge. But such things 
 never affected him ; he went on his way as before. 
 
190 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 "Mrs. Cole. Hold, hold, Mr. Loader! Heaven 
 help you, I could as soon swallow the Thames. 
 Only a sip to keep the gout out of my stomach. 
 Load. Why, then, here's to thee. — Levant me, but 
 it is supernaculum. — Speak when you have enough. 
 Mrs. Cole. I won't trouble you for the glass ; my 
 hands do so tremble and shake, I shall but spill the 
 good creature. Load. Well puUed. . . . Crop me, but 
 this Squintum has turned her brains. Sir Geo. Nay, 
 Mr. Loader, I think the gentleman has wrought a 
 most happy reformation. Mrs. Cole. Oh, it was a 
 wonderful work. There had I been tossing in a sea 
 of sin, without rudder or compass. And had not the 
 good gentleman piloted me into the harbour of grace, 
 I must have struck against the rocks of reprobation, 
 and have been quite swallowed up in the whirlpool 
 of despair. He was the precious instrument of my 
 spiritual sprinkling. . . . Load. PUlory me, but it has 
 a face. Mrs. Cole. Truly, consistently with my con- 
 science, T wou'd do anything for your honour. Sir 
 Geo. Right, Mrs. Cole, never lose sight of that 
 monitor. But pray how long has this heavenly 
 change been wrought in you ? Mrs. Cole. Ever since 
 my last visitation of the gout. Upon my first fit, 
 seven years ago, I began to have my doubts and my 
 waverings ; but I was lost in a labyrinth, and nobody 
 to show me the road. One time I thought of dying 
 a Roman, which is truly a comfortable communion 
 enough for one of us ; but it wou'd not do. Sir 
 Geo. Why not? Mrs. Cole. I went one summer 
 over to Boulogne to repent ; and, wou'd you believe 
 it, the bare-footed, bald-pate beggars would not 
 give me absolution without I quitted my business 1 
 Did you ever hear of such a set of scabby Besides, 
 
CH. xm] " THE MINOR '" 191 
 
 I cou'd not bear their barbarity. Would you believe 
 it, Mr. Loader, they lock up for their lives, in a 
 nunnery, the prettiest, sweetest, tender young things ! 
 — Oh, six of them, for a season, wou'd finish my 
 business here, and then I shou'd have nothing 
 to do after. Load. Brand me, what a country ! 
 Sir Geo. Oh, scandalous ! Mrs. Cole. Oh no, it 
 would not do. So, in my last illness, I was wished 
 to Mr. Squintum, who stept in with his saving grace, 
 got me with the new birth, and I became as you 
 see, regenerate, and another creature. [Enter Dick.] 
 Dick. Mr. Transfer, sir, has sent to know if your 
 honour be at home. Sir Geo. Mrs. Cole, I am 
 mortified to part with you. But bus'ness, you 
 
 know Mrs. Cole. True, Sir George. Mr. Loader, 
 
 your arm Gently, oh, oh ! Sir Geo. Wou'd you 
 
 take another thimbleful, Mrs. Cole ? Mrs. Cole. Not 
 
 a drop I shall see you this evening ? Sir Geo. 
 
 Depend upon me. Mrs. Cole. To-morrow . . . We 
 are to have at the Tabernacle an occasional hymn, 
 with a thanksgiving sermon for my recovery. After 
 which I shaU call at the register office, and see 
 what goods my advertisement has brought in. Sir 
 Geo. Extremely obliged to you, Mrs. Cole. . . . Mrs. 
 
 Cole. Softly, have a care, Mr. Loader Richard, 
 
 you may as well give me the bottle into the chair, for 
 
 fear I should be taken ill on the road. Gently 
 
 so, so !" 
 
 Mr. Forster justly admires Foote's retort to an 
 adversary who spoke of this libellous piece being 
 played " under authority." " Under authority. What! 
 do you suppose I play, as you preach, upon my own 
 authority ? No, sir, religion turned into a farce is by 
 the constitution of this country the only species of 
 
192 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 the drama that may be exhibited for money without 
 permission." I doubt if in our time this refined bit 
 of irony would be understood or appreciated.* 
 
 Later, Wilkinson so far condoned the libellous 
 portrait of him in " The Minor " that he was content 
 to take a part in the play. Foote, with aU his faults, 
 did not bear mahce or a grudge. He could be angry, 
 but did not revenge. His sense of his own interest 
 set him above such petty feeling, f 
 
 After all his troubles with Foote, and after having 
 received such a lesson, it might have been expected 
 that Garrick would have been cautious. But the 
 younger mimic, who was still in his service, knew 
 how to work on his feeling and prejudices by talking 
 to him on the subject of Foote. Wilkinson had 
 gone to Covent Garden Theatre, where the eccentric 
 
 * Forster was the last survivor of the old trained, well-schooled 
 literary man. He was deeply studied in all the old writers, never 
 went anywhere without his pocket Shakespeare, knew the old poets 
 by heart, and was an admirable critic of sure judgment. His bosom 
 friend, Elwin, whom I knew well, was of a similar type. Our critics 
 now are not equipped with this solid baggage, for they have no 
 need to be. The public, it is to be feared, are indifferent to this 
 fossil era, and I often think I have been somewhat rash in offering 
 this elaborate account of one whom nobody is much interested in. 
 And yet, some thirty or forty years ago, at Mr. Murray's sale dinner, 
 I can recall a work of such heavy, repelling character as " The Life 
 of Charles the Bold " being sold off to the assembled booksellers. 
 
 t " The Minor," however, is further remarkable for the fact that 
 it indirectly supplied us with the imperishable comedy of "The 
 School for Scandal." Sheridan was a dramatist in his art of putting 
 a play together, but for incidents and characters he resorted to 
 other sources. He drew deeply from Foote's wells, not only 
 characters and situations, but wit. The smartly-contrived jests or 
 epigrams were his own, but always seemed inappropriate in the 
 mouth of the person who spoke them. All this I shall show in 
 detail. 
 
CH. xiii] "THE MINOR" 193 
 
 Rich, who always called him " Williamskin," was 
 eager to secure him a long engagement ; but the 
 other preferred a temporary one, as giving him an 
 opening for his mimicries, and, above all, for worry- 
 ing Foote afresh. 
 
 He joined with an actor at Covent Garden — one 
 Sparks, whom he had driven to madness by his 
 mimicries, but who was now his great friend — in a 
 plot to aU but compel the manager to bring out 
 Foote's " Minor," with all his mimicry pieces. Rich 
 was not inclined to foUow this course, but was at last 
 persuaded. He was not unwilling to take his share 
 in plaguing " Mr. Footeseye," as he rechristened him. 
 There was a sort of race for the first production 
 between the two theatres, in which Drury Lane 
 eventually won. Wilkinson, with incredible effrontery, 
 laid out his plan for performing not only " The Minor," 
 but other " shows " by the same author — his prologues, 
 epilogue. Lady Pentweazle : and this within a stone's- 
 throw of Drury Lane ! Foote, not unnaturally, was 
 stung to fury by these piracies, and the result was 
 a scene of extraordinary violence, but one which is 
 amusing enough. He rushed to Covent Garden and 
 forced his way in to the manager. 
 
 " ' Damn it, you old hound !' he furiously ex- 
 claimed, ' if you dare to allow Wilkinson, that pug- 
 nosed son of a , to take such a liberty with me 
 
 as to mimicry, I will bring yourself. Rich, on the 
 stage ! If you want to engage that pug, black his 
 face, and let him bring the tea-kettle in a pantomime ; 
 for, damn the fellow, he is as ignorant as a maid ! 
 And if he dares to appear in my characters in " The 
 Minor," I will,' said he, 'instantly produce your 
 old and ridiculous self, with your three cats, and that 
 
194 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 hound of a mimic, all together, next week at Drury 
 Lane, for the general diversion of the pit, boxes, and 
 galleries ; and that will be paying you, you squinting 
 old Hecate, too great a compliment !' And after a 
 few sarcasms Foote hastily departed, denouncing 
 vengeance on him and his cats, and immediately 
 Mr. Rich appeared with a most woeful countenance, 
 and said : ' Why, Muster SparMsh, Muster Footeseye 
 has been here, and he says if I let Muster William- 
 skin act his parts on the stage. Muster SparMsh, he 
 will write parts for me, my cats, and Muster William- 
 skin, and bring us all upon the stage ; so we must not 
 act what we intended.' ' Why, surely, sir,' said 
 Sparks, ' you cannot be so weak as to let Mr. Foote's 
 vapouring visit frighten you from your purpose, or 
 intimidate you from having a piece acted that may 
 be of service to your theatre, and to the young gentle- 
 man. . . . Now, Mr. Rich,' added Sparks, ' let me in- 
 terest myself in this matter, I augur success ; therefore 
 let us of Covent Garden Theatre immediately rally our 
 forces, take the field, let sUp the dogs of war, and act 
 " The Minor " in defiance of his own guards at Drury 
 Lane.' Rich agreed, seemed pleased — but he was 
 still frightened of Foote, and, I beheve, dreaded an 
 affront on his favourite cat more than on himself. 
 All was settled to have the performance brought for- 
 ward as soon as possible, for, as Sparks observed, 
 ' advantage /e</ them fat while we delayed.' Indeed, 
 ' The Minor ' was ready at Drury Lane, and they 
 meant not to lose time, for Foote entertained not the 
 least doubt of victory. 
 
 " We, from various obstacles, could not get it 
 decently on the stage in less than a fortnight, as other 
 pieces were preparing. . . . And on the end of the week 
 
CH. xiii] « THE MINOR " 195 
 
 that this matter had been settled, it was advertised on 
 the Thursday from Drury Lane, and on the Saturday 
 was pasted on every wall — ' The Minor '; and that 
 favourite httle comedy had been all the week puflFed 
 and paragraphed in every newspaper by Mr. Foote. 
 But unforeseen events sometimes do and undo what 
 our utmost wisdom and wishes cannot, as here was 
 an extraordinary instance ; for the bills were but a few 
 hours exhibited to public view, when it so happened 
 they were as hastily plucked down as they had been 
 vigUantly put up. It was on Saturday the 25th of Octo- 
 ber, 1760, when the sudden death of our truly beloved 
 and lamented monarch, King George TI., occasioned, 
 for three weeks, a suspension of theatrical hostilities 
 and diversions of all kinds in the great city of London." 
 
 The theatres were closed for about a fortnight — a 
 costly form of mourning for the performers. Here 
 was a righteous Nemesis, and it served the pirates 
 right. But they persevered. On November 24 the 
 rival " Minor " was produced, and, it would appear, 
 with more success than fell to that of Drury Lane. 
 Wilkinson literally rioted in Foote, " taking him oiF" 
 in many forms. Foote seems to have been quite 
 helpless. The whole episode well illustrates the 
 loyalty of these mimics to one another. 
 
 Meanwhile the inferior mime was still obsequiously 
 ingratiating himself with Mr. Garrick, who patronized 
 and even indulged him. Thus when, on May 14, 
 Tate had chosen a tragic character for his benefit, 
 the manager interested himself, went over the part 
 privately with him, and on the night of the per- 
 formance carefully " made up " — as it is called — his 
 face. On the same night he was again allowed to 
 give his various imitations of Foote. This does not 
 
 13—2 
 
196 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiii 
 
 seem handsome. There can be no doubt he "fed 
 fat " on these mimicries, and rehshed them, and the 
 yoimg fellow — only twenty-one — was really clever 
 and entertaining. 
 
 The enterprising Foote, who was versatile enough 
 in his schemes, found himself shut out of his little 
 theatre for the summer season of 1761. He com- 
 plained that a licence had been refused to him on the 
 ground, we may presume, of his rude treatment of 
 the community. He, however, jocosely attributed it 
 to the engagement of some others, who had been 
 beforehand with him at the Chamberlain's office. 
 He proposed to Arthur Murphy — their old dispute 
 had long been forgotten — to enter into alliance and 
 become joint managers of Drury Lane Theatre for 
 the summer months. Now, as we cannot find any 
 instances of Garrick's subletting his great theatre, it 
 is quite easy to conjecture that he did so under 
 Foote's pressure. He felt he dared not refuse. He 
 let it to the pair at a moderate price, and it was 
 arranged that both should write new pieces for the 
 season. They opened in June, 1761. A number of 
 Murphy's comedies formed the staple of the enter- 
 tainment, and their season proved successful. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 FOOTE, WIT AND HUMORIST 
 
 At the present moment it would seem as though the 
 race of Enghsh humorists were extinct. In what- 
 ever direction we look, hardly one greets the eye. The 
 one and only comic paper week by week suppUes 
 its " word-catches " — small puns and so-called "jests. ' 
 In the social life there is the same dearth. We 
 do not meet " funny " or witty men. Even the 
 late much-vaunted Father Healy was as nothing to 
 the old pattern, but he had the merit of freshness 
 and surprise. Foote might be considered the last 
 professional humorist of the true breed, as distin- 
 guished from the carefully prepared concocters of 
 droll things — the Sydney Smiths, Jerrolds, Brothers 
 Smith, etc. He never prepared anjrthing. He was 
 always ready. He knew not himself what next was 
 to come. Someone incautiously applied the match, 
 and loud explosion followed. He was inexhaustible ; 
 the operation was automatic. 
 
 As we look back to this strange era, what strikes 
 us most is the general reign of laughter. It seemed 
 a time of universal good-humour. That familiar 
 phrase, laughing it off, became a scientific process. 
 A difficulty arose, even a tragic affair — it could be 
 turned into ridicule, and so disappear. Foote got 
 out of most of his difficulties in this fashion. And 
 
 197 , 
 
198 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 what a contrast to our own sober-grey era, where 
 everyone is so "Uteral" (Elia's abomination), and 
 where ever5rthing fanciful, wit, melodrama, romance, 
 low comedy, has disappeared — I must say, with dis- 
 astrous result ! 
 
 The greatest tribute ever paid to Foote's gifts was 
 by Charles Fox. To Rogers he described a dinner at 
 Lord W. Bentinck's, to which he had been invited. 
 Fox looked forward to meeting the trading profes- 
 sional diner-out, the teller of " potted " stories, and 
 expected to be bored. Never was there such a sur- 
 prise. Foote delighted them aU. Whatever subject 
 was started — classical, topical, political — he was ready, 
 and treated it with a lively geniaUty and wit that 
 amazed and enchanted. 
 
 Churchill devoted to him just ten lines, which may 
 be read vidth enjoyment. He, however, does his 
 chastisement gently — at least, not with the harshness 
 he dealt out to others : 
 
 " By turns transformed into all kinds of shapes, 
 Constant to none, Foote laughs, cries, struts, and scrapes : 
 Now in the centre, now in van or rear, 
 The Proteus shifts, bawd, parson, auctioneer. 
 His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, 
 Are all contained in this one word — distort. 
 Doth a man stutter, look asquint, or halt. 
 Mimics draw humour out of Nature's fault. 
 With personal defects their mirth adorn, 
 And hang misfortune out to public scorn." 
 
 In this, though severe enough, there is no malice ; 
 he seems to have a secret admiration. The gay 
 swing of the lines is delightful, and the rebuke deli- 
 cately administered. 
 
 It was said that Foote, always quick to resent, pre- 
 
CH. XIV] WIT AND HUMORIST 199 
 
 pared a reply written in prose, but presently thought 
 it would be prudent to suppress it. The same reason — 
 awe or dread of Churchill — made him forbear to intro- 
 duce him on his stage. What must have stung Foote 
 more than anything else was the praise Churchill 
 lavished upon Garrick — praise so cordial and heartfelt 
 and so brilliant in its discrimination that the great actor 
 must have felt a thrill of pride. He was almost the 
 only one in the long gallery of portraits who was so dis- 
 tinguished. He was really treated heroically, while 
 Foote was treated with a sort of banter. The intro- 
 duction of Wilkinson made it the more humiliating : 
 
 " The first a mere mere mimic's mimic stood." 
 
 In truth — like his friend Garrick — he was an actor 
 not merely on his professional stage, but also on " the 
 boards " of life, where he performed with an energy 
 and a versatility that were astonishing. He was per- 
 petually expending himself in fun and frolic and con- 
 vivial meetings : broad jokes and witty sayings never 
 ceased to flow from his lips ; he was surrounded by 
 friends, flatterers, and admirers, who cheered him on, 
 and with whom he " heard the chimes at midnight." 
 Yet he found time for all things, and never neglected 
 business. In aU directions, even when on his travels, 
 we hear of him as well feasted, as a wit and " good 
 comrade," keeping the tables in a roar, while his 
 health, as his purse, seemed to well stand the strain. 
 He had troops of convivial friends. 
 
 Foote was associated with two tumultuous beings — 
 daring, reckless, and ever at war with their fellows. 
 It would be difficult to find in the history of English 
 social life three such specimens of the " stormy " 
 life and brilliancy at the same moment as Wilkes, 
 
200 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 Churchill, and Foote. Their wild and combative 
 careers were as extraordinary as they were interesting 
 and dramatic. They were always " in assailment " — 
 Foote from the stage, Churchill from his desk or from 
 the gaol, Wilkes from the House of Commons. The 
 pubhc was being constantly thrown into commotion or 
 expectancy by their acts. All three in their respective 
 lines were men of power and capacity, and dangerous 
 to meddle with. It was a sort of terrorism. All three 
 were debauchees and loose-livers. The moral, however, 
 is, that the end was disastrous for two of the party : 
 Wilkes, indeed, ended his days in peace and comfort, 
 but only by striking his colours and reforming his 
 turbulent life. And how, it will be asked, came the 
 public to tolerate these disturbers so long ? Simply 
 because they found entertainment in the spectacle, 
 which was a most exciting one. In our own day we 
 have nothing analogous. A scurrilous or offensive 
 attack on an individual is promptly brought to the 
 Courts and disposed of. 
 
 Between Foote and ChurchiU there was Uttle inti- 
 macy, for ChurchiU had found a place for him in his 
 pillory, as, indeed, he did for most of the notable persons 
 of his acquaintance. It is said that Foote's last words 
 were about ChurchOl, the pair dying within a short 
 time of each other — the one at Boulogne, the other 
 at Dover. The meteoric, hectoring Wilkes was more 
 congenial to him. There was, indeed, scarcely time 
 for such intimacy with Churchill to mature, for the 
 famous satire appeared in 1761, and he died three 
 years later. There was this curious similarity between 
 these remarkable men, that one ridiculed the players 
 by mimicking their defects, while the other described 
 their various failings in bitter but amusing language. 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 201 
 
 One was satirist on the stage, the other off it. Both 
 were rough, cruel men, and when they hugged it was 
 a bear's hug. Churchill, reviewing the theatrical 
 ranks, was not likely to pass by Foote ; but, as we 
 have seen, he did not handle him very severely — he 
 spoke more of his system than of himself. 
 
 No one, as I said, so combined pleasure and a 
 sort of roaring joviality with business as did the 
 boisterous Foote. One of his most congenial comrades 
 was Sir Francis Delaval — half eccentric, half man 
 of pleasure, but a strange original. He was a fair 
 specimen of those reckless viveurs who allow nothing 
 to stand in the way of their whims and humours. 
 With such, money — whether they have it or have it 
 not — does not count ; anything suggested in the name 
 of enjoyment or amusement had to be carried out. 
 Foote hked him, was always with him, but was as 
 regularly faithless to him as he was to aU other 
 "friends." 
 
 Long years of disorderly conduct naturally involved 
 Sir Francis in debts and difficulties, for which he 
 consulted his friend, who of course could not help 
 him. Foote happened, however, to know a very plain, 
 elderly spinster of quality. Lady Harriet Paulet, but 
 with £90,000 " to her fortune," and it occurred to him 
 that this might be a suitable match for Sir Francis. 
 There was a difficulty — that Sir Francis, like Sir 
 Antony in the play, " would not touch anything old 
 or ugly to save his life." He contrived that the lady 
 should visit a conjurer, or fortune-teller, who had 
 been well primed, and his prophecies so impressed 
 her that, when Sir Francis appeared, she yielded at 
 once. So aU was arranged happily. Once, growing 
 suspicious, he asked Foote why he had not " gone in 
 
202 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 for" the lady himself, on which Foote pleaded that 
 he was "already married to his washerwoman."* 
 
 In the midst of his riotous follies Sir Francis was 
 seized with a fit. He died, without ever recovering 
 from it, on the following morning. 
 
 " Foote," says Cooke, " heard of this melancholy 
 event with a sincere sorrow. He loved him with as 
 much constancy of friendship as he could feel towards 
 any man. . . . He burst into a flood of tears, retired to 
 his room, and saw no company for three days. On 
 the fourth. Jewel, his treasurer, eaUing on him for 
 the arrangement of some urgent business, he, with 
 swelled eyes and in faltering words, inquired when 
 Sir Francis was to be buried. 'Not till the latter 
 end of next week, sir,' replied the other, ' as I hear 
 the surgeons intend first to dissect his head.' This 
 last expression (as in instances of madness) striking 
 the chord of his ruling passion, he suddenly exclaimed : 
 'And what wiU they get there? I'm sure I have 
 known poor Frank these five-and-twenty years, and 
 I never could find anything in it.' " 
 
 It may be conceived that when a party was collected 
 at Seaton-Delaval — Sir Francis's home in the country 
 — these merry men had what are called " high jinks." 
 Practical joking of an almost scientific kind was in 
 favour. Angelo, the fencing-master, and other pro- 
 fessionals, contributed their exertions. It was con- 
 trived to be all one ceaseless practical joke. No one 
 was spared. When the fencing-master swung himself 
 across a marble basin to show " how easy it was," it 
 was contrived that he should be dropped in the water, 
 the rope being purposely made short. He later 
 
 * Horace Walpole, however, states that Foote had been intimately 
 connected with this lady — which would be a more probable story. 
 
CH. XIV] WIT AND HUMORIST 203 
 
 wagered that he would creep bUndfolded on his knees 
 for a hundred yards to a wood. They soon found 
 out that he was guiding himself by a silk thread fixed 
 by pins to the ground, when the wags artfully diverted 
 the course of the thread, making it lead to a pond, into 
 which he fell. There was, however, one first-class jest 
 for which Foote was entirely responsible. Among the 
 guests was a solemn Baronet who had been crossed in 
 love, and whose jeremiads and low spirits annoyed the 
 party. He also found that his health was affected, 
 and had a new complaint every day. It was Foote 
 who thought of a most original device. When the 
 Baronet was gone to bed, a tailor was brought, who 
 " took in " his clothes considerably, so that when he 
 put them on — or tried to do so — he was so terribly 
 scared by what he thought was a sudden fit of dropsy 
 that he lay in bed for three days. He was at last 
 induced to get up, and the clothes being brought back 
 to their former size, to his joy he supposed the dropsical 
 attack had passed away. Not less amusing was what 
 followed on his " recovery," at supper. Foote had 
 the wax candles painted different colours, a black 
 one being specially placed beside the hypochondriacal 
 Baronet. They observed him looking curiously at the 
 phenomenon. " The candles have different colours," 
 he said. " How so ?" they said. " What colour but 
 one should they have ?" He said nothing ; but when 
 the servant filled his glass, he asked him what colour 
 the black candle was. " White, sir, to be sure." On 
 which he broke out, " This is too much !" and rushed 
 upstairs, leaving the next morning. These belong to 
 the haute decile. 
 
 There was a " fumigating " quack named Domine- 
 cetti, who cured people by directing steam on the 
 
204 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 weak part, and who, it will be recollected, furnished 
 Johnson with one of his rough speeches, directing 
 someone — was it Bozzy? — to get the steam turned 
 on to his head, for that was his weak spot. 
 
 There was a Dr. Kennedy who was intimate with 
 Sterne and Garrick, and free of the green-rooms. 
 Three nights in the week, at the least, was he to be 
 seen at the theatres, and never for years absent from 
 a first night's performance. " His friendly hands," 
 said Foote, " were as hard with clapping as a cobbler's 
 lap-stone."* 
 
 It will be recalled how Bob Sawyer, to increase his 
 practice, used to have himseK called out of church 
 during service-time. Dr. Kennedy, however, antici- 
 pated him, and on a more elaborate system. A 
 hired emissary in a hired livery used to go to the 
 theatre where he was, and, obtaining admission, would 
 call out between the acts, "Dr. Kennedy !" Another, 
 going to another theatre where he was seated in 
 a front row, would also call out, " Dr. Kennedy !" 
 The doctor would then rise, and, taking his hat and 
 cane and bowing right and left, would depart. " Bless 
 me," the people near would say, " that Dr. Kennedy 
 has half the patients in town !"f The doctor was, 
 however, soon " smoked," as it was called, by the 
 galleries, who soon began to call out, " Dr. Kennedy !" 
 when he appeared in the boxes. 
 
 One of Foote's victims whom he was fond of 
 exhibiting at social meetings, dinners, suppers, etc., 
 
 * Part of the machinery of Foote's humour was the suggestion of 
 some base or earthy element or association, so as to level anything 
 in the way of creditable sentiment. 
 
 t Dickens must have read this in Angelo's " Memoirs " ; for his 
 Bob Sawyer adds, that people in church would say: "Bless me, 
 what a practice that young man has !" 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 205 
 
 was Mr. Justice Clive, a lethargic old Judge who 
 had married a young and handsome wife. Foote 
 used to attend in his Court to make notes, which 
 furnished him with these exuberant displays. Mr. 
 Cradock reports that a gentleman, after listening 
 to one of these ebullitions — quite shocked at their 
 libellous extravagance — turned to Johnson, and said : 
 " Why, Dr. Johnson, it is impossible that this impudent 
 feUow can know the truth of half of what he has told 
 us." " Nay, sir," was the reply, " if we venture to 
 come into company with Foote we have no right, 
 I think, to look for truth." 
 
 Foote was a member of a theatrical club known 
 as Wright's Coffee-House, in York Street, Covent 
 Garden. Many actors were members of it, including 
 HoUand and Powell, with a few writers. One night 
 Mr. Cradock asked Foote's leave to bring Dr. Farmer, 
 the Shakespearian scholar, whom Foote was delighted 
 to see, and welcomed with many compliments on his 
 learning and ability. He also exerted himself to show 
 off all his talents for his guests' entertainment, so as 
 to appear a cultivated, well-read man. 
 
 It so chances that two witnesses have left an 
 account of an incident in which Foote figured as 
 chief actor — an incident which was repeated with only 
 a change of characters. It illustrates forcibly his 
 incurable taste for a ridicule that could not spare 
 either host or guest. The occasions were two dinners, 
 at one of which Foote was host, at the other a guest. 
 When he was host he ridiculed his guest ; when he 
 was guest, his host. It is worth while bringing these 
 two significant displays of character together ; they 
 prove how impossible he found it to restrain the 
 spitefiil humours of his nature. 
 
206 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 The first : One day Garrick asked Cumberland to 
 bear, him company on a visit to Foote down at 
 Parsons Green, expecting to be asked to dine. Foote 
 was kindly, and hospitably insisted that they should 
 stay for the dinner. It is but fair to Foote to quote 
 Cumberland's testimony. It was often repeated, he 
 says, that Garrick always showed himself reserved and 
 uneasy in Foote's company, but now Garrick had never 
 been more at his ease or in a happier flow of spirits. 
 An East Indian Baronet, Sir Robert Fletcher, dropped 
 in just before dinner and made the fourth of the 
 party. Sir Robert appears to have been a duU sort of 
 man, and after a couple of hours he rose to depart. 
 There was a screen at the bottom of the room which 
 concealed the Baronet from view, and Foote, fancying 
 that he was gone, at once began a highly amusing 
 criticism of his late guest, turning him into the utmost 
 ridicule. Of a sudden came a voice from below : " I 
 am not gone, Foote ; do please spare me until I am 
 out of hearing." Then, returning, he added : "And 
 now, with your leave, I wiU stay till these two gentle- 
 men depart, and then you will amuse me at their 
 expense, as you have amused them at mine." This 
 was turning the tables indeed ! Foote for once was 
 overwhelmed with shame and confusion ; he knew 
 not what to say. " No wit could furnish an evasion ; 
 no explanation could suffice for an excuse." The 
 offended Baronet was incUned to take it seriously, 
 when Garrick interposed, and with equal skill and 
 good-nature contrived to turn the whole thing into a 
 jest, and to soothe the offended victim. Here was 
 true kindness and a valuable lesson for Foote. The 
 situation was certainly most original — amusing to a 
 degree. " I hope Foote was grateful," says Cumber- 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 207 
 
 land ; " but when a man has been completely 
 humbled, he is not very fond of recollecting it." 
 
 The second scene, where Foote was guest, is reaUy 
 a bit of legitimate comedy, rich in dramatic character. 
 It is set before us with much vivacity by the faithful 
 WUkinson, who was present, and supplies what is, 
 perhaps, the best portrait of Foote that we have : 
 
 " On the afternoon I called at Sir F. Delaval's ; 
 it so happened that Mr. Foote was there, with whom 
 I had been on distant terms ever since our breach in 
 March 1759. This visit was almost immediately 
 after dinner. Sir Francis, expecting me, had desired 
 I might be shown into another room, knowing his 
 friend Foote's and my antipathy. . . . 
 
 " So, under the sanction of being Sir Francis's par- 
 ticular guest, I entered the room where Foote was, 
 and several other gentlemen. Foote seemed hurt at 
 first, but after the introduction, as proposed, he 
 behaved with great pohteness. 
 
 " As the circling glass went round, Mr. Foote grew 
 more cordial and cheerful, and began speaking of 
 tables in the first style of elegance in Ireland and 
 Scotland — that several noblemen's houses in both 
 places were supported with every luxury that a 
 London table could furnish ; for if London had the 
 superiority in some particular articles, the other places 
 had in greater perfection what London could not so 
 easily purchase, which made the equality of good 
 things more upon a level than the English would 
 readily admit, but to which Sir Francis would not 
 assent. And as a trait I have before observed in 
 Foote's character when his real best friend. Sir Francis 
 Delaval, left the room, where there were not less 
 than eight or ten persons, each of whom he knew 
 
208 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 would relate again what he said, he burst out into a 
 loud laugh, and, turning to me, said : ' Wilkinson, 
 did you ever hear such a hound giving his sentiments 
 on good tables and living ? Since my return from 
 Ireland,' added Foote, ' I have had the mortification 
 
 to dine here six times, and each day a d d large 
 
 loin of pork on the table, which he calls a dinner ! 
 By G — d ! I'U not dine here again these three months ; 
 for I suppose he means to run his loin of pork against 
 " The Beggar's Opera !" '—which had been acted a 
 great number of nights at Covent Garden. 
 
 " On this occasion it chanced that the host had not 
 left the room ; he was at the door, and heard every 
 word. But he said good-humouredly : ' What ! stiU 
 at my loin of pork ! Well, Foote, I think you might 
 have waited till I had left the room.' ' No,' said the 
 incorrigible jester, ' I've not been at your loin of pork, 
 but your loins of pork have been at me. And if you 
 don't take them off, in another week I shall be as full 
 of bristles as Peter the Wild Man.' " 
 
 There is one httle scene, described by Tom Davies 
 in a gay, pleasant style, which gives a forcible, teUing 
 picture of that strange miscellany, Foote' s character. 
 Henderson, the young postulant who was anxious to 
 get forward in London, and had been importuning 
 Foote, Garrick, and others " to hear him," had been 
 brought down by some friends to Foote's place in the 
 suburbs. They were determined to get his opinion. 
 This scene followed : " Two friends accompanied him 
 to North End. Our modern Aristophanes welcomed 
 the visitants with great civility; but such is the 
 volatility of his genius that it was not possible to 
 announce the errand immediately: he must be per- 
 mitted to indulge his peculiar humour, and to let off 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 209 
 
 a few voluntaries, before he could be induced to hear 
 of any business whatsoever. Foote's imagination is so 
 lively, and his conceptions are so rapid, as weU as 
 exuberant, that his conversation is a cataract or 
 torrent of wit, humour, pleasantry, and satire. The 
 company had scarce unfolded their business, when he 
 gave them the history of Sir Gregory GrinweU and 
 Lady Barbary Bramble. The whimsical situations into 
 which he put his characters, with his lively and 
 sarcastic remarks, threw the company into convulsions 
 of laughter. 
 
 " However, Henderson's friends thought it was 
 now time to stop the current of Mr. Foote's vivacities 
 by informing him of the reason of their visit. One 
 of them took the lead : 
 
 " ' Sir, our young friend, the Bath Roscius, would 
 think himself extremely happy to have the opinion of 
 so acknowledged a judge of theatrical merit as you are; 
 he wishes you would permit him to rehearse a scene 
 of a play.' ' Well, sir, what are you for, the sock 
 or the buskin? I'll be hanged if you are not quite 
 enamoured of that bouncing brimstone. Tragedy.' 
 'Mr. Henderson is not confined, sir, to either.' 
 ' Stick to the sock, young gentleman ; the one is all 
 nature, and the other all art and trick. Tragedy is 
 mere theatrical bombast, the very fungus of the 
 theatre. Come, sir, give us a taste of your quality.' 
 Here Henderson began a speech in ' Hamlet,' when 
 Foote, turning round to one of the company, said : 
 ' Have you not heard in what manner this impudent 
 little scoundrel has treated me ?' ' I protest, sir, I 
 don't know whom you mean.' ' No ; where have you 
 left your apprehension ? Let me but tell you what 
 a damned trick he served me lately by lending me a 
 
 14 
 
210 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 large sum of money.' 'Consider, my dear sir, the 
 time grows late, and we are to dine in town.' ' No, 
 no,' said Foote, ' you shall dine with me upon a stewed 
 rump of beef and a dish of fish.' Now Mr. Henderson 
 begins. Well, once more he endeavoured to open, 
 when, behold, an unlucky joke, a petite histoire, some 
 droll thought, or some vmaccountable idea, prevented 
 the disconcerted actor from displaying his powers of 
 elocution: his case was now become extremely 
 pitiable. 
 
 " However, after hearing this singular genius read 
 an act of his new comedy, take off Lady Betty 
 Bigamy, recite the whole trial of himself and George 
 Faulkner, ridicule the Irish Lord Chief Justice 
 Bobinson for condemning his Peter Paragraph for a 
 libel, speak a prologue in the character of Peter, laugh 
 at our most celebrated orators of the Bar, mimic the 
 members of both Houses of Parliament, tell some 
 ludicrous stories of Captain Bodens and the Irish 
 chairman, Henderson was permitted to repeat, without 
 interruption, Mr. Garrick's Prologue, which he spoke 
 on his first appearance, after his arrival from the 
 Continent. This being no caricature, but a genuine 
 and fair representation of the great Roscius's manner, 
 without the least exaggeration, we cannot be surprised 
 that it did not make any impression upon Mr. Foote ; 
 however, he paid the speaker a compliment upon the 
 goodness of his ear. Dinner was now announced ; 
 everything was princely and in splendid order. Wit 
 flew about the table — I mean Mr. Foote's ; for I 
 would advise every man that has any wit of his own, 
 who shall have the honour to dine with this gentleman, 
 to bottle it up for another occasion, for he is himself 
 master of enough and to spare for ten companies. I 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 211 
 
 need not observe that many portraits were drawn, 
 and some of them in a masterly style. 
 
 " When Henderson took his leave of him, he 
 whispered one of the company in the ear that ' he 
 would not do.' There was a little of his habitual 
 malice in the verdict and in the way of finding it." 
 
 Here was Foote all over. He had taken a dishke 
 to the intruder, and showed his malice by " putting 
 him out " in his recitation ; more malicious was his 
 carrying it as an obstreperous joke, though it was 
 vital to the poor postulant ; and then came his final 
 whispered " won't do." 
 
 Of Foote's superior wit, whether written, spoken, 
 retailed, or in action, there can be no question. It 
 is of the first order, though rough and brusque; 
 but was always ready and spontaneous. In fact, 
 his best " good things " were sudden retorts. These 
 were prompted by, and owed their force to, his utter 
 unscrupulousness at the moment, and to his supreme 
 "readiness." This readiness was the motive power. 
 The thought came in a flash, and the discharge 
 followed on the instant. No one of our colloquial 
 humorists can be compared with him, for Theodore 
 Hook and Sydney Smith were of a more refined and 
 artificial class, and they were always under social 
 restraint. Quin's good things had something of the 
 same roughness and point, but only a few are 
 recorded.* 
 
 Johnson, who when he chose could show a light 
 touch enough, and be humorous to a degree, has 
 given many accounts of Foote's humour, which he 
 
 * His best specimen is that broad reply to the lady who asked 
 him, in a sweet, complimentary tone, "if he ever made love." 
 -" No, ma'am; } al»^^js buy my love ready made." 
 
 14—2 
 
212 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 seems to have thoroughly enjoyed. These descriptions 
 are admirably finished, and remain in the memory. 
 Foote, in his turn, cordially appreciated the Doctor's 
 wit. He took "a wicked pleasure" in circulating 
 one of his lively speeches on the elder Sheridan : 
 " Sheridan, sir, is dull," etc. 
 
 Murphy also had the highest opinion of Foote's 
 wit, and was never weary of extolling it. He him- 
 self was very grave, and never attempted wit, but he 
 often " carried " the wit of others. Foote was never 
 grave, but always on the watch for something to 
 excite a jest ; but as he had no regard for friendship or 
 decency, it is likely that the admiring Murphy must 
 have been his butt with the rest. 
 
 Foote's good things are extraordinarily abundant, 
 but they are of a mixed kind — ^good, bad, or indifferent. 
 They generally provoke a laugh from a sort of sur- 
 prise and the suggestion of some droU association. 
 Who could resist his speech when someone politely 
 told him that his handkerchief was hanging out of his 
 pocket : " Thank you, sir. You know the company 
 better than I do." There is an ease and simplicity 
 about this that is highly diverting ; but it should 
 be recollected that in the case of "good stories," 
 " humorous sajdngs," and the rest, the whole point 
 depends upon the jest being properly "carried." 
 It is extraordinary in what earthy fashion certain 
 reporters set down a humorous anecdote ; where 
 something is forgotten, it is supplied by invention. 
 They feel bound to supply their own humdrum idea 
 of what is comic, and so really destroy the effect. 
 With their heavy touch they destroy the whole. 
 Thus Conversation Cooke, who has collected with 
 really extraordinary diligence a vast number of Foote's 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 213 
 
 anecdotes and sayings, has imported into the relation 
 the Cooke idea of what is humorous, which really inter- 
 feres with, if it does not spoil, the effect of the original. 
 As I heard the late Mr. Hay ward say : " Everj' good 
 thing should be cut down to the bone.'' Yet after going 
 over the three or four hundred specimens of Foote's 
 wit that he has collected, one can readily distinguish 
 between the Foote and the foreign elements. 
 
 Foote was a sort of permanent humorist — a con- 
 tinuous joker. When in the vein, Foote's thoughts 
 seemed naturally to assume a humorous shape, and 
 to fall into the form of smart repartee. But a certain 
 malice seemed ever to be the motive force, Hke the 
 combustible in the tail of a rocket. He was always 
 ready or on the watch ; he saw the weak place in an 
 instant, and there was a sort of robust roughness 
 about his efforts which helped the result. There 
 was something, too, akin to the French style. I 
 have mentioned the story of the gentleman who told 
 him that his handkerchief was hanging out of his 
 pocket. The incomparable Rivarol also saw an 
 article hanging out of a gentleman's pocket, and 
 politely warned him. The owner was a bad writer, 
 and it was his precious manuscript. Rivarol added : 
 " Only that you are so well known here, sir, it might 
 be stolen" The wit and malice here are admirable, and 
 the jest has perhaps more finesse than Foote's. 
 
 It is extraordinary how all witnesses testify to 
 Foote's powers of entertainment as a boon com- 
 panion. Even the more fastidious judges cannot 
 refuse their praise. He was unsurpassed. In his 
 memoirs Wilkinson thus speaks of him : 
 
 " Sure, if ever one person possessed the talents of 
 pleasing more than another, Mr. Foote was certainly 
 
214 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 the man. I can aver in all my observations that I 
 never met with his equal. Mr. Garrick, whom I have 
 dined and supped with, was far inferior to him in wit 
 or repartee, as, indeed, were persons of rank and 
 degree ; for Nature bestows not all her graces on 
 the great or the opulent. Mr. Foote was not con- 
 fined to any particular topic ; he was equal in all — 
 rehgion, law, pohtics, manners of this or any age, and 
 the stage of course. Indeed, a polished stranger 
 would find it rare to meet with so many agreeable 
 qualities for the conviviahty of any company so com- 
 bined as in a society with Mr. Foote. This is not 
 the tribute of flattery to his memory, but a piece of 
 justice my own impartiahty demands ; for it would 
 be despicable indeed to point out his foibles, and not 
 be ready to attest his good qualities. As a wit he is 
 too well known." 
 
 Cooke gives this description of his colloquial powers, 
 which he acutely distinguishes : 
 
 "Foote's conversation was of such a description 
 that ' naught but itself could be its parallel.' Teeming 
 with fancy and various knowledge, fearless of conse- 
 quences, and privileged in the character of a wit, he 
 took his stand with confidence, and threw his shafts 
 around him with the dexterity of a master, the first 
 and the last of his own school. He was rapid, 
 lucid, and exuberant ; and his images of ridicule and 
 portraits of characters were so strong, novel, and 
 whimsical, that he carried the imagination of his 
 hearers insensibly along with him." 
 
 The remarkable thing was, the position which 
 Foote asserted for himself among the higher and 
 titled classes of society. It was very different from 
 what we have been accustomed to in our days, where 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 215 
 
 a notable and attractive actor has been favoured with 
 the attentions and invitations of lords and ladies. The 
 fashionable actor was invited as a show lion or as an 
 interesting person. But Foote took his place among 
 the nobles as of right ; he wanted no smiles of 
 patronage. Once introduced, he established him- 
 self, and required to be on the footing of their other 
 acquaintances. 
 
 The low and rather ignoble aim of trying to make 
 the servants laugh at a dinner was a common weakness 
 of Foote's. John Taylor testifies to this, and, as he 
 truly says, the jokes that produce such a result must 
 be highly flavoured. We may have noted in our 
 own experience how such dining-out wits often strive 
 thus to affect the attending menials, since it enlarges 
 the audience and supplies a gallery, as it were. It 
 stimulates the diners to laughter when they see the 
 servants "leaving the room in a roar."* 
 
 The secret of Foote's success in society as a 
 humorist was his unabashed effrontery. He did not 
 care what he said, or how he said it, or to whom he 
 said it. Others might be foiled or disabled by the 
 lucky stroke of an adversary, but he took only the 
 quicker rebound from what would have laid them 
 prostrate. This was the form of dramatic praise 
 given by Johnson — viz., his " incompressibility." 
 Foote's nature was so constituted that his impulse 
 was to look for something absurd or ridiculous in 
 
 * A few days after[|the death of his wife, Foote dined out. He at 
 first attempted the "dejected 'haviour of the visage," and actually 
 wept. At last he announced " that he had been all the morning 
 looking for a second-hand coffin to bury her in " ! This seems all 
 but incredible, and yet it is somehow in the actor's manner. The 
 servants were convulsed, and for the rest of the meal he was as 
 jovial as ever. 
 
216 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 the person before him. This at once prompted the 
 delivery of a malicious or venomous speech, with a 
 personality reflecting on a physical or mental defect — 
 it did not matter which, Personahty was the very 
 basis of his wit. This gave point to what he said. 
 Other men to whom a personal retort occurred might 
 be afraid to utter it: Foote feared nobody. What 
 an influence, what a power, this gave him ! It forced 
 everyone to concihate him, to give way to him. The 
 great prompting power of his jest was the weak 
 place in either the mind or body of the person before 
 him. This he never could resist. Give him this 
 material, and he was triumphant. When someone 
 foohshly joked on his leg, Foote retorted : " Why do 
 you attack my weakest part ? Did I say anything 
 about your head ?" This, however, as we have seen, 
 has been credited to Johnson. 
 
 The wonder was how this professional lampooner — 
 who made his living by ridiculing others, and ex- 
 hibited them on his stage — so long escaped personal 
 correction. How was it that in those days of personal 
 violence and chastisement, when the phrase " knocked 
 him down " was often heard, no outraged person had 
 taken him in hand ? The truth was, Foote could 
 be as cautious as he could be bold; when he saw 
 the matter was growing serious he drew back. No 
 one could be more apologetic or more profuse. 
 
 Johnson, with his amazingly searching criticism, 
 supphed the clou of Foote's humour as " rude, ob- 
 streperous mirth." Anyone that has been in com- 
 pany with one of these humorous souls — distended as 
 it were with fun — wUl understand this.* 
 
 * I recall in my youthful days, when dining at one of the Inns 
 of Court with a jovial and even noisy party, after " the cloth was 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 217 
 
 Foote's best-known jest, and really of the first class, 
 is his reply to someone asking whether he had ever been 
 in Cork: " No ; but I have seen a good many drawings 
 of it." Once, when travelling in a post-chaise with 
 a friend, he met a stuttering Colonel, and, stopping 
 him, asked how he was. The Colonel could get no 
 
 farther than, " Pretty — pretty — er — we " Foote, 
 
 impatient, drew up the window and drove oiF. His 
 friend remonstrated with him on the rudeness. " Oh, 
 I wanted to save time ; we'll be at Hounslow before 
 he'll be well enough to answer us." 
 
 To the Duke of Cumberland, who complimented 
 him by saying that he had swallowed aU " his good 
 things," Foote could not resist replying that he must 
 be congratulated on his digestion, " as I never knew 
 Your Royal Highness bring up any of them again." 
 This was as coarse as it was rude, but still very good. 
 It was probably only told of the Duke, when, of 
 course, it would have more effect. 
 
 Foote has the credit of an oft-quoted piece of 
 advice to a certain bad author who deplored the fact 
 that he had no time to write a poem, " as he had so 
 many irons in the fire " : Foote advising him to put his 
 poem where his irons were. The parentage of this jest, 
 however, is not quite certain, though it has always 
 been claimed for him. Still, it is quite in his manner. 
 
 A wealthy man from the City, dining one day at 
 North End, was every now and then boasting, with 
 all the insolence of prosperity, of his many thousands 
 
 drawn," some priggish person told the ancient jest of the ladies' 
 favourite wines : " Isle of Wight," " Port, you gal," and the like — 
 geography jokes which leave one rather sad : whereupon a grave, 
 silent Irishman said slowly, " Bedad, I'll have man is much more in 
 their way." 
 
218 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 in the funds, his capital in trade, mortgages, annuities, 
 etc., when Foote cut him short by sajong "he was 
 very sorry for the circumstance." " What I" ex- 
 claimed his guest, " do you envy me my prosperity ?" 
 " No, my good sir," said the other ; " but you talk so 
 much of your riches that I am afraid the company 
 (who don't know you as well as I do) will think you 
 are going to break." 
 
 The following is excellent. A maid came into the 
 room to look for her mistress. " What do you want 
 your mistress for ?" asked the master. " Why, 
 indeed, sir, to tell you the truth, she scolds me so 
 from morning to night, I came to give her warning." 
 " What, then, you mean to leave us ?" " Certainly, 
 sir," said she, shutting the door after her. " Happy 
 girl !" exclaimed Foote ; " I most sincerely wish your 
 poor master could give warning, too." 
 
 An artist was eternally complaining of illness, but 
 could never tell what was the matter with him. At 
 last he married, which being told to Foote, he 
 exclaimed : "I heartily wish him joy, for now he'll 
 readily find out what's the matter with Mm." 
 
 Here is the true Foote cynicism dashed with 
 maUce. Being asked at what time of life he thought 
 female beauty began to decline, he replied : " Woman 
 is to be counted like a game of piquet : twenty-five, 
 twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine 
 — sixty." This is in the French manner. 
 
 When someone asked why Garrick did not take 
 the beam out of his own eye before finding fault with 
 the mote in another's, "Because he is not sure of 
 selling the timber," said Foote with instant readiness. 
 
 In all such retorts he was incompressible. One 
 night at his theatre Garrick twitted him. " So you 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMOmST 219 
 
 have to fall back on one of my farces !" " Why, yes, 
 Davy ; I must have some ventilator in this very hot 
 weather." 
 
 A dull dramatic writer, who had often felt the 
 severity of the public, was complaining one day to 
 Foote of the injustice done him by the critics, but 
 added : " I have, however, one way of being even 
 with them, which is by constantly laughing at all 
 they say." " You do perfectly right, my friend," 
 said Foote, "for by this method you will not only 
 disappoint your enemies, but lead the merriest life of 
 any man in England." 
 
 Foote lived in habits of intimacy with Lord Kellie, 
 a very red-faced nobleman. One day his lordship 
 choosing to forget his promise of dining with him, 
 it piqued him so that he called out, loud enough to 
 be heard by the whole coffee-house where they were 
 sitting, " Well, my lord, since you cannot do me the 
 honour of dining with me to-day, will you be so good, 
 as you ride by, as just to look over against my south 
 wall, for, as we have had little or no sun for this 
 fortnight past, my peaches will want the assistance 
 of your lordship's countenance." 
 
 A story of genuine humour is always fresh and 
 novel, and a constant entertainment, such as the 
 Screen Scene in " The School for Scandal," which 
 one can see again and again with the same interest 
 and excitement. Certain choice specimens are a 
 source of renewed entertainment when recalled, and 
 ever seem young and fresh. The reason is that they 
 represent real comic situations, wit in life and action ; 
 whereas verbal pleasantries, such as those of Sydney 
 Smith, appeal to the intellect only. As specimens 
 of the irresistible sort are the French Judge's answer 
 
220 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 to the criminal's plea, " II faut vivre," and the ever 
 delightful answer of another Judge to Alexandre 
 Dumas, who, being asked his name as a witness in 
 a Uterary case, said with sham modesty, " Were I not 
 in the city of the great Corneille, I would call myself 
 an author." " Don't mind that," answered the Judge 
 reassuringly ; " there are degrees in everything." 
 Here the situation seems exquisitely comic, the Judge 
 affecting to take the novehst literally, and consoling 
 him. It is impossible to resist a smUe. 
 
 Here is a specimen of Foote's most brutal or 
 " knock-down " method. Baddeley, the actor, was in 
 his service, and before taking to the stage had been 
 a cook. Grumbling one day about his salary and 
 other grievances, he told Foote "that he did not 
 treat him like a gentleman." " What !" said Foote, 
 " when you know that I made a gentleman of you 
 when I took your spit from the fire and placed it by 
 your side." 
 
 A tailor friend begged of him to furnish a motto 
 for his carriage just set up. " I've got," said the other, 
 " what will suit you to a buttonhole. ' List ! list ! 
 O list !' " A doctor consulted him on a similar 
 matter. " What's your crest ?" asked Foote, " Two 
 mallards." " There you are : ' Quack ! quack !' " It 
 is said that when he received his third fortune he 
 put on his carriage door the motto " Iterum, iterum, 
 iterumque."* 
 
 It is clear, from this httle muster of Foote's good 
 
 * Yet another evidence of his classical taste, which he always 
 kept alive by use or quotation. This fondness for the ancients 
 supplied a sort of high tone to his otherwise coarse life, and gave 
 him a striking advantage over Garrick, who had no University 
 education, and whom he could always " down " in this way. 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 221 
 
 things, that they aU depended on the sudden delivery 
 and the rough utterance, and on the simple effort to 
 " hit hard." A well-directed personality is certain to 
 gain a laugh. 
 
 Then there is the oft-quoted criticism on the Irish 
 beggars, when he said that he never knew till his visit 
 to that country what the English beggars did with 
 their cast-off clothes. In this there is true wit. His 
 rough abuse of the Duke of Leinster's table — where 
 there was a vast quantity of plate and of made dishes — 
 was that he did not care to dine in a silversmith's shop 
 on dishes brought in from the apothecary's. This 
 was simply abusive, but it " told." Almost his last 
 jest on his leaving for Dover was addressed to one of 
 his old actors, who declared that he was not at all 
 himself that day. Foote answered him gravely: 
 " Well, then, I wish you joy ; for though I don't know 
 who you are tiow, anyhow you must be a gainer by 
 the change." This is in Rivarol's manner. To a con- 
 ceited young fellow who was anxious as to what he 
 should say as an excuse for not attending a party the 
 day before, " Say !" cried Foote, " why, nothing, 
 for no one missed you." Merely a rude speech. 
 
 Many of the recorded, and even admired, jests are 
 trivial, such as that of the eighteen tailors whom he 
 addressed : " Gentlemen, I wish you both good night." 
 StiU, delivered in his boisterous, acted way, the effect 
 was no doubt droll, for he seemed to argue the matter 
 out gravely. At a nobleman's table, praise was given 
 to his claret, which he declared was a return for two 
 hounds he had sent to a French gentleman. " Ex- 
 cellent it is," said Foote, "and dog cheap." Here 
 again we must supply the acting and spontaneousness. 
 I have already quoted the story of a little bust of 
 
222 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 Garrick on Foote's bureau. " You are surprised, no 
 doubt," said the latter, " at my letting him be so near 
 my cash, but you will observe he has no hands." The 
 finesse here is admirable, and of the first class, with 
 the sly allusion to Garrick's avarice, etc. Someone 
 was complaining of a red -faced Irish gentleman, 
 declaring that he would puU his nose. "Pull his 
 nose !" said Foote. "Why, you might as well thrust 
 your fingers into a furnace !" 
 
 The happy " turn " Foote could give to his bons- 
 mots can be well illustrated by his well-known jest on 
 Mrs. Catherine Macaulay, the female RepubUcan, who 
 had written a pamphlet which she entitled "Loose 
 Thoughts on," etc. This was too obvious for the 
 common jester to miss, but Foote really undertook 
 the author's defence. "I see no objection to that 
 title," he said, " for the sooner the lady gets rid of her 
 loose thoughts, the better." 
 
 Foote's temperament was eminently connected with 
 action, just as his dramatic feeling was, and we find 
 this strongly present in aU his wit. It is ever wit in 
 action. This is shown in one of his happiest efforts, 
 which is a perfect scene : 
 
 A gentleman in the country who had just buried a 
 rich relation, who was an attorney, was complaining 
 to Foote of the very great expenses of a country 
 funeral, in respect to carriages, hatbands, scarfs, etc. 
 " Why, do you bury your attorneys here ?" asked 
 Foote gravely. " Yes, to be sure we do ; how 
 else ?" " Oh ! we never do that in London." " No !" 
 said the other, much surprised ; " how do you 
 manage ?" " Why, when the patient happens to die, 
 we lay him out in a room overnight by himself, lock 
 the door, throw open the sash, and in the morniag he 
 
CH. xiv] WIT AND HUMORIST 223 
 
 is entirely off." " Indeed I" said the other in amaze- 
 ment ; " what becomes of him ?" " Why, that we 
 cannot exactly teU. All that we know is, that there's 
 a strong smell of brimstone in the room the next 
 morning." 
 
 This is one of Foote's best " things," and is truly 
 droll. 
 
 A pleasant story related of Foote's persiflage shows 
 us how Garrick and he, the friend-enemy pair, used to 
 meet at the table of Lord Mansfield, the Chief Justice, 
 where there were other notables. This was not a 
 mere occasional compliment, but it is evident that 
 both were asked, not as being distinguished in their 
 profession, but because they were briUiant additions 
 to a dinner-party. On one of these occasions Garrick 
 solemnly held forth on the subject of thrift and 
 economy, illustrating the fatal results of waste and 
 extravagance by Churchill's death. Foote not un- 
 naturally struck in, and saw how to profit by this 
 sermonizing. He put forward a grave and satirical 
 argument in favour of debt, which he urged was not 
 such a mischievous thing as was supposed. Debt 
 presumed the existence of fortune at some time, or 
 you would not get credit. Then, by hving on credit 
 you got rid of the trouble of using money or keeping 
 accounts. It checked avarice, encouraged generosity, 
 for people were more Uberal with other people's money 
 than with their own. Of his other first-class jests we 
 most relish these. He described a certain Sir J. D. as 
 " a good sort of man," and being pressed by a lady to 
 explain what he called a good sort of man, " Why, 
 madam," he said, " one who preserves all the exterior 
 decencies of ignorance." Very happy this. Laughing 
 at the imbecilities of a common friend one day, some- 
 
224 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xiv 
 
 body observed : "It was very surprising, as Tom 
 Davies knew him very well, and thought him far 
 from being a fool." "Ah, poor Tom!" said Foote; 
 " he is like one of those people who eat garlic them- 
 selves, and therefore can't smell it in a companion." 
 This is another very happy stroke. 
 
 " Who is that woman ?" he was asked by someone, 
 pointing to a fat, coarse-looking actress. " Mrs. Red- 
 dish." " Reddish ? What Reddish ?" " Don't you 
 see ? Horse Reddish, to be sure." This is rather too 
 obvious. 
 
 I could give many more specimens, for the collec- 
 tion is enormous, but I have here selected and set 
 before the reader what seem to me to be the 
 choicest. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 1763 
 " THE MAYOR OF GARKATT " — GEORGE FAULKNER 
 
 We have followed the amusing conflict between 
 Foote and his mimic which led to a breach between 
 them, almost irreconcilable in the case of other men. 
 Five years had elapsed, so the hostUity seemed likely 
 to be permanent. But this was not Foote's way. 
 His interests now called for a reconciliation. He had 
 a piece ready, full of ^otesque character. Tate was a 
 very convenient, useful auxiliary, all but indispens- 
 able. Both understood each other, and on the stage, 
 or in company, were always acceptable to audiences. 
 
 In 1763 Wilkinson was at the Norwich Theatre, 
 when an emissary named Kennedy arrived from town 
 with the most handsome proposals from Foote. 
 Everything was offered. Foote said that he had 
 begun to think that his audience had grown tired of 
 seeing one person alone upon the stage ; Wilkinson 
 should have generous terms. There was a char- 
 acter written for him, which he would " cut out " if 
 Tate did not undertake it. He should have benefits, 
 etc., all as he pleased, with a division of the important 
 characters. And he wished also to have him not 
 merely as an actor, but as his particular friend ; his 
 house and his table would be always open to him. 
 
 225 15 
 
226 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 These flattering proposals were joyfully accepted, and 
 Wilkinson set off for town. He tells us what followed : 
 "I paid my devoirs to the manager at the Hay- 
 market Theatre, where I found Mr. Foote earnestly 
 employed in a work of training his mUitia conlpany 
 to prepare for a summer campaign. He soon espied 
 me in the orchestra, where I had observingly placed 
 myself The rehearsal was soon finished ; I mounted 
 the stage, and after a most friendly greeting, to the 
 astonishment of everyone, the most amazing coahtion 
 of intimacy made its wonderful appearance, and 
 equalled any change politics had ever presented to 
 view. The troop was mute, glad, but more surprised 
 when the carriage was ordered, and Mr. Foote insisted 
 on my dining with him that day, as a large party of 
 the first persons were to be at his table. I did not 
 expect such civility, but it may easily be supposed I 
 could not resist. It also seemed to augur an inten- 
 tion of good-wiU at least ; and if not, a good dinner, 
 good company, and Mr. Foote at the head of the 
 table, few persons even of rank would have disUked ; 
 besides, it placed me not only on a footing of superi- 
 ority, but prevented any suspicion in myself as to ill- 
 treatment from Mr. Foote, of which I had not entirely 
 divested my mind. He was then preparing his 
 ' Mayor of Garratt,' in which piece he had wrote a 
 part, he informed me, that was in fact abstracted 
 from the piece, and that he could do with or without 
 it. It was impossible for himself to do it, for with a 
 false beUy for his intended Major Sturgeon, and to 
 undress for Matthew Mug, it was not practicable. 
 The part was entitled Peter Primmer, intended as a 
 stroke of satire levelled at Mr. Sheridan senior, who 
 about that time had busied himself much with deHver- 
 
CH. XV] « THE MAYOR OF GARRATT " 227 
 
 ing lectures on oratory, and proposing a plan for the 
 establishment of an academy for the teaching of 
 pupils the true art of public speaking. 
 
 " Mr. Foote mentioned our appearing together in 
 the piece of ' The Minor,' for, said he, the public will 
 be better pleased with having both than one, and 
 added, however partial the town might be to him as 
 author and actor combined, yet the same person 
 being perpetually in sight is cloying. ... It was 
 agreed ' The Minor ' should be the opening piece, 
 early in June 1763 : Shift and Squintum, Mr. 
 Wilkinson ; Mrs. Cole and Smirk, Mr. Foote : with 
 the new farce of ' The Mayor of Garratt.' My Shift, 
 with the imitations, was extravagantly well received, 
 and was repeated several nights. ' The Mayor of 
 Garratt ' had great success, and a run of almost every 
 night in the season ; it met with some opposition, 
 which in general only gives a whet to the appetite of 
 those who choose to approve and support." 
 
 This new, droll, and truly eccentric piece of foolery, 
 " The Mayor of Garratt," was intended to ridicule 
 the martial airs of volunteer and militia officers, and 
 at the same time divert with its oddity. There was 
 a character intended as a caricature of Sheridan, the 
 actor ; and Wilkinson, knowing Sheridan by heart as it 
 were, was introduced by Foote for the special purpose 
 of " taking him off." 
 
 " Peter Primmer I dressed with an old tie-wig, hke 
 the barber's in ' The Upholsterer,' a long band neck- 
 cloth, a large rod in my right hand, and a Scotch 
 plaid nightgown, and had six boys with primers 
 and rods, and six girls with horn-books, as my atten- 
 dants in procession as the candidate for being chosen 
 Mayor of Garratt. My likeness was strong, and it 
 
 15—2 
 
228 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 was well taken, and as a schoolmaster at Garratt, near 
 Wandsworth, the dress was ridiculous, and not totally 
 improper; but as a resemblance of Mr. Sheridan, 
 who always appeared at his lecture and everywhere 
 as a gentleman, my being too comical destroyed the 
 effect ; therefore it was judged much better, to answer 
 the purpose intended, to dress it in black and a bag- 
 wig, etc. That alteration gave the people a strong 
 conception of him they knew, whereas the ridiculous 
 wig and gown destroyed every part of the imitation 
 by the absurd appearance." 
 
 Colman describes an amusing incident connected 
 with this piece : " Such was the excellence of Foote's 
 inimitable humour that, even to this day, I have a 
 distinct recollection of him in particular scenes ; and I 
 can remember the very tone and expression he assumed 
 when, after describing the gallantry of his corps on 
 marching home, he exclaims, ' We were all stopped 
 and robbed by a single highwayman !' The first 
 time that the King attended the Haymarket this 
 farce commenced the evening's performances. When 
 His Majesty arrived at the theatre, Foote, as manager, 
 hobbled to the stage door to receive him, but, as he 
 played in the first piece, instead of wearing the Court 
 dress usual on these occasions, he was equipped in 
 the immense cocked hat, cumbrous boots, and all the 
 other paraphernalia and appurtenances of the most 
 grotesque military uniform imaginable. The moment 
 His Majesty cast his eyes on this extraordinary figure, 
 as he stood bowing, stumping, and wriggling with his 
 wooden leg, the King receded with astonishment, 
 thus addressing his officers : 
 
 " ' Look ! what is that man, and to what regiment 
 does he belong V " 
 
CH. XV] « THE MAYOR OF GARRATT " 229 
 
 Colman attributes the speech to George II., but he 
 was dead at the time the play was produced. It was, 
 of course, his successor. This scene shows how well 
 founded was Boz's delicacy when, about a hundred 
 years later, he positively declined to present himself to 
 Her Majesty in his acting clothes. 
 
 The strange sensation or craze of the Cock Lane 
 ghost had about this time excited general ridicule ; yet 
 it had been gravely investigated by so judicial a person 
 as Dr. Johnson. Many wondered that he should have 
 taken the business so seriously as to visit the scene 
 of the apparition. Here was grist for Foote's mill, 
 and he found himself irresistibly drawn to present a 
 grotesque portrait of the lexicographer in some 
 ridiculous connection with the " ghost." It seemed 
 an easy matter, and would make a most effective 
 " show." But, as we shall see by-and-by, he reckoned 
 without his host — that is, without thought of the sage's 
 sturdy methods. 
 
 As the militia was being " called out " aU over 
 the kingdom, the observant Foote began to note 
 the absurdities and oddities of these citizen soldiers, 
 and by-and-by had fashioned these into a roaring 
 farce. Here we may wonder how the licenser 
 tolerated this ridicule of a body of men who were 
 doing their best to protect the kingdom. A most 
 ridiculous figure was made of Major Sturgeon, who 
 described the perils of his campaigning at Brentford 
 and other places. Later, Wilkinson was foolish enough 
 to select this piece for performance in the presence 
 of the York Militia, and was all but mobbed.* 
 
 * Vi^hile this book is passing through the press, the Chamberlain 
 has refused to license a skit under the title of " Territorials," upon 
 the subject of invasion. 
 
230 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 The peace of 1762 had led to the disbandment of 
 the various militia and volunteer corps, on which the 
 ever-watchful Foote found his opportunity. The 
 many absurdities of the enrolled butchers and bakers 
 of the local districts had not escaped his ken. This 
 piece has supplied a typical figure for mirth and 
 quotation — Jerry Sneak. The piece was in two acts, 
 but, as usual, we look in vain for a story. It was 
 really in the nature of those " sketches " that we see 
 at music-halls, where comic characters display them- 
 selves in grotesque talk ; chatter, sing, describe some 
 adventure, and pass away to give place to another. 
 We can see, from ZofFany's admirable picture of 
 Foote in this character of the fishmonger Major, 
 exactly how he looked. It was a " stock " piece in my 
 school-days, with " Midas " and others of the same 
 pattern, and, acted by low — very low — comedians, pro- 
 duced hearty laughter. Mr. Forster grew enthusiastic 
 over the farce : " Who has not enjoyed it more than 
 half the comedians he has seen ?" And very racy and 
 ebullient it is. Given the topic of militia enthusiasm 
 in our own day, it would soon be exhausted. A few 
 pat phrases repeated would illustrate the character. 
 But Foote illustrated by action, not by speech. The 
 secret of the attraction is the perfect sincerity of the 
 character. The Major is shown to believe firmly in 
 his campaigns and hardships. It is aU quite natural. 
 Sir Jacob asks him : " Was it not rather late in life to 
 take to the profession ?" "A little awkward in the 
 beginning," the Major answers ; " but use reconciles 
 all them kind of things. Why, after my first 
 campaign / no more minded the noise oj the guns than 
 a flea-bite." Sir Jacob: "No?" Major: "No. 
 There is more made of these matters than by 
 merit." How natural this stroke ! 
 
CH. XV] " THE MAYOR OF GARRATT " 231 
 
 But here is a longer specimen of this boisterous 
 piece. Says the Major, describing his exploits : 
 
 " In a week I could shoulder, and rest, and poise, 
 and turn to the right, and wheel to the left ; and in 
 less than a month T could fire without winking or 
 blinking." " *S'2V Jac. A perfect Hannibal ! Major. 
 Ah, and then I learnt to form hnes, and hollows, 
 and squares, and evolutions, and revolutions : let me 
 tell you. Sir Jacob, it was lucky that Monsieur kept 
 his myrmidons at home, or we should have peppered 
 his flat-bottomed boats. Sir Jac. Ay, marry, he 
 had a marvellous escape. Major. We would 'a' 
 taught him what a Briton can do, who is fighting 
 pro arvis and focus. Sir Jac. Pray now, Major, 
 which do you look upon as the best disciplined troops, 
 the London regiments or the Middlesex mihtia ? 
 Major. Why, Sir Jacob, it does not become me to 
 say ; but, lack-a-day, they have never seen any service 
 — holiday soldiers ! Why, I don't believe, unless 
 indeed upon a Lord Mayor's day, and that mere 
 matter of accident, that they were ever wet to 
 the skin in their lives. Sir Jac. Indeed ! Major. 
 No ! soldiers for sunshine. Cockneys ; they have 
 not the appearance, the air, the freedom, the Jenny 
 sequi that — oh, could you but see me salute ! you 
 have never a spontoon in the house ? Sir Jac. 
 No ; but we could get you a shove-pike. . . . Sir 
 Jac. No doubt. Major. Oh ! such marchings 
 and counter-marchings, from Brentford to Ealing, 
 from Eahng to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge ; the 
 dust flying, sun scorching, men sweating ! Why, 
 there was our last expedition to Hounslow ; that day's 
 work carried off" Major Molossas. Bunhill Fields 
 never saw a braver commander ! He was an irrepar- 
 able loss to the service. Sir Jac. How came that 
 
232 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 about ? Major. Why, it was partly the Major's 
 own fault ; I advised him to pull off his spurs before 
 he went upon action ; but he was resolute, and would 
 not be ruled. . . . At daybreak our regiment formed 
 at Hounslow town's end, as it might be about here. 
 The Major made a fine disposition : on we marched, 
 the men all in high spirits, to attack the gibbet where 
 Gardel is hanging ; but turning down a narrow lane 
 to the left, as it might be about there, in order to 
 possess a pigsty, that we might take the gallows in 
 flank, and at all events secure a retreat, who should 
 come by but a drove of fat oxen for Smithfield ! The 
 drums beat in the front, the dogs barked in the rear, the 
 oxen set up a gallop ; on they came thundering upon 
 us, broke through our ranks in an instant, and threw 
 the whole corps in confusion. Sir Jac. Terrible ! 
 Major. The Major's horse took to his heels ; away 
 he scoured over the heath. That gallant commander 
 stuck both his spurs into the flank, and for some 
 time held by his mane ; but in crossing a ditch the 
 horse threw up his head, gave the Major a dowse 
 in the chops, and plumped him into a gravel-pit, 
 just by the powder-mills. Sir Jac. Dreadful ! 
 Major. Whether from the fall or the fright, the 
 Major moved off in a month. . . . But I got the 
 Major's commission. Sir Jac. You did ! Major. 
 Oh yes. I was the only one of the corps that could 
 ride." 
 
 The garrulous Tate has told us how he discharged his 
 part of the scheme for making ridiculous the worthy 
 old Sheridan. But it was found too comical, with too 
 much of the burlesque, so the dress was changed to 
 sober black, as more suited to a pedagogue. One of 
 the points was the recitation of the familiar ballad 
 
CH. XV] « THE MAYOR OF GARRATT " 233 
 
 " Nancy Dawson," given with intense seriousness, with 
 the exact tone and manner of the victim. 
 
 The late J. S. Le Fanu, a well-known novelist, and 
 a descendant of the gifted Sheridan family,* related 
 to me, I suppose full forty years ago, an odd instance 
 of Foote's malicious enjoyment of annoyance. A 
 daughter of " old Sheridan," the actor, had told him 
 that Foote was very pressing that the family should 
 come and see his new piece at his theatre. He was par- 
 ticularly anxious that the old actor should be of the 
 party, and placed him in the front row. We may 
 conceive his rage, and that of his family, when 
 they recognized his counterpart, the Peter Primmer, 
 with aU the peculiarities minutely copied. What are 
 we to think of all these things — this finding enter- 
 tainment in giving pain and annoyance ? But I really 
 believe that this temper was constitutional with Foote, 
 and that he could not restrain it. He might say in 
 defence : " Pity me, but I really cant help it — T like 
 it, I enjoy it." 
 
 " The Orators," produced in 1762, is the most 
 incoherent of all Foote's pieces, and rambles about in 
 the most extraordinary fashion. There were sixteen 
 characters, and the strong cast included Shuter, 
 Weston, one of the Palmers, Quick, Bannister, and 
 Foote himself as Lecturer. Everything was in the 
 most "free-and-easy" style. It opened with the 
 appearance of two of the performers in a side-box, 
 who have a talk with the candle- snuffer, and finally 
 send for Foote to talk with him. Suds then 
 interrupts from another box, demanding lessons in the 
 
 * This Mr. Le Fanu was a true Sheridan, overflowing with 
 quaint humour. He lived surrounded by family portraits of rare 
 merit. 
 
234 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 art of making a speech, on which Foote begins his 
 lecture, an interminable, all but serious discourse, 
 filling nearly twenty closely printed pages, " dull 
 prosings " one of the characters calls it. The next 
 act IS devoted to comic parody of a trial with witnesses, 
 counsel, etc., and here is introduced Peter Paragraph, 
 intended for Faulkner, who is made as ridiculous as 
 possible. It is a perfect mystery how these things 
 could have been endured by a lively up-to-date 
 audience. The fact was, Foote was here reverting 
 to his original methods. 
 
 In this wandering piece Foote's indifference to 
 his own dignity and to that of his audiences 
 is shown by his "free-and-easy" exhibition of the 
 mysteries of "Behind the Scenes." He would 
 recklessly show himself in his everyday garb, and 
 talk with the carpenter and prompter. He would 
 make the candle-snufFer fetch out Mr. Foote, who 
 appears and tells them what he is going to do — that 
 is, to give a lecture on Speaking. He begins accord- 
 ingly, and gives a long discourse of many pages, 
 quite seriously, too, on the principles of Oratory, the 
 Bar, the Church, etc. He then satirizes, or tries to 
 satirize, forensic proceedings, holding a mock trial of 
 the Cock Lane ghost, which had been exciting atten- 
 tion. His pupils, or beginners, took the shghter 
 characters, which are mere cardboard figures, having 
 only a few sentences each. Such was a ranter — rant- 
 ing being a favourite subject for his gibes — or Peter 
 Paragraph, his late friend George Faulkner, whose 
 lameness, two wives, and Journal were, it cannot be 
 said, ridiculed, but mentioned, as though all this were 
 something diverting. 
 
 The explanation is, that the jester filled out these 
 
CH. XV] GEORGE FAULKNER 235 
 
 sketches with obstreperous mimicries, face-making, 
 and personaUties, evidently filling in his strokes till 
 they produced roars of laughter. The next and last 
 scene was the presentation of the Robin Hood 
 Popular Debating Society, a sort of Cogers' Hall — 
 whither, it wiU be remembered, Bozzy stole away 
 from his friends. It seems astonishing, by the way, 
 that a person so notorious and so comic in his 
 ways as BosweU should have escaped Foote's 
 " handling." 
 
 George Faulkner, the Dublin publisher, is best 
 known from his connection with Swift, most of whose 
 books he issued in handsome and important style, 
 and in various forms. His great edition of the Dean's 
 works — some twenty volumes strong — is a creditable 
 venture for the time. He was also a figure in his own 
 community. If Foote was balked in his attempt on 
 Johnson, he could at least ridicule one of Johnson's 
 friends. It is difficult at this distance to know 
 whether there was anything specially eccentric in this 
 Dublin printer. Cooke tells us that his peculiarities 
 were trifling and his manners inoffensive. Cumber- 
 land says that he was ridiculous and farcical in every 
 way ; others make out that he was a noisy swaggerer 
 who boasted of his conquests in spite of every physical 
 disadvantage. Accordingly, Foote prepared a special 
 part — a small character labelled "Peter Paragraph," 
 which he played himself. The piece was brought 
 on in 1762, and caused much amusement. He 
 contrived to rouse a sort of curiosity about the 
 printer. 
 
 Incredible to say, Foote, besides mimicking the 
 Alderman's humours and absurdities, actually simu- 
 lated his wooden leg, and limped and hobbled about 
 
236 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 the stage to roars of laughter. Not three years later 
 he himself was to be hobbling about the stage, 
 equipped with what he had been laughing at I It is 
 often found an unlucky thing, as well as indecent, 
 to scoff at physical infirmities. 
 
 The piece called " The Orators " was a rather dull 
 performance, the first portion being devoted to what 
 was a sort of oratorical competition, when Foote and 
 others made long and tiresome speeches — unless, 
 indeed, he set them oflF with an unusual amount of 
 his favourite mimicries. Foote actually makes the 
 candle- snuffer " a speaking part " — a thing un- 
 precedented.* Then Peter Paragraph is called, and 
 tells how his journal makes mention of his depar- 
 ture for England. " I know peers," he says, " and 
 peers know me." His wife had died, but " I gave 
 her a prodigious good character in my journal." 
 Foote also represents Faulkner as getting up a 
 book on the Cock Lane apparition, and having a 
 confederate to record the " scratchings," etc. The 
 third act is devoted to the Robin Hood Society, 
 — attended by Boswell— altogether a dull perform- 
 ance. The portion devoted to George was, however, 
 very short and slight. Indeed, there are so many 
 Irish introduced that there is no contrast. George, 
 far away in Dublin, no doubt thought it aU rather 
 complimentary. But a friend and patron of his. 
 Lord Chesterfield, wrote him a letter to prove to him 
 that he was injured. 
 
 " Would you think it ! Mr. Foote, who, if I 
 mistake not, was one of your symposium while you 
 
 * What a hindrance to the dramatio effect in those days must 
 have been the entrance of the candle-snuifer, and his trimming of 
 the long wicks ! 
 
CH. XV] GEORGE FAULKNER 237 
 
 were in London, and if so the worse man he, takes 
 you off, as it is vulgarly called — that is, acts you in 
 his new farce, called ' The Orators.' As the Govern- 
 ment here cannot properly take notice of it, would 
 it be amiss that you should show some spirit upon 
 this occasion, either by way of stricture, contempt, 
 or by bringing an action against him ? I do not 
 mean for writing the said farce, but for acting it. 
 The doctrine of Scribere est agere was looked upon as 
 too hard in the case of Algernon Sidney, but my 
 Lord Coke in his incomparable notes upon Littleton, 
 my Lord Chief Justice Hales in his Pleas of the 
 Crown, my Lord Vaughan, Salkeld, and, in short, 
 all the greatest men of the law, do with their 
 usual perspicuity and precision lay it down for law, 
 etc." 
 
 Mr. Forster, not unnaturally, assumes that this is a 
 specimen of Lord Chesterfield's iU-natured wit. The 
 advice, he holds, is ironical ; that, while encouraging 
 his Mend to take action, he is laughing at him in his 
 sleeve. But I think the passage scarcely bears this 
 meaning. Chesterfield's other letters to Faulkner are 
 always kindly and friendly, full of a sincere interest 
 in his affairs. I beUeve he was quite in earnest in 
 the advixje he gave to prosecute Foote, though he 
 accompanies it with a little good-humoured persiflage 
 which also might have a reference to Foote's ridicule 
 of law and law process, which was so profusely treated 
 in " The Orators." This, it was likely enough, was 
 appreciated by George himself; otherwise we must 
 assume that the cold-hearted peer was sneering at his 
 friend, and seriously pressing him to go to law 
 by foohsh jesting and a pretence of quoting in- 
 fluential legal authority, of which he knew nothing. 
 
238 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 Faulkner was too shrewd a man to be thus imposed 
 upon. 
 
 However this may be, the Alderman did bring 
 his action in the Dubhn Courts, where the wit was 
 cast in damages. Lord Chesterfield wrote his con- 
 gratulations : " You scorned an inglorious victory, 
 and called on justice and the laws of your country to 
 punish the criminal. I take it for granted that some 
 of your tributary wits have already presented you 
 with gratulatory poems, etc., upon this subject. I 
 own 1 had some thought myself of inscribing a short 
 poem to you upon your triumph ; but, to tell you the 
 truth, when I had writ not above two thousand verses 
 of it my muse forsook me, my poetic vein stopped. 
 I threw away my pen and I burned my poem, to the 
 irreparable loss, not only of the present age, but also 
 of latest posterity." 
 
 It seems to me that this last passage, conceived in 
 a spirit of ostentatious burlesque, suppUes a key to 
 the whole incident. The Earl was "having a little 
 fun " with his Mend, " chaffing " him on his victory ; 
 but I can see no sneering. 
 
 It is said that the Judge who was to try the case 
 was not favourably disposed to Foote. The actor, 
 later making one of his flying visits, had to undergo 
 the mortification of giving bail. According to the 
 story, he left the country, preferring not to trust to 
 the mercies of the Irish, and it was said that his bail 
 had to make good the sum. He, however, later made 
 good the sum forfeited. 
 
 Foote, when he got back to town, sat down and 
 hastUy wrote off an amusing parody of the Dubhn 
 action, and this he produced before a Haymarket 
 audience. The scene was the interior of a court of 
 
CH. XV] GEORGE FAULKNER 239 
 
 law. Foote first appeared as the prosecuting counsel, 
 Demur, and then, slipping off his robe, as Foote 
 himself. 
 
 " My Lord," he began, " I am counsel against this 
 Mr. Fot, and a pretty sort of a parson this Fot is, 
 every inch of him {coughs). You may say that — 
 whee, hee, hee {as a deep cough), but I should be glad 
 to know what kind of right now this Fot has to be 
 anybody at all but himself ; indeed, my Lord, I look 
 upon it that he may be indicted for forgery — whee, 
 hee, hee {coughing). Everybody knows that it is 
 forgery to take off a man's hand ; and why not as bad 
 to take off a man's leg ? besides, my Lord, it concerns 
 yourself', yourself;* for, God willing, I don't despair 
 in a little time of seeing your Lordship on the stage. 
 A pretty sort of a business this, that your Lordship 
 is to be taken off the bench, there where you are 
 sitting, without your knowing anything at all, at all, 
 of the matter ; and all the while that, to your thinking, 
 you are passing sentence here in the four Courts, you 
 may, for what you can tell, be hearing causes in the 
 Haymarket. So that, gentlemen of the jury, if you 
 have a mind to keep yourselves to yourselves, and 
 not to suffer anybody else to be you but yourselves, 
 and your Lordship does not choose to be in London 
 whilst you are living in Dublin, you will find the 
 prisoner Fot guilty." Judge. " I agree entirely with 
 my brother Demur, that this Fot is a most notorious 
 offender, and ought to be taken measure of, and 
 taught how dangerous a thing it is for him to tread 
 upon other people's toes ; and so, as my brother 
 
 * A mode of expression peculiar to the Irish, as, " I don't mind 
 it, faith ! at all, at all." 
 
240 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 observes, to prevent his being so free with other 
 people's legs, we vdU lay him by the heels." 
 
 There is nothing very brilhant about this ; it seems 
 rather ponderous. No doubt Foote used the brogue 
 plentifully, and took off the Dublin Judge's oddities 
 with good effect. It must have seemed rather flat 
 and pointless, for the victim was almost unknown to 
 the London pubhc, though he may have been con- 
 sidered an eccentric in his own city. Set upon the 
 London stage, he could present little more than the 
 familiar type of the stage Irishman, speaking with a 
 vulgar brogue. Later, ever rash and reckless, Foote 
 came to Dublin, and actually produced his " Orators," 
 with Faulkner as Peter Paragraph. 
 
 The season at the little theatre proceeded prosper- 
 ously enough until the ill-regulated Wilkinson, ever 
 mischief-making, brought about a turbulent scene 
 on the occasion of his benefit. Here we have yet 
 another instance of the lack of propriety, and even 
 decency, that was found among the players. The 
 mime himself shaU tell the story : " The Hay- 
 market Theatre then was on a smaller scale, and the 
 dwelling-house in Suffolk Street did not appertain, as 
 now, to the theatre. I supposed he judged it his 
 interest to be on terms with me, and I was superior 
 to any iU-treatment, being in fact the richest man of 
 the two. . . . Mr. Foote now and then got a great deal 
 of money, which was soon expended . . . and he owed 
 many hundreds ; nay, even at last, I am afraid I relate 
 a truth when I affirm his funeral was at Mr. Jewel's 
 expanse ; for notwithstanding his income from Mr. 
 Colman was not less than sixteen hundred a year, 
 besides profits on the nights he acted, yet I have been 
 informed he had not effects by any means equal to 
 
CH. XV] THE HAYMARKET THEATRE 241 
 
 the payment of his debts. It shocks me to have 
 related an account of so many stage-struck geniuses 
 of birth and talents that have fallen a sacrifice to 
 grinning poverty, and incurred neglect and ignominy 
 with great incomes. Pray God to allot me a more 
 fortunate finale, be its statement appointed for a 
 longer or a shorter date. 
 
 " But to proceed with a more particular account of 
 our Haymarket sessions. I gained ground with the 
 audience weekly ; my benefit was fixed on the 20th of 
 August, on which night I revived the rehearsal and 
 acted Bayes — the house overflowed from every part, 
 no such receipt the whole season. Mr. Garrick was in 
 Italy, and had not acted Bayes for some years. My 
 imitation of Holland had such a sudden effect that 
 Mr. ChurchiU, who sat in a balcony with the late 
 Lucy Cooper, after laughing to a very violent degree, 
 most vociferously encored the speech, which was 
 echoed by the whole voice of the theatre, and com- 
 phed with by me, of course, with great pleasure. The 
 whole play went off with universal satisfaction, and 
 I was highly delighted. Mr. Foote that night was not 
 pleased, but rather chagrined at my good fortune ; 
 these things wiU happen, and stage minds in general 
 are sooner irritated and hurt than any other set of 
 people. 
 
 " Mr. Mendez, a Jew, and an appraiser in Bow 
 Street, was the treasurer that season. On his benefit 
 he requested me to repeat the character of Bayes, 
 which entreaty I granted. He had a fuU house, and 
 the comedy received additional credit. I had very 
 near been deprived of the play, as Mr. Foote's 
 theatre at that time merely consisted of a few 
 trumpery scenes ; no wardrobe but such as was hired 
 
 16 
 
242 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 from Mr. Barber's, in Monmouth Street ; and as to 
 stage properties, they were less known there than in 
 the most distant rustic company that scoured the 
 country round. It was a custom for the gentleman 
 and his lady who were proprietors of the Haymarket 
 Theatre to reserve a box for themselves, of which 
 they kept the key. I sent a card the week of my 
 benefit requesting the favour of that box, as all the 
 others were disposed of. A very rude refusal was 
 sent back, at which time Mr. Ruspini, now of PaU 
 MaU, and some gentlemen, were with me, and com- 
 plaining of not being able to procure any box 
 whatever. On my receiving an uncivil answer, I 
 said, ' Damn this Mrs. Proprietor ! It would serve 
 her ill-natured spleen right to break open the door 
 and fill the box.' The hint was no sooner given than 
 seriously taken and put into practice, for, as soon as 
 the doors were opened, a large party paid, and finding 
 every place was taken except the Proprietor's— which 
 the box-keeper assured them could not be opened on 
 any pretext whatever — they unanimously burst the 
 old lock and filled the whole box, nor had the turnkey 
 of the recess rhetoric sufficient to have the least effect, 
 for expostulation did not signify ; so they remained 
 sole masters, and sat in triumph till near seven, when 
 the play was going to begin ; at which instant up 
 came a limb of the law, no less a personage than 
 Mr. George Garrick, escorting the Lady Proprietress 
 with a large party gratis, who summoned the garrison 
 to surrender and be treated as prisoners of war ; but 
 they were as obstinate as Turks, and determined to 
 defend the citadel sword in hand. The Lady Pro- 
 prietress was astonished at the rudeness committed, 
 and insisted on her privileged right ; then tried angry 
 
CH. XV] THE HAYMARKET THEATRE 243 
 
 and soothing words ; but neither her persuasive 
 eloquence nor the authority of Mr. George Garrick, 
 aided by John Doe and Richard Roe, of Westminster 
 Hall, with all their united prowess, could by any 
 means avail. The possessors of the inside works 
 defended their entrenchment from any breach, and 
 they only in exultation laughed, and told George 
 Garrick if himself and party would pay a crown per 
 head they should be admitted, not otherwise. It 
 cannot be imagined that it was an easy matter to 
 extract coin from a lawyer's pocket, consequently the 
 lady, George Garrick, and party, finding it ineffectual 
 by staying in the box passage, retreated in disgrace, 
 but denounced vengeance on Wilkinson. . . . Next day 
 the enraged lady waited on Mr. Foote — who loved 
 mischief and despised his landlady — ^where she gave 
 an ample scope to her anger and repeated her wrongs : 
 but Mr. Foote told her it was impossible to prevent 
 what had happened ; as to the improper conduct 
 respecting the box, he could only say he was sorry 
 for her disappointment; and as to Mr. Wilkinson's 
 rudeness, he wished to excuse it, but he had not 
 sufficient authority to whip him for his fault, and 
 there the matter rested." 
 
 Such scenes make the judicious grieve. It is 
 evident that Foote was but a lax manager when he 
 could tolerate such excesses. It looks as . though he 
 was in terror of his follower, just as Garrick was in 
 terror of him. 
 
 The eccentric Foote, who was always doing what 
 was unexpected, was now to surprise his pubHc by the 
 announcement that he had engaged two of the most 
 tragic performers to play in his Uttle theatre. These 
 were ^' thp silver-tongued " Barry and his wife ! One 
 
 16—2 
 
244 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xv 
 
 might as well imagine the late facetious Toole 
 engaging his old friend Irving with Miss Terry for 
 his little " bandbox " theatre in King WilUam Street. 
 Only the year before, the two great players had 
 been performing at the Opera House which faced 
 Foote's theatre, and had drawn large audiences. 
 Odd to say, the actor's experiment proved successful. 
 When his friends rallied him on this proceeding, and 
 wondered how he could pay such high prices — to 
 tragedians, above all people ! — Foote was, as usual, 
 ready with an obstreperous jest : " Why, to tell you 
 the truth, I have no great occasion for them ; but they 
 were svx:h bad neighbours last year that I find it 
 cheaper to give them board and lodging for nothing 
 than to have them any longer opposite to me." There 
 was some truth as well as wit in this plea. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 1766 
 
 A SERIOUS ACCIDENT — HAYMARKET PATENT 
 
 There was now to befall our actor what is perhaps 
 the most serious misfortune that a performer can be 
 afflicted with — namely, the loss of a limb, or even the 
 infirmity of lameness. The fierce light that always 
 beats upon the player in his every movement magni- 
 fies this form of helplessness ; no amount of con- 
 trivance or ability will surmount it ; and the spectator 
 is hkely to associate the infirmity with the character 
 itself Only good-nature will tolerate it. 
 
 Foote, like so many of the fraternity, was some- 
 what " snobbish " in seeking the society of lords and 
 high-born folk. The fault was theirs, as they were 
 glad to have him at their tables to amuse their com- 
 pany, they themselves taking freedoms with him — 
 which, however, they were made to rue. Early in 
 the year 1766 he had been invited to Lord Mex- 
 borough's place, Methley, near Leeds, to meet a dis- 
 tinguished party consisting of the Duke of York 
 (George III.'s brother). Lord Delaval, Sir Francis 
 Delaval, and others. To entertain His Royal High- 
 ness, as we may suppose, it was determined to " roast" 
 the professional wag, who was a good deal given to 
 somewhat boastful assertion. They were specially 
 amused by his vauntings about horsemanship ; " that 
 
 245 
 
246 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvi 
 
 he could ride as well as most men he knew, though 
 indeed he preferred a post-chaise." Next morning 
 there was hunting, and a cruel trap was prepared. 
 They mounted him on a too mettlesome steed of the 
 Duchess's, who at the first touch of the spur flung the 
 luckless actor to the ground and fractured his leg in 
 two places. He had a long illness at his host's. The 
 best surgeons attended him. He bore his trial with 
 extraordinary good spirits, " cracking" uproarious jests 
 on himself and his limbs. He hoped to become a 
 patientee, etc. When it was found that the leg could 
 not be set, he himself urged amputation, and pre- 
 sently poor Foote was left with but one leg ! A one- 
 legged actor ! No matter, " he would not change his 
 
 one good leg with Lord 's two drumsticks." If 
 
 he could not walk, he could hop. These were his jests. 
 But it must have been an awful affliction for the 
 mercurial being. 
 
 Colman the younger used to describe the almost 
 ghostly effect of Foote's " full-dress leg," as he saw it 
 behind the scenes, leaning against a chair and wait- 
 ing to be fitted on, with a black sUk stocking and gold 
 buckle. The ordinary leg was of the old Greenwich 
 pensioner pattern, with a peg at the end, which delved 
 deep holes in a field or garden as one walked. Foote 
 himself led off the jests on this famous "foot" or 
 " leg." Certainly he showed a spirit and courage that 
 well might warrant his title " incompressible." 
 
 It was a low and heartless practical joke. It is 
 clear that they made the actor their butt, and that, if 
 the jest seemed to involve danger, the guest deserved 
 it in return for his rough tongue and rude sallies. 
 The unfortunate man with his broken limb bid fair to 
 lose his means of support, and had almost starvation 
 
CH. xvi] HAYMARKET PATENT 247 
 
 in sight ; for audiences are unaccountably oflfended, as 
 Elia has pointed out, by the sight of infirmities on 
 the stage : both play and character suffer when the 
 performer is hmping and shuffling about. 
 
 But the jokers who had caused his misfortune were 
 somewhat ashamed of themselves, and felt that he 
 had claims on them. The Duke of York exerted his 
 influence in high quarters, and actually procured for 
 him the rare favour of a patent which allowed him to 
 open a theatre in Westminster, with the somewhat 
 meagre privilege of performing pieces from May 14 
 to September 14 in each year — a summer season, it 
 was called. How it could have paid him it is hard to 
 see. Hitherto he had been renting the Httle Hay- 
 market Theatre from the executors of Macklin, and 
 his tenure was precarious. Now he was range, a 
 regular manager, to rank with those great " Panjam- 
 drums " — as he would have called them — Garrick 
 and Rich. 
 
 By a curious fatality, it came to pass that no fewer 
 than three well-known mimics were to become maimed 
 or crippled, thus losing the free use of their limbs. 
 Tate Wilkinson broke his leg and never recovered its 
 use ; the elder Mathews remained a cripple for the 
 rest of his life; while Foote had to submit to -the 
 loss of his leg. The original of Dr. Squintum would 
 have called out that here was a clear "judgment of 
 tlie Lard." 
 
 Among simple country-folk there is a feehng that 
 mimicking infirmities or natural imperfections is an 
 " unlucky " thing, and there is a familiar proverb that 
 " Mocking is catching." 
 
 The unlucky actor, cruelly maimed and disfigured, 
 was stiU to discover some crumbs of comfort and 
 
248 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvi 
 
 compensation in the accident itself. This comfort was, 
 characteristically enough, of a grotesque kind. He 
 would get a good deal that was histrionic out of his 
 false limb. He would call attention to it, act with it, 
 make jokes on it — in short, work it "for aU that it was 
 worth." One cannot but admire this rollicking spirit. 
 
 And how noble and generous was Garrick ! Hitherto 
 foes, as it were, and supposed to be cherishing a per- 
 manent vendetta, it was astonishing to find them 
 interchanging the most tender sympathies. Nothing 
 could be more kind or devoted than Garrick's out- 
 pourings ; everything was at the service of his friend, 
 and the latter overflowed in expressions of a grateful 
 heart. It was truly wonderful ! 
 
 Garrick had written a most affectionate, sympa- 
 thizing letter, assuring him how grieved all his friends 
 were : " If I could convince you of my regard by any 
 other proof than that of mere words, I should be 
 proud and happy to show it upon this occasion. All 
 I shall say at present is that, should you be prevented 
 from pursuing any plan for the theatre, I am wholly 
 at your service, and will labour in your vineyard for 
 you in any capacity till you are able to do much 
 better for yourself" This was kind indeed. The 
 sick actor wrote from his bed quite touched, and in a 
 strain unusual with him. It seemed another Foote 
 altogether. He thanked his friend warmly for his 
 offer as to " my hovel in the Hay market ; but the 
 stage to me at present is a very distant object, for, 
 notwithstanding all the flattery of appearances, I look 
 upon my hold in life to depend on a very slender 
 tenure ; and, besides, admitting the best that can 
 happen is a mutilated man, a miserable instance of 
 the weakness and frailty of human nature. It has 
 
CH. xvi] HAYMARKET PATENT 249 
 
 been my misfortune not to know Mrs. Garrick much, 
 but from what I have seen, and all that I have heard, 
 you will have more to regret when either she or you 
 die than any man in the kingdom. As to my present 
 condition, I wish I could meet you with a more 
 favourable account : but I am in truth very weak, in 
 pain, and can procure no sleep but by the aid of opiates. 
 Oh, sir, it is incredible aU that I have suffered ! 
 And you will beheve me when I assure you that the 
 amputation was the least painful part of the whole." 
 A sad, pathetic letter. The roistering humorist 
 was indeed sobered. But he was soon to be himself 
 again, making a jest of his affliction. 
 
 Yet it is sad to think that after an interval all 
 Garrick's affectionate solicitude was forgotten, and 
 we find Foote at his old game of sneers and abuse — 
 " that stingy hound," etc. It is to be feared that he 
 was incurable, and that nothing could bind him. 
 But Garrick, with his wonderfully even temperament, 
 seemed unaffected by these changes of temper ; he 
 was compassionate because he thought Foote' s con- 
 dition needed all his pity, while to Foote's unkind 
 return he showed himself indifferent, because he did 
 not expect him to be otherwise. 
 
 In the course of this narrative it has been repeated 
 that Foote's cai-eer was a succession of surprises ; but 
 it is almost startling to find to what a strange use 
 he turned his misfortune. In nearly every case the 
 sufferer wishes his blemish to be overlooked or for- 
 gotten ; he will even think it indelicate to be reminded 
 of it. When someone unconsciously let his eyes rest 
 on Lord Byron's misshaped foot, he presently found 
 the poet glaring at him with rage and mortification. 
 Foote, the incompressible, on the contrary, loudly 
 
250 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvi 
 
 advertised his deformity, and invited the public to 
 come and laugh with him over his lame leg. He 
 wrote a comedy on lameness ; he called it " The 
 Lame Lover," and the leading character Sir Luke 
 Limp, while he himself took the part of the Lame 
 Knight. The audience, though it laughed loudly, 
 must have felt pity and contempt for the poor mime ; 
 not content, he did not care, but on every opening 
 made comic allusion to his infirmity. 
 
 Here is a specimen of this self-rallying : " Serj. I 
 was just telhng Charlotte that you was not a whit 
 the worse for the loss. Sir Luke. The worse ! much 
 the better, my dear. Consider, I can have neither 
 strain, spUnt, spavin, or gout ; have no fear of corns, 
 kibes, or that another man should kick my shins or 
 tread on my toes. Serj. Right. Sir Luke. What, 
 d'ye think I would change with Bill Spindle for one 
 of his drumsticks, or chop with Lord Lumber for 
 both of his logs ? Serj. No ! Sir Luke. No, damn 
 it, I am much better. Look there. Ha ! What is 
 there I am not able to do ? To be sure, I am a little 
 awkward at running, but then, to make me amends, 
 I'U hop with any man in town for his sum. Serj. 
 Ay, and I'U go his halves. Sir Luke. Then as to 
 your dancing. I am cut out at Madam Cornellys', I 
 grant, because of the crowd ; but as far as a private 
 set of six couple, or moving a chair minuet, match 
 me who can. Char. A chair minuet ! I don't 
 understand you. Sir Luke. Why, child, all grace is 
 confined to the motion of the head, arms, and chest, 
 which may sitting be fully displayed." The allusion 
 to Bill Spindle was one of his sick-bed jests, converted 
 into a speech delivered by himself in this play of " The 
 Lame Lover." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 1767 
 THE HAYMAE.KET THEATRE 
 
 The " Little Theatre in the Haymarket," as it used 
 to be called, has always been regarded with interest 
 and indulgence as the home of brilliant and animated 
 acting. We of a later generation — many of us, at 
 least — ^can look back over some sixty years to the 
 happy " Buckstone " nights, when the first mere 
 chuckle of that mirth-moving creature, heard from 
 behind the scenes, set the audience off into convulsions 
 of anticipatory enjoyment. Happy nights indeed 
 were those ; truly bright and exhilarating ! All felt 
 a joyous elation. This being liked and loved by an 
 audience is a truly precious thing ; it carries one over 
 failures and deficiencies. 
 
 Built in 1721 by a common carpenter named 
 Potter,* it was destined to last for a hundred years. 
 
 * I have a letter of this illiterate carpenter-manager which is 
 characteristic : 
 
 " To HIS Grace the Duke of Grafton : 
 
 " The representation of John Potter, owner of the new 
 Theatre in the Haymarket. 
 
 " May it Please your Grace, 
 
 " As my Inclination Lead me to my duty to obtain Leave 
 to waite on you and also to aply to the Right Honble. Sir Robt. 
 Walpole in order to prevent what was Intended to Be Represented 
 
 251 
 
252 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 At this moment it is the most interesting of existing 
 theatres, and has perhaps the most valuable traditions 
 of all — as an institution, that is, although the original 
 Haymarket is not standing. These traditions reach 
 back for nearly two hundred years — to December 29, 
 1721 — when the original house was built. There are 
 great names associated with it — Fielding, Macklin, 
 Foote, the two Colmans. In 1821 the theatre was 
 pulled down and a new one erected. The cheerful 
 portico lends a brightness and animation which are 
 rather unusual in the case of a London theatre, and 
 suggests the classical treatment of the Paris theatres 
 on the boulevards. Later managers were but tem- 
 porary occupants, and passed without leaving any 
 special mark. 
 
 The two great patent theatres were almost irre- 
 sponsible institutions. They had abundant privileges. 
 They were all but State theatres, like the Theatre 
 Fran9ais, for the State protected them. So longingly 
 were they regarded, that speculators were glad to 
 obtain so meagre a privilege as the being allowed to 
 build and open a theatre for a few months in the 
 
 in my theatre in May last it was your Grace's pleasure to declare I 
 should meet with a Reward for such dutifuU Behaviour and I have 
 Read the promise of Sir Robt. Walpole to the same purport with 
 this addition Soe soon as your Grace and Sir Robt. should taulk on 
 that head I should with the Rest of mankind, find due Incurrage- 
 ment to bear an honnest mind. 
 
 " I therefore Begg Leave to address my self to your Grace that 
 you would Be pleased to Remember me when you shall see Sir Robt. 
 and I att the same time begg your Grace to beleive me faithfully 
 attached to the utmost of my Power against all scandall and 
 defamation. I am with all due difference your Grace's most devoted 
 
 obedient and most humble Servant 
 
 "John Potter. 
 
 "1 Jamry. 1737." 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 253 
 
 summer, when the two great houses were shut up. 
 It was on these terms that the carpenter built his 
 Haymarket house, and Odell his in Goodman's Fields. 
 It is wonderful how the system could have " paid " at 
 all. Foote, however, had contrived it very well by a 
 sort of combined system, acting his own pieces in 
 the summer, then taking engagements with Garrick 
 or Rich. 
 
 It was called " the Little Theatre in the Hay.," to 
 distinguish it from the great Opera House opposite, 
 Sir J. Vanbrugh's work, the ground of which is now 
 partly covered by His Majesty's Theatre. It was 
 opened on December 29, 1721. Some of Fielding's 
 pieces were acted here, notably " Pasquin." The 
 proposed performance of " The Historical Register," 
 and its wanton licence, brought about the famous 
 Licensing Act of 1737. It was thus under Foote's 
 auspices that the reign of licence continued for thirty 
 years, he receiving only one or two checks. Macklin 
 was manager in 1744, and in 1747 it was taken over 
 by Foote, who, with his own pieces and his own 
 acting and mimicries, contrived to make it pay very 
 well indeed, and that for thirty years. In July 1766, 
 he was given, as we have seen, a patent as compensa- 
 tion for his lost hmb, on condition that he rebuilt. 
 In the following year he was allowed to add the 
 term Royal to the description. In the year of his 
 death the lease was sold to Colman ; to Colman 
 succeeded George, the son. In 1820 the present 
 theatre was built by Nash, and opened on July 4, 
 1821. Finally, in 1897, under the Bancroft manage- 
 ment, it was completely remodelled. 
 
 Here is the original licence under which Foote held 
 the Haymarket Theatre : 
 
254 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 " George the Third, by the grace of God, of Great 
 Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of the 
 Faith, etc., to all to whom these present shall come, 
 greeting : Know ye, that we for divers good causes and 
 considerations us thereunto moving, of our especial 
 grace, certain knowledge, and in our motion, have 
 given and granted, and by these presents, for us, our 
 heirs, and successors, do give and grant unto our 
 trusty and well-beloved Samuel Foote, of the parish 
 of Saint Martin's in the Fields, in the county of 
 Middlesex, Esq., from the twenty-fifth day of June, 
 in the year of our Lord Christ one thousand seven 
 hundred and sixty- six, and to continue for and during 
 the term of the natural Ufe of the said Samuel Foote, 
 full power, hcence, and authority, to gather together, 
 form, entertain, govern, privilege, and keep a company 
 of comedians, for our servant to exercise and act 
 between the fifteenth day of May and the fifteenth 
 day of September in every year (except on Sundays, 
 and at such times as the Chamberlain of our house- 
 hold shall judge it proper and expedient, either on 
 account of mournings or otherwise, to stop perform- 
 ances on the stage), such tragedies, plays, operas, and 
 other performances on the stage, only as have already 
 been or shall hereafter be Hcensed by the Chamberlain 
 of our household, within the house commonly called 
 or known by the name of the Little Theatre in the 
 Haymarket, or within any other House or Theatre, 
 built or to be built, where he the said Samuel Foote 
 can best be fitted for that purpose within the City of 
 Westminster, or within the liberties thereof; which 
 said company shall consist of such members as the 
 said Samuel Foote shall from time to time think 
 meet. And we do hereby, for us, our heirs, and 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 255 
 
 successors, grant unto the said Samuel Foote full 
 power, licence, and authority, to permit such persons 
 at and during the pleasure of the said Samuel Foote, 
 from time to time, within the time aforesaid, to act 
 plays and entertainments of the stage of all sorts 
 peaceahly and quietly, without the impeachment or 
 impediment of any person or persons whatsoever, for 
 the honest recreation of such as shall desire to see the 
 same. Nevertheless, under the regulations herein- 
 after mentioned, and such other as the said Samuel 
 Foote, from time to time, in his discretion shall find 
 reasonable and necessary for our service. And we 
 do hereby, for us, our heirs, and successors, further 
 grant to him, the said Samuel Foote as aforesaid, 
 that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said 
 Samuel Foote to take and receive of such persons as 
 shall resort to see or hear such tragedies, plays, operas, 
 or other performances on the stage, such sum or sums 
 of money as either have been accustomably given 
 and taken in the Uke kind, or as shall be thought 
 reasonable, by the said Samuel Foote, in regard of 
 the great expenses of scenes, music, and such new 
 decorations as have not formerly been used. And 
 further for us, our heirs, and successors, we do hereby 
 give and grant unto the said Samuel Foote, full 
 power to make such allowances out of the money 
 which he shall so receive by the acting such tragedies, 
 plays, operas, and other performances on the stage as 
 aforesaid, to the actors and other persons employed 
 in acting, representing, or in any quality whatsoever 
 about the said House or Theatre, as he the said 
 Samuel Foote shall think fit : And that the said 
 company shall be under the sole government and 
 authority of the said Samuel Foote ; and all scandalous 
 
256 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 and mutinous persons shall, from time to time, be 
 ejected and disabled from playing in the said Theatre. 
 And for the better attaining our royal purposes in 
 this behalf, we have thought fit hereby to declare, 
 that from henceforth no representation be admitted 
 on the stage, by virtue or under colour of these our 
 letters patent, whereby the Christian religion in 
 general, or the Church of England, may in any 
 manner suffer reproach ; strictly inhibiting every 
 degree of abuse or misrepresentation of sacred char- 
 acters tending to expose reUgion itself, and to bring 
 it into contempt ; and that no such character be 
 otherwise introduced, or placed in any other light, 
 than such as may enhance the just esteem of those 
 who truly answer the end of their sacred function. 
 We further enjoin the strictest regard to such repre- 
 sentations as any way concern civil policy, or the 
 constitution of our government, that these may con- 
 tribute to the support of our sacred authority, and 
 the preservation of order and government. And it 
 being our royal wiU and pleasure, that for the future 
 our Theatre may be instrumental to the promotion 
 of virtue and instruction to human life, we do hereby 
 command and enjoin, that no new play, or any old 
 or revised play, be acted under the authority hereby 
 granted, containing any passages or expressions offen- 
 sive to piety and good manners, until the same be 
 corrected and purged by the said governor from aU 
 such offensive and scandalous passages and expressions. 
 Provided always, nevertheless, that if the said Samuel 
 Foote do or shall sell, assign, transfer, or alienate in 
 any manner, to any person or persons whatsoever, 
 our letters patent granted to the said Samuel Foote, 
 that then these presents are, and shall be to all intents 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 257 
 
 and purposes, from the day of such sale, assignment, 
 transfer, or aUenation, altogether void and of none 
 effect, any thing hereinbefore contained to the con- 
 trary thereof in anywise notwithstanding. And these 
 our letters patent, or the enrolment or exemplification 
 thereof, shall be in and by all things good, firm, valid, 
 sufficient, and eflFectual in the law, according to the 
 true intent or meaning thereof, any thing in these 
 presents contained to the contrary thereof in anywise 
 notwithstanding, or any other omission, imperfection, 
 defect, matter, cause, or thing whatsoever to the 
 contrary thereof in anywise notwithstanding. In 
 witness whereof we have caused these our letters to 
 be made patent. 
 
 " Witness ourself at Westminster, the fifth day of 
 July, in the sixth year of our reign. 
 
 « By Writ of Privy Seal, 
 
 , "Cocks." 
 
 It was significant that the term of this patent was 
 very restricted — for Foote's life only. He enjoyed 
 it but for eleven years, and sold it a year before his 
 death. This of course he could do ; yet with his 
 death it would seem the patent was extinguished. 
 We may presume that Colman, then bankrupt and 
 Uving "within the Rules," appealed a<f misericordiam, 
 on the ground that he had only enjoyed his bargain 
 for about a year, and so may have obtained a renewal. 
 
 The poor maimed Foote now set to his task with 
 infinite spirit. It is often mentioned in the books 
 that he at once rebuilt and beautified his theatre ; 
 but this the shrewd and painstaking Genest shows to 
 be a mistake. He quotes Foote's free-and-easy 
 prelude on the opening in May, when he has a talk 
 
 17 
 
258 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 with Scaflfold, his carpenter, in propria persond. 
 "Consider," the latter says, "what expedition we 
 have made — all this work here in three months ! 
 A tight job, Master Foote :" which shows that the 
 house had been merely remodelled. 
 
 Foote might be considered the "actor-manager" 
 in its most typical form. The modem actor-manager 
 is framed, as it were, in his own theatre ; he must 
 have fine settings and plenty of grouped figures to 
 throw out the central one. Garrick is often considered 
 an actor-manager ; but this is a mistake, as he had a 
 complete company, with an abundance of weU-mounted 
 pieces. He only managed his theatre, occasionally 
 " starring it " in his own company. But Foote was 
 all in aU — manager, actor, and author. Unflagging 
 in his exertions, and indomitable, he carried on his 
 enterprise on this one-man principle for many years. 
 After he became a writer of comedies, to be pro- 
 duced at a theatre of his own, he found that he had 
 need of a large and yet larger canvas ; his treatment 
 expanded, and required a large cast of characters. 
 
 He equipped it with a large and efiicient corps. 
 AU his pieces were supported by some distinguished 
 players ; while some had a long and expensive cast of 
 characters. He was, however, careless as to his 
 scenery and dresses. He kept no regular wardrobe, 
 and usually hired costumes, or bought at old-clothes 
 shops anything that suited his purpose. Coats too 
 large or too small, sleeves too long, were often 
 noticed, and the manager himself, when making one 
 of his rambling orations, would detect these incon- 
 gruities and make humorous allusion to " the gentle- 
 man in the sleeves." The truth was, he relied almost 
 entirely on his own talent and stock of humour ; there 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 259 
 
 was his true wardrobe and his scenery. It was, 
 perhaps, more " legitimate," and showed better know- 
 ledge of the dramatic principle than our moderns do. 
 The characters of most leading actors during the 
 Garrick period were marked with a certain eccentricity 
 and brilliant oddity. One of Foote's most valuable 
 supporters was Shuter, whose name was probably 
 Shooter. He pursued the usual rambling course of 
 instruction that was open to the strolling player — and 
 a valuable sort of instruction it was — and was engaged 
 so early as the year 1747 at the Haymarket, under 
 Foote, with whom for the rest of his hfe he main- 
 tained a rather intermittent connection, though Foote 
 generally contrived a second humorous character 
 written specially for him. He was indeed a valuable 
 aide. His training was found at the two patent 
 theatres, where he performed a vast round of characters 
 which furnished him with a variety and experience 
 which, with his own exuberant humour, helped him to 
 his great reputation. Garrick was said to have con- 
 sidered him the greatest comic genius he had ever 
 seen. He had the art of working the muscles of his 
 face in a peculiar fashion, even of changing its 
 expression. He was not, however, to be depended 
 on. Like his colleague Weston, he was addicted to 
 the bottle— was, in fact, a drunkard. He would 
 leave out portions of his part, and put as much into it, 
 justifying ChurchiU's pleasant stroke that he " never 
 cared a pin what he left out or what put in." He 
 was, moreover, a gambler, and also a sort of 
 " revivalist " and a follower of Whitefield's. This 
 combination must have furnished his manager with 
 many hints for Mother Cole's character. He could 
 say good febJJttgs. and was reputed a wit. His remarks 
 
 17—2 
 
260 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 on darns and holes in stockings had as much philosophy 
 as wit : " A hole is the accident of a day, but a darn 
 is premeditated poverty." 
 
 Through his long course at the Haymarket, Foote 
 could always rely on two faithful and efficient fol- 
 lowers, who gave admirable point to his humorous 
 creations. He wrote the parts specially for them. 
 They were of the foremost rank, and stamped, as it 
 were, with the Garrick hall-mark. These were 
 Weston and Shuter, whom I have just outhned. 
 
 Shuter's great coadjutor Weston seems to have left 
 the deepest impression on his contemporaries. North- 
 cote was almost extravagant in his praises of Weston. 
 " You could not imagine," he said, " that he was 
 acting at all. You would suppose that they had 
 gone out and found the actual character that they 
 wanted, and brought him on the stage without his 
 knowledge. Even when they interrupted him with 
 peals of laughter, he looked about him as if he was 
 not at all conscious of having anything to do with it, 
 and then went on as before." An admirable descrip- 
 tion, and words happily chosen ; for nothing is more 
 difficult to define than true acting, or how acting has 
 affected us. 
 
 This clever eccentric began by an apprenticeship to 
 cooking, his father being in the royal kitchen as head- 
 cook. He ran away, not unnaturally, from his duty 
 as turnspit, was put into the navy, deserted, and 
 turned stroller. Foote, who had seen him play, was 
 struck by his talent, and, thinking he would suit his 
 theatre, gave him a small part ; but the actor's vagabond 
 taste led him to wander to Ireland and other places. 
 When, however, Foote was preparing his " Mayor of 
 Garratt," he selected Weston for Jerry, and deputed 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 261 
 
 Wilkinson to find him and engage him. His per- 
 formance of the henpecked husband, Sneak, made 
 him all but famous, and created a type. 
 
 Cooke tells us, " He was different from any that 
 was seen long before or since his time ; and yet this 
 general excellence may be comprehended in one article 
 — namely, a plain and palpable simplicity of nature. 
 Shuter had a richness of colouring in his comic char- 
 acters that was pleasant, but often wrong. Yates 
 was generally chaste and correct, but he often carried 
 this quality to a degree of coldness which threw a 
 damp on the performance ; but Weston united taste 
 and humour in so eminent a degree that when he 
 raised his audience seemingly to the highest pitch of 
 laughter, his features became the graver and steadier. 
 . . . His hy-play, too, was in the most capital style 
 excellent. Who that remembers his surprise at 
 breaking the phial in ' Abel Drugger ' ; his returning 
 for his shoes, after his medical examination in ' Doctor 
 Last'; or his hurrjdng up his wife's night-clothes, on 
 the well-known sound of ' Jerry, Jerry, where are you, 
 Jerry ?' in ' The Mayor of Garratt,' but must have a 
 picture before them of such superior excellence that 
 they may well despair of ever ' seeing its like again ' !" 
 
 After a course of new pieces, which were successful 
 enough, Foote bethought him of a holiday in his 
 favourite Dublin. Of this expedition, which was in 
 1768, there are some odd incidents recorded, illus- 
 trating Foote's utter recklessness and extravagance. 
 With pockets full of cash, he determined to enjoy 
 himself on the road, and journeyed by way of the 
 gay city of Bath, where he halted. At the moment he 
 had some £1,200 at his banker's (he had made some 
 thousands by his last piece), and in his pocket was some 
 
262 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvii 
 
 £500. Never had he been in such good case. Those 
 were palmy days for managerial profit ; for the 
 expenses of mounting a piece, salaries, etc., were 
 very trifling in a small "bandbox of a theatre" hke 
 the Haymarket. The monstrous, devouring cost 
 of modern days was not then dreamed of. Cooke 
 tells what followed: "He fell in with a nest of 
 gamblers (the usual attendants on this fashionable 
 place of resort), who, finding him with full pockets 
 and high spirits, availed themselves of their superior 
 dexterity with considerable success. At last his friend 
 Rigby, then Paymaster of the Forces, who happened 
 just then to be at Bath, took an opportunity to tell 
 him how grossly he was plundered ; and further re- 
 marked, ' that from his careless manner of playing 
 and betting, and his habit of telling stories when he 
 should be minding his game, he must in the long-run 
 be ruined, let him play with whom he would.' 
 
 " Foote, who perhaps by this time had partly seen 
 his error, but was too proud to take a lesson in the 
 character of a dupe, very ridiculously and ungratefully 
 resented this advice. He told his friend, with an 
 unbecoming sharpness, ' that although he was no 
 politician by profession, he could see as soon as 
 another into any sinister designs laid against him ; 
 that he was too old to be schooled ; and that as to 
 any distinction of rank between them to warrant 
 this liberty, he saw none ; they were both the King's 
 servants, with this difference in Ms favour — that he 
 could always draw upon his talents for independence, 
 when perhaps a courtier could not find the King's 
 treasury always open to him for support.' 
 
 "On this Mr. Rigby made his bow and walked 
 off; while the dupe went on, and not only lost the 
 
CH. xvii] THE HAYMARKET 263 
 
 five hundred pounds which he had about him, but 
 the twelve hundred at his banker's ; and thus, stripped 
 of his last guinea, was obliged to borrow a hundred 
 pounds to carry him to Ireland ! 
 
 "Fortune, however, who was constantly at his 
 heels (though he so often turned her out of doors), 
 veered about once more in his favour on his arrival 
 in Dublin ; for his new comedy of ' The Devil upon 
 Two Sticks ' did nearly as much for him there as on 
 the boards of the Haymarket. It brought crowded 
 houses every night to the end of the season, the 
 treasury books constantly reporting from one hundred 
 and fifty to two hundred pounds per night ; which, as 
 the expenses of the house were small, and he himself 
 played also upon shares, made his profits very con- 
 siderable." 
 
 We have also just a glimpse of Foote in Paris at 
 the end of the year 1765. " At the moment," Walpole 
 says, " there were three English humorists in the city — 
 Wilkes, Sterne, and Foote — and yet he could find 
 nothing to laugh at. For the first 'does not make 
 me laugh,' the second never could, and for the third 
 I pay five shillings when I have a mind that he should 
 divert me." 
 
 At this place we shall pause to make a rather 
 detailed review of Foote's large amount of literary 
 baggage — his clever, even brilliant comedies, which 
 have been too long overlooked. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 foote's comedies 
 
 FooTE was a diligent dramatist, and wrote about a 
 score of pieces, not all of equal merit ; but, with the 
 exception of three or four, all may be considered 
 good, while at least two — "The Minor" and "The 
 Cozeners" — stand out from the productions of the 
 time. They might be called great plays, from their 
 subjects and treatment, from the living characters 
 introduced, the abuses that were mercilessly gibbeted 
 or lashed, and the wholesome reform that followed. 
 Here Foote might place his claim to the title of 
 " English Aristophanes " on fair foundation ; and his 
 work seems akin to that of Charles Dickens when 
 reforming social abuses. 
 
 Character is true drama, and it is followed in real 
 hfe as well as in the theatre with an absorbing interest. 
 The author himself claimed to have furnished no fewer 
 than eighteen original characters to English drama, 
 and there is much foundation for the claim. The 
 worthy Genest is unbounded in his admiration. 
 " Though having no plot," he says, " his dialogue is 
 superior to most other writers' ; it abounds in wit, 
 humour, and satire, and is peculiarly terse and well 
 adapted to the stage. Seldom is there a superfluous 
 word, or one that could be changed. They contain 
 
 264 
 
CH. xviit] FOOTE'S comedies 265 
 
 a history of the follies, customs, and corruptions of 
 his age. He cared not whether the objects of his 
 satire were in high or low life, provided the pecu- 
 harities were prominent enough and the persons well 
 known. By his death was lost a great check on 
 fashionable vice."* 
 
 Foote lived at an age when talent, and even genius, 
 abounded in all departments. The stage was specially 
 distinguished. Actors, managers, dramatists, poli- 
 ticians, poets, writers of all kinds — all were briUiant. 
 Each actor seemed to have a distinct and marked char- 
 acter of his own, in most cases found interesting enough 
 to furnish forth memoirs and other records. Garrick's 
 life has been written at least six times. The lover 
 of the stage is never tired of hearing about him and 
 Quin and Woffington, Barry, Macklin, Mossop, Wood- 
 ward, Delane, Sheridan, and dozens more. All their 
 hves are interesting and dramatic ; they are living 
 personages, and each a " character." They all got 
 forward in the world and made their mark, because 
 they had talent and originality. The world was their 
 oyster, and they knew how to open it. 
 
 In contrast to this happy era, we may look round 
 
 * Foote could boast a great deal of "literary baggage." In 1747 
 appeared his treatise on "The Passions," in which he dealt with 
 the merits and defects of the leading performers — Garrick, Quin, 
 Barry, and others ; and though he gives some praise to the great 
 actor's Lear, he points out many blemishes. Later he issued some 
 pamphlets on comedy and tragedy, which show evidences of study 
 and knowledge. Still later he took his share in the controversy 
 about his "Minor." When roused, he could write letters of singularly 
 incisive power. Witness his reply to the Duchess of Kingston, 
 which was admired by his contemporaries and has been praised by 
 succeeding critics. On the whole, Foote's literary work is more 
 than respectable in its quality, and on the ground of his comedies 
 he may fairly be ranked as a man of letters. 
 
266 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 on our own society to discover that we are living in 
 a time of general mediocrity. In every direction there 
 is a depressing level. If we survey all the professions 
 — law, the Church, medicine, soldiery, political life, 
 authorship — all is second-rate and inferior. There is 
 no one standing at the top — no brUliant figures, as in 
 the day of Dickens and Thackeray. The most dis- 
 tressing extinction of all is that of humour and states- 
 manship. In a crisis there is no one to turn to. 
 
 Foote's work as a dramatist has been much over- 
 looked, if not undervalued. It is really classical. 
 Intended equally for untheatrical as well as for 
 theatrical audiences — for they were sold largely in 
 book form — his pieces seem always to have been 
 heartily appreciated. Yet in the published form all 
 the elements of movement and colour — that is, of 
 mimicry and other illustration — had to be omitted ; 
 we can conceive, therefore, when presented with 
 the rich hving forces of Foote himself, kindled by 
 the spirit of the persons taken off, what an over- 
 powering exhibition was the result ! Foote became 
 the actual personage, while he superadded brilliant 
 illustrative dialogue, eccentric gestures, and other 
 elements. We may assume that the author was 
 not prompted by Hi-nature or malice when he 
 " brought on " his victim, but simply found that the 
 presence of such a model kindled his imagination and 
 added force. This vital element, however, being now 
 wanting, it becomes impossible ever to revive pieces 
 of Foote's. And how brilUant and how amusing 
 they must have been ! What vivacity, what broad 
 humour, were present, and how original and enter- 
 taining ! Some of his more notable characters, such as 
 Hartop, Sir Gregory Gazette, the two Cadwalladers, 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 267 
 
 the two Aircastles, Mrs. Cole, and others, may be 
 fairly set beside those of Goldsmith, though lacking 
 Goldsmith's dramatic power and treatment. But so 
 entirely local are the allusions, and so completely 
 based on the spirit and manners of the time, that it 
 would be hopeless to think of reviving them. They 
 would be unintelligible as well as tedious. Foote's 
 pieces, therefore, must remain in the cabinets of the 
 curious, though at the same time the student will 
 find them worthy of his attention, notably those 
 who supply pieces to our stage — which, it must be 
 said without offence, is in a state of destitution as 
 regards dramatists. The consideration of Foote's 
 system is very apropos at this moment, when the 
 Censor question is being submitted to a searching 
 discussion. At every step of Foote's progress we 
 feel that the powers of this official should have been 
 exercised, and why they were not it is difficult to say, 
 unless it be that he, like the rest, trembled before 
 Foote's power. The Lord Chamberlain, however, 
 exercised the duty himself — he was, as it were, the 
 King's deputy ; whereas in the present day the 
 licenser seems sometimes to be an independent 
 functionary who does not consult his Chamberlain. 
 
 Nowadays no one studies character or human 
 nature, or plausible incident, or, indeed, any of the 
 elements that go to amuse or excite. Any such 
 characters have a sort of stiff", machine-made air ; they 
 repeat forms of words supposed to represent character. 
 Everything depends on recited passages ; no one 
 thinks of the canon, "We must do it in action." 
 Who thinks, too, of " the double intention," described 
 by Johnson in a sentence which conveys the whole 
 art of stage action ? Garrick, disguised as a footman. 
 
268 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 did not act the part properly, for " he did not let the 
 gentleman break through the footman." 
 
 At the present moment the EngUsh drama shows 
 signs of exhaustion. The stale devices, the " problem 
 play," the conversational play of genteel life, are worn 
 out. Who is not tired of " the woman with a past," 
 and the wretched, uninteresting contentions for the 
 possession of such a creature ? What is wanting for 
 the resuscitation of interest is the development of 
 character. Character either on or ofiF the stage is 
 eternally interesting and diverting, and the play and 
 contest of character is a drama in itself. In this view 
 we turn to Foote's long-forgotten pieces, and find 
 characters of the broadest, boldest kind. But, then, 
 characters need character-actors to interpret them, 
 and where are they ? 
 
 As Genest says, a valuable element in Foote's 
 plays is the striking, vivid pictures they present of the 
 depraved society of his time, as well as of the various 
 types of character that move through it. We are 
 shown a whole gallery of rakes, " fast " men — reckless, 
 gay, and not without spirit and frohc — who are put 
 forward, not to point any moral, but to amuse. Most 
 of the allusions in their talk refer to loose Ufe. Those 
 who are undistinguished by vice are shown as strange 
 eccentrics and oddities. The women are for the most 
 part correct in their manners, but mainly without 
 character, simply because there was no occasion 
 for losing or defending it ; as in the case of Mrs. 
 Cadwallader, the tradesman's wife, who seems to 
 accept a lover's proposal as an ordinary matter. To 
 introduce such a personage as " Mother Cole " — a 
 " procuress " — on a British stage might seem going too 
 far, but she was received without protest or repulsion. 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 269 
 
 even with infinite relish. Such an apparition was 
 common enough in the days of the Merry Monarch. 
 
 Certain abuses he succeeded in making perfectly 
 ridiculous to the community : affectation, or love of 
 china and curios, attended by ignorance ; pretence of 
 religion and inspiration without real feeling — that is 
 to say, hypocrisy ; absurd craze for antiquities ; 
 blatant arrogance of wealth ; pretence of foreign 
 travel ; the vulgarity of tax-gatherers, or " com- 
 missaries," who plunder the nation ; scheming women, 
 who were agents of dissolute men — in short, he dealt 
 with an endless gallery of beings who preyed on 
 the weaknesses of the community.* 
 
 How strange, by the way, is it that, in our time, we 
 see none of this satirical chastisement of foolish types of 
 character ! Can the reason be that all is uniform and 
 of one decent pattern — that no one is odd or absurd 
 or affected ? Or is the reason the hopeless mediocrity 
 of talent that now reigns in all departments ? Not 
 one, it seems to me nowadays, is a true dramatist, 
 though there are many writers of plays and of smart 
 dialogue. No one observes or studies life or pro- 
 duces a true, real, full-blooded, natural character — 
 a character which will engender the action.! 
 
 * Boz by his powers of sarcasm succeeded in abolishing a long 
 list of abuses, which he made to appear perfectly odious ; but 
 Foote had no such lofty aims in view. If he set a corrupt character 
 before his audiences, it was only to entertain them and make them 
 laugh. No one turns in disgust from Mrs. Cole as one does in the 
 case of Stiggins. Dickens had the one stern purpose in view of 
 destroying such monsters. Foote cared little whether they were 
 destroyed or not ; he had no ill-feeling to them. 
 
 f Sir Arthur Pinero is a clever man, but his dramas are a little 
 machine-made, and have not much intrinsic life or movement. Mr. 
 Henry A. Jones is nearer to the true model, and knows more of 
 character. 
 
270 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 And as we read Foote's scenes we must feel 
 astonished at the power of observation displayed. 
 The author seems to have been familiar with every 
 phase of society. Nothing escaped him ; club life, 
 trading life, religious life, licentious Ufe, coffee-house 
 life, gambling life, dandyism, every foUy of society 
 was dealt with, and with complete familiarity.* 
 
 What a terror this man must have been in every 
 society, whether at the dinner-table, or behind the 
 scenes, or on the stage ! As his eye roved round the 
 groups before him, and fell now on this one and now 
 on that, each must have quaked in his shoes, think- 
 ing that his turn was at hand. The jester is com- 
 pelled to keep himself afloat, as it were, by recurring 
 efforts ; with him, every movement, the slightest naive 
 or thoughtless utterance, was an opening. On the 
 instant, the victim was roughly " butchered to make 
 a Roman hoUday." He spared no one, particularly 
 those to whom he was under obligation. He would 
 have sympathized with the man who said to certain 
 folk who were lamenting a friend to whom they owed 
 many obHgations : " At least you are now free from 
 the burden of gratitude." Foote in such a case not 
 only dispensed with gratitude, but contrived to turn 
 the table by making the benefactor thankful to him 
 for being indulgent. 
 
 And yet, on reading Foote's comedies, we are almost 
 surprised to find how httle they depend on that 
 
 * Here was one touch. A club servant tells a friend : " It was 
 but last night Sir Ralph moved that every man in the club should 
 give the waiter two guineas apiece, just by way of surprising the 
 rascal, and it was carried nem. con. And when surprise was ex- 
 pressed the servant said, ' Oh ! the members never flinch at a 
 frolic' " Here was no exaggeration. Frolics just as reckless and 
 unmeaning were carried on every day by the fashionable " bloods." 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 271 
 
 element of personality which yet seemed to have 
 been the secret of their success. He could fill them 
 out lavishly with rich and original strokes, aU strict 
 developments of the characters. In this the author 
 was a true artist, for he knew that this adoption of 
 a special model really limited the effect, and was 
 quite transitory ; and he sought, beneath the peculi- 
 arities and eccentricities of the individual, something 
 large and general which could be applied to the many. 
 Thus Dickens, when setting out his fantastic sketch 
 of Leigh Hunt, broadened all the elements, and 
 formed the general type of an airy, selfish creature 
 who lived in dreams of his personality, which 
 people who had never seen the original could 
 recognize. I have little doubt but that, in the 
 case of Mrs. Gamp, her creator had been first 
 attracted by some stray phrase or perversion, such 
 as " the anworks package," and this supplied his 
 ready fancy with a whole language. Thence he went 
 deeper down, and came on the confused, muddling 
 character which prompted these utterances, and 
 which jumbled thoughts as it did words. In the 
 same fashion Foote, struck by the amusing inco- 
 herence of CadwaUader, devised all sorts of odd 
 situations for his hero, in which he made him behave 
 exactly as he would have done in real life, and then 
 supplied the particular likeness by his vivid histrionic 
 exertions. This, of course, is now lost to the general 
 reader. 
 
 As to Foote's acting, it is rather difficult to arrive at 
 an accurate opinion. John Taylor, a pleasant reminis- 
 cent, as it is called, whom the older ones of our genera- 
 tion have known — notably the old Mr. Fladgate of the 
 Garrick — had often seen Foote play. He recalled that 
 
272 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 he acted best the characters that were written by him- 
 self, though his voice was harsh and untuned ; but the 
 public grew accustomed to him and liked him ; and 
 he adds : " His confidence and speech were powerfully 
 effective." He was not suited to the regular drama, 
 though his good sense and broad humour made him 
 very entertaining. He always tried to keep in the 
 front on the stage — which, as manager, he was 
 privileged to do. Taylor speaks genuinely when he 
 says he could not appreciate the mots of Foote that 
 were circulated with applause. It must be said that 
 this view is supported by Cooke's collection of " good 
 things " given at the end of his latter Life. Most of 
 these were supplied to him by Taylor, who had but a 
 poor opinion of the humorist. 
 
 " I have a full recollection," he used to say, " of 
 his manner. He performed his characters, written 
 by and for himself, with admirable humour and 
 effect, and far beyond any of his successors, though 
 some of these used to take him off with great success, 
 notably Bannister the elder. His voice was harsh 
 and unequal ; it would be difficult to believe that it 
 ever could have been endured on the stage ; but the 
 pubhc had been used to it, and his intrepid confidence 
 and spirit were powerfully effective " — a very happy 
 criticism. Taylor noted that Foote's manner was by 
 no means suited to the regular drama : meaning, no 
 doubt, that his methods were too disorderly and too 
 dependent on the inspiration of the moment. But 
 his " good sense and broad humour " carried him over 
 this and made him very effective. 
 
 Who that has written upon the stage but 
 must recall with deep gratitude the faithful, ever 
 reliable, but little recognized authority, that genuine 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 273 
 
 Dryasdust — Parson Genest ? Who has not 
 appealed to him in "a tight place," and been 
 promptly relieved ? This guide has led many an 
 uncertain and perhaps ignorant explorer safely 
 through all the bogs and quagmires of the dramatic 
 chronicles. 
 
 This clergyman had been chaplain to the Duke 
 of Ancaster, but fell into ill-health, which compelled 
 him to retire from his profession. He settled at 
 Bath, where for nine years he solaced his suiFerings 
 by writing his great encyclopasdia in ten volumes 
 octavo : " Some Account of the English Stage," it 
 was called, "from the Restoration in 1660 to 1830." 
 Joseph Knight gives it this generous praise : " A work 
 of great labour and research, which forms the basis of 
 most exact knowledge of the stage. Few books of 
 reference are equally trustworthy, constant investiga- 
 tion having brought to light few errors, and none of 
 grave importance." 
 
 It is impossible not to admire and sympathize with 
 him in his drudging pursuit ; he is so keen, and, 
 above all, so much to be depended upon. From the 
 first origins of the stage he plodded on downwards, 
 year by year, theatre by theatre, to about the 'thirties 
 of last century. There he stopped. Studying his 
 biUs, he could track the actor from one house to 
 another, and discover. Heaven knows how, that a 
 theatre was closed on a particular night, for some 
 special reason. 
 
 I have mentioned " Joe " Knight, whose spirit was 
 congenial to the parson's, and who had the heartiest 
 faith in him. Indeed, it was believed that this admir- 
 able and searching critic might one day undertake to 
 bring the monumental work down to the present 
 
 18 
 
274 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 era. But it would have been a work of appalling 
 labour, and might have sealed his fate. The good, 
 honest " Joe " Knight was himself a sort of Genest. 
 He had the same drudging accuracy, the same love 
 of dates and details, the same profound knowledge 
 of theatrical history — writing, working with energy, 
 serving three or four papers, and, alas ! " burning the 
 candle at both ends," until there was no more candle 
 to burn. There was too much of the recuperative 
 supper, too much, perhaps, of the small -hours. 
 " Joe's " great task was the preparation of the 
 dramatic biographies in the " Dictionary of National 
 Biography." I really beheve that he described every 
 actor, actress, and theatrical person, with infinite 
 accuracy and pains ; dates, places, incidents, all might 
 be accepted as on oath, so scrupulous and laborious 
 was he in his researches.* 
 
 And what a force he was — how overpowering and 
 " Falstaffian !" He could say amusing, overpowering 
 things. At a theatre, on a first night, how entertain- 
 ing to Usten to his jocose comments all through the 
 piece I The Garrick Club knew him well. On a " first 
 night " he would come there after the play, take his 
 place at the long supper-table, and " keep it up," as it 
 is called, with unabated animation till the dawn. 
 
 * And yet of good, honest "Joe" it must be said that his work is 
 a little soulless — a series of catalogues, dated entries, etc., without 
 poetry or imagination, with a sort of legal flavour about the whole. 
 This was shown particularly in his account of Garrick, which he 
 expanded into a formal Life in succession to mine, printed some 
 forty years before. It is an admirable consultative work, but dry 
 and uninteresting, and difficult to read. He had no idea of realizing 
 the actors' characters. I speak merely as a critic of his curious style 
 and methods ; for I Hked him exceedingly, and he made me many 
 affectionate apologies for trespassing, as he called it. 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 275 
 
 Poor Joe ! He must have had a difficult time. He 
 was a great bookworm : he collected old French works 
 of a Rabelaisian cast, and made a vast library, but 
 having, as he told me, no shelves or room, had to 
 stdck his treasures on the stairs. 
 
 Considering the long list of friends, acquaintances, 
 and familiar public characters, who are framed and 
 glazed, as it were, in Foote's pieces, we may wonder 
 how the eccentricities of the amiable " Goldy " escaped 
 being brought upon the Haymarket stage. One 
 reason may have been that he was a dangerous person 
 to meddle with, and, like Johnson, might have bought 
 a cudgel. As it was, he had beaten, or rather tried to 
 beat, a bookseller. 
 
 But now comes a surprise, for Goldsmith was to 
 pay Foote the admiring compliment of studying his 
 pieces and helping himself from the dish. He 
 carefully studied his methods and his special treat- 
 ment of character. He was too well equipped to 
 think of borrowing or copying ; but Foote's images, 
 as well as his humorous conceptions and treatment, 
 remained with him. It will be interesting to con- 
 sider for a moment what his two great comedies owe to 
 Foote. From him Goldsmith certainly took the idea 
 of Tony, the loutish son of a foolish mother. In 
 Foote's case it was a foolish father. In both cases the 
 parents had settled a suitable match for their oiFspring, 
 but their designs were frustrated by their son's marry- 
 ing a buxom country girl — Mally Pengrouse in Foote's 
 play. In both pieces — "The Knights" and "She 
 Stoops to Conquer" — each heroine is courted by a 
 young spark from town, and each young lady has been 
 selected for two uncouth sons. The young Timothy 
 
 18—2 
 
276 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xvm 
 
 extols his Mally Pengrouse, just as Tony does his Bet, 
 Goldsmith's piece begins with Mrs. Hardcastle's com- 
 plaints of the stupidity of country life — " Here we live 
 in an old rambling castle, seeing nobody," etc. Her 
 husband makes growling, sarcastic comments on his 
 wife's complaints. Mrs. Aircastle grumbles in the 
 same way : " Folks that travelled barefoot to London 
 roU down in their coaches, but still we stick." When 
 the mother, who dotes on her Tony, says, " He 
 coughs sometimes," old Hardcastle growls out, "Yes, 
 when his Mquor goes the wrong way." Mrs. Aii'castle 
 says to her Timothy, " Shoulders back !" on which 
 Aircastle, " His breastbone sticks out like a turkey's," 
 and adds, " Grace ! he has neither grace nor grease." 
 
 That Tony Lumpkin was suggested to " Goldy " by 
 Foote's " Knights " vidll be clear to anyone who reads 
 this passage between Timothy and Hartop. It is 
 exactly Hastings patronizing Tony : 
 
 "Hart. But have you left in Cornwall nothing 
 that you regret the loss of more than hurling and 
 wrestling ? Tim. Nan ? what ? Hart. No favourite 
 she? Tim. Arra, I coupled Favourite and Jowler 
 together, and sure they tugged it all the way up. 
 Part with Favourite ! no, I thank you for nothing : 
 you must know I nursed Favourite myself; uncle's 
 huntsman was going to miU-pond to drown all Music's 
 puppies ; so I saved she : but, fath, I'U teU you a 
 comical story : At Lanston they both broke loose and 
 eat a whole loin-o'-veal and a leg of beef: Crist ! how 
 landlord sweared ! fath, the poor fellow was almost 
 mazed ; it made me die wi' laughing : but how came 
 you to know about our Favourite ? Hart. A cir- 
 cumstance so material to his son could not escape 
 the knowledge of Sir Gregory Gazette's friends. But 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 277 
 
 here you mistook me a little, Squire Tim ; I meant 
 whether your affections were not settled upon some 
 pretty girl ; has not some Cornish lass caught your 
 heart ? Tim. Hush ! God, the old man will hear ; jog 
 a tiny bit this way ; — won't a' tell father ? Hart. 
 Upon my honour ! Tim. Why, then I'll tell you the 
 whole story, more or less. Do you know MaUy 
 Pengrouse ? Hart. I am not so happy. Tim. She's 
 uncle's milkmaid ; she's as handsome, Lord 1 her face 
 all red and white, like the inside of a shoulder of 
 mutton : so I made love to our Mally ; and just, fath, 
 as I had got her good will to run away to Exeter and 
 be married, uncle found it out and sent word to father, 
 and father sent for me home ; but I don't love her a 
 bit the worser for that : but, 'icod, if you tell father, 
 he'll knock my brains out, for he says I'U disparage 
 the family, and mother's as mad as a March hare 
 about it ; so father and mother ha' brought me to be 
 married to some young body in these parts. Hart. 
 What,, is my lady here ? Tim. No, sure ; Dame 
 Winifred, as father calls her, could not come along." 
 
 Then there is an interview between Timothy and 
 the lady, neither wishing for the marriage. She 
 tells him : " Suppose I won't be married to you ?" 
 Tim answers her : " Nay, miss, such I can't help it, 
 faith and soul ! But father and mother bid me come 
 a-courting, and if you won't ha' me I'll tell father so." 
 Tony and Miss Neville have the same sort of con- 
 fidences in " Goldy's " comedy. It turns out that 
 Timothy has gone and married Mally Pengrouse. 
 Hartop then listens to Timothy, and encourages him 
 on the score of this Mally Pengrouse, he himself 
 wishing to secure the young lady who was intended 
 for Timothy, just as Hastings does. But there is 
 
278 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 quite a convincing point, though it is but a trifling 
 one. Sir Luke, in " The Lame Lover," bids his 
 servant go with his excuses to Sir Gregory Goose — 
 certainly an odd, unusual name. And we find, in 
 " The Good-Natured Man," Lofty, who corresponds 
 to Sir Luke, quoting a Sir Gilbert Goose. 
 
 Another character certainly inspired " Goldy " for 
 his capital one of Lofty in " The Good-Natured Man." 
 Foote supplied the name Lofty in his " Patron," and 
 the character also, which is unmistakably original, of 
 " Goldy's " Lofty, in " The Lame Lover." Here is one 
 admirable scene, quite as good as, if not better than, 
 Goldsmith's. Sir Luke is a boasting tuft-hunter like 
 Lofty, and has engaged himself to dine with an 
 Alderman. A servant delivers a card to him : " Sir 
 Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's 
 company to dinner." " Gad, so ! a little unlucky ! I 
 have been engaged for these three weeks." The 
 Sergeant then mentions that Sir Gregory has been 
 returned to Parliament. Sir Luke : " Is he so ? 
 Oh, oh I that alters the case. George, give my com- 
 pliments to Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and 
 dine there. Order Joe to run to Alderman Inkles — 
 sorry can't wait upon him, but confined to bed two 
 days with the new influenza." 
 
 After declaring " that these letter- writers are as 
 persecuting as a beggar who attacks your coach at the 
 mounting of a hill : there is no getting rid of them 
 without a penny to one and a promise to t'other," a 
 servant brings him a letter from the Earl of Brentford, 
 and an answer is required. " Answer !" cries Sir 
 Luke. " Another invitation : dinner at five — taste 
 for music. Gad, so ! I hope Sir Gregory's servant 
 'an't gone. Run after him as fast as you can ; tell 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 279 
 
 him, Quite in despair — recollect an engagement that 
 can't in nature be missed ; and return in an instant." 
 
 The servant runs off, but could not overtake the 
 man. Some further talk follows. Sir Luke is taking 
 his leave, when another servant rushes in with a letter : 
 
 " Serv. Sir, His Grace the Duke of Sir 
 
 Luke. His Grace ? Where is he ? Where ? Serv. In 
 his coach at the door. If you aren't better engaged, 
 he would be glad of your company to go into the city 
 with him and take a dinner at Dolly's. Sir Luke. In 
 his own coach, did you say ? Serv. Yes, sir, with the 
 coronets — or I believe so. Sir Luke. There's no 
 resisting of that. Bid Joe run to Sir Gregory Goose. 
 Serv. He is already gone to Alderman Inkles. Sir 
 Luke. Then do you step to the Knight's — hey no ! 
 you must go to my Lord's — hold, hold ! — no, I have 
 it : step first to Sir Gregory's ; then pop in at Lord 
 Brentford's just as the company are going to dinner. 
 Serv. What shall I say to Sir Gregory ? Sir Luke. 
 Anything — what I told you before. Serv. And what 
 to my Lord ? Sir Luke. What ? — why, teU him that 
 my uncle from Epsom — no ! that won't do, for he 
 knows I don't care a farthing for him. Why, tell 
 him — ^hold, I have it : tell him, just as I was 
 going to my chair to obey his commands, I was 
 arrested by a couple of bailiffs and carried to the Pied 
 Bull at the Borough. I beg ten thousand pardons 
 for making His Grace wait, but His Grace knows my 
 misfor " 
 
 But Sheridan, as we might expect from our 
 knowledge of his ways, was the most unscrupulous 
 of the depredators. It is not too much to say that 
 the whole conception of Charles Surface and his 
 impecunious association was imported wholesale from 
 
280 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 Foote's " Minor," All the devices for raising money 
 — the shark-like Jews and the rest — are there. 
 Charles, with his pleasant, gay indifference to debt 
 and difficulty, is a copy of the young Wealthy. 
 
 The latter is impecunious, reckless, and engaging, in 
 spite of all his follies. His father comes from India 
 with a friendly uncle to rescue him from his creditors, 
 and enters into a confederacy with a number of" rooks," 
 he assuming the guise of a foreign Baron, just as Sir 
 Oliver disguises himself as Moses. The young fellow 
 shows signs of grace and nobility, which win his 
 father's heart. 
 
 What is most convincing, however, is that we can 
 trace Little Premium back to Little Transfer in 
 " The Minor," both useful brokers or go-betweens. 
 Like the former. Little Transfer has no money 
 himself, but has to get it, in the form of paving- 
 stones or Witney blankets ; these can be converted 
 into ready money for the borrower's benefit. 
 
 There is a scene in the second act of " The Minor " 
 so reminiscent of " The School for Scandal " that we 
 almost rub our eyes and seem to think it must be 
 a passage in that immortal comedy that we had some- 
 how overlooked. We hear Charles and Little Pre- 
 mium consulting together. 
 
 " Trans. And what sum does your honour lack 
 at present ? Sir Geo. Lack ! How much have 
 you brought ? Trans. Who, I ? Dear me I none. 
 Sir Geo. Zounds, none I Trans. Lack-a-day ! none 
 to be had, I think. All the morning have I been 
 upon the hunt. There, Ephraim Barebones, the 
 tallow-chandler in Thames Street, used to be a never- 
 failing chap ; not a guinea to be got there. Then I 
 trotted away to Nebuchadnezzar Zebulon, in the Old 
 
CH. xvm] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 281 
 
 Jewry, but it happened to be Saturday; and they 
 never touch on the Sabbath, you know. Sir Geo. 
 Why, what the devil can I do ? . . . Trans. Well, 
 well, now, I declare, I am quite sorry to see your 
 honour in such a taking. Sir Geo. Damn your 
 sorrow ! Trans. But come, don't be cast down. 
 Though money is not to be had, money's worth may, 
 and that's the same thing. Sir Geo. How, dear 
 Transfer ? Trans. Why, I have, at my warehouse 
 in the city, ten casks of whale-blubber, a large cargo 
 of Dantzick dowlas, with a curious sortment of Bir- 
 mingham hafts, and Witney blankets for exporta- 
 tion. Sir Geo. Hey ! Trans. And stay, stay I then, 
 again, at my country-house, the bottom of Gray's Inn 
 Lane, there's a hundred ton of fine old hay, only 
 damaged a little last winter, for want of thatching ; 
 with forty load of flint stones. Sir Geo. Well ? 
 Trans. Your honour may have all these for a reason- 
 able profit, and convert them into cash. Sir Geo. 
 Blubber and blankets ? Why, you old rascal, do you 
 banter me ? Trans. Who, I ? Oh law, marry, heaven 
 forbid. Sir Geo. Get out of my — you fiuttering 
 scoundrel ! . . . [Enter Loader.] So, sir, you have 
 recommended me to a fine fellow. Load. What's 
 the matter ? Sir Geo. He can't supply me with a 
 shilling ! and wants, besides, to make me a dealer in 
 dowlas. Load. Ay, and a very good commodity, 
 too. People that are upon ways and means must not 
 be nice, knight. A pretty piece of work you have 
 made here ! Thrown up the cards, with the game in 
 your hands. Sir Geo. Why, pr'ythee, of what use 
 
 would his Load. Use! of every use. Procure 
 
 you the spankers, my boy. I have a broker that 
 in a twinkling shall take off your bargain. Sir 
 
282 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 Geo. Indeed ! Load. Indeed ! Ay, indeed. You 
 sit down to hazard and not know the chances ! I'll 
 call him back. Holo, Transfer ! [Enter Transfer.] . . . 
 Come hither, little Transfer. What, man, our Minor 
 was a little too hasty ; he did not understand trap : 
 knows nothing of the game, my dear. Trans. What 
 
 I said, was to serve Sir George ; as he seemed 
 
 Load. I told him so ; well, well, we wUl take thy 
 commodities, were they as many more. But try, 
 pr'ythee, if thou couldst not procure us some of the 
 ready for present spending. Trans. Let me con- 
 sider. Load. Ay, do, come : shuffle thy brains ; 
 never fear the Baronet. To let a lord of lands want 
 shiners — 'tis a shame. Trans. I do recollect, in this 
 quarter of the town, an old friend that used to do 
 things in this way. Load. Who ? Trans. Statute, 
 the scrivener. Load. Slam me, but he has nicked 
 the chance. Trans. A hard man. Master Loader ! 
 Sir Geo. No matter. Trans. His demands are 
 exorbitant. Sir Geo. That is no fault of ours. Load. 
 Well said, knight I Trafis. But, to save time, I 
 had better mention his terms. Load. Unnecessary. 
 Trans. Five per cent, legal interest. Sir Geo. He 
 shall have it. Trans. Ten, the premium. Sir Geo. 
 No more words. Trans. Then, as you are not of 
 age, five more for insuring your life. Load. We will 
 give it. Trans. As for what he will demand for the 
 
 risque Sir Geo. He shall be satisfied. Trans. 
 
 You pay the attorney. Sir Geo. Amply, amply. 
 Loader, despatch him. Load. There, there, little 
 Transfer ; now everything is settled. AU terms shall 
 be complied with, reasonable or unreasonable. What, 
 our principal is a man of honour. [Exit Transfer.] 
 Hey, my knight, this is doing business. This pinch 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 283 
 
 is a sure card. [He-enter Transfer.] Trans. I had 
 forgot one thing. I am not the principal ; you pay 
 the brokerage. Load. Ay, ay ; and a handsome 
 present into the bargain, never fear. Trans. Enough, 
 enough. Load. Hark'e, Transfer : we'll take the 
 Birmingham hafts and Witney wares. Trans. They 
 shall be forthcoming. You would not have the hay 
 with the flints ? Load. Every pebble of 'em. The 
 magistrates of the Baronet's borough are infirm and 
 gouty. He shall deal them as new pavement. \_Eaiit 
 Transfer.] So that's settled." 
 
 In " The Knights " we find Miss Penelope Trifle, a 
 spinster aunt, who is a sort of duenna to Miss Sukey, 
 and who talks in a stiff, pedantic strain, with high- 
 sounding words, quite as Mrs. Malaprop does in " The 
 Rivals," though without any " derangement of epi- 
 taphs." She lectures in the same fashion her niece, 
 who is destined for Timothy, as Lydia was for Captain 
 Absolute. But the young lady has in view another 
 lover. Sukey asks for a glass of ale at the inn. 
 Miss Pen. " Fie, fie, niece ! Is that liquor for a 
 young lady ? Don't disparage your family and breed- 
 ing. The person is to be born that ever saw me 
 touch anything stronger than water," etc. Then the 
 girl answers her ; on which the duenna : " Now, Miss 
 Flirt, none of your sneers." Later she says : "It is 
 indeed. Sir Gregory Gazette, a most critical con- 
 juncture, and requires the most mature consideration." 
 Sir Gregory says : " Lack-a-day, ma'am ! while we de- 
 liberate the boy maybe lost." Miss Pen : " Why, Sir 
 Gregory Gazette, what operations can we determine 
 on ?" " Lack-a-day, ma'am ! I know but one." Miss 
 Pen : " Administer your propositio?is, Sir Gregory 
 Gazette ; you will have my concurrence, sir, in anything 
 
284 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xviii 
 
 that does not derogate Jrom the regulations of conduct, 
 for it would be most preposterous in one of my 
 character to deviate from the strictest attention." She 
 then goes on to talk of " the previous preliminaries " 
 and "the accelerations of the nuptials." Then she 
 asks : " Can you unravel this perplexity, untwine this 
 mystery, Sir Gregory Gazette ?" Later she asks : 
 " How, Mr. Jenkins, would you participate of a plot, 
 too ?" 
 
 A favourite character with Foote was a certain 
 Puff, a sort of verbose expoimder of things, an 
 auctioneer or charlatan. We find him also in " The 
 Critic," name and all. One of Foote 's pieces opens 
 with the visit of two men-about-town to the stage, 
 about rehearsal time. To them appears Foote, who 
 answers their criticisms and questions, and explains 
 to them his theatrical systems. This machinery was 
 transferred to " The Critic." 
 
 The staple of Foote's show, " The Diversions of 
 the Morning," was a mock-tragedy called " Tragedy 
 a la Mode," in which aU the devices of such pieces 
 are burlesqued. It is curious how ingeniously Sheridan 
 has disguised the hints he " conveyed." Fustian, the 
 author, explains and comments exactly as Puff" does. 
 We have, " Enter the King's guards, two on each 
 side, who seize them both ; both are forced off" on 
 opposite sides." Lindemira is the heroine, and raves 
 like Tilburina. " Fustian. Here ends the act. Townly. 
 The act is short, Mr. Fustian. Manly. But every- 
 thing is here that the dramatic laws require. Fust. 
 Now enters the Prince in the presence chamber in 
 deep reflection. \_Enter Prince.] Prince. How jfrail 
 
 is man — perplex ! Surely the gods \_A trumpet 
 
 blows.] But hark ! the sprightly trumpet speaks the 
 
CH. xviii] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 285 
 
 King's approach. Down, down, my heart ! [Enter 
 the King.] O Royal Sir ! if e'er your suppliant 
 
 slave [Exit King.] " All this is quite as lively 
 
 as "The Critic." 
 
 There were other writers who helped themselves 
 to Foote's wares, such as his friend Murphy, who 
 seized on Sir Gregory Gazette, that devourer of news- 
 papers, and introduced him with little variation into 
 his "Upholsterer."* 
 
 * Mr. Forster has furnished a carefully-compiled list of Foote's 
 pieces, with their dates of production, It runs : " The Diversions," 
 etc., 1747 ; " Auction," etc., 1748 ; " The Knights," 1748 ; " Taste," 
 1752 ; ""The Englishman in Paris," 1753; "The Englishman returned 
 from Paris," 1756; "The Author," 1757; "Diversions," etc., as a farce, 
 1758; "The Minor," 1760; "The Lyar," 1761; "The Orators," 
 1762; "The Mayor of Garratt," 1763; "The Patron," 1764; 
 "The Commissary," 1765; "The Devil upon Two Sticks," 1768 ; 
 "The Lame Lover," 1770; "The Maid of Bath," 1771; "The 
 Nabob," 1772; " Piety in Pattens," 1773 ; "The Bankrupt," 1773 ; 
 "The Cozeners," 1774 ; "The Capucin," 1776. 
 
 Joseph Knight speaks of some other pieces in manuscript which 
 have been attributed to Foote. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 foote's comedies — continued 
 
 Foote's important comedies, in which he dealt 
 with notable abuses on a large, Aristophanic scale, 
 distiUing all his acid, venom, and fury, simulated or 
 real, I have dealt with in their proper places, as being 
 formal acts of his life. His other comedies, which are 
 of far shghter texture, I shall deal with here in 
 collective fashion, briefly sketching their plots and 
 characters. 
 
 "The Nabob," produced in 1772, was one of 
 Foote's pictures of the shifting manners of his day. 
 The country at the time was filled with returned 
 Indian functionaries and traders who had " shaken 
 the tree," as it was called — who had gone out with 
 some small appointment, and contrived to amass a 
 huge fortune, which they returned to spend in 
 England. They presently acquired the nickname 
 of Nabobs, and Macaulay has presented a hvely 
 sketch of their odious methods, their attempts to 
 secure everything — place in society, seats in Parha- 
 ment, etc. They were aU odiously purse-proud, and 
 delighted in outbidding or ousting the impoverished 
 country gentleman. In " Sir Matthew Mite " Foote 
 
 286 
 
CH. XIX.J FOOTE'S COMEDIES 287 
 
 has given a most unpleasant portrait of this class, 
 which is also exceedingly spirited and amusing. 
 Witness his talk with Mrs. Match'em, one of the 
 most unsavoury types of female agents, which Foote 
 presented rather too often. The wit here was 
 certainly imitated by Sheridan : " Mite. Perhaps I 
 shall be confined a little at first ; for when you take 
 or bury a wife, decency requires that you should 
 keep your house for a week : after that time you will 
 find me, dear Match'em, all that you can wish. 
 Match. Ah ! that is more than your honour can 
 teU. I have known some of my gentlemen before 
 marriage make as firm and good resolutions not to 
 have the least love or regard for their wives ; but they 
 have been seduced after all, and turned out the 
 poorest tame family fools ! 3Iite. Indeed !" This 
 is " Sherry " all over. 
 
 The piece is written with much spirit, and the 
 character of the rapacious Mite cleverly detailed. 
 But of a sudden the author indulges in a sort of 
 Jreak, and seems to disregard all the dramatic pro- 
 prieties. He represents him as joining the Society 
 of Antiquaries, being initiated by mystic rites, and 
 then reading a burlesque paper on the subject of 
 Whittington and his Cat, in which he gravely 
 discusses the legend — very much in the spirit of 
 Mr. Pickwick when treating of the Cobham Stone. 
 It seems that some such topic had actually been 
 before the society, and been gravely debated, and it 
 was much laughed at in consequence. Foote could 
 not resist the " actuality " of the thing. At the same 
 time, none knew so well as he what would "go 
 down " with his audience, and his own tremendous 
 spirit and rollicking humour was certain to smooth 
 
288 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 over every intrusive element of the kind, and make 
 it seem probable. 
 
 Jekyll told Moore that the origin of Sir Matthew 
 Mite in the play was a certain Nabob, one General 
 Smith, whose father was a cheesemonger. He must 
 have been an absurd personage enough. He once 
 put off some invited friends with the excuse : "I 
 find my damn fellow of a steward has in the mean- 
 time sold the estate." He spoilt his hand, he said, 
 by shooting peacocks with the Great Mogul. Some- 
 one brought Foote to visit this original, I fancy at 
 his request. He was pressed to stay, and hospitably 
 treated. Having just left the house, Foote said : 
 " I think I can't possibly miss him now, having had 
 such a good sitting." 
 
 This General Smith had " stood " for the corrupt 
 borough of Hendon in the early part of the year 
 1776, but was committed to the King's Bench Prison 
 by Lord Mansfield on a charge of bribery. Being 
 excluded from Almack's, he wished to draw the 
 young men of fashion into his net, and built a new 
 and splendid club in St. James's Street. Here he 
 was ready to furnish expectant heirs with moneys 
 up to the amount of £40,000, this bait bringing ruin 
 on many opulent heirs. 
 
 The name Mite, with the profession or calling 
 of cheesemonger, must have pointed out the original 
 to the audience. On this occasion, as in the case 
 of Cadwallader, the actor was nigh getting into 
 serious trouble owing to the unusual spectacle of 
 the victim's resenting his treatment. 
 
 There was a good story retailed of a deputation 
 of indignant Nabobs repairing to Foote's house in 
 Suffolk Street to call him to account for his ridicule 
 
CH. xix] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 289 
 
 of their order. The satirist was clever enough to 
 know how to deal with these gentlemen. He is 
 said to have welcomed them with effusive cordiality, 
 but whenever they approached the dangerous subject 
 he adroitly turned it aside with humorous tales — in 
 short, put them in such a good humour that they 
 consented to stay and dine with him! Certainly, 
 he was a wonderful creature. It no doubt furnished 
 him with a capital story for his " show," and he 
 probably mimicked his two visitors in a diverting 
 way. But who could respect such a being ? Nor can 
 we respect the two visitors who allowed themselves to 
 be bamboozled by their hvely host, who can have 
 said or done nothing that could alter his caricature. 
 Could it be that the visitors saw that nothing was 
 to be got by intimidating Foote, and that it might 
 be better policy to conciliate him ? 
 
 " The Lame Lover," produced in 1770, was appar- 
 ently written to nullify in a grotesque way the 
 consequences of the author's unfortunate accident. 
 The title, the leading character, called Sir Luke 
 Limp, and the many allusions to lameness, were 
 aU devised with this view — to carry off his infirmity 
 as a jest. The wise warn us never to laugh at 
 ourselves, though we may at other folk, by way of 
 deprecation. It is a complete mistake, and only 
 produces contempt. Sir Luke jocosely tells of a 
 wager he had with a German, a challenge to drive 
 a corking-pin into the calves of their legs : " Mine, 
 you may imagine, was easily done, but when it came 
 to the Baron," etc. And, again, Charlotte says : 
 " A pretty thing for a girl to be tied to a man 
 with one foot in the grave I" " One foot in the 
 grave," is the witty reply ; " the rest of his body is 
 
 19 
 
290 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 not a whit nearer for that. But I hear his stump 
 on the stairs." When Sir Luke appears, he protests 
 that he is all the better for his loss. " Consider, I 
 have neither strain, sphnt, spavin, or gout ; no fear 
 of corns, or that another man should tread on my 
 toes. What, d'ye think I would change with Bill 
 Spindle for one of his spindles?" He then admits 
 he is a httle awkward at running, " but as far as a 
 chair minuet, match me who can. That is, as all 
 grace is confined to the motions of the head, arms, 
 and chest, which may sitting be as fully displayed as 
 if one had as many legs as a poljrpus." He thus 
 illustrates it: "A leg — a redundancy, a mere nothing. 
 JNIan is from nature an extravagant creature. In 
 my opinion, we might aU be full as weU as we are 
 without half the things we have." It is impossible 
 to resist the wit and buoyancy of these saUies. But 
 the plot is incoherent ; rather, there is no plot. One 
 scene is truly far-fetched, when Mrs. Circuit enacts 
 a counsel at the Bar, and recites a long speech on 
 the action of Nobson and Hobson. It is quite 
 unmeaning. 
 
 There was a well-known man - about - town — 
 " Charles Skrymisher Boothby Clopton, Esquire " — 
 who bore among his friends the more convenient 
 nickname of " Prince Boothby." The Boothby 
 family was well known to Johnson, who had a 
 particular affection for Miss Boothby, an interesting 
 woman. This Prince Boothby, being of ancient family, 
 might naturally command a distinguished round of 
 acquaintances, but was well known to be what is 
 called a " tuft-hunter," carrying out his chase with 
 a ludicrous eagerness. Hence "Prince Boothby." 
 Foote heard of, or more probably met, this personage 
 
CH. XIX] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 291 
 
 — saw his capabilities, and introduced him into his 
 " Lame Lover," adding the lameness from his own 
 experience. It is an odious character — hollow, vapid, 
 chattering, unfeeling, and selfish — but decidedly amus- 
 ing. The author brings out the tuft-hunting weakness 
 in a rather original fashion. This unhappy being 
 committed suicide, having left a declaration that 
 " he was tired of dressing and undressing." 
 
 The scene between the Serjeant and his daughter, 
 where he presses her to marry, may have suggested 
 that between Sir Anthony Absolute and his son the 
 Captain in Sheridan's play: " Charlotte. A sweet object 
 to excite tender desires ! Serj. And why not, hussy ! 
 
 Char. First as to his years Serj. What then ? 
 
 Char. A pretty thing, truly, for a girl at my time of 
 life to be tied to a man with one foot in the grave. 
 Serj. The rest of his body is not a whit the nearer 
 for that. There is only an execution issued against 
 part of his personal ; his real estate is unencumbered 
 and free. Char. Sir, I know how proud Sir Luke is 
 of his leg, and have often heard him declare that he 
 would not change his bit of timber for the best flesh 
 and bone in the kingdom." 
 
 Here we have yet another of Foote's unbecoming 
 references to his infirmity. But the Serjeant's epi- 
 grammatic reference to the " one leg in the grave " is 
 exactly in the spirit of Sheridan, whom it must have 
 inspired. " I would have law merchant for them 
 also," etc. " The Nabob " must be classed with " The 
 Commissary," another corrupt type which he held up 
 to scorn and ridicule. This had been brought out 
 in the year 1765. These oflficials had become wealthy 
 through contracts during the wars, and, like the 
 Nabobs, tried by all manner of arts to get into 
 
 19—2 
 
292 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 society. The brothers Fungus are shown taking 
 regular lessons from Professors, the author here 
 copying wholesale from Moli^re, even to the fencing 
 scene in "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," made as 
 farcical as Foote could contrive it. Thus he intro- 
 duced a sort of mechanical horse that rocked by 
 machinery. " The Commissary " has much more 
 " bustle " than any of the preceding pieces. It would 
 seem that Foote was gradually acquiring his art 
 and learning to marshal his plots. It turns on the 
 adventures of a couple of Commissaries, who were 
 engaged in learning to be men of fashion under 
 hired instructors who preyed upon them. As may 
 be conceived, the author went to Moliere's comedy 
 for this notion, and even borrowed some scenes. 
 Fungus was the name of the two brother Commis- 
 saries. 
 
 Foote nourished some unaccountable prejudices 
 against various societies, such as the College of 
 Physicians and the Society of Antiquaries, whom he 
 never tired of ridiculing in a rather heavy and clumsy 
 fashion. This burlesque of pundits and medicos is 
 never difficult. Scott's " Antiquary " is supreme. 
 Mr. Pickwick's discovery of the incised Cobham 
 stone is happier burlesque than Foote's. 
 
 The Nabob is introduced to the Society of Anti- 
 quaries, whose investigations as to Whittington and 
 his cat were exciting uproarious laughter. And 
 physicians, whether as individuals or as corporations, 
 he never spared. 
 
 " The Liar," or " Lyar," was produced in 1761. 
 Foote had no part. It was virtually an adaptation 
 of Corneille's play, and though animated enough — 
 the two Palmers, Jack and Robert, performed in it — 
 
CH. XIX] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 293 
 
 it is artificial and rather uninteresting; but with a 
 " rattling " player, such as the late Charles Mathews, 
 who at one time played it, it was effective. The 
 adaptation is done with great freedom and animation. 
 
 In 1764 he brought out his "Patron," dedicated 
 very obsequiously to the Chamberlain, Lord Gower, 
 to whom he acknowledged many obligations, " which 
 let me boast I have had the happiness to receive 
 untainted by the insolence of domestics, the delays 
 of office, or the chilling superiority of rank — mortifi- 
 cations which have been too often experienced by 
 much greater writers than myself, from much less 
 men than your Lordship." This seems like an 
 allusion to Johnson's treatment by Lord Chesterfield. 
 With the various Chamberlains he appears to have 
 been on intimate footing, and, as they protected him as 
 far as they could, it is no WQnder he was grateful. 
 There was, however, a lack of tact in dedicating his 
 pieces to these functionaries. 
 
 It has been almost accepted as a truth that 
 Bubb Dodington — Lord Melcombe — was intended in 
 this comedy. This nobleman was no doubt almost 
 the last of the official patrons. He has written 
 a play which he wishes to be brought out on the 
 cheap and convenient terms that a dependent shall 
 take all the failure on his shoulders, while in case 
 of success the real author's name is to leak out. 
 This does not exactly fit with what is known of 
 Lord Melcombe, and is merely a perversion of a 
 story concerning his patronage of a friend. It seems 
 that there was an amateur drama played for which 
 Foote lent his theatre. This was called " The 
 Wishes," and was written by a dilettante, Mr. Bentley. 
 A sort of mystery was associated with it. A rehearsal 
 
294 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 was given under the patronage of Bubb Dodington, 
 at his vUla on the Thames. It was later " produced " 
 by Foote. Some distinguished folk were present, 
 and there was a prologue full of obsequious com- 
 pliments to the young King and his favourite, who 
 was present. Foote was heard to say, " This is too 
 strong," and he dechned to repeat it. The producer 
 went about more suo, sneering and laughing at the 
 performance. 
 
 But though he did not actually glance at Lord 
 Melcombe's dramatic ventures, he no doubt found 
 him effective as a character. But how like Foote 
 it was to introduce and ridicule his own client, the 
 writer whose play he had undertaken to produce ! 
 Walpole wrote of Bentley, the author : " He would 
 have died to be supposed an author, and writing 
 for gain." This clearly refers to Bentley, and not 
 to Lord Melcombe, as is generally stated in the 
 biographies. Walpole, indeed, found Lord Melcombe 
 reading the piece to a select circle. Foote was also 
 summoned to hear it read, and adopted it for his stage, 
 but objected to the Prologue. 
 
 In this piece he makes merry with a returned Indian, 
 Sir Peter Pepperpot, whose account of his turtles 
 is reaUy amusing : " Sever. You seem moved ; what 
 has been the matter. Sir Peter ? Sir P. Matter ! 
 why, I am invited to dinner on a barbicu, and the 
 villains have forgot my bottle of chian. Younger. 
 Unpardonable. Sir P. Ay, this country has spoiled 
 them. . . . Well, dear Bever, rare news, boy : our fleet 
 is arrived from the West. Sever. It is ? Sir P. Ay, 
 lad ; and a glorious cargo of turtle. It was lucky 1 
 went to Brighthelmstone ; I nicked the time to a 
 hair: thin as a lath, and a stomach as sharp as a 
 
CH. XIX] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 295 
 
 shark's : never was in finer condition for feeding. 
 Bever. Have you a large importation, Sir Peter ? 
 Sir P. Nine ; but seven in excellent order : the 
 captain assures me they greatly gained ground on 
 the voyage. Bever. How do you dispose of them ? 
 Sir P. Four to Cornhill, three to Almack's, and the 
 two sickly ones I shall send to my borough in York- 
 shire. Younger. Ay ! what, have the provincials a 
 relish for turtle ? Sir P. Sir, it is amazing how this 
 country improves in turtle and turnpikes ; to which 
 (give me leave to say) we, from our part of the world, 
 have not a little contributed. Why, formerly, sir, a 
 brace of bucks on the Mayor's annual day was thought 
 a pretty moderate blessing. But we, sir, have polished 
 their palates. Why, sir, not the meanest member of 
 my corporation but can distinguish the pash from 
 the pee. 
 
 " The Bankrupt " is one of the most perplexing and, 
 it must be said, unmeaning of Foote's pieces. The 
 chief character's name is quite far-fetched — Sir John 
 Riscounter. A lady of title has a paragraph inserted 
 in the papers reflecting on the character of her step- 
 daughter, with a view to securing the wealthy suitor for 
 her own daughter. Her husband is on the verge of 
 bankruptcy, but at the close is saved ; the newspaper 
 plot is discovered, and the lady and her daughter 
 turned out. A truly singular plot ! The author has 
 combined with it an attack on all the abuses and 
 tricks of bankruptcy, taking a high moral tone which 
 must have amused his friends ; for the censor was 
 himself ever in pecuniary shifts and difficulties and in 
 want of cash, being a gamester and a borrower. It is 
 hard to conceive how the plot was tolerated. It is said 
 there was a friend of Foote's — a financier named For- 
 
296 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 dyce — who was figured in the piece, but he lost his 
 fortune in some great crash ; so Foote thought it 
 would be scarcely decent to bring on the boards. 
 
 Someone casuaUy mentioned Le Sage's famous 
 story of " Le Diable Boiteux " to Foote, as a sub- 
 ject suitable for dramatic treatment. Foote loudly 
 scoffed at the suggestion ; it was quite unsuited, he 
 said. Within a short time he had prepared a piece 
 on this subject, entitled " The Devil upon Two 
 Sticks." The subject has been treated in our own 
 time, very much upon the same lines. In both cases 
 the Evil One goes about visiting various scenes, and 
 making pungent and sarcastic comments as he goes. 
 There is a prodigious amount of talk and speechings 
 of inordinate length, and with wonder we learn that 
 it was completely successful and brought the author 
 abundance of cash. Here is a specimen : 
 
 " Hel. But now. Dr. Last, to proceed in due form : 
 are you qualified to administer remedies to such 
 diseases as belong to the head ? Last. I believe I 
 may. Hel. Name some to the College. Last. The 
 toothache. Hel. What do you hold the best method 
 to treat it ? Last. I pulls 'em up by the roots. 
 Hel. Well replied, brothers ! that, without doubt, is 
 a radical cure. AU. Without doubt. Hel. Thus far 
 as to the head : proceed we next to the middle ! 
 When, Dr. Last, you are called in to a patient with 
 a pain in his bowels, what then is your method of 
 practice ? Last. I claps a trencher hot to the part. 
 Hel. Embrocation ; very well ! But if this applica- 
 tion should fail, what is the next step that you take ? 
 Last. I gi's a vomit and a purge. Hel. Well replied ! 
 for it is plain there is a disagreeable guest in the 
 house ; he has opened both doors ; if he will go out 
 
CH. XIX] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 297 
 
 at neither, it is none of his fault. AU. Oh no — by 
 no means. Hel. We have now despatched the 
 middle and head : come we finally to the other 
 extremity — the feet ! Are you equally. skilful in the 
 disorders incidental to them ? Last. I believe I may. 
 Hel. Name some. Last. I have a great vogue all 
 our way for curing of corns. Hel. What are the 
 means that you use' ? Last. I cuts them out. Hel. 
 Well replied ! extirpation : no better method of 
 curing can be. Well, brethren, I think we may now, 
 after this strict and impartial inquiry, safely certify 
 that Dr. Last, from top to toe, is an able physician. 
 All. Very able, very able indeed. Hel. And every 
 way quahfied to proceed in his practice. All. Every 
 way qualified. Hel. You may descend. Dr. Last. 
 [Last takes his seat among them.'] " 
 
 To see what a terror Foote must have been to any 
 respectable oddity, we have only to call up a certain 
 old knight named Browne, who might be described 
 as a sort of physician-antiquary, who was pursuing 
 his researches in a retired fashion. He wrote many 
 learned disquisitions in the Latin tongue, and got 
 into hot controversies with his medical brethren. 
 There was a certain droll eccentricity about his dress 
 and manner. Foote soon " marked him down." It 
 is difficult to conceive how a person utterly unknown 
 to the public should be at all acceptable if they did 
 not know the original. For the essence of the 
 pleasure derived from mimicry is the comparison 
 of the original with the copy. Foote's cleverness, 
 therefore, must have been extraordinary, as he was 
 able to make the mere copy or imitation suffice. I 
 fancy he made this so vividly entertaining that the 
 auditors began to think that the original would be 
 
298 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 more enjoyable still. All these things contribute 
 to the conclusion that Foote must have possessed 
 a special power which held and stimulated his hearers 
 without any reference to his models. 
 
 Sir William Browne, just referred to, was President 
 of the College of Physicians — an eccentric being, and 
 therefore one offering himself as the ready prey of 
 Foote. His dispute with the Licentiates was attract- 
 ing attention, and his odd figure was reproduced by 
 the actor after the most minute study. He copied 
 his wig, the glass fixed in his eye, and his stiff figure. 
 The physician took it good-humouredly, sending him 
 his compliments on having succeeded so well. As 
 he had forgotten one item — the muff — he sent him 
 his own. This pleasant behaviour is said to have 
 propitiated Foote. 
 
 He could not spare even his old friend and boon 
 companion Dr. Kennedy, a quaint personage enough, 
 and well fitted for a show, besides being a friend of 
 his own. Accordingly, when the time was ripe, he 
 proceeded to fit him into a satirical piece — no doubt 
 among his conclave of doctors — when the sitter was 
 fortunate enough to meet with a severe accident. 
 Following Mr. Garrick's sedan-chair in his own, on 
 his way to a supper at Dr. Goldsmith's, the chairman, 
 trying to get out of the way of some falling tiles, 
 gave the sedan such a jerk that the doctor's head 
 was dashed against the roof. He sustained a con- 
 cussion of the brain, and his life was in danger. 
 Foote was good-natured, and forbore his purpose. 
 Some others whom he had intended for his pieces 
 he let off, having learned that they were in 
 affliction. 
 
 Foote's sarcastic humour was shown in his answer 
 
CH. xix] FOOTE'S COMEDIES 299 
 
 to his old friend Wilkinson's free-and-easy announce- 
 ment that he had surreptitiously got a copy of " The 
 Devil upon Two Sticks," and was playing it all round 
 the country. "After having committed the fault," 
 he says, " and well knowing he would quickly hear 
 of my offence, I, by way of preventing his anger, 
 informed him of my invasion on his property, think- 
 ing he would construe it as a very good joke ; but 
 on the contrary he was really irritated, and by return 
 of post favoured me with the few following whimsical 
 lines ": 
 
 Foote to Wilkinson. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 "Your favour brought me the first account 
 of ' The Devil upon Two Sticks ' having been played 
 upon your stage. Your letter has delivered me from 
 every difficulty, and will procure me the pleasure 
 of soon seeing you in town, as I shall most certainly 
 move the Court of King's Bench against you on the 
 first day of term," etc. 
 
 This mixture of threat and pleasant good-humour 
 was in his happiest vein. 
 
 Another doctor introduced by Foote into his play 
 was Dr. Fordyce, the eccentric Quaker physician. 
 He figures in "The Devil on Two Sticks" as 
 Dr. Melchisedech Broadbrim. He used to, prescribe 
 with his hat on (and it was a hat of the most tre- 
 mendous size ever seen), and was a taU, stiff personage, 
 always using the dialect of his sect. His conversation 
 consisted of a number of sentences spoken with an 
 almost solemn conciseness and importance. 
 
 Having completed this review of these gay, 
 buoyant, and truly witty pieces, which supplied 
 
300 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xix 
 
 " laughter holding both his sides," we turn despond- 
 ingly to the present general dearth of talent, humour, 
 fun, knowledge of character, and power of entertain- 
 ment. The stage is now the last place where you 
 can look for wit or humour ; indeed, the ear may be 
 turned in any direction, and fail to catch a single lively 
 utterance. Humour, frolic, fun, are at the lowest 
 standard. It has come to such a pass that genuine 
 humour is hardly understood. Irony is taken liter- 
 ally ; a double meaning is too much ; and were Judge 
 Maule to give his immortal homUy to a bigamist 
 nowadays, he would be set down as mad. The great 
 defect of our dramatists is their profound ignorance 
 of character and of human nature. Writing plays 
 now consists in writing dialogues for recitation, but no 
 one considers, or is capable of considering, whether 
 these show appropriateness or fitness for the situation 
 and character. People only talk, in short. Could 
 any dramatic author of our day write, for instance, 
 such a set of speeches as are uttered by John Thorpe 
 in Jane Austen's " Northanger Abbey "? And this 
 is because they have not learnt to play on those 
 difficult instruments, human characters and feelings. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 1769 
 THE STEATFOKD JUBILEE — "THE MAID OF BATH " 
 
 The great event of the year 1769 was the rather 
 childish festival of " the Jubilee," held at Stratford-on- 
 Avon. 
 
 The fitful animosity of Foote towards Garrick was 
 now to be exhibited with more than his usual ill-nature. 
 The pompous celebration at Stratford in honour of the 
 bard was really intended as a glorification of Garrick. 
 The Mayor and Corporation approached him with their 
 apocryphal mulberry-tree, and with many flatteries 
 persuaded him to undertake all the trouble and 
 risks of the business. All his personal friends were 
 invited down to hear him speak, but did not attend. 
 A few, however, came, and the weather was deplor- 
 able. Foote took the trouble of attending. He 
 cared little for the bard ; he came simply with the 
 one motive — that of plaguing Garrick. He could 
 not conceal his disgust at all the vanity and self- 
 advertisement displayed in the business. 
 
 How characteristic it was of his fitful feelings 
 towards Garrick, that he should have come down, 7iot 
 to help, but to annoy ! His companion was Murphy, 
 and the ill-natured pair went about prying into every- 
 thing, laughing at everything, and disheartening poor 
 Garrick as much as they could. Garrick at the time 
 
 301 
 
302 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 was suffering from all the mortifications of failure ; for 
 everything had gone wrong. The great company 
 expected did not attend, the weather was bad, and 
 on the important night an inundation broke in and 
 deluged the theatre. But Foote did not succeed in 
 ruffling the actor's sweet temper, or in making him 
 depart from his rule of restraint. Here, indeed, he 
 showed that he well deserved " Goldy's " exquisite 
 compliment — " an abridgment of all that was pleasant 
 in man." 
 
 In pursuance of his laudable intention, Foote went 
 about talking to everyone and cracking jokes on the 
 patron. Taking a walk by the Avon, he was recog- 
 nized by the crowd, whom he regaled with jokes and 
 remarks, producing peals of laughter. A great stout 
 man was passing by — an important personage covered 
 with gold lace — ^who paid his court to Foote, wishing 
 to be seen with so famous a wit. The latter at once, 
 as it used to be said, " smoked him." He accordingly 
 chaffed him good-humouredly, and finally asked him 
 jeeringly : " Had the county of Warwick the honour 
 of giving birth to him as well as to Shakespeare ?" 
 "No, sir," said the other ; " I come from Essex." 
 " And, pray, who drove you ?' said Foote. There was 
 a roar from the crowd. No flattering attention or 
 compliment could bind Foote. He " wiped his shoes " 
 on friends and foes indiscriminately. 
 
 Foote did not wait to see the close of the festivities, 
 and returned to town well primed with all the absurdi- 
 ties he had seen. The flatteries — which were indeed 
 abject enough — disgusted him. Garrick had to pay 
 all expenses, so he was in high favour with the town ; 
 but he had shrewdly arranged a plan for recouping 
 his outlay, which was to reproduce the whole show 
 at his theatre on the grandest possible scale — a scheme 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 303 
 
 which aggravated Foote even more than the rest. 
 "A Jubilee," he would say wittily enough, but ill- 
 naturedly, "as it has lately appeared, is a public 
 invitation circulated and arranged by puffing ; to go 
 posting without horses to an obscure borough with- 
 out representatives, governed by a Mayor and Alder- 
 men who are no magistrates ; to celebrate a great 
 poet whose works have made him immortal by an ode 
 without poetry, music without melody, dinners with- 
 out victuals, and lodgings without bed ; a masquerade 
 when half the people appeared barefaced, a horse-race 
 up to the knees in water, fireworks extinguished as soon 
 as they were lighted, and a gingerbread amphitheatre 
 which tumbled to pieces as soon as it was finished." 
 
 Garrick, however, managed to bring matters to a 
 successful close. It was " bold advertisement " for him- 
 self, for reports were given in all the newspapers. 
 It was said, as Cooke tells us, that Foote's jealousy 
 was roused afresh at this result, which he set to 
 work to impair by his ridicule. 
 
 The irrepressible Bozzy, however, was there. 
 One of his most fantastic performances was his 
 appearance and his various pranks. At the time his 
 head was overflowing with Paoli and Corsica, and 
 he did not pause to reflect that both the man and 
 his country had nothing to do with Shakespeare. 
 He went about dressed up as " an armed Corsican 
 carrying a musket." He had actually written a 
 prologue to be spoken at the opening of his 
 masquerade, "but was prevented by the crowd."* 
 
 * They began : 
 
 " From the rude banks of Golo's rapid flood, 
 Alas ! too deeply tinged with patriot blood." 
 
 I have seen a copy printed in quarto size by the famous Baskerville. 
 
304 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 " The celebrated friend of Paoli," as he called himseK, 
 had to be content with distributed copies of his verses 
 to all who woTild accept them. Writing an account 
 of his own doings for the Scots Magazine, he seems to 
 have quite lost his head : " My bosom glowed with 
 joy when I beheld so numerous and brilhant a 
 company of nobihty and gentry — the rich, the brave, 
 the witty, and the fair — assembled . . . but I could 
 have wished that prayers had been read or a short 
 sermon preached. It would have consecrated our 
 Jubilee, and begun it while gratefully addressing the 
 supreme Father of all spirits, from whom cometh 
 every good and perfect gift." He believed that, if 
 there had been any interruption when the ode was 
 being sung, the person " would have been in danger 
 of his life. I had a serene and solemn satisfaction 
 in contemplating the scene." 
 
 Garrick's " show " at Drury Lane was an immense 
 and profitable success ; all his leading performers had 
 to walk in the procession, even though they had 
 nothing to say. Several, hke Mrs. Siddons, strongly 
 objected. It " ran " for nearly a hundred nights. 
 Foote, thus further inflamed, continued his attacks. 
 He now began to circulate a story that he intended 
 to produce at his theatre a rival show in which the 
 characters should all be puppets. At suppers and 
 convivial gatherings he threw out hints of what he 
 intended to do with Garrick, who was to be made a 
 specially ridiculous figure — all which was torture to 
 that amiable man. " Will your puppets be the size 
 of life, Mr. Foote ?" he was then asked. " No, only 
 the size of Garrick," was the reply. This persecution 
 and animosity, tempered by good-humour, seemed 
 unique. In time it became a sort of " phobia," which 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 305 
 
 he could only lull to rest by making some gross attack 
 on his friend. 
 
 "His jealousy," says Cooke, "became so strong 
 that he intended to bring out a mock procession in 
 imitation of it, and introduce Garrick himself on the 
 stage as the principal figure. In this procession, a 
 man was to be dressed out so as to resemble Garrick 
 as much as possible, in the character of Steward of 
 the Jubilee, with his wand, white-topped gloves, and 
 the mulberry-tree medalUon of Shakespeare hanging 
 at his breast ; while some ragamuffin in the procession 
 should address him in the well-known lines of the 
 Jubilee poet-laureate : 
 
 " ' A nation's taste depends on you. 
 Perhaps a nation's virtue too ; ' 
 
 to which he was to make no other answer, but clap 
 his arms, like the wings of a cock, and crow out, 
 
 " ' Cock-a-doodle-doo ! ' 
 
 Garrick had early inteUigence of the scheme, which 
 gave him the most serious uneasiness, and even 
 torture of mind." Here was a comic notion indeed ! 
 " A masque was made that bore as near a resemblance 
 as possible to the countenance of Mr. Garrick, and 
 this he showed to aU his visitors. A pasteboard 
 figure of a body was prepared, to be joined to the 
 head ; a man was to be concealed under this strange 
 shell, who was every now and then to utter some- 
 thing which the author was to convey to him. But 
 so fond was Foote of his favourite Cock-a-doodle-do ! 
 that, as soon as the figure was introduced on the 
 stage, he was ordered to clap his sides and crow as 
 loud as the cock in 'Hamlet.' This mock representa- 
 tion of Mr. Garrick was talked of for a long time, 
 
 20 
 
306 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 though not announced in the newspapers. He 
 laboured to raise his fears and apprehensions, and at 
 the same time to create an appetite in the public for 
 so extraordinary a dish. That this project was after- 
 wards laid aside, it was generally supposed, was 
 owing to a sum of money which was borrowed, 
 never to be repaid, or perhaps to a gratification, the 
 accepting of which was still more dishonourable. 
 However, this is only conjecture. . . . 
 
 " Mr. Garrick returned all the ungenerous behaviour 
 of this eccentric genius towards him by a very dif- 
 ferent condupt. When there was some talk of 
 suppressing his puppet-show, on various pretences, he 
 exerted aU his interest in the author's favour ; and 
 still more, when he laboured under the worst of all 
 accusations, he did not desert him ; he considered the 
 whole as others did, and as the Judge and jury after- 
 wards determined it, an infamous falsehood, and a 
 base conspiracy to ruin him." 
 
 "Foote's necessities," Davies tells us, "were brought 
 on by a ridiculous parade of splendid living, by keep- 
 ing a number of useless servants, and by treating with 
 magnificent dinners those who laughed at his satire and 
 won his money at cards ; for he was a great dupe at 
 play, which reduced him to the humiliating situation 
 of borrowing money of the man whom he intended to 
 expose to public ridicule. . . . He was at no pains to 
 conceal his design of bringing his ' friend ' on his 
 stage in some burlesque shape. Garrick, however, 
 had early intelligence of the whole scheme. The un- 
 easiness he felt upon the occasion could not be 
 dissembled ; he dreaded public ridicule as the worst 
 of all misfortunes, and apprehended the ruin of that 
 great reputation which he had been raising so many 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 307 
 
 years. To resent an affront personally to a man with 
 a wooden leg would only have exposed him to 
 laughter. 
 
 " It was pleasant enough, during the suspension of 
 hostilities, to see them meet on a visit at a nobleman's 
 door, alighting from their chariots. Significant looks 
 were exchanged before they spoke. Mr. Garrick 
 broke silence first : ' What is it, war or peace ?' ' Oh, 
 peace, by all means,' said the other, with much 
 apparent glee ; and the day was spent in great seem- 
 ing cordiality. 
 
 " What put an end to this project I could never 
 learn, whether a well-timed gratification or Garrick's 
 threats of serving him in kind. But of this last I 
 never heard the least hint, though I am well persuaded 
 that such a menace might probably have had its 
 efiect ; for no man was so great a bully as Foote, ndr 
 was any man more timorous. At the time when he 
 was dealing out his scandal at the Haymarket, and 
 levelling all characters for his private emolument, he 
 was heard to declare, in a kind of agony, that he was 
 afraid to take a newspaper in his hand, for fear of 
 reading some outrageous abuse against himself or his 
 friends. . . . Still, the thought of ridiculing Garrick 
 on the stage was a morsel too delicious to resign. At 
 the very time when the mind of Mr. Garrick was 
 disturbed by a scandalous and false insinuation, which 
 the author of it publicly and solemnly afterwards dis- 
 avowed, Mr. Foote made a ridiculous pretence that 
 Mr. Garrick kept his playhouse open purposely to 
 distress him, by acting several of his most favourite 
 characters, and by these means drawing all the play- 
 going people to Drury Lane." 
 
 Foote was loud and free with these semi-jocose 
 
 20—2 
 
308 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 menaces of exhibiting his friend, talking everywhere 
 of the puppet he was having prepared. Thus in- 
 geniously tortured, agonized, and "perplex'd in th' 
 extreme," it was not surprising that the great actor 
 gave way, and said one day publicly that it was not 
 very handsome to treat him in this way, considering 
 that not long before he had lent Mr. Foote some £500. 
 This was presently reported to Fopte, who was stung 
 to fury. He disdained to be under any such obhga- 
 tion, and, going among his friends, succeeded in 
 borrowing the sum, which he triumphantly repaid. 
 This transaction, which must have inconvenienced 
 him, further inflamed their relations. Davies describes 
 this state of armed neutrality vivaciously enough. 
 
 Foote was faithless to his friend. When later 
 on he came to set forth his puppet-show, he could 
 not resist the temptation. It has been said that he 
 exhibited him as a manager in treaty with Punch's 
 wife, giving the actor's exact manner and pecuUar 
 tones, so that aU could recognize him in an instant. 
 This was as disloyal as it was impolitic, for Garrick, 
 with his high reputation, was on a pinnacle, and 
 respected by all. 
 
 About this time Foote went once more to Dublin, 
 where he was assiduously patronized by the Viceroy, 
 Lord Townshend, who attended his theatre and con- 
 stantly invited him, treating him as an intimate 
 friend. He was now immensely popular among the 
 Irish nobility and gentry, was asked everywhere, and 
 kept the tables in a roar by his never- flagging humour 
 and boisterous spirits. The Irish always relished his 
 brusque, even coarse, personalities, while to the last 
 he always enjoyed himself among them. 
 
 " His Excellency not only commanded his comedy, 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 309 
 
 several times during the winter, but invited the 
 facetious author to Court, where by his wit and 
 sprightly conversation he ingratiated himself so much 
 with the Irish nobility and gentry (those legitimate 
 sons of gaiety and good-humour), that he soon became 
 as great an attraction at the Castle as at the theatre." 
 No wonder that Johnson called him incompressible ! 
 
 " Thus recovered in his finances, and further estab- 
 lished in his reputation, on his return to London in 
 the spring of 1769 he gave his muse a, fallow season. 
 One new piece, however, was produced at his theatre 
 in this year (written by the late Isaac Bickerstaif), 
 called ' Doctor Last in his Chariot,' as a kind of 
 sequel to ' The Devil upon Two Sticks.' . . . This 
 little entertainment, though it owned the same father 
 as ' Love in a Village,' and was ushered in by a very 
 humorous prologue, written by Garrick and spoken 
 by Fo6te, was very nearly damned the first night ; 
 but by alterations and the support of friends it 
 dragged on its feeble existence to the ninth, ' and 
 then was heard no more.' The general business of 
 the theatre, however, succeeded, and as the manager 
 had more time than usual upon his hands, he enjoyed 
 the otium cum dignitate at North End upon an 
 enlarged scale, holding out the strongest excitements 
 to good society, entertainment for both mind and 
 body." 
 
 From Dublin he wrote to his now old friend one of 
 the most buoyant and brilliant of his letters, describing 
 his escape from a terrible death by burning. Anyone 
 unacquainted with Foote's life and character, and 
 coming upon this paper, would exclaim, "Here 
 indeed is a man of lively parts !" 
 
310 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 Foote to Garrick. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 Had it not been for the coolness and resolution 
 of my old friend, and your great admirer, Jewel, your 
 humble servant would last night have been reduced 
 to ashes by reading in bed, that cursed custom ! The 
 candles set fire to the curtains, and the bed was 
 instantly set in a blaze. He rushed in, hauled me out 
 of the room, tore down and trampled the paper and 
 curtains, and so extinguished the flames. The bed 
 was burnt, and poor Jewel's hands most miserably 
 scorched. So you see, my dear sir, no man can 
 foresee the great ends for which he was born. 
 Macklin, though a blockhead in his manhood and 
 youth, turns out a wit and a writer on the brink of 
 the grave ; and Foote, never very remarkable for his 
 personal graces, in the decUne of his life was very near 
 becoming a toast. 
 
 " I never saw the Monitor you allude to. It is a 
 paper stigmatized here for its virulence. However, 
 it has had no apparent effect upon the public, as it 
 would have been impossible for them to have paid 
 more attention to the nights I have played. 
 
 " Little Jephson, who owes his establishment on 
 this side the water to me, is (by being smuggled into 
 Parliament) become in his own idea a man of import- 
 ance. He has been delivered, in a senate frequent 
 and full, of a false conception or two, and is unani- 
 mously declared by his colleagues incapable of either 
 facundity or fecundity. 
 
 " The first tintie I met with my gentleman was 
 about a month after my landing, at the Parliament 
 House. He had fixed himself on the lowest bench 
 next the floor, his arms folded and legs across, the 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 311 
 
 right eye covered by his hat, and the left occasionally 
 thrown on me with an unmarking transitory glance. 
 However, the very polite attention paid to me by the 
 Speaker, the Duke of Leinster, Mr. Conolly, and, 
 indeed, all the men of consequence there, roused the 
 Captain's recollection. He approached with a cold 
 compUment, and dropped a scarce audible apology 
 for not having called at my door ; but public — a — a — 
 affairs had — a — so entirely engrossed him, that he had 
 
 really no leisure to — a — a — a I own I was ready 
 
 to laugh in his face ; but, recollecting a gravity equal 
 to his own, I applauded his zeal for the commonwealth : 
 begged that no consideration of me should for the 
 future divert his thoughts one moment from the cause 
 of his country : was afraid I had already taken up 
 too much of his time : made him a most profound 
 bow. And the Copper Captain in politics with great 
 gravity retired to his seat. I find he has been left by 
 Lord Townshend as a kind of incumbrance upon his 
 successors ; but I have some reason to believe that 
 they would be glad to get rid of the mortgage. He 
 has since the interview been very frequent and free 
 with my knocker, but the servants have received 
 proper instructions. 
 
 " I have often met here a Mr. Vesey, who tells me 
 that he belongs to a club with you and some other 
 gentlemen of eminent tg,lents. I could not conceive 
 upon what motive he had procured admittance ; but 
 1 find he is the Accomptant-General here, so I 
 suppose you have him to cast up the reckoning. 
 
 " I have not seen Alderman Fawkener. I thought 
 myself obliged to take some little notice of him in an 
 occasional prologue. The following is an original 
 letter of his : 
 
312 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 "To — Tickell, Esq. 
 
 " ' My most dear and esteemed Friend, 
 
 " ' Your concurring in opinion with me the last 
 day we spent so agreeably together, that it would be 
 prudent in me forthwith to call in my debits, hath 
 induced me to advertise you that I have commissioned 
 our common friend, Mr. Thomas Croaker, attomey- 
 at-law, to sue you to an outlawry for one hundred 
 pounds, as per bond, with aU possible speed. The 
 steady and firm friendship we have ever maintained, 
 and the great esteem and respect I entertain for the 
 valuable memory of your very worthy deceased and 
 ingenious father, Mr, Secretary TickeU, compels me 
 to send you this notice, being, my dearest friend, 
 
 " ' Your most faithful, affectionate, and obedient 
 " ' Humble servant till death, 
 
 " ' George Fawkener.' 
 
 " I sincerely rejoice in your success, and feel no 
 compassion for Macklin, Kenrick, Covent Garden, 
 nor that little Dot, its dirty director. At this season 
 the winds are so variable that I may possibly see you 
 before you can acquaint me with this reaching your 
 hands. You may assure Mrs. Garrick that flattering 
 is not one of my failings, and that she has the merit 
 of making me constant and uniform in perhaps the 
 only part of my life — my esteem and veneration for 
 her. Adieu, my dear sir. A good night, and God 
 bless you. Take care of the candle. 
 
 " Samuel Foote." 
 
 The faithful Jewel clearly saved his life and ran 
 great risk ; but the thoughtless Foote took it aU as a 
 
CH. XX] THE STRATFORD JUBILEE 313 
 
 matter of course, nor did " he take care of him " in 
 his will. Yet it is tribute to Foote that his honest 
 dependent was faithful to the last, brought his 
 remains to London and set up a memorial to him. 
 
 Foote to Tate Wilkinson. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I am much obliged to you for the offer of 
 your assistance in the town of Newcastle, but the 
 newspapers have laid out a plan for riie that never 
 occurred to myself. 
 
 "Your old friend D e has not only lost his 
 
 situation with me and Colman, but is on the brink of 
 losing his nose ; so that his head and his tail have 
 brought him into a pretty condition. 
 
 " I hope the Northern crown sits lightly on your 
 brow, and that your immediate subjects are not only 
 dutiful and observant, but that your whole wide- 
 extended empire pay their taxes largely and cheer- 
 fully. I have this summer entertained the veteran 
 Sheridan, who is dwindled to a mere cock-and-bottle 
 Chelsea pensioner. He has enlisted some new 
 recruits, unfit for service, and such as might be ex- 
 pected to issue from his discipline. 
 
 " I should be glad to chop upon you in my way to 
 Edinburgh, for which place I shall set out about the 
 middle of October. 
 
 " Ross is with me, ill and indolent ; but, however, 
 thanks to my own industry, the campaign has been 
 happy enough. 
 
 " Believe me, most sincerely yours, 
 "Sam. Foote. 
 
 " North End, 
 " August 16." 
 
314 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 One of Foote's most daring efforts in personality 
 was to be exhibited in his play " The Maid of Bath," 
 produced in 1771. All know the romantic story of 
 the young and brUHant Sheridan, and his pursuit of 
 the attractive Miss Linley — how she was all but 
 driven into marriage with an ancient admirer named 
 Long, how she eloped to France with her lover and 
 was happily married. Moore told the tale in a 
 rather confused fashion, and fell into some serious 
 mistakes,* 
 
 As may be imagined, in such a place as Bath the 
 adventure became a subject of absorbing interest. 
 Every lady was on the side of the enchanting 
 songster and her lover. Foote, who was often in that 
 gay city, seems also to have become a partisan ; but 
 the family could scarcely have anticipated that their 
 whole story should be transferred with literal accuracy 
 to his stage in a farcical comedy. 
 
 There was exhibited the Bear Inn, Miss Linnet — 
 that is. Miss Linley — old Flint — Mr. Long (played 
 by Foote himself) — and Major Rackett, a loose 
 admirer of Miss Linley's, obviously intended for 
 Major Matthews. He ushered in the piece with a 
 gross attack on old Mr. Long : 
 
 " Tally-ho ! a rank old fox we now pursue, 
 So strong the scent you'll run him full in view. 
 If me can kill such brutes in human shape, 
 Let's fright 'em, that your chickens may escape." 
 
 Foote describes a plot contrived by friends of the 
 young girl in order to frighten the old man out of his 
 design. They warn him of various dangers that he will 
 be made a victim of The marriage was fixed for the 
 
 * See the author's " Lives of the Sheridans," where the whole 
 story is told at length. 
 
CH. xx] « THE MAID OF BATH " 315 
 
 morrow. He flies to the young woman, and declares 
 that he will not complete his contract unless she comes 
 at once with him to his lodging, and takes up her abode 
 with him for that night ; but on the next morning he 
 solemnly engaged to go to the Abbey with her. 
 This amazing proposition seems to have been suggested 
 by his terror that the family would not release him, 
 but after such a proposal he felt certain they must do 
 so. It seems hkely that something of the kind may 
 have occurred ; otherwise Foote would not have dared 
 to make so libellous an imputation. He is at last 
 frightened off, and all ends happily. 
 
 Moore's tenderly romantic account is truly absurd 
 when set beside the real story. He wished to put 
 everything in a poet's point of view, so as to make 
 it agreeable to aU parties. His story is that the 
 ancient Mr. Long proved the reality of his attach- 
 ment to her in a way which few young lovers would 
 be romantic enough to imitate. On her secretly 
 representing to him that she could never be happy as 
 his wife, he generously took upon himself the whole 
 blame of breaking off the engagement, even to 
 the indemnifying the father, who was proceeding 
 to bring him into court, by settling £3,000 upon 
 his daughter. He also tells us that " Sheridan 
 spoke invariably of Mr. Long, who lived to a very 
 advanced age, with all the kindness and respect which 
 such a disinterested character merited."* 
 
 The comedy was produced at the little Haymarket 
 in June 1771, and, to add point to his ridicule of 
 the unhappy Bath gentleman, Foote himself under- 
 
 * I recall Mr. Carlyle, at a dinner-party, chuckling contemp- 
 tuously when Moore was talked of. " Ah, the puir little Tammy 
 Moore !" he repeated several times. 
 
316 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xx 
 
 took the character, and, we may be sure, made him a 
 perfect picture of a miser. And when they are trying 
 to make old Flint behave handsomely to the young 
 lady, using threats of law, the Scotch lady at last tells 
 him : " Gad's wuU, it sha' cam to the proof Ye 
 mun ken, guid folk, at Edinburgh laist winter I got 
 acquainted with Maister Foote, the play-actor. I 
 wuU get him to bring the filthy loon on the stage." 
 " And expose him to the contempt of the world," says 
 another. But old Flint is unmoved. " Ay, he may 
 write, you may rail, and the people may hiss, and 
 what care I ?" 
 
 It will be noted that he introduced the notorious 
 Major Matthews as a jovial viveur, treating him in 
 quite a friendly spirit. He shows him as a gay dog, 
 asking after "my little flame, la beUe Rossignole," 
 though at the close he makes Miss Linnet decline his 
 offer of marriage. At this time, however, Matthews 
 had not begun his violent persecution of the lady. 
 
 In his epilogue he boasts that aU was true and 
 drawn from life, notably the Knight, the Scotch Lady, 
 the Captain, and the Monster, as he calls Fhnt. We 
 may wonder how he could have found anything 
 dramatic in such an incident, and how the Linley 
 family could have rehshed their daughter and her 
 story being put upon the stage. But they were pro- 
 fessionals, and, of course, well accustomed to the 
 boards. And they were practical people. They were all 
 on the boards, as it were — Miss Linley at the concert, 
 her father a pubhc musician, conductor, composer, etc. 
 Bath itself was a huge stage. So we may fairly con- 
 clude that they were not altogether displeased at being 
 brought so conspicuously before the London public. 
 So Miss Linnet prattled away, and sang her songs. 
 
CH. XX] " THE MAID OF BATH " 317 
 
 Old Flint had brought down a special parson to 
 marry him, who was a politician and a flaming 
 patriot. This was meant for Home Tooke. Mr. 
 Forster, who, through Rogers and others, was in touch 
 with men of those days, says most truly that on 
 the face of it Moore's complimentary account of old 
 Long was simply ridiculous, and that it was well 
 known that it was Foote's satire that brought the 
 old curmudgeon to terms. At the same time, as 
 some of the Linley family were alive at the time, 
 Moore might have expected that there would be a 
 contradiction. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PUPPET-SHOWS 
 
 The years that followed were almost uneventful, 
 and offered scarcely anything of that obstreperous 
 adventure which distinguished the early portion of 
 Foote's life. He was now rangi, growing older, and not 
 only manager, actor, and actor-manager, but proprietor. 
 He could take his stand beside Garrick and the 
 patent theatres. He was assured of an independence 
 for the future. And yet it seemed as though now 
 his troubles were about to begin. The sense of 
 struggle was over. Yet he was comparatively young 
 — about forty-six. Perhaps the town, as it so often 
 does, was beginning to tire of him and of his 
 mimicries. Thirty years makes a long theatrical 
 career, and many prudent performers of the first 
 rank have withdrawn before the public has with- 
 drawn from them.* The one who lags inglorious on 
 the stage after the fitting moment for departure has 
 come will in due course receive many a rude hint 
 that he had best be gone. Foote, too, had been for 
 long years literally piling up animosities and enmities 
 
 * The most piteous instance was that of the gifted, always 
 interesting Irving, who was compelled, as it were, to go on 
 drudging, though in failing health, to the very end, and at the close 
 found he had his fortune still to make. 
 
 318 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 319 
 
 with which he would have to reckon sooner or later. 
 Again, there can be no doubt that the disability of 
 his lost limb was a serious impediment. The many- 
 headed crowd looks on such deficiency as a sort of 
 tacit offence, akin to that of the vulgar dislike of a 
 stranger (" Let's 'eave 'arf a brick at 'im !"). To find 
 a person, whom you have paid your money to see, 
 hobbUng about the stage, excited a sort of pitjdng 
 contempt. They wanted something new in the way 
 of mimicries, not the old "business," which they 
 knew by heart, brought out over and over again.* 
 The only thing left for him was to "pepper" still 
 higher, for if he did so he was surest to please ; and 
 this was his ruin. 
 
 Foote made a great deal of money, but spent it 
 lavishly. As was said of him, a "paying and a 
 receiving pocket " was his notion of accounts. He 
 had a handsome house in the country at North End, 
 another in Suffolk Street, kept his carriage and 
 entertained in the best style, drank and gambled. 
 With aU this he was a hard worker, and constantly 
 wrote, acted, travelled. There came seasons, there- 
 fore, when he was completely au sec, and had not 
 a penny left. The stage fashions the most improvi- 
 dent creatures in the world, for there is always the 
 fairy-tale notion of an Aladdin's lamp waiting only 
 to be rubbed at the mystic seven or eight o'clock, 
 when gold cash comes pouring into the purse. 
 
 * Here again we think of poor Irving, who felt that he had 
 exhausted the old stock of attractions, and strove hard to find 
 something fresh and new. The experiments he made in this direc- 
 tion were all to prove disastrous. It is a curious thing in stage life 
 that such shifts and changes cannot be made. The actor must be 
 as he is — Sint ut sunt out mm sini. 
 
320 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 Foote to Tate Wilkinson {undated). 
 
 " Dear Sir, — If I had not a pretty shrewd knack 
 at guessing, it would not be quite so easy a matter 
 to answer your favour from Hull. 
 
 " You desire to know if I had commissioned 
 Giordini to give a particular sum (but whether to 
 a horse, a man, or a woman does not appear) for this 
 or the next summer. 
 
 " Your old friend Shuter is locked up in the play- 
 house, and is soliciting a letter of hcence from his 
 creditors, in which number I find Jewel is included 
 for ten guineas borrowed during the last season. 
 Fie upon him ! I am glad to hear that your affairs 
 prosper. I have a piece of three acts, not my own, 
 which I shall give in the month of May, called 
 ' The Tailors.' The subject is a rich one — the dis- 
 pute between the masters and the journeymen of that 
 respectable profession — and I think the author has 
 done it exquisite justice. It is a parody of the best 
 passages in the most favourite plays conveyed with 
 great gravity in blank-verse. I think you wiU appear 
 in it to advantage, and I shall be glad of your 
 assistance. I cannot say I am quite so well as I had 
 reason to expect : I thought myself obliged to give 
 Barry a lift two critical nights, which injured me 
 extremely ; but I am now better, and, except the 
 trifle of a leg, as much yours as ever, 
 
 "Sam. Foote. 
 
 " November 3," 
 
 About this time an Italian show, known as the 
 fantoccini, or puppets, was brought to London, and 
 exhibited at a house in Panton Street. Everyone 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 321 
 
 knows Bos well's story of Goldsmith's amusing jealousy 
 of these figures. His friend Cradock, who was with 
 him, gives a more sober account, and tells how the 
 poet's admiration was excited by the clever mechanism 
 displayed. At the best it is always a monotonous 
 sort of exhibition after the first surprise ; though we 
 cannot forget Boz's delight and wonder at the per- 
 formance, when he saw it for the first time in Italy. 
 
 Panton Street is close behind the little Haymarket 
 Theatre, and Foote, ever " up-to-date," was struck 
 by the capabilities of the show and the curious 
 intelligence of the figures. What if he were to 
 superadd to his living personalities a complete copy 
 of the actual faces and figures of the persons ridiculed ! 
 The general stiffness and absurd gravity of the puppets 
 would be an additional comic element. Besides, as 
 no amount of stage resource or " making-up " of a 
 human face could secure a perfect likeness, say of 
 Garrick, these puppet faces, as he fancied it, could 
 be made to resemble the originals in the most exact 
 way. But this may be doubted. With his usual 
 impulsiveness, he lost no time, and seriously set 
 about having a puppet-show himself, writing a 
 piece specially. 
 
 And this mania beset him for a long time. It is 
 difficult to know exactly what was the mechanism 
 of these puppets. Davies, as we have seen, speaks 
 of a hollow shell with a mask, an actor being con- 
 cealed within, or the figure might have been with 
 strings. It seems clear, however, that they were of 
 life size, to give the satirist better opportunity for 
 his mimicries. There can, however, be no doubt that 
 the whole scheme was suggested by the exhibition 
 at the Jubilee, some three or four years before, and 
 
 21 
 
322 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 that he had now a sort of restless craving to ridicule 
 two men of great note and importance, and so cause 
 a prodigious sensation. These were his old friend 
 Garrick and the great Caliban of letters, Dr. Johnson. 
 Accordingly, he now prepared a special piece, in 
 which was to be set forth these new devices. The 
 entertainment was described as " The Primitive 
 Puppet-Show," and the play was named " The Hand- 
 some Housemaid, or Piety in Pattens." 
 
 But this trivial "show" was to have a sort of 
 interest, and Johnsonian admirers — of whom there 
 are now growing legions — were to owe to it one of 
 the most admirable and dramatic exhibitions of their 
 grand hero. We have followed the Doctor's curious 
 mixture of feeling as to Foote — of contempt and 
 admiration commingled — which he made no effort 
 to conceal. His loud-voiced condemnation was no 
 doubt repeated to Foote, whom it was calculated to 
 mortify and inflame ; but I have little doubt that the 
 causa causans of his new project was an incident of 
 the most irritating kind which had occurred not long 
 before, and which rankled. We find it in a scene drawn 
 by "Bozzy" in his finest vein of comedy, showing 
 admirable touchings of character. Into this scene, 
 to add a flavour, the writer imported his own petty 
 maUce. It is presented with a Zoffany-like brilliancy. 
 The story, to a certainty, was told everywhere. 
 
 " When Mr. Foote was in Edinburgh," BosweU 
 tells us — which appears to have been about 1770 — 
 "he thought fit to entertain a numerous company 
 with a great deal of coarse jocularity at the expense 
 of Mr. Johnson, imagining it would be acceptable. I 
 felt this as not civil to me, but sat very patiently tiU 
 he had exhausted his merriment on that subject ; and 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 323 
 
 then observed that surely Johnson must be allowed 
 to have some sterling wit, and that I had heard him 
 say a very good thing of Mr. Foote himself. ' Ah, 
 my old friend Sam !' cried Foote ; ' no man says better 
 things ; do let us have it.' Upon which I told the 
 story, which produced a long, loud laugh from the 
 company." Here was a shrewd, clever trap. But 
 how admirably has Bozzy brought the scene before 
 us ! And what was the story he repeated to the 
 Scotch company ? 
 
 " Pray, sir," asked Boswell, " is not Foote an 
 infidel ?" " Johnson. I do not know that the fellow 
 is an infidel ; but if he be an infidel, he is an infidel 
 as a dog is an infidel — that is to say, he has never 
 thought upon the subject. Boswell. I suppose, sir, 
 he has thought superficially, and seized the first notions 
 that occurred to his mind. Johnson. Why then, sir, 
 he is still like a dog, that snatches the piece next 
 him." The company roared. The overthrow of the 
 mimic was complete. " But I never saw Foote 
 so disconcerted. He looked grave and angry, and 
 entered into a serious refutation of the justice of the 
 remark. ' What, sir !' said he, ' talk thus of a man 
 of Uberal education — a man who for years was at the 
 University of Oxford — a man who has added sixteen 
 new characters to the English drama of his country.' " 
 And how amusing is this sudden sensitiveness in one 
 • who spared nobody, and who would have scoffed at 
 the plea of someone having been years at a University 
 or of having written important plays I He never could 
 have forgiven Bozzy for this exposure. One cannot 
 but admire the spiteful cleverness with which Bozzy 
 treated his friend, and also the dramatic fashion in 
 which he tells the story. 
 
 21—2 
 
324 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 Foote had vast plans on hand, and meditated 
 flying at high game to add to the attraction. There 
 can be little doubt but that after the scene at Edin- 
 burgh the idea of bringing Johnson on the stage 
 occurred to him. He was not likely to forget or 
 forgive this quasi-public mortification. Even much 
 more likely was he to " pay off Master Boswell," who 
 had caused the mischief. Johnson would of course 
 be shown attended by his faithful henchman, and be 
 arrayed grotesquely but faithfully. The effect would 
 have been highly diverting, for the intimacy between 
 the pair was well known. He was tempted also to 
 cast longing eyes on the Doctor's odd, eccentric figure 
 and grotesque ways. Who was known so weU to the 
 public ? Whose sayings so circulated ? Of whom were 
 told such quaint stories ? And yet he long hesitated, 
 for he had an instinct that " my old friend Sam " was 
 a dangerous person to play such tricks with. He was 
 not likely to suffer tortures and wince in silence. 
 Still, Foote had tried it on with many who were quite 
 as doughty, and without iU results. Long tempted, 
 he at last made up his mind. His show was flagging ; 
 he had exhausted his existing models ; the Doctor 
 would be a great draw. 
 
 He proposed to introduce a wooden figure fashioned 
 like Johnson, while he himself, behind, was to provide 
 an imitation of his talk. It is not so well known that 
 another wooden figure was to represent Goldsmith, 
 who was very nervous about the matter. The news 
 soon travelled to Johnson. He explained later that 
 on the night he would take his seat in the boxes, and, 
 on the first personality being uttered, would leap down 
 on the stage and thrash the actor. This everyone 
 knew he would have done. The wary Davies took 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 325 
 
 care to have the news sent round, and the actor dis- 
 creetly dropped the whole project. The gallant old 
 fellow never behaved with finer spirit. And, indeed, 
 if the helpless creatures who were Foote's victims had 
 stood up to him in the same fashion, the popular 
 exhibits would have collapsed, and Foote and his 
 " show " have been extinguished 
 
 Yet for this attempt the sage bore the actor no 
 malice. He dismissed the whole good-humouredly, 
 and continued to praise Foote as before. He could 
 afford to be indulgent, and was too dignified to resent. 
 Still, admirers of this great man may secretly lament 
 that the incident did not come off. What a scene it 
 would have been I 
 
 The first night was fixed for June 11, 1777. There 
 was what is called " a full bill." The solid attraction 
 was " The Merchant of Venice," with a rising actor, 
 Henderson, as Shylock, and Miss Barsanti, an 
 intimate of the Burneys, and whom they had no 
 doubt come to see, as Portia. Henderson had some 
 time before been brought to Foote with a view to 
 showing off his powers, but Foote had received him 
 rather cavalierly. Though he had his jest, he still 
 engaged him. 
 
 The piece was specially written for Mrs. Jewel, 
 wife of the treasurer. Foote was the Squire ; the 
 Butler, Weston. The piece was announced as 
 " Morning Theatricals " — an early instance of the 
 matinee. 
 
 It so happened that there was a pleasant theatrical 
 party of that delightful family the Burneys present. 
 Garrick was also there, and in his highest spirits, 
 making jokes, etc. Someone, who had climbed over 
 the box partition to reach him, asked his opinion of 
 
326 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 " this imitation of Shylock." " Oh, sir," he answered, 
 "I am no judge." There was a dance of twelve 
 children, etc., on which he proposed to one of the 
 young ladies that they should go down and join them. 
 The good-natured Garrick, however, seemed to enjoy 
 the play, and laughed " as much as he could have 
 done at the most excellent piece in the world. Indeed, 
 as Fanny said on another occasion, " it was bad enough 
 to be good." His brother George and his family 
 were also present, and David introduced them to the 
 Burneys.* 
 
 The story was comical enough, and a rather happy 
 satire on the sentimental crazes of the day. There 
 was a handsome maid, who is pursued by her master, 
 much like Pamela in Richardson's story. Thomas, 
 the good butler, who loves her honourably, warns 
 her solemnly that, " if she once loses her virtue, she 
 will have no pretensions to chastity." The master, 
 struck with her nobility, then seriously oflFers to marry 
 her. The heroine desires that the good Thomas be 
 called in to hear her decision. The good Thomas 
 appears, when she announces that she had decided to 
 marry him, because he had given her such excellent 
 advice ! The master, now completely overpowered, 
 gives his consent. It might have been expected that 
 aU would now end happily, but we have stiU to 
 reckon with the high-minded heroine. Affected by 
 her master's behaviour, she now announces that her 
 determination is to marry neither — that out of 
 gratitude for such condescension she will remain 
 
 * It does seem, though it is not very distinctly stated, that a 
 sort of " adumbration " of Garrick was actually attempted on this 
 occasion. If so, Garrick's presence would have lent a piquancy to 
 the situation. 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 327 
 
 single for ever, giving as her reason " that she loves 
 them both." As a bit of burlesque this is not at 
 all bad. 
 
 The piece was actually played with puppets of 
 large size, "with the usual contrivances for the 
 speeches," and they were well-dressed puppets. 
 What these " contrivances for the speeches " were 
 we can only speculate. 
 
 In the February number of the London Magazine 
 for 1773, we find another account of the performance: 
 "It was a comedy written in the modern taste without 
 a smile or laugh from beginning to end. He almost 
 kept his word. It was a keen satire on the drowsy 
 scenes of the modern comedies, with the insipid 
 dialogue which Kelly, Cumberland, Griffiths, Bicker- 
 stafF, and the rest of the sentiment-mongers, have 
 written." The entertainment was in three grand 
 divisions — the oration, the comedy, and the scene 
 with Punch. The opening was a sort of discourse by 
 Foote himself, in which he traced the course of this 
 form of show. In the second portion, the Handsome 
 Housemaid was a parody on the favourite plays of the 
 day. It is impossible to conceive of a so-called 
 burlesque starting with a long homily, hke a sermon, 
 protracted, as it must have been, for half an hour, 
 Mr. Foote standing in the middle and talking on 
 after his fashion. 
 
 An audience would not discover much wit or 
 humour in " The Handsome Housemaid," for his 
 brother critics had aU agreed it was highly improper, 
 and beneath the dignity of a mixed assembly, to show 
 any signs of a joyful satisfaction ; creating a laugh 
 was forcing the higher order of an audience to a 
 vulgar and mean use of their faculties. There 
 
328 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 is wit and satire here, and the critic must be struck 
 with the rather refined choice of words and pleasantry 
 of the style. 
 
 A more minute account of the plot — such as it was 
 — may be interesting. The curtain rose, and a figure, 
 admirably well made and dressed, was discovered 
 bowing profoundly to the audience. After a prologue 
 the story begins, the characters all being sustained by 
 the puppets. A constable then arrests all the puppets, 
 who are brought before a magistrate. As usual, 
 counsel are introduced, to be made ridiculous by 
 making absurd arguments. It was argued that the 
 puppets could not be whipped or imprisoned. What, 
 then, was to be done with Foote ? Counsel urged 
 that he should be sent to the House of Correction, as 
 he is surely no puppet. This was disputed, as there 
 was certainly a fourth part of him puppet, his left 
 leg being composed of the same material as his 
 figures. If he committed any crime, the puppet 
 portion might bring an action for damages ; or if he 
 be committed as a puppet, the body may sue for false 
 imprisonment. It is then decided to wait tiU they 
 either catch his leg without his body, or his body 
 without his leg. All which is amusing if undignified 
 fooling. There was also a good deal of ridicule of 
 sentiment, but this was received coldly. The audience 
 gradually grew displeased ; the whole was too short. 
 Apologies were made and accepted, but the galleries 
 tore up a bench or two, and the pit broke into the 
 orchestra. A great dispute and clamour arose as to 
 the announcement of the repetition of the piece ; it 
 was settled by a show of hands, three to one being in 
 its favour. Punch and his Wife and Ben the Sailor 
 were also in the bill, but they were not exhibited. 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 329 
 
 The figures were nearly as large as life, and con- 
 structed with admirable skill, all exceedingly well 
 dressed, their actions managed with great adroitness, 
 and their features made striking and expressive. For 
 the next performance, on March 6, many alterations 
 were made. Two new songs were introduced. Punch 
 attacked Foote : " He was too fond of a fee himself 
 to give me one." 
 
 In one of his occasional monologues, Foote speaks 
 of reversing the whole process by making living 
 actors play the puppets — that is, we may suppose, 
 imitate their jerky motions. This, however, may 
 have been merely a sarcastic stroke at the expense of 
 the performers. 
 
 A puppet was sent on shaped to imitate that 
 admirable actress, Mrs. Yates. She was supposed to 
 regret that, if wooden actresses were once admitted, 
 there would be no call for her services, on which 
 Foote teUs her that, as she can put on a melancholy 
 face now and then, she would do well at Whitefield's 
 Tabernacle. Cradock and Cumberland had just 
 supplied her with new pieces, and this Foote took 
 care to allude to, mentioning the gentlemen by their 
 names, as persons whose aid she might require. Later 
 on, they were indignant. As it happened, Foote came 
 full on Cradock next morning. He did not seem 
 daunted by the failure, though he looked disconcerted 
 at the meeting. He carried it oiF as usual. " You 
 are not affronted that I hinted at you last night?" 
 " Not in such good company, Mr. Foote ; but 1 hear 
 you rather burned your fingers." " Singed them a 
 little, perhaps ; but if we don't take liberties with our 
 friends, with whom can we take them ?" 
 
 Kelly, the popular singer, was also introduced, when 
 
330 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxt 
 
 a storm arose, and the piece was not allowed to go on. 
 Mr. Cradock, a fashionable amateur, with Cumber- 
 land and others, were treated in ridiculous fashion. 
 
 Foote was now to furnish forth the last of his 
 most buoyant and entertaining pieces, written with 
 all his old vigour. This was called " The Cozeners," 
 produced in 1774, full of a mordant satire, ridiculing 
 some gross abuses of the society of the time. It is 
 really Aristophanic in tone, and conceived in deadly 
 earnest. Some of Dickens's great stories have this 
 flavour and bitter power of chastisement. But apart 
 from this didactic element, the piece has two characters 
 at least fuU of an unbounded humour and originality. 
 
 Aircastle is a perfectly delightful character from its 
 buoyancy and original humour. When discussing 
 anything with his lady, he is certain to ramble off by 
 one step after the other, until he has strayed away 
 altogether from the topic — a most difficult thing to 
 present without monotony. Foote, however, manages 
 the topics with extraordinary spirit and overflowing 
 humour. Witness the following display : " Did I 
 not tell you what Parson PruneUo said ? I remember 
 Mrs. Lightfoot was by ; she had been brought to 
 bed, that day was a month, of a very fine boy — a 
 bad birth : for Dr. Seeton, who served his time with 
 Luke Lancet of Guise's, there was a talk about him 
 and Nancy, the daughter ; she afterwards married 
 Whitlow, another acquaintance, who had great ex- 
 pectations from an old uncle in the Grenadiers, but 
 he left all to a distant relation, a midshipman on the 
 Torbay — she was lost coming home, in the Channel ; 
 the captain was taken up by a coaster from Rye, 
 laden with cheese," and so on. Mrs. Aircastle calls out : 
 " Mercy on us, Mr. Aircastle ! at what a rate you run I 
 
CH. xxi] PUPPET-SHOWS 331 
 
 What has this to do with our coming to London ?" 
 Aircastle : " Why, I was going to tell you " 
 
 How natural is all this— the suggested topics 
 carrying him away with them in the most plausible 
 fashion ! We of course recall Mrs. Nickleby and 
 Miss Bates ; but her straggling talk is rather of the 
 author's own conception, not of the character's.* 
 
 " The Cozeners " was produced shortly after his 
 Irish tour. It was extraordinary how many topics, 
 abuses, etc., he contrived to deal with. He, as it 
 were, lashed out right and left — Dr. Dodd, who had 
 offered a bribe for a Hving, Charles Fox's match- 
 making, with some ridicule of Lord Chesterfield's 
 letters, which had recently appeared. The exciting 
 causes celebres of Mrs. Rudd and the Perreaus was 
 also absorbing the town, the lady's adventures 
 particularly. All these things represented certain 
 corrupt spots on the body politic, and Foote dealt 
 with them in masterly style. 
 
 The Aircastles are eager to marry their loutish son 
 to an heiress, and engage the services of an agent, 
 who undertakes to find for them a West Indian lady 
 of vast wealth. She has a black girl in her house, 
 who, she says, favours dark admirers, so the family 
 colour their boy's face. He is then introduced to a 
 darkened chamber where the girl is in bed, and can 
 only answer his questions with the monosyllable 
 "is" — i.e., yes. All this was flat enough, yet the 
 house roared, and came again and again to see it, 
 applying every touch to Charles Fox. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott in 1828 heard from a lady, whom 
 
 ■'■ Boz was partial to catchwords — e.g., " not to put too fine a 
 point upon it " — but he did not make them a note of his character ; 
 he simply repeated them. 
 
332 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 he considered well informed in the matter, a curious 
 story relating to Fox's association with Foote's play. 
 A Mrs. Phipps set up in a fashionable quarter, and 
 contrived to make it known that she had a mysterious 
 influence in securing offices and situations from the 
 great. One of her devices for spreading this belief 
 was by having the carriages of Lord North and other 
 important personages seen at her door. This was 
 eiFected by bribing the drivers. But a gentleman 
 who had watched actually saw Charles Fox go in. 
 When the imposture was discovered, Fox was asked 
 at Brooks's was the story true, and frankly told his 
 friends the whole. The woman held out hopes of a 
 great heiress, who, however, was never forthcoming. 
 When he pressed the matter, fresh excuses were made. 
 She at last confessed that her heiress was Jet black. 
 The town, it seems, came to know the story, and 
 crowds went to the theatre to see this incident alone.* 
 Perhaps the most wanton of Foote's many person- 
 alities was his introduction into this piece, in most 
 odious fashion, of a worthy and much -respected 
 Professor of Music. This was the celebrated com- 
 poser and genius. Dr. Arne, author of several famous 
 operas, and a most accomplished musician. Foote 
 represented him as a degraded client of the procuress. 
 His reputation was quite unsullied. But his oddities 
 had attracted Foote, with the strange 
 
 " Nose and chin to shame a knocker. 
 Wrinkles thiit would puzzle Cocker." 
 
 * Foote's minuteness in these exhibitions is extraordinary. He 
 brings in the incident of the carriages seen at the woman's door. 
 " Have you prevailed on the coachman ?" she asks. " He has 
 promised to parade before your house for an hour after his master 
 is set down at the cockpit." 
 
CH. XXI] PUPPET-SHOWS 333 
 
 When he was planning this scheme, he one day 
 saw in the street a common fellow who was the 
 image of the victim. He at once secured his aid, 
 and sent him on the stage " made up " exactly like 
 the doctor. He was mean enough to buy from the 
 doctor's valet an old cast-ofF suit of clothes. These 
 painstaking efforts show a sort of impish malevolence. 
 The poor Professor had no protection from these 
 outrages, and had to submit. 
 
 The Aircastles were shown as striving to mould their 
 Lumpkin boy on the Chesterfield model. Foote's 
 original design was to bring on the stage a father who 
 had tutored his son after this model, to show the 
 educated son as honest to all the world, but cheating his 
 own father. Dr. Johnson, criticizing this proj ect, highly 
 praised it, but would have preferred that the father 
 alone should suffer. Foote's design certainly seems 
 more subtle and dramatic. One may wonder whether, 
 if satire of this kind were to-day set before the crowd, 
 it would understand it. Even irony nowadays is 
 dangerous to use, as it is likely to be taken seriously. 
 
 At the time there was much talk about the 
 fashionable Dr. Dodd— not yet dubbed " the un- 
 fortunate" — who, pressed by his wants, offered to 
 purchase a living through the Lord Chancellor's wife. 
 It would appear that this was done through the 
 agency of Mrs. Dodd. It was not a very criminal 
 matter, and the doctor had received his punishment. 
 Foote, however, must needs " gibbet," not him, but 
 his unhappy lady, who is accordingly brought on 
 as Mrs. Simony, trafficking for a living with Mrs. 
 Fleecem. " The doctor knows nothing about it," she 
 insists again and again. " He believes in the whole 
 Thirty- nine Articles, and so he would if there were 
 
334 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxi 
 
 nine times as many." To Foote, therefore — not to 
 Theodore Hook — must be given the credit of this 
 capital and oft-quoted jest. 
 
 Again, it must be said that the eflFect of these 
 squaHd pictures as drawn by Foote is that of 
 profound amazement, that such repulsive details 
 should be accepted with enjoyment and applause. 
 It is quite clear that here were the manners and 
 general complexion of the time. The standard seems 
 of the lowest. It may be, however, that Foote's 
 " show " was for a special audience, and that decent 
 folk were not among his supporters. 
 
 This was to be the last of Foote's successful pieces, 
 for " The Capuchin," which came later, was a mere 
 piece of patchwork, and intended as a caricature of 
 a personal enemy. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 1776 
 
 THE "TRIP TO Calais" 
 
 The closing scenes of Foote's jovial, obstreperous life 
 make sad reading. It might be said that the adven- 
 turer's later days too often become clouded by decay 
 of fortune, failing strength and spirit, and the coming 
 of nevp^ men and new tastes. He has to " hang like 
 a rusty mail quite out of fashion." Old friends that 
 once appreciated have gone, and the new^ do not 
 understand. With the failure of popularity comes 
 the failure of cash ; there is debt long accumulated 
 and nothing put by. Then follows broken health and 
 disease — inevitable consequence of that " hearing the 
 chimes at midnight." What could be more disastrous 
 or tragic than the last days of the most popular, 
 the most admired player of our time, the amiable, 
 lovable, brilMant Irving, who did not deserve so 
 cruel a fate, and who on the eve of the catastrophe was 
 practically a ruined man ! The stage is indeed strewn 
 with ruins. The jovial " children of Momus " seem 
 specially marked out for disaster. The curtain too 
 often descends on darkness and in gloom. 
 
 Further, heartlessness is the note of aU convivial 
 friendship and admiring joviality. With repeated 
 failures, the " Pommery-Greno friends " fall away. 
 
 335 
 
336 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 How sad the end of the noble Dickens or the still 
 nobler Scott ! We think of the amiable " Goldy " 
 dying when on the brink of ruin — of Bozzy, with his 
 immortal book, who perished a sot. And now we are 
 to see our poor joker Foote, the man of a thousand 
 capital jests and stories, destroyed, discredited, and 
 doomed to die at a Dover inn ! 
 
 What a life is that of the player — how precarious, 
 how full of sudden turns, of " ups and downs " ! And 
 never was it so precarious as at the present moment, 
 when the day's board cannot be reckoned on. Such 
 is the case of thousands, of hundreds of thousands. 
 With the affluent all is taken as a matter of course. 
 Providence, it is assumed, supplies food and lodging, 
 without trouble on their part. But think what it 
 must be to furnish wit, fun, and entertainment, 
 to please and attract everyone so effectually that 
 they must supply you with food, raiment, and employ- 
 ment ! Woe to you if you do not attract ! If once 
 entertainment fails, you receive nothing ! Foote, in 
 short, had to buJSfoon, act, libel, ridicule, without 
 respite, if he would. If he failed to draw laughter 
 and enjoyment, he could, literally, not pay his rent, 
 or even pay for his dinner, though this last he could 
 probably secure from admiring friends. The wonder 
 is, how a man could be gay and uproarious under such 
 circumstances — how he could leave his debts, creditors, 
 miseries, bailiflFs, outside the dining-room door ! 
 Much allowance must therefore be made for poor 
 precarious creatures who have literally to "live by 
 their wits." 
 
 And who cannot but admire, if they pity, the talent 
 and energy of those poor but plucky folk who have 
 nothing but their wits to live on ? We must confess 
 
CH. xxii] THE "TRIP TO CALAIS" 337 
 
 it is impossible not to feel some admiration for Sam 
 Foote, the regular condottiere, now taking to the road 
 now bullying and intimidating, now " holding up " 
 some timorous being, but always reviving with suf- 
 ficient spirit. And yet he lived in almost luxury. It 
 seems that the fortunate actors seem to imbibe a sort 
 of elixir of life, which secures them against decay 
 and all maladies. How Foote racked his body with 
 dissipation, fatigues, rioting, and work, is scarcely 
 conceivable. Yet we never hear of his performance 
 being interrupted or of his being ill. Nay, in this 
 time of ours, with the vast legion of London players, 
 it is the rarest thing to hear of one having to strike 
 work from sickness. " Understudies " are spoken of, 
 but rarely caUed for. Still, Foote was but fifty-six 
 when he died, and, though he held on to the last, he 
 was practically worn out. He was now in a helpless 
 position, Uterally bound hand and foot to his own 
 libelling system. He must go on ; to " draw," he 
 must find objects to ridicule. And then, beyond all 
 question, his attraction had begun to decay. After 
 twenty years of personalities, had the public begun 
 to tire of the " English Aristophanes " ? In this 
 view, who wiU forget the bard's thrilling and almost 
 despairing lines on the decay of a reputation ? 
 
 About this time, too, other troubles began to 
 accumulate about him. Fickle fortune was changing. 
 His hold on the public seemed to relax. He had 
 trampled down many, but was now of a sudden to 
 be defied by an intended victim, more unscrupulous 
 than he was, and more deadly ; for, not content with 
 hindering his purpose, she was to pursue him with 
 revengeful purpose, and finally destroy him and his 
 fortunes. This was the notorious Miss Chudleigh, 
 
 22 
 
338 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 soi-disant Duchess of Kingston. It was an evil day for 
 him when the thought came to him that the scandals 
 associated with her would serve his dramatic purposes. 
 The adventuress at the moment was actually waiting 
 her trial for bigamy, and it must have occurred to 
 anyone of reasonable sense that neither the public 
 nor the authorities would tolerate a woman in so 
 critical a position being gibbeted on the stage. 
 Neither did the common feelings of generosity and 
 dehcacy, if any remnant of such were in Foote's 
 breast, restrain him. 
 
 This notorious lady had the same unscrupulous 
 recklessness as her opponent, and never allowed the 
 restraints of decency or propriety to stand in her 
 way. Her hfe had been an uninterrupted series of 
 startling proceedings. She had contrived to extri- 
 cate herself with success from the results, but at the 
 moment she was in the most serious of aU her 
 scrapes. 
 
 Though sprung from a good Dorsetshire family, 
 and niece of a Baronet, there seemed to be a low, 
 vagabond strain in her nature, with a curious and 
 reckless unscrupulousness. As it was, she had very 
 nearly successfully carried through all her schemes. 
 With a httle more prudence and restraint she might 
 have scored, or even won her game. 
 
 A very beautiful girl at fifteen, she began her 
 adventures at once. She was poor, and had many 
 lovers. Mr. Pulteney, who met her when he was 
 out shooting, was much interested in her, and tried 
 to forward her interests, and when she was about 
 twenty-three obtained for her the place of Maid of 
 Honour to the Princess Augusta of Wales. Pres- 
 ently the Duke of Hamilton fell deeply in love 
 
CH. xxii] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 339 
 
 with her. He was only nineteen, but his relations 
 contrived to frustrate his advances. That he would 
 have married Miss Chudleigh is likely, as he pres- 
 ently, with much precipitation, married one of 
 the Gunnings. With her usual good fortune, she 
 now met Mr. Augustus Hervey, one of the Bristol 
 family, and the second son. Him she married 
 privately. They were very poor, and resolved to 
 keep the marriage a dead secret. A child was born 
 and put out to nurse secretly, and soon died. Her 
 husband and she quarrelled, and he went away to 
 sea, being in the navy. His brother became Earl 
 of Bristol, thus making him heir-presumptive, and 
 later there was a serious prospect of his succeeding 
 to the title. 
 
 Later appeared on the scene an elderly admirer, 
 the Duke of Kingston, who became perfectly in- 
 fatuated with her, and, being kept in ignorance of 
 her marriage, oiFered himself. Now began a series 
 of extraordinary, tortuous schemes and devices for 
 carrying out her plot in the most elaborate way. 
 
 It has been said that the husband brought an 
 action for divorce, but it is clear that he was unable 
 to do so, as she had secured aU the proofs of her 
 marriage, or had perhaps destroyed them. But the 
 unscrupulous woman, who was now sure of her 
 Duke, impudently brought an action against Hervey 
 for "jactitation of marriage," as it is called — that is, 
 for falsely giving himself out as her husband, and in 
 the court she without scruple took the necessary oath 
 that she was not married to him. Accordingly, the 
 Court decreed that he was not to trouble her, and- 
 " enjoined him to silence." Meanwhile, her conduct 
 had become disorderly and quite disreputable. 
 
 22—2 
 
340 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 The fashion in which she conducted the compli- 
 cated issues of the secret marriage which she wished 
 to annul, and her aspirations for a public one with 
 the Duke, while her husband was eager to be rid of her, 
 yet afraid to take any step, was infinitely daring and 
 resolute. Hervey's position as heir to a peerage and 
 the estate was a very critical one, hers very dangerous. 
 She no doubt feared to let the question of the marriage 
 be brought forward under any circumstances. If the 
 Duke came to know of it, it would of course destroy 
 all chance of her marriage with him ; while if she 
 consented to a divorce there was the chance of failure, 
 and the further chance of "frightening off" the 
 Duke. Hervey's position was almost as embarrassing. 
 He would shortly become Earl of Bristol, and it was 
 desirable for him, from every point of view, that he 
 should be freed from his reckless lady. The open 
 connection with the Duke, and other scandals, 
 seemed to furnish sufficient grounds. But he found 
 it impossible to prove his marriage, as it had been 
 so secretly contracted and at a period so long before, 
 and his unscrupulous lady had so contrived it as to 
 secure or make away with all the necessary evidences 
 of a ceremony. 
 
 Within two or three weeks after the Courts had 
 decided in her favour, when she had taken the oath 
 that she was single, she married the Duke. For 
 five years she enjoyed her state — was even received 
 at Court. But in 1773 her now de jure husband 
 Hervey presented a petition for a new trial of his 
 case, shortly after which the Duke died, leaving her 
 almost the whole of his property, but with the stipu- 
 lation that she must remain a widow — a clause that 
 was likely to complicate her truly singular position. 
 
CH. XXII] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 341 
 
 But this bequest put all the Duke's family in motion ; 
 a strict investigation was set on foot. A maid of 
 hers was gained over, and evidence secured to prose- 
 cute her for bigamy. In March 1775, her real 
 husband succeeded to the title, so this extraordinary 
 woman was now legally Countess of Bristol. In 
 May 1775, she had to appear before Lord Mansfield, 
 who bound her over to take her trial before the peers. 
 The matter was thus out of her husband's hands, who 
 was content to wait the issue of this serious charge, 
 when he would, of course, secure his divorce. But, 
 strange to say, so complicated were things that he 
 was unable to bring the matter to an issue, and he 
 died in 1779 in this awkward situation. The rest 
 of her story is well known — how she was brought to 
 trial in April 1776, and found guilty on the clearest 
 testimony. The bold woman fled from England on 
 the very day when a fresh writ had been issued 
 against her. 
 
 As I said, it seems hardly credible that Foote, 
 a seasoned man of the world — a " hard-bitten " old 
 stager and experienced reader of character and events 
 — should in his folly have lightly thought of meddling 
 with this adventuress. There was nothing in her 
 record to invite ridicule ; it was a mere vulgar tale 
 of imposture. But some fate drew him on, and led 
 him to his destruction. How strange that he should 
 not have recognized her general success, her clever- 
 ness in surmounting all her difficulties ! She was not 
 a person likely to yield to him. But in his thought- 
 less, reckless way he took up the business with a 
 light heart. 
 
 He accordingly made her the central figure of his 
 new piece, " writing it round her " as it were, and 
 
342 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 placing her at Calais among a crowd of "riff-raff" 
 figures. (Calais was then a sort of refuge for the 
 disreputable English.) There are shown swindling 
 landlords like Tromfort, servants, begging monks, 
 Abbesses, nuns, with Cockney tradesmen who have 
 come over on an excursion. It is all lively and full of 
 strange characters. Lady Kitty Crocodile is introduced 
 when the play is more than half over. She is shown 
 quarrelling with her servants and dependents, and is 
 really not much in the way of a character. It was a 
 curious coincidence that Foote should have fixed on 
 Calais as the locale and also title of his piece — a town 
 which was presently to become the place of refuge 
 and protection for the pseudo-Duchess herself, and 
 where she was later to die. Scattered through the 
 part are allusions to weU-known passages in the 
 Duchess's history, as when Lady Kitty says : " There 
 are two men, my dear, who solicit your hand — one 
 found by you, the other whom your father approves. 
 Supposing then, by way of reconciling all parties, you 
 were to marry them both." And again: "Besides, 
 miss, you know I never durst carry you to any of 
 the conferences I had with the Pope" — an allusion 
 to the attentions paid to the Duchess in Rome. It 
 was weU known that on the Duke's demise the 
 widow contrived a sort of display of excessive grief, 
 shutting herself up, wearing mourning habiliments of 
 an extravagant kind, aU which is happily ridiculed 
 by the author. Sometimes in an innocent allusion he 
 win call up the memory of an old scandal — witness 
 her dress or no dress at a masquerade. She also 
 alludes to this affected and theatrical display of grief 
 on the death of the Duke. 
 
 The Duchess had two clerical swashbucklers in 
 
CH. xxiij THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 343 
 
 her service — invaluable agents, both connected with 
 the Press and utterly unscrupulous. These were the 
 Rev. Dr. Jackson and the Rev. Mr. Foster. Jackson 
 directed a paper or papers, and knew how to threaten 
 and extract blackmail. They were the Duchess's 
 obsequious jackals, and did much business for her. It 
 was they who now undertook the management of her 
 affair with Foote. I am persuaded that the lady's 
 hands were far too full at the moment for her to care 
 much about Foote's proceedings, and I fancy that the 
 two clergymen were trying to get money from him or 
 to make some arrangement profitable to themselves. 
 It was Jackson that wrote the Duchess's scurrilous 
 and provocative letter to Foote, and the whole bitter 
 contest was later carried on between Foote and 
 Jackson. 
 
 As this Jackson was the redoubtable champion that 
 overthrew the hitherto unconquered Foote — so long 
 the terror of weak and foolish persons — some detailed 
 account of his singular career will be interesting. He 
 was certainly a very remarkable person, who played 
 many parts in a highly adventurous course, during 
 which his proceedings were reckless and extravagant, 
 as though he had no regard for consequences. Indeed, 
 many of these strange beings at the time seem to 
 have been partially mad or maddened, or driven to 
 odd freaks by love of excitement. Thus Jackson was 
 parson, tutor, and a preacher of some reputation at a 
 chapel in Drury Lane. He proved to be a bold, 
 capable, versatile, and utterly unscrupulous being — a 
 vehement, determined patriot or rebel, according as 
 he is viewed. His prmciples and his unflinching 
 devotion to his country were genuine and remarkable. 
 Turning journalist, he wrote in a violent strain, 
 
344 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 always indulging in coarse personalities, with threats, 
 calumnies, and all the weapons of the newspaper high- 
 wayman. He presently became editor of a daily paper 
 called The Public Ledger, which had its columns 
 filled with short little paragraphs of three or four 
 lines, each containing some malicious or false rumour 
 or statement. He was privileged to write a Radical 
 reply to no less a person than Dr. Johnson when he 
 published his pamphlet " Taxation no Tyranny." It 
 was a strange thing that the fate of this Jackson 
 should have some likeness to that of Foote himself. 
 Both had made their living by the holding up to 
 ridicule the follies of innocent, harmless persons, real 
 or supposed. Jackson libelled grossly in the papers ; 
 Foote ridiculed upon his stage. These practices led 
 both to a disastrous end, Foote having to fly his 
 profession and his country, Jackson committing 
 suicide in the dock when being sentenced to a 
 felon's end. 
 
 It was unfortunate that Jackson took up this r&le 
 of lampooner, for he was undoubtedly clever, and 
 mustered many friends, such as Oglethorpe, Home 
 Tooke, Hargrave the lawyer. Dr. Schomberg, and 
 many others. How, then, a man of such a type 
 could have been drawn into the grossly disgraceful 
 persecution of Foote is a perplexing speculation. 
 
 His political opinions were conscientious enough. 
 He was a true Republican, giving his ardent 
 sympathies to the Americans, to the French, and to 
 his own native country. He was long a constitu- 
 tional democrat, but became inflamed by the new 
 French doctrines, and used to scoff" at Wilkes as 
 " a hackneyed old knave, a demagogue schemer, a 
 blasphemer, whose patriotism was a pretext and whose 
 
CH. XXII] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 345 
 
 politics were a trade." He was popular among those 
 who knew him as a stern and sincere Liberal, such as 
 were many others at that time. 
 
 He went abroad to France, and got entangled in the 
 doings of the United Irishmen in Paris, by whom he 
 was sent to Ireland to further the conspiracy. He was 
 speedily arrested on a charge of high-treason. His 
 friends had a fanciful scheme of having him exchanged 
 for Sir Sidney Smith, which came to nothing. 
 
 The account of his strange death in the dock is 
 highly dramatic. His illness had begun early in the 
 morning, before he left prison. He had been found 
 guilty the day before, and counsel were to move in 
 arrest of judgment. His wife came and dressed his 
 hair for the occasion ; but it was noted that he was 
 pale and full of spasms, pains, contortions, and the 
 like. He was seized with convulsions in the dock, 
 and his last words were, not those that were popularly 
 repeated, " We have deceived the Senate," but, " I 
 wish it was over." In his pocket was found a reply 
 to Paine's " Age of Reason," and a devout but rather 
 ambiguously worded prayer. The verdict, too, given 
 according to medical opinion, was not one of suicide, 
 but " in consequence of some acrid or mortal matter 
 taken into his stomach," though how or by whom 
 administered was unknown. 
 
 There were some grim incidents attendant on this 
 closing scene. After the unfortunate man sank down 
 and expired in the dock, the Judge proceeded to 
 adjourn the Court. The Sheriff, who was beside the 
 dock, appealed to the Judge in great agitation : " But 
 the body, my Lord ! What am I to do ?" " You will 
 do, Mr. Sheriff, all that is proper and provided for in 
 such cases," recalling the familiar definition of 
 
346 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 " archidiaconal functions." After the dissection by 
 the surgeon, some designing people got possession 
 of it, and exhibited it at a penny a head. 
 
 Such was the heroine whom Foote, with her agent, 
 was unlucky enough to propose bringing on his stage. 
 So soon as the gossips began to repeat that Foote in- 
 tended taking this step, her friends, knowing that she 
 would soon be in a critical position, made exertion to 
 stop the business. It might seem strange that Foote 
 should not have thought it rather unchivalrous to 
 exhibit a faUing woman who was presently to be tried 
 on a serious charge, or that his ridicule would not 
 further injure her. But Foote, as we know, had no 
 delicacy of feeling ; he merely looked at the matter 
 from a tradesman's view. The Lord Chamberlain, 
 who was Lord Hertford, a friend or patron of 
 Foote's, was appealed to, and most naturally, as a 
 step in the interests of decency, interposed and for- 
 bade the performance. The Duchess after this 
 victory sent an envoy of hers — Lord Mountstuart, 
 well known to Bozzy's readers as his patron — to fetch 
 Foote to her house, as though to conciliate him. 
 Previously Lord Mountstuart had gone through this 
 play with him, and was so satisfied with the perusal 
 that he borrowed it for the Duchess's perusal. Later, 
 he declared solemnly that, after reading the play 
 through, she had said she could not recognize any- 
 thing like herself ! 
 
 After this interview Foote thought that all was 
 well, and that he might appeal for a reversal of the 
 interdict. He addressed a very spirited appeal to the 
 Chamberlain. By-and-by a curious sort of proclama- 
 tion let the public into the secret of all that had been 
 going on. It ran : 
 
CH. XXII] THE « TRIP TO CALAIS " 347 
 
 To the Printer. 
 
 " The prophetic effusions of the coUocators or 
 makers of paragraphs have for once proved true, Mr. 
 Printer: the 'Trip to Calais' has been rejected by 
 the Lord Chamberlain. To guess from where these 
 gentleman obtained this intelligence (as this address 
 preceded by many days the delivery of the piece to 
 the Chamberlain) would be a very difficult task ; 
 however, you find that what was only prophecy is 
 now become history. Till I have an opportunity of 
 lapng before the public those scenes which produced 
 his lordship's interdiction, you wiU print the following 
 letter sent to Lord Hertford in the hope of softening 
 his censure." 
 
 At the end we read : " Mr. Foote intends soon to 
 publish the scenes in his ' Trip to Calais ' objected to 
 by the Lord Chamberlain, as a justification of his own 
 conduct, with a prefatory dedication to the Duchess 
 of Kingston." 
 
 Foote to the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 "My Lord, 
 
 " I did intend troubling your lordship with an 
 earlier address ; but the day after I received your 
 prohibitory mandate I had the honour of a visit from 
 Lord Mountstuart, to whose interposition I find I 
 am indebted for your first commands, relative to the 
 ' Trip to Calais,' by Mr. Chetwynd, and your final re- 
 jection of it, by Colonel Keen. 
 
 "Lord Mountstuart has, I presume, told your 
 lordship that he read with me those scenes to which 
 your lordship objected ; that he found them collected 
 from general nature, and applicable to none but those 
 
348 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 who, through consciousness, were compelled to a self- 
 application. To such minds, my lord, ' The Whole 
 Duty of Man,' next to the sacred writings, is the 
 severest satire that ever was written ; and to the 
 same mark, if Comedy directs not her aim, her arrows 
 are shot in the air ; for by what touches no man, no 
 man will be amended. 
 
 " Lord Mountstuart desired that I would suffer him 
 to take the play with him, and let him leave it with 
 the Duchess of Kingston. He had my consent, my 
 lord, and at the same time an assurance that I was 
 willing to make any alteration that Her Grace would 
 suggest. Her Grace saw the play, and in con- 
 sequence I had an interview with Her Grace. With 
 the result of that interview I shall not at this time 
 trouble your lordship. It may, perhaps, be necessary 
 to observe that Her Grace could not discern (which 
 your lordship, I dare say, will readily believe) a single 
 trait in the character of Lady Kitty Crocodile that 
 resembled herself. 
 
 " After this representation, your lordship will, I 
 doubt not, permit me to enjoy the fruits of my 
 labour ; nor will you think it reasonable that, because 
 a capricious individual has taken it into her head that 
 I have pinned her ruffle awry, I should be punished 
 by a poniard struck deep in my heart. Your lordship 
 has too much candour and justice to be the means of 
 giving so violent and ill-directed a blow. 
 
 " Your lordship's determination is not only of the 
 greatest importance to me now, but must inevitably 
 decide my fate for the future, as, after this defeat, 
 it will be impossible for me to muster up courage 
 enough to face Folly again. Between the Muse and 
 the Magistrate there is a natural confederacy. What 
 
CH. xxii] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 349 
 
 the last cannot punish, the first often corrects; but 
 when she not only finds herself deserted by her 
 ancient ally, but sees him armed in the defence of her 
 foe, she has nothing left but a speedy retreat. 
 
 " In that case, adieu, my lord, to the stage ! 
 Valeat res ludicra ! — to which I hope I may with 
 justice add, Plaudite ! — as, during my continuance in 
 the service of the public, I never profited by flatter- 
 ing their passions or falling in with their humours. 
 Upon all occasions I have exerted my little powers 
 (as, indeed, I thought it my duty) in exposing foUies, 
 how much soever the favourites of the day ; and 
 pernicious prejudices, however protected and popular. 
 This, my lord, has been done (if those may be 
 believed who have the best right to know) sometimes 
 with success. Let me add, too, that in doing this I 
 never lost my credit with the public, because they knew 
 I proceeded upon principle ; that I disdained either 
 being the echo or the instrument of any man, however 
 exalted his station ; and that I never received reward 
 or protection from any other hands than their own." 
 
 We may admire this admirable letter, not merely 
 for its eloquence and sincerity, but for the composi- 
 tion and its high literary tone. It shows Foote as a 
 writer of power and culture. Still, the cynic may be 
 amused to find its author in the attitude of an 
 aggrieved person, aggrieved because he was stayed 
 in his long course of exhibiting living persons on ^his 
 stage. Of course, he was still contending that in 
 this case there was no such purpose in view ; but 
 even in the absence of any likeness, the character 
 would be considered to be intended for the Duchess. 
 
 The appeal, however, was fruitless, probably for 
 the reason just suggested, and Foote, still indignant, 
 
350 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 determined on the fatal step of appealing to the 
 public. It was strange that he did not at once " scrap " 
 the piece, as it is called, and write another, for his 
 pathetic burst that his career was closed, and he him- 
 self ruined, was a rhetorical exaggeration. He ac- 
 cordingly announced that he would print his play, on 
 which the storm broke out afresh, and finally over- 
 whelmed him. 
 
 The Duchess, who behaved with some modera- 
 tion all through, determined for the second time to 
 negotiate. But she chose for her envoys or instru- 
 ments quite a different class of person from the re- 
 spectable Lord Mountstuart. These were the two 
 rather shady clerics first described. 
 
 Lord Hertford, the Chamberlain, was to prove less 
 pUant to Foote than his predecessors. He was more 
 independent, and certainly no officer of the Crown 
 could have tolerated an attack on a woman who was 
 presently to stand her trial. The play was really an 
 affront to the tribunal which was to try her.* 
 
 The general rumour, as voiced by Walpole, 
 Garrick, and others, was that the Duchess had offered 
 to buy Foote off, but that he had refused. Walpole 
 seemed to know all the details, and heard that he 
 had offered to read the piece with her, and strike out 
 what she thought applicable, but " she was too 
 cunning to bite at this." 
 
 The two emissaries, in an affidavit before Sir John 
 Fielding, now swore that " the mimic had demanded 
 £2,000 as the price of the suppression." That there 
 
 * Asked why his piece was interdicted, Foote said the reason was 
 that he had refused a place of box-keeper to one of the official's 
 sons — a stupid, unintelligible jest, though Mr. Forster says there 
 was a hidden meaning. 
 
CH. XXII] THE „ TRIP TO CALAIS " 351 
 
 was a suggestion of a money payment is likely enough, 
 from the character of the men. They had attempted to 
 secure something for themselves — a probable surmise. 
 
 " Baffled thus in his hopes, and finding that the 
 threat of publication could not intimidate the Duchess 
 into compliance, Mr. Foote had recourse to his levee 
 of scribblers for the purpose of furnishing newspaper 
 defamation. The following letter was received only 
 on the Saturday afternoon, and in the St. James's 
 Chronicle on Saturday evening a most scurrilous 
 invective against Her Grace of Kingston was dated 
 from Mr. Foote's theatre in the Hay market." 
 
 Jackson, that licensed blackmailer, later published 
 this account of the matter : " Mr. Foote, interdicted 
 by the Lord Chamberlain from representing the 
 libellous piece called 'A Trip to Calais,' threatened 
 to pubUsh the scenes and dedicate them to the 
 Duchess of Kingston. It was in vain that the 
 malignity as well as the injustice of such a procedure 
 were represented to Mr. Foote. The mimic would 
 not yield." A new form of pressure was employed. 
 
 Now libellous paragraphs began to appear in the 
 newspapers, insinuating dark and mysterious charges. 
 He found his character blackened every day. People 
 wondered what it all meant. Then the unfortunate 
 Foote began to waken up to his position. The 
 celebrated letters that followed teU of the next stage 
 of the story : 
 
 " To Her Grace the Duchess of Kingston. 
 
 " North End, 
 "Sunday, August 13, 1775. 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 " A member of the Privy Council and a friend 
 of your Grace's (he has begged me not to mention 
 
352 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 his name, but I suppose your Grace will easily guess 
 who) has just left me. He has explained to me, 
 what I did not conceive, that the publication of the 
 scenes in the ' Trip to Calais ' at this juncture, with 
 the dedication and preface, might be of infinite ill- 
 consequence to your affairs. 
 
 " I really, madam, wish you no ill, and should be 
 sorry to do you an injury. 
 
 " I therefore give up to that consideration what 
 neither your Grace's offers nor the threats of your 
 agents could obtain : the scenes shall not be pubhshed, 
 nor shall anything appear at my theatre or from 
 me that can hurt you, provided the attacks made 
 on me in the newspapers do not make it necessary 
 for me to act in defence of myself. Your Grace 
 wiU therefore see the necessity of giving proper 
 directions." 
 
 Never did Foote commit a greater blunder than 
 in the despatching of this unlucky paper. It may 
 be said to have ruined him. He wished to conciliate 
 the woman, and affected in a magnanimous tone to 
 withdraw the whole. With some disingenuousness, 
 he pretended, though her trial was actually coming 
 on, not to know that the publication would be 
 injurious to her. Had he stopped there, it had 
 been well. Jackson must have been with her when 
 Foote's letter arrived. We may take it for granted 
 that he wrote the lady's reply, which was intended to 
 entrap the actor into some abusive utterance, which 
 Jackson intended to publish in his and in other 
 papers. This rather vulgar introduction, which had 
 many strokes of her own, such as " Foote is said to be 
 descended in the female line from one Harnass (or 
 
CH. xxii] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 353 
 
 Harness), a merry-andrew who exhibited at Totnes 
 in Devonshire, and afterwards figured in the character 
 of a mountebank at Plymouth," was despatched at 
 once. 
 
 " SlE, 
 
 " I was at dinner when I received your ill- 
 judged letter ; as there is little consideration required, 
 I shall sacrifice a few moments to answer it. 
 
 " A member of your privy council can never hope 
 to be of a Lady's cabinet. I know too well what is 
 due to my own dignity, to enter into a compromise 
 with an extortionable assassin of private reputation. 
 If I before abhorred you for your slander, I now 
 despise you for your concessions. It is a proof of the 
 illiberality of your satire, when you can publish or 
 suppress it as best suits the needy convenience of 
 your purse. You first had the cowardly baseness to 
 draw the sword ; and if I sheathe it until I make you 
 crouch like the subservient vassal as you are, then is 
 there not spirit in an injured woman, nor meanness in 
 a slanderous buflfbon. 
 
 " To a man, my sex alone would have screened me 
 from attack ; but I am writing to the descendant of a 
 merry-andrew, and prostitute the term of manhood 
 by applying it to Mr. Foote. 
 
 " Clothed in my innocence as in a coat of mail, I 
 am proof against a host of foes ; and, conscious of 
 never having intentionally offended a single individual, 
 I doubt not that a brave and generous public will 
 protect me from the malevolence of a theatrical 
 assassin. You shall have cause to remember that, 
 though I would have given liberaEy for the relief of 
 
 23 
 
354 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 your necessities, I scorn to be bullied into a purchase 
 of your silence. 
 
 " There is something, however, in your pity at which 
 my nature revolts. To make an offer of pity at once 
 betrays your insolence and your vanity. I will keep 
 \hG pity you send until the morning before you are 
 turned oflF, when I will return it by a Cupid, with a 
 box of lip-salve ; and a choir of choristers shall chant a 
 stave to your requiem. 
 
 "E. Kingston. 
 
 "Kingston House, 
 
 "Sunday, August 13." 
 
 Stung to fury by this reply, Foote could not resist 
 sending a bitter, taunting answer, which made a 
 prodigious sensation. The notoriety was, however, 
 dearly purchased. The two venomous clerics whom 
 he had so oflFensively spoken of were determined on 
 revenge, and speedily made him feel their power. 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 " Though I have neither time nor inchnation 
 to answer the ilhberal attacks of your agents, yet a 
 public correspondence with your Grace is too great an 
 honour for me to decline. 
 
 " I cannot help thinking that it would have been 
 prudent in your Grace to have answered my letter 
 before dinner, or at least postponed it to the cool hour 
 of the morning ; you would then have found that I 
 had voluntarily granted the request which you had 
 endeavoured by so many different ways to obtain. 
 
 " Lord Mountstuart (for whose amiable quahties I 
 have the highest respect, and whose name your agents 
 very unnecessarily produced to the pubhc) must recol- 
 
CH. XXII] THE " TRIP TO CALAIS " 355 
 
 lect that, when I had the honour to meet him at 
 Kingston House by your Grace's appointment, instead 
 of begging relief from your charity, / rejected your 
 splendid offers to suppress the ' Trip to Calais,' with 
 the contempt they deserved. Indeed, madam, the 
 humanity of my royal and benevolent master, and the 
 public protection, have placed me much above the 
 reach of your bounty. 
 
 " But why, madam, put on your coat of mail 
 against me ? I have no hostile intentions. Folly, 
 not vice, is the game I pursue. In those scenes 
 which you so unaccountably apply to yourself, you 
 must observe there is not the slightest hint at the little 
 incidents of your life which have excited the curiosity 
 of the grand inquest for the county of Middlesex. I 
 am happy, however, madam, to hear that your robe of 
 innocence is in such perfect repair ; I was afraid it 
 might be a little the worse for wearing. May it 
 hold out to keep your Grace warm the next 
 winter ! 
 
 " The progenitors your Grace has done me the 
 honour to give me are, I presume, merely metaphorical 
 persons, and to be considered as the authors of my 
 muse, and not of my manhood. A merry-andrew 
 and a prostitute are no bad poetical parents, especially 
 for a writer of plays — the first, to give the humour 
 and mirth ; the last, to furnish the graces and powers 
 of attraction. Prostitutes and players too must live 
 by pleasing the public ; not but your Grace may 
 have heard of ladies who by private practice have 
 accumulated great fortunes. 
 
 " If you mean that I really owe my birth to that 
 pleasant connection, your Grace is grossly deceived. 
 My father was, in truth, a very useful magistrate and 
 
 23—2 
 
356 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 respectable country gentleman, as the whole county 
 of Cornwall will tell you ; my mother, the daughter 
 of Sir Edward Goodere, Baronet, who represented the 
 county of Hereford. Her fortune was large, and her 
 morals irreproachable till your Grace condescended to 
 stain them. She was upwards of fourscore years old 
 when she died, and, what will surprise your Grace, 
 was never married but once in her life. 
 
 " I am obliged to your Grace for your intended 
 presence ' on the day ' (as you politely express it) 
 ' when I am to be turned off".' But where wiU your 
 Grace get the Cupid to bring me the hp-salve? 
 That family, I am afraid, has long quitted your 
 service. 
 
 " Pray, madam, is not J n the name of your 
 
 female confidential secretary ? and is not she generally 
 clothed in black petticoats made of your weeds ? 
 
 " ' So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her love !' 
 
 I fancy your Grace took the hint when you last 
 resided at Rome. You heard then, I suppose, of a 
 certain Pope, and in humble imitation have converted 
 a pious parson into a chambermaid. The scheme is 
 new in this country, and has, doubtless, its particular 
 pleasures. That you may never want the benefit of 
 the clergy in every emergence is the sincere wish of 
 " Your Grace's most devoted, 
 
 " Most obliged humble servant, 
 
 " Sam. Foote." 
 
 The text of these letters, from being often copied, 
 varies in places. Thus the Duchess's letter began, "A 
 servant was directed to return the foUoMdng answer," 
 and the P.S. adds that "the servant has been a 
 
CH. XXII] THE "TRIP TO CALAIS " 857 
 
 long time writing it." This we may presume was 
 meant for insolent contempt, and conveyed that the 
 Duchess did not write or compose the letter, but gave 
 the servant some " heads " or directions. In the note 
 it should run : Mr. Foote " is descended," not " is 
 said to be." 
 
 Foote's bitter and elaborate rejoinder has been 
 extravagantly admired, not only by Wdlpole and 
 others of that generation, but by critics of our time, 
 such as John Forster. I must confess, while willing 
 and eager to admire, I cannot see very much in the 
 production. There is little, for instance, in his point 
 that her letter must have been written after dinner 
 — that is, when she had drunk too much. And he 
 completely " gave himself away," as the phrase runs, 
 when he retorted on her as to his birth. He fancied 
 that she had said he was the " offspring of a mounte- 
 bank and a prostitute " ; she had merely said that he 
 had prostituted his gifts, etc. — an odd mistake ; and 
 though he might repudiate the mountebank for his 
 parent, stiU, was he not himself one, or a mountebank 
 of a sort ? 
 
 y As I have said, it is clear that the whole of this 
 /unfortunate quarrel was not between the Duchess 
 and Foote, but between Foote and her clerical agents. 
 This pair — Foster and Jackson — saw in the business 
 an opportunity for trafficking, for " a deal." They 
 purposed to extract a large sum from Foote, as the 
 price of his being allowed to perform his play. Foote 
 was not disposed to be thus blackmailed, as the 
 sum in question would nullify all his chances of 
 profits from the theatre. At the same time, it is 
 likely enough that Foote was not indisposed to 
 receive such a sum as would fairly compensate him 
 
358 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxii 
 
 for his great sacrifice in suppressing his play. Hence, 
 most naturally, the recriminations as to who offered 
 the money. Who can refute or believe these stories ? 
 Foote, who was a man of business, and a shrewd one 
 too, saw that there was no profit to be had in dealing 
 with these rascals. He declined, therefore, to treat 
 with them. There can be little doubt that this is 
 what occurred.* 
 
 * It may be mentioned in this place that Foote's expressive and 
 most striking features were limned by Sir Joshua in one of his finest 
 portraits, which has a place in the Duke of Newcastle's gallery at 
 Clumber. The attitude and figure are as dramatic and " telling " 
 as the face. A replica, executed by another great artist, is at Knole, 
 and from this the portrait which forms the frontispiece to the 
 present memoir has been taken. Charles Mathews had another 
 copy made for his collection, which copy is now in the Garrick 
 Club ; but it is a rather " poorish " performance. Zoffany also 
 painted a couple of dramatic scenes, one from "The Mayor of 
 Garratt," which seems to give spirited likenesses. Finally, Cooke 
 supplies a small portrait, with a thoughtful expression, by a French 
 artist, which he considered to be the most faithful likeness of all. 
 In two portraits, that of Sterne and that of Foote, Sir Joshua may 
 be held to have excelled all his efforts. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 FINALE 
 
 Everything now seemed to hurry the luckless Foote 
 to his own destruction, and, with a fatal insensibility, 
 he seemed to think of nothing but punishing those 
 who had injured him. The mysterious allusions 
 to dark criminal acts were still appearing in Jackson's 
 paper, and the actor, blinded or careless, was now 
 busy altering his unlucky " Trip to Calais " into 
 a new piece, which he called " The Capucin." 
 Breathing revenge and fury, he threw all his power 
 into the conception of two revolting characters — both 
 clerics — and intended not so much to ridicule as to 
 make odious his two enemies. Jackson was there as 
 Dr. Viper, an exact portrait of a subservient, un- 
 scrupulous scoundrel ; while Father Dominic, intended, 
 we may presume, for Foster, was shown as a repulsive 
 Irish monk. This was portrayed by Foote himself. 
 
 It is a mystery how the Lord Chamberlain, who 
 had interdicted the " Trip to Calais," could have 
 tolerated this fresh attempt. But Jackson and Foster 
 had no friends at Court, as the Duchess had. 
 
 Here is the terribly envenomed portrait of his 
 enemy Jackson, breathing hatred and fury in every 
 stroke : 
 
 " Viper. Do you know, sirrah, to whom you are 
 speaking ? O'Donnovan. Oh, you may say that, 
 
 359 
 
360 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 my dear honey ; from the top to the bottom, every 
 inch and cranny of you. Viper. Pay the proper 
 respect to my cloth. O'Donnovan. What is it you 
 mane ? Is it a priest that you are ? Viper. Without 
 doubt. O" Donnovan. Then, upon my shoul, it must 
 be of your own ordination, Uke Mr. Melchisedeck. 
 A priest ! I'll wager you my frock against the price 
 of a Mass that you can't teU how many the Thirty- 
 nine Articles are. Viper. An impudent, audacious 
 
 O Donnovan. What ! because you was parish clerk to 
 the Moravian meeting-house in the Old Jewry, and 
 used to snuffle out their indecent hymns to the tune 
 of filthy ballads and jigs ; and from thence you got 
 expelled for robbing the poor-box. Viper. What, 
 me ? (y Donnovan. Then you became advertisement- 
 sticker to lottery offices, auctioneers, stage-coaches, 
 and mountebank doctors ; but being detected in 
 selling the bills for waste paper to grocers, you got 
 your dismissal, you know. Viper. Rascal ! I know ! 
 O'Donnovan. After that you turned swindler, and 
 got out of gaol by an Act for the relief of insolvent 
 debtors. Viper. Many honest men have been in the 
 same situation. O' Donnovan. Oh, yea ! lave honesty 
 out of the case, if you plase. Then you became doer 
 of the Scandalous Chronicle, mowed down reputations 
 like muck, pushed yourseK into the pay of Lady 
 Deborah Dripping, produced anonymous paragraphs 
 against her of your own composition, and got paid by 
 her for not putting them into your paper. Viper 
 [aside). Where the devil could the fellow collect all 
 this story? O' Donnovan. Now, from here I suppose 
 you will soon return home a fugitive, and pay your 
 old debts by a new Act of Parliament." 
 
 After this, it was scarcely surprising that Jackson 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 361 
 
 should have struck back, and with a vigour that 
 was to destroy Foote. But what an infatuation, 
 and what blindness to consequences I It was the 
 last and most painful of all Foote's histrionic efforts, 
 and was also to be the most fatal in its result to 
 himself. He had the satisfaction of "gibbeting" 
 his enemy, but it proved his ruin. 
 
 It was astonishing that Foote did not see his 
 danger, and that he had not taken warning by the 
 dark, scarcely veiled insinuations as to his own 
 moral character, which now appeared regularly and 
 mysteriously in the holes and corners of the Press. 
 But he had not reckoned with the desperate animosity 
 of his foe. More astonishing still was it that he 
 should thus put himself on trial on his own stage, 
 knowing how easy it was for his enemies to send in 
 hired disturbers to interrupt the piece. It seems 
 incredible that Foote should have appeared as a 
 performer, addressing Jackson, who was disguised as 
 Viper. 
 
 At the close of May 1776, Foote opened his season 
 with " The Bankrupt." It was a sensational night, and 
 he required much courage to face the ordeal. The 
 house was packed with an audience of men of rank 
 and men of letters in all parts. Foote was greeted 
 with riotous disturbance, yells, etc. The ladies fled 
 from the boxes. The actor, with great courage, came 
 forward and pleaded for himself. He told them how 
 that very day he had brought his libeller before the 
 Court, and had convicted him. He appealed for 
 indulgence, and the play was allowed to go on. 
 
 But now a sad closing act was to follow. A 
 report began to be circulated that it was proposed | 
 to bring a serious charge — most serious and degrading ' 
 
362 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 of all known charges — against the manager of the 
 Haymarket, and that the promoters were merely 
 waiting tUl the matter was ripe. The unfortunate 
 Foote hardly knew what to do, but, after consulting 
 his friends, determined that boldness was the best 
 course to take. So he continued to perform for a few 
 nights, but under such a cloud he was not likely to 
 have much success. On July 8 the town learned that 
 a coachman whom Foote had discharged for repeated 
 irregularities had appeared before the grand jury at 
 Hicks's Hall on a bill of indictment against Foote for 
 an offence which need not be named. The bill appears 
 to have been found — we may presume, on the prose- 
 cutor's evidence — and motion was made and granted 
 that the accused should at once be arrested. Officers 
 were despatched for the purpose. It was remarked 
 that this worthy coachman was attended by the Rev. 
 Dr. Jackson as a sort of sponsor ! Foote escaped the 
 degradation of arrest by a mere chance. He had 
 heard of the legal proceedings, and, going to Hicks's 
 Hall with some of his friends, obtained bail, while the 
 officers were seeking him at his own house. The 
 object, of course, was, by securing his person, to cause 
 him to close his theatre. Such was the plot. A few 
 days later his assailants appeared again at Hicks's Hall 
 with a fresh charge of the same character, and again 
 the grand jury returned a true bill, but Foote's 
 counsel succeeded in removing the whole case to the 
 Court of King's Bench. 
 
 It must have been a sad and painful thing for him 
 to have to appear on the same night at his theatre, 
 as, of course, his persecutors attended. Many ladies 
 were present, strangely enough, who were received 
 with some indecorous expressions, which obliged 
 
CH. xxm] FINALE 363 
 
 them immediately to retire — a conduct for which they 
 were much applauded by the whole house. 
 
 " When the curtain drew up, Foote came forward, 
 and was received with prodigious shouts of applause, 
 a few hisses from the corners of the galleries excepted; 
 however, these being soon silenced, and order restored, 
 he addressed the audience : 
 
 " ' Gentlemen,— It was not my intention, after the 
 charge that has been made against me, to appear 
 before the pubhc tUl I had an opportunity of proving 
 my innocence ; but as this charge was made at the 
 critical point of time when I usually opened my 
 theatre, and having engaged as good a set of per- 
 formers for your amusement as I could procure, it 
 was the unanimous advice of my friends that I should 
 open my house, in confidence that the public were 
 too noble and too just to discard an old servant for 
 a mere accusation. 
 
 " ' I am ready to answer every charge which can be 
 brought against me, and have pursued such legal 
 steps to clear my reputation from the virulent attacks 
 of a public paper as will speedily bring the writer to 
 an issue in the Court of King's Bench, which has this 
 day made the rule absolute against the publisher. 
 
 " ' I beg leave to return my thanks for the marks 
 you have now given me of your humanity and justice ; 
 permit me to promise you that I will never disgrace 
 your protection.' 
 
 "His situation called forth his sensibiUties very 
 powerfully, and a great majority of the audience 
 honoured him both at that moment and throughout 
 the whole course of the comedy with the most un- 
 bounded applause." 
 
364 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 Of all the chequered incidents and adventures in 
 the record of our men of letters, this seems the most 
 tragic and painful, especially when we think of its 
 arriving at the close of a long and animated career, 
 when his attraction was beginning to fail, and when 
 he might naturally be looking for repose. Whether 
 innocent or guilty, it was impossible to recover from 
 such a stroke and hide his head in retirement. The 
 actor is before his public every night, and thus was 
 Foote constantly recalling the nauseous story to 
 audiences. And, alas ! the verdict of the jury in such 
 cases is not always convincing for the crowd. There 
 were many who shook their heads solemnly. No one, 
 however, who has followed the account of Jackson's 
 share in the matter, could have the slightest hesitation 
 in acquitting Foote. 
 y In due course Samuel Foote, the English Aris- 
 tophanes, had to stand his trial. Here was the terrible 
 judge, who had put so many in the dock, forced to 
 appear in that humiliating place. Happily, he was 
 altogether cleared of the foul charge and acquitted ; 
 and it was proved that the coachman accuser had 
 been encouraged, if not suborned, by Jackson to 
 come forward. If this were the case, why was he 
 not brought to trial in his turn ? However, Foote 
 felt compelled to bring an action against him for 
 the libellous paragraphs inserted in the papers. 
 But before it came to trial, the actor died. Every- 
 body stood by him, and the King "commanded" 
 performances. The trial was attended by royalties 
 and persons of the first rank, who were, I fancy, 
 drawn more by curiosity than by respect or friend- 
 ship. Garrick, true friend to the last, worked 
 unceasingly for his friend. " God forever bless you. 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 365 
 
 my dear, kind friend ; may nothing but halcyon days 
 and nights crown the rest of your life !" So wrote 
 the fallen jester. 
 
 One of the most terrible trials for a person moving 
 in society is the first appearance before his acquaint- 
 ances — say, at some familiar club — after passing 
 through the ordeal of a public trial on some criminal 
 charge which has ended in acquittal. The hapless 
 victim who is innocent is forced to confront his 
 friends and put on a show of indifference ; if his 
 courage fail him, he had better retire to foreign lands. 
 How sick at heart he must be ! how hesitating with 
 everyone he meets, uncertain as he must be of his 
 reception ! But what must be the feelings of the 
 accused and acquitted player who has to present 
 himseK to the crowd of the theatre, where there are 
 certain to be enemies, with others who have formed 
 an obstinate opinion on the question, and resent the 
 " fellow's " coming forward as effrontery. And this 
 was the hapless Foote's sad position. But at once the 
 old amazing incompressibility came to his aid. With 
 his back to the wall, as it were, he fought all comers, 
 then leaped over their heads. 
 
 After all, the most convincing, persuasive evidence 
 for Foote in this distressing business is that of Garrick. 
 The unhappy man, crushed, overwhelmed, and sus- 
 pected, found his best friend, sympathizer, and 
 adherent, in the one whom he had so often libelled, 
 threatened, denounced, ridiculed — David Garrick ! 
 This generous man rallied to his side at once ; he 
 had complete faith in his honour ; he encouraged and 
 fortified him, and gave valuable assistance. He was 
 almost tender and affectionate in his oflfers of aid. 
 This is the best and substantial proof of his behef in 
 
366 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 Foote's innocence. Anyone of less noble gifts might 
 have coldly stood aloof, and said: "This man has 
 been my unfailing libeller ; he has caused me many 
 anxious moments. Let him now look after himself" 
 Not so David Garrick. From the beginning to the end 
 of this disastrous business he was on the side of Foote. 
 In a letter Garrick gives him encouraging news to 
 cheer him^ and good-naturedly tells him what a fine 
 account he had had of Foote's new piece — his best 
 performance, and "he never was better pleased." 
 Foote's answer was equally remarkable : 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you for the kind 
 conclusion of your letter. I promise I would not have 
 hinted it to you but in the confidence of your friend- 
 ship, and if at the same time I could not with the 
 greatest truth say that I am most sincerely and 
 affectionately yours. I have been most cruelly 
 used, but I have, thank God, got to the bottom of 
 this infernal contrivance. God for ever bless you !" 
 
 He was fatigued to death with a crowd of com- 
 forters — had just rid of a roomful. Naturally his 
 spirits were better. 
 
 And again Foote wrote : 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks, my dear sir, for your kind 
 message to me by Mr. Woodfall, nor am I less 
 obliged to you for using your influence where I 
 begged it. I have directed Sewell to advertise all 
 my performances in the Morning Post [Woodfall's 
 paper] ; and if the gentleman who is supposed to be 
 the editor [Bate] should again turn his thoughts to 
 the drama, 7ne and my stage he may ever command.'' 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 367 
 
 j>< After the verdict he seemed to be completely 
 restored to pubUc favour. He even went to Court, 
 where he was warmly received.* His last appear- 
 ance "on any stage" was in May 1777, in his 
 character of the Devil on Two Sticks. It was 
 remarked that he was sadly changed, grown wasted, 
 and had lack-lustre eyes. 
 
 After a time the broken actor seems to have lost 
 heart, and resolved to fly from the scene of his 
 humihation. He would give up his theatre and go 
 away to foreign parts. It went round that the httle 
 theatre was to be sold, and offers began to come 
 in. The most favourable came from an anonymous 
 candidate, who proved to be one of his own friends. 
 
 Foote to Garrick. 
 
 "September 15, 1776. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I am sorry I could not see you before quit- 
 ting this country, and am more concerned at the 
 cause ; but, as I found your gouty fit was in form, 
 I flatter myself there will be a long parenthesis 
 between this and the next. 
 
 " You have no leisure to be sick in such a jostling 
 time. Your opponents are numerous, and Solomon 
 says, 'In a multitude of counsellors there is safety'; 
 but I should suppose his counsellors are of a different 
 stamp from the congregation at Covent Garden. 
 
 * A Baronet had his diamond ornaments snatched away, on which 
 the irrepressible joker declared that it was no wonder, as he had 
 noted an immense number of parsons about, and had carefully 
 secured his gold snuff-box. Further, the King actually commanded 
 a special performance, and this while the accusation was pending. 
 The incorrigible Foote, on telling the King that the piece was 
 written by one of his chaplains, added, " And dull enough to be by 
 a Bishop." 
 
368 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiif"* 
 
 " There is more of prudence than of pleasure in my 
 trip to the Continent: to tell you the truth, I am 
 tired of racking my brain, toiling like a horse, and 
 crossing seas and mountains in the most dreary 
 season, merely to pay servants' wages and trades- 
 men's bills. I have therefore directed my friend 
 Jewel to discharge the lazy vermin of my haU, and 
 let my hall, too (heU, it would seem, is the correct 
 word), if he can meet with a proper tenant : help me 
 to one if you can. 
 
 " You need not doubt but I shall be happy to hear 
 from you ; my epistolary debts wiU be always in my 
 power to pay : is it in man to do more ? With 
 anjrthing that France produces I shall be proud to 
 
 supply you. 
 
 " I kiss Mrs. Garrick's hands, and am, 
 
 " Most truly and sincerely yours, 
 
 "S. F." 
 
 Here was a genuine, almost touching letter. The 
 careless tone of " a trip " to France could not take in 
 his friend ; Garrick must have read between the 
 lines, and seen that he was flpng from England for 
 good. There was more prudence than pleasure in 
 the step. 
 
 Cleverness, unluckUy, does not always secure — or 
 at least rarely secures — remuneration. The two 
 Colmans, father and son, had reaUy to live by their 
 wits. The father had no money ; he had debts, which 
 he satisfied by living almost permanently in the Rules 
 of the King's Bench. He was a wit of singular 
 buoyancy, and the best of company for supper, as 
 Byron said, though he was glad to have " Sherry " as 
 a dinner companion. There was something piquant 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 369 
 
 in the notion of this poor debtor — actually managing 
 his theatre from the Rules — arranging pieces which he 
 dared not venture to go and see, controlling his actors 
 whom he could not rehearse. This awkward duress 
 must have been well known to all ; it was impossible 
 to respect a management carried on under such con- 
 ditions.* Foote was once or twice in the Fleet, but 
 he was too adroit to suffer permanent imprisonment. 
 Impecunious men such as Sheridan gradually learn 
 the art of managing creditors ; such are gifted with 
 a brazen effrontery, and lack shame or delicacy. 
 Colman, who was a worthy, amiable, perhaps honour- 
 able man, could not bluster or chicane, and suffered 
 accordingly. 
 
 When Foote came to the resolution of disposing of 
 his theatre, he announced that he would receive 
 proposals. The negotiations were going on, but he 
 had no idea that his Mend Colman was a candidate. 
 The latter, knowing his Foote well, preferred to employ 
 an agent. The new and old managers used to meet 
 at dinner, and Foote in his rough way would tell how 
 he had seen the agent, who was acting for " some fat- 
 headed blockhead who knew nothing of management, 
 and would ruin himself." 
 
 The younger Colman explains the terms of the 
 arrangement. A life annuity of £1,600 was to be 
 paid half-yearly. Foote was also to be paid for his 
 services as an actor, and actually performed three 
 times. He was also to receive £500 for the copyright 
 of his pieces. " With the theatre certain decayed and 
 
 * Colman recalled Foote's rough treatment of him as a boy, his 
 usual greeting being : " Blow your nose, child." He recalled also 
 the good-natured " Goldy," who, when he was in disgrace and put in 
 a dark room, went in to amuse him with tricks, etc. 
 
 24 
 
370 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxin 
 
 moth-eaten articles, which Foote dignified by the col- 
 lective name of wardrobe, which might have produced 
 altogether at a sale, if weU puffed by a knowing 
 auctioneer, about £20 at the utmost," were made over 
 to the new management. And so his connection 
 with " the little theatre in the Hay. " ceased for ever. 
 It was a prodigious bargain for Colman, for Foote 
 died after the first half-year became due. The new 
 manager must have had it almost for nothing. 
 
 But now was to come a last warning ; indeed, mis- 
 fortunes were crowding on him in battalions. While 
 playing one night, the poor actor was stricken with 
 palsy when actually on the stage. This was to prove 
 his last appearance. He was sent down to Brighthelm- 
 stone (Brighton), where he seemed to recover. He 
 returned to London, and was ordered to go to Paris, 
 and later to the South of France. The palsy, however, 
 was to waylay him at Dover, and he got no farther. 
 
 He went away fuU of gloomy presentiments. He 
 wandered through the rooms of his house in Suffolk 
 Street, which were hung with good portraits, and 
 stopped before one of Weston.* After gazing at 
 it intently for some moments, he said mournfully, 
 " Poor Weston !" Then, turning to Jewel, who was 
 with him : " It will very soon be poor Foote I" 
 
 Many of us may recall the old Ship Inn at Dover 
 where Foote was to play the last scene of his noisy 
 life. It was the first stage for the traveller going 
 , abroad, who usually stayed for the night to arrange 
 for his passage next day in one of the " smacks " or 
 sloops. On the other side there was Dessein's old 
 and familiar house, celebrated by Sterne. The Ship 
 lingered on till nigh 1870, when it was closed owing 
 
 * Now in the Garrick Club. 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 371 
 
 to the facilities for making the journey in one day. 
 I recall it — a stern, fortress-looking building, well 
 buffeted by the storms of the Channel. It later did 
 duty as a warehouse. 
 
 In this harbour-side inn it was Foote's fate to utter 
 the last— the very last — of his thousand and one jests. 
 And this was addressed, not to the sympathizing, 
 convivial co-drinkers of the Bedford or of the " noble- 
 man's stable," but to the cook maid and scullions 
 of the Ship kitchen. There he gave his last perform- 
 ance — a poor thing, something about the cook being 
 ^a traveller as having been in Grease* 
 
 " Next morning, when sitting at breakfast," says his 
 friend Cooke, " he was seized with a shivering fit, 
 which further increasing, he was put to bed. Another 
 fit soon succeeded this, which lasted three hours. He 
 then seemed composed and inclined to sleep ; but 
 soon began to breathe low, which continuing for some 
 little time, he at length, with a deep sigh, expired on 
 the 21st of October 1777, in the fifty-seventh year of 
 his age." 
 
 Such was the end of this unlucky Yorick. It 
 
 * So soon as Foote was dead. Murphy thought to turn him to 
 profit by seizing on his good things and fitting them into his own 
 pieces. He thought, perhaps, " There is meat on him still." In 
 one of his comedies he describes him : " He has wit to ridicule you, 
 invention to frame a story of you, humour to help it about, and, 
 when he has set the town a-laughing, he puts on a familiar air and 
 shakes you by the hand." 
 
 After Murphy's death, some notes for a comedy were found 
 among his papers : " Foote gives a dinner — large company ; each 
 enters, he glad to see each. At dinner his wit, affectation, pride ; 
 his expense, his plate, his jokes. All laugh ; all go, one by one ; 
 all abused, one by one. His toad-eaters stay ; he praises himself — 
 in a passion against all the world." How characteristic of the 
 friendship between wits ! 
 
 24—2 
 
372 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 was curious that another bitter satirist — Charles 
 Churchill — should also have given up the ghost at 
 Dover fourteen years before. He was seized with 
 illness, very appropriately, when on his way to visit 
 Wilkes. He was stopped by a " miliary fever " at 
 Boulogne, where he made a mock will, and died 
 shortly after his arrival at Dover. His last words, it 
 is said, were, " What a fool I have been /" Poor 
 Foote might have made the same despairing ejacu- 
 lation : 
 
 " And all our yesterdays 
 Have lighted fools the way to dusty death." 
 
 Foote was but a few years over fifty when he ended 
 his tumultuous life. The executioner, in the shape of 
 apoplexy or paralysis, was called in — ever the penalty 
 for excessive indulgence. This malady, with softening 
 of the brain, delirium tremens, insanity, etc. , usually cuts 
 short the course of the toper, debauchee, or glutton. 
 Had he been temperate, Foote might have looked for 
 a long life, from his unflagging spirits and energy. 
 And it is sad to think that even Johnson and his 
 faithful Boswell should both have died prematurely 
 — the first from over-indulgence in the good things of 
 the table, the other from a too sottish indulgence in 
 drink. In the Doctor's case it was rather a deplor- 
 able business ; all knew his greedy methods in taking 
 his food, his gorging it, as it were, till the veins in 
 his face swelled. He would not speak while he was 
 thus engrossed. How are we to account for this 
 weakness in so great a sage and moralist, and one who 
 so carefully searched his conscience ? The swinging 
 stroke came in the night, and filled him with dread 
 and penitence. But after the friendly gratuitous 
 doctors had brought him round with cantharides, etc., 
 
CH. xxiii] FINALE 373 
 
 our sage could not resist fresh dinner-parties, and 
 "gorged" away as before. According to medical 
 prognostics, it is certain that he would have had 
 another stroke within a few months, which would 
 have despatched him ; but his other diseases — dropsy, 
 asthma, weakness of kidneys and other " internals " — 
 all induced by overeating — brought matters to a final 
 crisis. The hard-working litterateur destroys himself 
 and shortens his life, but in another way. Take the two 
 great stars of the nineteenth century — to wit, Scott 
 and Dickens. There is a strange parallel in the lives 
 of these great men. Both died from overwork, from 
 striving to earn a permanent subsistence for their 
 families. Both loved the country and wished to set 
 up as " squires," and there were many other points of 
 resemblance. But overwork destroyed both. In my 
 own experience, I could name many who have literally 
 thus destroyed themselves by such excesses. 
 
 And so it was to be with poor Foote, who to 
 the last fancied himself a power before which all 
 were to tremble, unconscious that the feet were but 
 of clay. A month after Johnson's declaring that 
 Foote would drive Betterton out of the room by his 
 wit and spirit, the Doctor wrote to his friend Mrs. 
 Thrale : " Did you see Foote at Brighthelmstone ? 
 Did you think he would be so soon gone ? ' Life,' 
 says FalstafF, ' is a shuttle.' He was a fine fellow in 
 his way, and the world is really impoverished hy his 
 sinking glories. Murphy ought to write his life — at 
 least, give to the world a Footeana. Now, will any 
 of his contemporaries bewail him ?"* 
 
 Jewel, the treasurer of the theatre, was sent for, 
 
 * On that suggestion of a " Footeana," a malevolent critic wrote, 
 " One-half had been a string of obscenities." 
 
374 SAMUEL FOOTE [ch. xxiii 
 
 and brought the body to town. On the Monday 
 following (November 3) he was buried by torchlight 
 in the west cloister of the Abbey. We may wonder 
 who of his friends it was that moved in this matter — 
 probably Garrick. The truth was, at that time " snug 
 Ijring " in the cloisters was easily obtainable. As it 
 was, no one thought of a monument, though, as a sort 
 of oddity which he himself would have smiled at, a 
 tablet was erected in a Dover church where he did 
 not lie: 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of Samuel Foote, 
 
 Who had a tear for every friend, 
 
 And a hand and heart ever ready 
 
 To relieve distress. 
 
 " He departed this life Oct. 21, 1777 (on his journey to France), 
 at the Ship Inn, Dover, aged 55 years [«c]. This inscription was 
 placed here by his afiFectionate friend, William Jewel. 
 
 This was in St. Martm's, Cannon Street, and the 
 tablet is described as a small one. The strangest 
 thing is to find not far away from it a tablet to his 
 friend Churchill, who also had died elsewhere. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abington, Frances, 37 n. ; her 
 entertainment with Wilkinson, 
 172-174 
 
 Actors, the training of, 34, 35 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 29 
 
 Alice in Wonderland, 110 ' 
 
 Angelo, the fencing-master, 97, 202, 
 204 m. 
 
 Aprice, an eccentric Welshman, 
 145, 146 ; apphcation to Lord 
 Chamberlain to forbid The 
 Author, 149 
 
 Arne, Dr., satirized by Foote, 332 
 
 Austen, Jane, 300 
 
 Austin, Mr., friend of Tate Wilkin- 
 son, 159, 160 
 
 Baddeley, Bobert, 220 
 
 Baker, Mrs., possibly the original of 
 Mrs. Crummies, 117, 164 
 
 Bannister, Charles, 233 ; his imita- 
 tions of Foote, 272 
 
 Barber, a wardrobe-dealer, 242 
 
 Barrowby, Dr. WilUam, 29 
 
 Barry, Spranger, Wilkinson's imita- 
 tion of, 115, 123, 166, 168, 170, 
 243, 265 
 
 Barsanti, Miss, as Portia, 325 
 
 Bedford, The, Coffee House, 29 
 
 Beggar's Ojpera, The, 208 
 
 Bentley, Eiohard, his play The 
 Wishes, 293 
 
 Bernard, John, 124 n. 
 
 Betterton, Thomas, Johnson's com- 
 ment upon, 91 
 
 Blake, his acting in Taste, 78 
 
 Bonfoy, Captaia, 118 
 
 Boswell, James, 2, 3, 9, 18, 31, 84, 
 89, 94, 95, 96, 103, 133, 168; 
 Johnson on, 181; his skits on 
 Foote and Dodsley, 188, 204; 
 and the Eobin Hood Debating 
 Society, 235; at the Stratford 
 
 Jubilee, 303 ; story of Goldsmith 
 
 and the puppets, 321 ; repeats to 
 
 Foote a story of Johnson, 322, 
 
 336, 346, 372 
 Bouoieault, Dion, 37, 182 
 Bourgeois Qentilhomme, Le, 292 
 Boz Club, The, 31 
 Bracegirdle, Mrs., 135 
 Brooke, Gustavus, 37 n. 
 Brough, Lionel, 56 
 Browne, Sir WilUam, satirized by 
 
 Foote, 297 
 Brownsmith, under -prompter at 
 
 Drury Lane, 157 
 Buokstone, J. B., 56 
 Burney, Fanny, her descriptions 
 
 of Arthur Murphy, 103, 104, 825, 
 
 326 
 Byron quoted, 368 
 
 Callender, an Edinburgh theatrical 
 manager, 161 
 
 Carlyle on Thomas Moore, 315 n. 
 
 Censorship, the Dramatic, 50, 51, 
 267 
 
 Chaigneau, Mr. and Mrs., 121 
 
 Chesterfield, Lord, 91, 236, 293, 
 331 
 
 Chudleigh, Miss, Duchess of King- 
 ston, 337 ; Foote's play, A Trip 
 to Calais, written round her, 
 341 ; her champions, 843 ; the 
 play forbidden, 346; her fresh 
 negotiations, 350 ; attacked by 
 Foote in the Press, 851 ; letter 
 from Foote, 351 ; her reply, 353 
 his retort, 354 
 
 Churchill, Charles : his hatred of 
 Murphy, 104; on Foote, 198, 
 199, 200, 223, 241; on Shuter, 
 259, 372, 374 
 
 Cibber, Colley, on Garrick, 135, 
 136 ; on Mrs. Clive, 151 
 
 375 
 
376 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 Cider Cellars, The, 45 
 
 Clandestine Marriage, The, Mur- 
 phy's quarrel with Garrick over, 
 103 
 
 CUve, Catherine, 37 n., 151 
 
 CUve, Mr. Justice, 205 
 
 Clubs, 31 
 
 Coal Hole, The, 45 
 
 Cock, a fashionable auctioneer, 
 Poote's burlesque of, 60 
 
 Cock Lane ghost, the, 229 
 
 Cockbum, Lord, 49 
 
 Coffee-houses, 29-82 
 
 Coleridge, S. T., 31 
 
 Colmans, the, 54, 228, 240, 252, 
 253, 257, 868 
 
 Compton, Henry, 56 
 
 Cooke, William, biorgapher of 
 Poote, 8, 9, 14, 26, 28, 38, 41, 61, 
 100, 101, 202, 212, 214, 235, 261, 
 272, 303; account of Foote's 
 death, 871 
 
 Cookes, Sir Thomas, 12, 13 
 
 Cooper, Lucy, 241 
 
 Coote, Mr., afterwards Earl of 
 Bellamont, 180 
 
 Costello, 57, 68, 78, 102 
 
 Cradook, Joseph, 94 ; quoted, 205, 
 321, 329 
 
 Critic, The, 284 
 
 Croker, John Wilson, 9, 18 ; quoted, 
 49 
 
 CuUen, Dr., a famous mimic, 49, 50 
 
 Cumberland, Eichard, 206, 235, 
 827, 329 
 
 Cumberland, William Augustus, 
 Duke of, leader in riot at 
 Haymarket Theatre, 68, 99, 217 
 
 Curran, John, his quotation of 
 Foote's nonsense story, 109 
 
 Davies, Thomas, 84 ; quoted, 85, 
 88, 96, 208, 306, 308, 321 
 
 Delane, Dennis, 37 n. ; Foote's bur- 
 lesque of, 59, 265 
 
 Delaval, Sir Francis, 201, 207 
 
 Diahle Boiteux, Le, 296 
 
 Dickens, Charles, 81, 46 n., 71, 177, 
 204 n., 264, 269, 271, 821, 830, 
 336, 873 
 
 Didier, Mrs., 164 
 
 Dinely, Sir John, 5, 6 
 
 Dinely, Sir John (born Goodere), 8 
 
 Doctor Last in Ms Chariot, 309 
 
 Dodd, William, caricatured in The 
 Minor, 177, 381, 333 
 
 Dominecetti, an Italian quack, 203 
 Drama, the modern, 268 
 Dramatic Licensing Act of 1737, 
 
 the, 37, 50, 158 
 Dryden, John, 44 
 Dublin, Foote's appearances in, 
 
 118, 166, 263, 308 
 Dumas, Alexandre, 80, 220 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, 110 
 Elwin, Whitwell, 192 n. 
 English Stage, Some Account of 
 the, by John Genest, 278 
 
 Farmer, Dr. Bicbard, 205 
 
 Farquhar, George, 87 
 
 Parrens, the, 37 n. 
 
 Faulkner, George, 95, 234, 235; 
 takes action against Foots, 238 
 
 Pawkener, Alderman, 811 ; a letter 
 from, 312 
 
 Fielding, Henry, his Tom Thmmb, 
 etc., 50, 252 
 
 Fielding, Sir John, 851 
 
 FitzHenry, Mrs., 87 n. 
 
 Fitzherbert, Johnson's anecdote 
 about his servants and Foote, 91, 
 92 
 
 Fletcher, Sir Bobert, 206 
 
 Foote family, the, 3, 19 n., 97, 98 
 
 Foote, Henry, 3 
 
 Poote, Mrs., mother of Samuel, 3, 
 5, 28, 98, 356 
 
 Foote, the Eev. G., brother of 
 Samuel, 98, 99 
 
 Foote, Mr. Thomas, 19 n. 
 
 Foote, Samuel : 
 
 Christened in 1720, 3 ; sent to 
 Worcester Grammar School, 9 ; 
 first efforts in mimicry, 10 ; goes 
 to Worcester College, Oxford, 12 ; 
 practical jokes, 14 ; scholarship 
 declared void, 18 ; pamphlet on 
 the murder of his uncle, 27 ; at 
 the Temple, 28 ; at the coffee- 
 houses, 29 ; stage-training, 33 ; 
 first appearances, 40; Dublin 
 journey, 42 ; mimicry as a pro- 
 fession, 42; a rival in G. A. 
 Stevens, 52 ; comparison of Poote 
 with Charles Mathews, 52, 53 ; 
 first performance of The Diver- 
 sions of the Morning, 57 ; legal 
 stoppage of the performances, and 
 Poote's evasion, 61 ; first comedy. 
 The Knights, 70; flight to 
 
INDEX 
 
 377 
 
 France, 74 ; return and produc- 
 tion of Taste, 75 ; relations with 
 Garriek, 80 ; character by Davies, 
 85 ; comments of Johnson, 89- 
 96 ; as beer-brewer, 91, 92, 94 ; 
 resolves to burlesque Johnson : 
 Johnson's retort, 96 ; meeting 
 with Johnson in Paris, 97 ; imita- 
 tions before Pr^ville, 97 ; letter to 
 his mother in prison, 98 ; mar- 
 riage, 99, 100; in the Fleet 
 Prison, 101 ; the dismissal and re- 
 turn of his wife, 102 ; satire on 
 the French, 105 ; quarrel with 
 Murphy, 107 ; persecution of 
 Macklin : nonsense story, 108, 
 109 ; witness of Wilkinson's 
 imitations, 116 ; engagement of 
 Wilkinson for Irish tour, 117 ; 
 dismissal of Wilkinson and ex- 
 periment as fortune-teller, 126 ; 
 appearances at Drury Lane in 
 revivals of Taste and Diversions, 
 129, 131-133; address to the 
 audience on Wilkinson's with- 
 drawal, 140; production of The 
 Author, 146; play banned by 
 the Lord Chamberlain, 150 ; 
 scheme for playing Shylook falls 
 through, 151 ; quarrel with 
 Wilkinson, 155-157; burlesqued 
 by Wilkinson, 159 ; lecture at 
 the Haymarket, 160 ; borrows 
 from Garrick, 162; Edinburgh, 
 168 ; letter to Wilkinson quoted, 
 165 ; Dublin, 166 ; scene with 
 Thomas Sheridan, 168 ; threat- 
 ens Wilkinson, 175 ; caricatures 
 Wilkinson and Whitefield in 
 The Minor, 176; on Lreland, 
 181 ; The Minor at the Hay- 
 market, 182 ; reply to critics, 
 188,189; charged with plagiarism, 
 189 n. ; anger at Wilkinson's 
 piracies, 193; licence refused, 
 196; as a humorist, 197, 213- 
 224; fear of Churchill, 200; 
 friends, 201 ; practical jokes, 202, 
 203 ; Foote confused at a dinner, 
 206 ; encounter with John Hen- 
 derson, 208; further reconcilia- 
 tion with Wilkinson, 225 ; curious 
 stage methods in The Orators, 
 234 ; fined for libel on Faulkner, 
 238; parody of the proceedings, 
 288 ; snobbishness, 245 ; loses his 
 
 leg as result of an accident, 246 ; 
 a theatre manager, 247; licence 
 quoted, 253 ; management, 258 ; 
 considered as a dramatist, 264- 
 300; best characters compared 
 with those of Goldsmith, 267 ; 
 Goldsmith's indebtedness, 275 ; 
 Sheridan's indebtedness, • 279 ; 
 attends Stratford Jubilee to 
 plague Garrick, 301 ; threat to 
 produce a puppet-show burlesque 
 of Garrick, 304 ; letter to Garrick, 
 310; letter to Tate Wilkinson, 
 313 ; The Maid of Bath and the 
 Sheridan romance, 316 ; puppet- 
 shows, 318; plan to satirize 
 Johnson and Goldsmith, 322, 
 324 ; a condottiere, 337 ; plans 
 to satirize the Duchess of King- 
 ston, 337 ; is prevented by the 
 Lord Chamberlain, 346 ; letter 
 to the Lord Chamberlain, 347 ; 
 letter to the Duchess of King- 
 ston, 351 ; her reply, 353 ; his 
 violent rejoinder, 854 ; portraits, 
 858 ; Jackson's vengeance, 860 ; 
 Foote charged to appear before a 
 grand jury, 862 ; trial and ac- 
 quittal, 364 ; action against Jack- 
 son, 864 ; Garriok's admirable 
 friendliness, 364; last appear- 
 ance, 367 ; Brighthelmstone, 
 370; at the Ship Inn, Dover, 
 370 ; death, 371 ; burial m West- 
 minster Abbey, 374 
 Foote, Samuel — Parts : 
 
 As Bayes, in The Rehearsal, 40, 
 41, 166; Ben Legend, in Love 
 for Love, 41; Buck, in The 
 EngUshmam in Paris, 105 ; 
 Oadwallader, in The Author, 
 146 ; Sir Courtly, 41 ; Demur, in 
 his parody of Dublin action, 239 ; 
 Fondlewife, in The Old Bachelor, 
 40, 57 ; Foppington, in The Be- 
 lapse, 40, 41 ; Sir Harry Wildair, 
 in Ths Constant Couple, 41 ; 
 Kitely, in Every Man in his 
 Humour, 116; Lecturer and 
 Peter Paragraph, in The Orators, 
 283 ; Sir Luke Limp, in The 
 Lame Lover, 289; Othello, 88, 
 40; Sir Paul Pliant, in The 
 Double Dealer, 40, 163 ; Sir 
 Penurious Trifle, in The Knights, 
 70 ; Pierre, in Venice Preserved, 
 
378 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 40; Puzzle, in Tea, 121; Shy- 
 loek, 149, 151, 163; Smirk and 
 Mrs. Cole, in The Mvnor, 227 ; 
 The Squire, in The HamAsome 
 Housemaid, 325 ; Tiasel, in The 
 t)rvm/mer, 41 
 
 Foote, Samuel — Works : 
 
 Chronological list, 285 ; Author, 
 The, 146, 285; Auction, The, 
 65, 285; Bamkrupt, The, 285, 
 295, 361 ; Capucvn, The, 285, 
 334, quoted, 859 ; Cat's Opera, 
 The, 74 ; Commissary, The, 
 285, 291; Cozeners, The, 264, 
 285, 830 ; Diversions of the 
 Morning, The, 57, 128, 131, 138, 
 151, 153, 155, 171, 285; Devil 
 upon Two Stichs, The, 263, 285, 
 quoted, 296, 367 ; Englishman 
 in Pan-is, The, 105, 285; Eng- 
 Ushma/n Returned from Paris, 
 The, 285 ; Handsome House- 
 maid, The, or Piety in Pattens, 
 285, 322, 325 ; Knights, The, 70- 
 74, 146 n., 275, quoted 283, 285 ; 
 Lame Lover, The, 250, 278, 285, 
 289 ; Lyar, The, 285, 292; MaAd 
 of Bath, The, 285, 314; Mayor 
 of Oa/rratt, The, 226, quoted, 
 230, 231, 260, 285 ; Memoirs of 
 Sir John Dinely Goodere, The, 
 27 n.; Minor, The, 176, 183- 
 196, 227, 264, quoted 280, 285 ; 
 Nabob, The, 181, 285, 286, 291; 
 Orators, 2'fe,238,285; Passions, 
 The, a treatise, 265 n. ; Patron, 
 The, 285, 293; Taste, 75, 130, 
 171, 285; Tea, 61, 62, 64, 65, 
 121, 124, 157, 171 ; Traged/y d, 
 la Mode (part of Diversions of 
 the Morning) quoted, 284 ; Trip 
 to Calais, A, 341, 359 
 
 Forbes, Lord, 121 
 
 Fordyoe, Dr., a Quaker physician, 
 satirized by Foote, 299 
 
 Forster, John, his article on Foote 
 in the Qua/rterly Review, 2, 18, 
 27, 58; his intended life of 
 Garriok, 64 n., 88 ; his opinion 
 that Foote was never married, 
 99, 109; his distrust of Wilkin- 
 son's Memoirs, 113, 191, 192 n. ; 
 on The Mayor of Garratt, 230, 
 287, 317 ; admiration for Foote's 
 rejoinder to the Duchess of King- 
 ston, 857 
 
 Foster, Eev. Mr., defender of the 
 Duchess of Kingston, 343, 350, 
 354, 857 ; satirized, 359 
 
 Fox, Charles, praise of Foote, 198, 
 331 
 
 Garrick, David, 2, 3, 83, 84, 36, 42, 
 43, 57 ; Foote's burlesque of, 59, 
 64 n., 65 ; attitude to Foote over 
 Woodward's skit, 67, 75, 79; 
 Foote's attacks upon, 80; Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds upon, 88 ; 
 Johnson's comparisons with 
 Foote, 91, 92, 93, 97, 105 ; pro- 
 logue to The EngUshma/n in 
 Bonis, 106, 107 ; Tate Wilkinson's 
 descriptions, 114, 126 ; con- 
 demned by Foote, 128, 181 ; his 
 vanity, 133 ; comparison with 
 Foote by Wilkinson, 135 ; protest 
 to Wilkinson against burlesques, 
 187, 188, 140, 141, 145 ; Foote's 
 indebtedness to and stories of, 
 162, 167, 192 ; praised by 
 Churchill, 199, 204, 206; Foote's 
 gibes at, 218, 219, 222, 241 ; con- 
 cern for Foote after the latter's 
 accident, 248, 253; as an "actor- 
 manager," 258, 261, 298 ; the 
 "Jubilee"at Stratford-on-Avon, 
 301 ; his " Show " atDrury Lane, 
 and Foote's jealousy, 304, 321, 
 822 ; sees The Handsome House- 
 maid, 325, 850 ; true friendship 
 in Foote's need, 364, 374 
 
 Garrick, George, 242, 826 
 
 Garriok, Peter, 64 
 
 Genest, John, 152 n., 257, 264; 
 his Accoumt of the EngUsh 
 Stage, 273 
 
 George II., King, his death, 195 
 
 George III., on Foote's costume, 
 228, 229 
 
 George IV. as a mimic, 49 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 77 
 
 Glover, Mrs., 37 n. 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 2, 3, 8, 37 n. ; 
 his portrait of Croaker in The 
 Good-Natvned Mam, 54, 70, 97 ; 
 his characters compared with 
 those of Foote, 267 ; his indebted- 
 ness to Foote in She Stoops to 
 Conquer, 275 ; in the Oood- 
 Natured Mam,, 278, 298, 802 ; 
 his jealousy of the puppets, 821, 
 336 ; story told by Colman, 369 n. 
 
INDEX 
 
 379 
 
 Goodere family, the, 5-8 
 Goodere murder, the, 20-28 
 Goodere, Sir Edward, 3, 5, 356 
 Good-Natv/red Mem, The, com- 
 pared with The Lame Lover, 
 278 
 Gower, Dr., Provost of Worcester 
 
 GoUege, 12, 14, 15 
 Gower, Lord, Poote dedicates The 
 
 Patron to, 293 
 Grain, Corney, 34 
 Grecian, The, Coffee-House, 29 
 Grossmith, George, 34, 52 
 
 Hamilton, Duke of, 338 
 Hargrave, Francis, 344 
 Harness, the Eev. Mr., 4 n. 
 Harvey, Mr. Martin, 69 
 Hayward, Abraham, quoted, 213 
 Healy, Father, 197 
 Henderson, John, " the Bath 
 
 Eoscius," 208 ; as Shylock, 325 
 Henley, John, "Orator Henley," 
 
 Foote's ridicule of, 60 
 Hertford, Lord, forbids production 
 
 of A Trip to Calms, 346 
 Hervey, Augustus, husband of Miss 
 
 Ghudleigh, 339 
 HUl, John, 38, 39, 40 
 HUl's On Stage Recreation, 88 
 historical Begister, The, and the 
 
 Licensing Act of 1737, 50, 
 
 253 
 Hogarth, William, 169 n. 
 Hook, Theodore, 211 
 Hunt, Leigh, 271 
 
 Hurd, Eichard, Bishop of Wor- 
 cester, 87 
 
 Irish actors and playwrights, 36, 
 
 37 
 Irving, Su- Henry, 36, 69, 81, 818 n., 
 
 319 TO. 
 
 Jackson, Eev. Dr., defender of the 
 Duchess of Kingston, 343, 850, 
 351, 352, 854, 357; satirized, 
 359 ; retaliation, 860, 362 
 
 Jephson, Eobert, 810 
 
 Jewel, Foote's treasurer, 240, 310, 
 320, 368, 370, 373 
 
 Jewel, Mrs., 164; in The Hamd- 
 some Housemadd, 825 
 
 Johnson, Samuel, 3; length of 
 University training, 18, 19 ; 
 tavern-life, 31 ; on a lady mimic. 
 
 49 ; on two poets, 67 ; on Cheva- 
 lier Taylor, 76, 82, 84 ; story of 
 Foote and Garrick, 87 ; admira- 
 tion for Foote, 89, 91 ; on Foote's 
 depeditation, 90 ; comment on 
 a report that Foote had been 
 kicked, 90 ; on Betterton and 
 Foote, 91 ; anecdote about Fitz- 
 herbert's servants and Foote's 
 beer, 92 ; opinion of Sheridan, 
 95 ; Murphy's introduction to, 
 95 ; on mimicry, 95 ; learns of 
 Foote's intention to burlesque 
 him, 96, 103, 108; on Boswell, 
 181 ; on Domineoetti, 203 ; on 
 Foote's truthfulness, 205 ; en- 
 joyment of Foote's wit, 212, 215, 
 293, 809; comparison of Foote 
 with a dog, 322 ; on Foote's satire 
 of the Chesterfield model, 333, 
 372; letter to Mrs. Thrale on 
 Foote's death, 373 
 Jones, Mr. H. A., 269 n. 
 
 Kean, Charles, 87 n., 81 
 
 KeUie, Lord, 219 
 
 Kelly, Michael, 329 
 
 Kemble, John, 38, 81 
 
 Kennedy, Dr., a friend of Sterne 
 
 and Garrick, 204, 225, 298 
 Kennedy, Mr. Larry, 175 
 Kenttck, WiUiam, 312 
 King's Anecdotes, 12 
 Kingston, Duke of, 839 
 Kingston, Duchess of. See Chud- 
 
 leigh. Miss. 
 Kneller, Sir Godfrey, 77 
 Knight, Joseph, quoted, 278 ; his 
 
 character and his work, 274 
 Knowles, Sheridan, 37 n. 
 
 Lacey, Foote's imitation of, 64, 65, 
 
 115 
 Lamb, Charles, 8, 31, 198 
 Langford, Abraham, caricatured by 
 
 Foote, 76 
 Le Fanu, J. S., 238 
 Leimster, the Duke of, Foote's 
 
 abuse of his table, 221 
 Le Sage, his Le Liable Boiteux, 
 
 296 
 Lioley, Miss, afterwards Mrs. 
 
 Sheridan, 814 
 Literary Club, The, 31 
 Long, Mr., his connection with the 
 
 Sheridan romance, 314 
 
380 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 MacArdell's mezzotint of Garrick 
 as an auctioneer, 76 
 
 Maoaulay, Mrs. Catherine, 222 
 
 Macaulay, T. B., 286 
 
 MoCulloch, Mr., of ArdweU, 164 
 
 Maoklin, Charles, 35-38, 89, 40, 47; 
 Poote's imitation of, 63, 105 ; re- 
 tirement from the stage, 108; 
 subsequent relations with Foote, 
 111, 154, 155, 166 ; fear of being 
 burlesqued by Wilkinson, 169, 
 170, 252, 265, 310, 312 
 
 Macready, WilUam, 36, 37 n., 
 81 
 
 Mahony, an accomplice of Captain 
 Goodere, 22, 23, 24, 26 
 
 Mansfield,' Lord (Chief Justice), 
 223, 288 ■ 
 
 Mathews, Charles, a great mimic, 
 48, 52, 247. 358 
 
 Matthews, Major, satirized in The 
 Maid oJF Bath, 311 
 
 Measure for Measure, 130 
 
 Melcombe, Lord, satirized in The 
 Patron, 293, 294 
 
 Mendes, Moses, 241 
 
 Merchant of Venice, The, 325 
 
 Midas, 230 
 
 Miles, Dr., Foote's schoolmaster, 9, 
 13 
 
 MoliSre, "adapted," in The Com- 
 missary, 292 
 
 Moody, John, 37 n. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 288, 314; Car- 
 lyle's remark upon, 315 n. 
 
 Moreau, Miss, 57 
 
 Morton, Thomas, the comedies of, 
 54 
 
 Mossop, Henry, 36, 37 n., 166; 
 fear of being binrlesqued by 
 Wilkinson, 169, 170 ; in financial 
 difaculties, 171, 265 
 
 Mountstuart, Lord, 346, 347, 350, 
 354 
 
 Murphy, Arthur, 36, 37 n., 102, 
 103 ; Churchill's verses on, 104 ; 
 his sequel to The EngUah/man in 
 Paris, 106, 107, 135, 154, 155, 
 182, 196, 212, 301, 371 n., 
 373 
 
 Murray, Sir J., 109 
 
 Names, Foote's fondness for bur- 
 lesque, 70, 71, 183 
 Nash, Dr. T. R., 11, 16, 101 
 Northanger Abbey, 300 
 
 Odell, Thomas, 253 
 Oglethorpe, General, 344 
 O'Keeffe, John, 37 n. 
 O'Neill, Eliza, 37 n. 
 
 Palmer, his acting in Taste, 78, 
 233 
 
 Panjamdrum, earliest use of the 
 word, 109 
 
 PaoU, General, 303, 304 
 
 Pasquin, 253 
 
 Paulet, Lady Harriet, 201 
 
 Paulton, Mr., 56 
 
 Phelps, Samuel, 37 n. 
 
 Phipps, Mrs., 332 
 
 Pinero, Sir Arthur, 269 n. 
 
 Polwhele, Eichard, quoted, 4 
 
 Pope, Alexander, 36 
 
 Portraits of Foote, 358 
 
 Potter, John, builder of the Hay- 
 market Theatre, 251 
 
 Pr^viUe the French actor, 97 
 
 Pulteney, Mr., 338 
 
 Puppet-shows, 318 
 
 Quick, John, 233 
 
 Quin, James, 36, 37 n., 43, 44 ; 
 Foote's burlesque of, 59 ; attribu- 
 tion of nonsense story to, 110, 
 211, 265 
 
 Eayner, William, 28 
 
 Beddish, Mrs., 224 
 
 Rehearsal, The, 48, 58, 128, 166 
 
 Bejected Addresses, 53 
 
 Reynolds, Frederic, 54 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, upon Gar- 
 rick, 88, 180 ; portrait of Foote, 
 858 
 
 Rich, John, 174; threatened by 
 Foote, 198, 194, 253 
 
 Richardson's Pamela, 326 
 
 Rigby, Richard, 262 
 
 Bivals, The, 283 
 
 Rivarol, the Comte de, 213, 221 
 
 Robertson, Principal WUMam, 
 50 m. 
 
 Robin Hood Debating Society, the, 
 285, 286 
 
 Robson, an actor, 164 
 
 Rogers, Samuel, 317 
 
 Ross, David, 318 
 
 Rudd, Mrs., 831 
 
 Ruspini, Mr., 242 
 
 Ryan, Lacy, Foote's burlesque of, 
 59 
 
INDEX 
 
 381 
 
 Salutation Tavern, The, 31 
 Schomberg, Dr. Isaac, 344 
 
 School for Scandal, The, com- 
 pared with The Minor, 185, 187, 
 219, 280 
 
 Soott, Sir Walter, 5, 53, 331, 336, 
 378 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 18 
 
 Sheridan, E. B., 37 n.; portrait of 
 Sir Anthony Absolute, 54 ; in- 
 debtedness in The Critic to 
 Foote, 58, 70, 77, 78, 284; in 
 The School for Scandal, 279; 
 in The Rivals, 283 ; his romance, 
 314, 368 
 
 Sheridan, Thomas, 36, 37 n. ; 
 Johnson's opinion of, 94, 116, 
 117, 121, 126, 166, 168, 227, 228, 
 232, 233, 265, 313 
 
 She Stoops to Conquer compared 
 with The Krdghts, 275 
 
 Shuter, Edward, 57, 68, 78, 178, 
 179, 233, 259, 260, 320 
 
 Slddons, Mrs., 81, 304 
 
 Smith, General, satirized in The 
 Nahoh, 288 
 
 Smith, Harriet (Madame Berlioz), 
 37 TO. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, 197, 211, 219 
 
 Smith, Sir Sidney, 345 
 
 Society of Antiquaries satirized in 
 The Nabob, 292 
 
 Soupeu/rs de mon Temps, Les, 
 32 
 
 Sparks, Luke, imitated by Wil- 
 kinson, 123 ; indignation at 
 being burlesqued, 136, 137, 193, 
 194 
 
 Sparks, a toper, 180 
 
 State protection of theatres, 252 
 
 Sterne, Laurence, 204, 268 ; por- 
 trait by Beynolds, 358, 370 
 
 Stevens, George Alexander, 52 
 
 Stewart, Dugald, 49 
 
 StroUing players, 38 
 
 Sturgeon, Major, ridiculed by 
 Foote, 229 
 
 Sullivan, Barry, 37 n. 
 
 Swift, Dean, 235 
 
 Talking, the decay of, 31 
 Ta/Uora, The, a parody, 320 
 Talleyrand quoted, 84 
 Taswell, his acting in Taste, 78 
 Taylor, Chevalier, Foote's ridicule 
 of, 66, 76 
 
 Taylor, John, 215 ; his .recollection 
 of Foote's acting, 271 
 
 Terry, Edward, 56 
 
 Theatre Fran9ais, the, 128, 252 
 
 Thornton, Colonel, 128 
 
 Thrale, Mrs., letter from Johnson 
 on Foote's death, 373 
 
 ThurteU, John, his murder of 
 WilUam Weare, 20, 118 n. 
 
 Tooke, Home, 317, 844 
 
 Toole, J. L., 56 
 
 Touring, old system of stage, 117 
 
 Townshend, Lord, Viceroy of Ire- 
 land, 308 
 
 Travel in the eighteenth century, 
 118 
 
 Upholsterer, The, 227 
 
 Vanbrugh, Sir John, 253 
 Veil, Sir Thomas de, Foote's bur- 
 lesque of, 60 
 Vesey, Agmondesham, 311 
 Vivian, Johnson, 4 
 Vivier, the horn-player, 82 
 
 Waller, Mr. Lewis, 69 
 
 Walpole, Horace, 188, 202, 268 ; on 
 Bentley, 294, 350, 856 
 
 Wellington, the first Duke of, 49 
 
 Weston, Thomas, 164, 233, 259, 
 260, 261, 825, 370 
 
 White, Charles, an accomplice of 
 Captain Goodere, 23, 24, 26 
 
 Whitefield, George, caricatured in 
 The Minor, 176, 177, 183, 259 
 
 Wilkes, John, conversation with 
 Johnson on Foote, 91, 200, 263, 344 
 
 Wilkinson, Tate, 88, 47, 48, 58; 
 Memoirs and Wandering Paten- 
 tee, 112 ; imitations of Foote, 
 Barry, and Peg Woffington, be- 
 fore Garriok, 114, 115; mimicry 
 before Foote, 116 ; first tour with 
 Foote in Ireland, 117 ; descrip- 
 tion of journey quoted, 118-121 ; 
 first appearance in Dublin, 122 ; 
 further meeting with Foote, 128 ; 
 appearance at Drury Lane, 129 ; 
 comparison of Foote with Garrick, 
 134-186 ; Sparks's protest against, 
 187 ; cause of averted riot, 139, 
 140 ; scene with Aprice, 152 ; 
 benefit and quarrel with Foote, 
 155-157; interview with Gar- 
 rick, 157 ; burlesques of Foote, 
 
382 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE 
 
 159 ; letter from Garrick quoted, 
 164; Foote's rival in Dublin, 
 167 ; extraordinary interview 
 with Macklin and Mossop, 169, 
 170; entertainment with Mrs. 
 Abington, 172-174 ; threatened 
 by Foote, 175 ; caricatured as 
 "Shift" In The Minor, 177; 
 attends Whitefield's Tabernacle 
 to study and caricature the 
 preacher, 178, 179; reconcilia- 
 tion with Foote, 192; piracies 
 from Foote, 195; on friendly 
 terms with G-arriok, 196 ; 
 ChurohUl on, 199; opinion of 
 Foote as a wit, 213 ; further 
 reeonoiUation, 225; quoted, 226, 
 229 ; caricature of Sheridan, 226, 
 227, 232 ; account of scene at his 
 benefit, 240, 247, 260 ; The Devil 
 wpon Two Sticks, 299; letters 
 from Foote, 318, 320 
 
 Windham, his description of 
 Foote's Dwersions, 64, 65 
 
 Woffington, Peg, 37 n., 41 ; Foote's 
 burlesque of, 59 ; Wilkinson's 
 imitation, 115, 123, 126, 130, 
 265 
 
 Woodward, Henry, Foote's bur- 
 lesque of, 58 ; his retaliation in 
 Tit for Tat, 66, 67, 68, 164, 166, 
 170, 265 
 
 Worsdale, James, 76, 77, 78 
 
 Wright, Edward, 56 
 
 Wright's Coflfee-House, a theatrical 
 club, 205 
 
 Yates, Eichard, 78 
 Yates, Mrs., 329 
 
 York, Duke of, his share in the un- 
 fortunate practical joke, 245 
 
 Zoffany, his portraits at the Garrick 
 Club, 96, 358 
 
 THE END 
 
 BHUSO AWP SONS, LTD., PRIHTERS, QUILDFORD