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1932

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF
PEG WOFFINGTON

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Peg Woffington
Etched by Ch. Thevenin, after the painting by Pond
(Specially printed in colours)

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Banbies

Peg Woffington Volume I .
Written by
J. Fitzgerald M o 1 1 o y

Printed by
The Grolier Society
London

EDITION DE LUXE
Limited to One Thousand Copies
for England and America
^0, 960

Edinburgh Press

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WOFFIWGTON-S ACCOUNT WITH HER B
(Only signature of Peg WofEng:ton known to be correct)

TO MISS ELLEN TERRY
Dear Madam : — The brilliant actress who
forras the subject of these pages rendered such
service to the drama in the past centuiy as
entitles her to a prominent position in its annals.
You as a distinguished artist have achieved such
histrionic triuraphs m the present century as shall
render your narae illustrious in the same history.
Seldom, if indeed ever, has such a happy trinity
of genius, grace, and beauty been united in one
person. The perfection and tenderness of your
tragedy, the justness and brilliancy of your com
edy are alike subjects on which innuraerable pens
have discoursed with vast pleasure, themes on
which all who have witnessed your performances
have dwelt with uncoramon satisfaction. You have
idealised your personations. You have realised
the highest poetical conceptions. You have de
lighted the raost cultured intelligences of two
worlds. As a testimony though most poor, as a tribute
though most slight to the incalculable services you
have rendered unto art, I gladly avail myself of
your permission to dedicate to you the labour of
many months, to inscribe your illustrious name
on the title-page of this volume.
Faithfully yours always,
J. Fitzgerald Molloy.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER L
The Little Water-carrier and the Foreign Lady — Madame
Violante and Mrs. Woffington — Pupil to a Dancer —
The Booth in Fownes Court — Little Peg in " The
Beggar's Opera " — Charles Kelly and " The Devil to
Pay " — At the Aungier Street Playhouse — • Dancing
between the Acts — Playing Ophelia, Her Beauty and
Her Triumph — The Part of Phillis — Falling in Love
— A Young Gentleraan of Quality and His Ways — A
Journey to London Town  i
CHAPTER II.
In Merry London Town — The King's Court and the
Prince's — Views of the Streets — The Coffee-houses
and Their Frequenters — Around Covent Garden — The
Players' Quarters and Clare Market — Laws Conceming
the Playhouses and Their Audiences — Dress of the
Period — Johnson, Garrick, and Savage — At the Foun
tain Tavern — Visiting on " Clean Shirt Day " — Reyn
olds, Pope, and Smollett — Quin at Drury Lane,
Cibber at Covent Garden — Vauxhall, Its Ways and
Its Visitors — With Lady Caroline Petersham — A
Strange Advertisement  .18
CHAPTER IIL
A Faithless Lover — Fortune-hunting — News of a Marriage
— Hatred and Vengeance — Peg Woffington's Plot —

viii CONTENTS PAGB
Young Mr. Adair — The Ridotto at Vauxhall Gardens —
Miss Dallaway and Her Friends — A Scene — Re
proaches — A Lover's Departure  38
CHAPTER IV.
John Rich, Manager of Covent Garden — His First Panto
mime — His Treatment of Dramatic Authors — Peg
Woffington's Interview with Him — Sensation in the
Town — Actors at Covent Garden — Ryan's Tragedy
in Real Life — Theophilus Cibber — Peg Woffington's
First Appearance in London — An Old-fashioned Comedy
— Surprise and Admiration of the Town — Sir Harry
Wildair — All the Town in Love with Her . . • 57
CHAPTER V.
Peg Woffington's Engagement at Drury Lane — Kitty Clive,
Her Passion for Tragedy — Delane the Student of
T. C. D.— Macklin and His Adventures —The Turn
ing-point of His Career — His Wonderful Shylock —
What Mr. Pope Said — Young David Garrick — His
Early Life at Lichfield — Becomes a. Wine-merchant —
Among the Critics at the Bedford — Hesitates to Go on
the Stage — Falls in Love with Peg Woffington — In
the Greenroom at Drury Lane — Sir Charles Hanbury
WDliams — Peg Woffington's Definition of an Age . .77
CHAPTER VL
Garrick's Irresolution — Plays at Ipswich under a False
Name — First Appearance in Town — A Memorable
Night — Description of His Richard — The Talk of the
Town — Persons of Distinction at the Playhouse — Our
Little Poetical Hero — Letters to Peter — The Wine-
merchant Will Not Be Comforted — David's Arguments
and Fair Promises — "The Lying Valet" — Mimicking
the Old Players' — The Favour of Great Men — Going to
Dublin with Peg Woffington  108

CONTENTS IX
PAGE
CHAPTER VII.
Excitement in Dublin — A Warm Greeting — The Delight
of the Town — Hamlet and Ophelia — Back to London
— The Rival Playhouse — Quin's Reputation — His
Contempt for Garrick — Quin and Macklin — A Green
room Quarrel — Making It Up — Charming Susanna
Cibber — "A Romp and a Good-natured Boy " —
Theo Cibber's Baseness — Elopement, Rescue, and
Action — Legal Bathos — Woffington and Garrick at
Drury Lane  135
CHAPTER VIIL
Peg Woffington and Garrick Keep House — Old Colley
Cibber — Drinking Tea at Peggy's Rooms — Fielding,
Quin, Mrs. Porter, Foote, Johnson, and Macklin — Peg
Woffington and Garrick Part — Polly Woffington — Lord
Tyrawley's Amour — George Anne Bellamy — Acting
in a Barn — Captain Cholmondeley's Marriage — Violette
the Dancer — Her Love for Garrick — Marriage • — Peg
Woffington Goes to Covent Garden — Her Dublin
Engagement  157
CHAPTER IX.
Thomas Sheridan, the Manager — Letter to Garrick —
Becomes a Manager — Conditions of the Playhouse —
A Theatrical Riot and Its Result — Dublin before the
Union — Lionel, Duke of Dorset, at the Castle — Diver
sions of the Town — High Life and Low — Mrs. Butler,
Miss Bellamy, and David Garrick — A Strange Love-
letter — Mrs. Butler's Present  192
CHAPTER X.
Peg Woffington in Dublin — A Command-Night — Going to
the Play — A Brilliant Audience — Some Irish Celebri
ties of the Period — "The Only Theme in or out of the

X CONTENTS PAGE
Theatre" — Mrs. Gunning and Her Family — Miss Bel
lamy's Account of Them — Peg Woffington and the
Gunnings — The Beauties Go to London — Wooed and
Wedded  228
CHAPTER XI.
A Second Dublin Season — The Acme of Her Fame —
The Beefsteak Club — The Sublime Society of Beef
steaks — Political Disturbances — The Tragedy of " Ma
homet " — Mr. Digges and the Audience — Sheridan's
Address to His Company — Riot in the Playhouse —
Sheridan's Address — Peg Woffington Leaves Ireland . 251
CHAPTER XII.
Diversions of the Polite World — My Lady Coventry —
" A Little Lively Sort of Fairy " — Masquerade at Som
erset House — The Prince with the Pink Eyes — Juliet
Disconcerted — The Player and the Peeress — A Scotch
Venus — Lady Albemarle's Dream — Poor Lord Mont-
ford — General Braddock and Mrs. Upton — Entertain
ments Abound — Jack Spencer's Wedding . . . 270
CHAPTER XIIL
Another Side of London Life — Men of Letters — The
Poverty of Poets — The Ingenious Samuel Boyse — His
Wretched Life and Miserable Death — Picture of a
Poet — Richard Savage — A Man of Melancholy Aspect
— A Noble Patron —An Author to Be Let— The Vol
unteer Laureate — Striving to Live — Life in Bristol —
Death in a Prison  287

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Peg Woffington  Frontispiece

" Me name is Peg, ma'am "...
Peg Woffington and John Rich
Peg Woffington as Sir Harry Wildair
Thomas Betterton ....
Maria Gunning 
Theatre Royal, Covent Garden

3
62
136 160
249291

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF
PEG WOFFINGTON

CHAPTE-R I.
The Little Water-carrier and the Foreign Lady — Madame
Violante and Mrs. Woffington — Pupil to a Dancer — The
Booth in Fownes Court — Little Peg in " The Beggar's
Opera " — Charles Kelly and "The Devil to Pay" — At the
Aungier Street Playhouse — Dancing between the Acts —
Playing Ophelia, Her Beauty and Her Triumph — The Part
of Phillis — Falling in Love — A Young Gentleman of Quality
and His Ways — A Journey to London Town.
?T the close of an October day in the
year 1727, a child of about eight years
old slowly tottered along Ormond Quay,
Dublin, under the weight of a pitcher of water
which she carried on her head. The evening,
which had set in dark and cold, promised a bleak
and dreary night. Already the sky was overcast
by heavy clouds ; a sad-voiced northeast wind,
sweeping up the sluggish Liffey, carried with it
a chill, penetrating mist, that gradually increased
to drenching rain. Heavily framed laraps, ira-
prisoning the wan light of oil wicks, swung with

2 PEG WOFFINGTON
many a creak from the corner houses of dreary
streets and black-looking alleys, or hung above
the old stone bridges with their quaint and pon
derous balustrades, and buttresses green and sUmy
from the ebb and flow of countless tides, casting
a patch of light upon the black waters beneath, as
if seeking crimes and mysteries hidden in their
depths. A few passengers, with heads bowed
low, and cloaks and coats drawn tightly around
them to exclude the bitter wind, hastened to and
fro, shadow -like, in the deepening gloom. A
coach or two rattled with noisy haste over the
uneven pavements. The bells of church clocks
rang out six, their sounds falling faint and change
ful, like frightened voices crying for help from the
heights of steeples and towers upon which vapour
and cloud had already descended.
With the wind blowing in her face, the rain
dashing on her scarcely covered limbs, the child,
labouring under the weight of her pitcher, made
but slow way. At last, shivering in her wet rags,
and overcome by her misery, she burst into tears,
raised her arms above her head, reraoved the
pitcher, and sought the shelter of an open door
way. She had scarcely wiped the rain from her
face with the remains of an old tattered and
colourless shawl which helped to cover her shoul
ders, when a lady, who had for some time followed
her, also sought protection in the haU, faintly lit
by the flickering rays of a lamp.

" Me, name is Peg, ma'am "
Original etching by Adrien Marcel

PEG WOFFINGTON 3
" You are cold, ray childe," said the lady, look
ing at her keenly.
" Yes, raa' am," said the girl, raising her eyes,
expressive of surprise, to the stranger's face.
Even in her rags the child looked picturesque.
Her dark, unkempt hair curled naturally around
a well-shaped head, and hung above a wide, low
forehead ; her eyes, large and liquid, seemed
alraost black under the shadow of her long lashes
and the full sweeping curve of her brows; her
cheeks were pale and beautifully oval, her lips
soraewhat full and red ; whilst her prettily dim
pled chin gave a piquant look to the lower part
of her face, which the sweet gravity of her eyes
contradicted. "And what is your narae, my leetle childe?"
said the lady, in a voice to which a foreign accent
gave a peculiar softness.
" Me name is Peg, ma'am," said the girl, open
ing wide her eyes, made all the brighter by the
tears which yet glistened in thera.
" Peg ; it is a pretty narae. But is there no
other .' " asked the lady, pushing back the dark,
tangled locks with a touch that was caressing in
its gentleness.
" Peg Woffington, ma'am," said the girl, pleased
with the lady's attentions.
"And where you live, eh, leetle Peg Woff-ing-
ton ? Is it far from here, eh?" continued the
foreign lady, letting her eyes wander frora the

4 PEG WOFFINGTON
child's handsorae face to her limbs, rounded and
shaped with wonderful grace.
" Not far, ma'ara," said Peg. " Me mother lives
in George's Court. She is a widee, an' she washes
for the neighbours ; " and so saying she cast her
eyes on the pitcher of water by her side, as if some
train of thought had suddenly suggested itself to
her mind. " An' this is washing-day, an' I've been
carryin' jugs o' water since dinner. But this is the
last of 'em, an' — an' I must go now, ma'ara ; for
there's no sign o' the rain stoppin', an' mother wUl
be wonderin' what keeps rae," said Peg, stooping
to raise her burden on her head once more.
"And I wiU go with you," said the lady, in that
foreign accent which gave her voice so sweet a
sound. The child set the pitcher down again, straight
ened herself, and looked at the lady with eyes
expressive of wonder.
" I am," said the lady, " Madame Violante. You
perhaps have heard my name .' "
" What ! " said Peg, in greater amazement now
than ever ; for at the mention of that narae there
rose before her a vision of a great booth in
Fownes Court, with a vast glare of lights, where
the sounds of fiddles and drums were heard strum
ming and beating right merry measures, and to
which crowds flocked nightly, that they raight see
such tricks and daring feats as had never before
been witnessed in this goodly city.

PEG WOFFINGTON 5
"And you are Madame 'Lante, that dances on
the rope ? " said Peg, looking down at the lady's
feet, as if by her glance she would unravel the
mystery by which the celebrated dancer nightly
balanced herself on a tight rope and skipped
upon a slack-wire above the heads of applauding
crowds. "The same," said the French lady, smiling.
" Would you like to dance also upon the rope — "
"And wear such beautiful dresses with span
gles.?" interrupted this juvenUe daughter of Eve.
"Oh, ma'am, I would be delighted."
"Very well, I will teach you," said Violante.
"And shall I wear a star on my forehead,
ma'ara, when I dance, like you ? " she asked.
"Yes," answered Madarae Violante, "if you
learn quickly and well. But first we raust ask
your raother, and hear what she will say; show
me the way to her house, and whilst we go you
can tell me all about yourself, my chUde."
So Peg lifted the earthenware pitcher, that
seemed now no heavier than a feather, and, plac
ing it on her shapely head, went out into the
darkness which was almost as of night. Her
steps were so light and quick that her new friend
could scarcely keep pace with her ; the rain and
wind were unheeded, though the one pattered on
her face, and the other sent the poor rags flutter
ing from her rounded limbs. Presently they left
the exposed quays, and turned up a dark, narrow

6 PEG WOFFINGTON
Street, with high, black-looking houses on either
side, in the friendly shelter of which the child, in
answer to the Frenchwoman's questions, told her
that she and her mother and her little sister were
as poor as church mice, since, said she, "the
doctors, the devil take 'em, killed me father when
he had the faver a few years ago ; an' sure, 'twas
the first time in his life he ever had 'em to attend
him, and 'twas his last. God be good to his sowl,
but they say the doctors are never lucky, and they
kill a mighty lot o' people, anyhow. An' me
mother," she continued, "takes in washin', an'
works hard all day ; an' at night she sells oranges
outside the doors o' the playhouse in Aungier
Street, an' never a much she makes be that sarae ;
an' as for meself, sometimes I sell oranges too,
an' sallad for a ha'penny a dish, an' watercresses
in the sayson ; and the young gentlemen in
Trinity College behave dacent to me, an' often
give me a penny for nothin' at all, only because I
talk to them and make them laugh, an' they're
not bad, poor fellows, anyhow, when they have
the money ; but sure, there are times when they're
just as poor as meself, a'most, an' its many a time
I popped their clothes for them, coming to the end
o' the month, you know. But they're rale good-
hearted, and they hke me well."
At the end of this dark street they tumed into
a lane on the right, and finaUy entered an unsa
voury court, lighted only by dim rays of tallow

PEG WOFFINGTON 7
candles shining through the small-paned windows
of surrounding hovels. Quickly gliding into one of
thera, the child raounted a rickety stair, loudly
calling out to her mother that a lady was coming
to see her. At this inforraation, a woraan wearing
a deep-bordered blowsy cap that once had been
white, and a cotton gown, the sleeves of which
were rolled to the shoulders, displaying her red
and sraoky arras fresh frora the wash-tub, hastily
took a candle frora a tin sconce nailed to the white
washed wall, and rushing forward with it, held it
above the creaking stairway, in a position most
favourable to the descent of melted tallow on her
visitor's head.
" Walk in, ma'ara, an' welcorae," said the hostess,
foreseeing in her mind's eye an additional customer
to the wash-tub. Restoring the candle to the
sconce, she made a rush at the best chair the poor
roora contained, and rubbed it heartily with her
apron, which she afterward applied in the sarae
manner to her perspiring face.
" An' won't you sit down, ma'am ? " she con
tinued, peering into the stranger's countenance
through an atmosphere which was rendered a trifle
misty by sraoke from the turf fire and steara frora
the wash-tub. "Peg, rock the cradle, and don't
let Polly wake. Do you hear me?"
" Mother," said Peg, feeling herself caUed on to
make some introduction, "it's Madame 'Lante,"
adding, after a moment's pause, "the lady that

8 PEG WOFFINGTON
dances on the rope." And so saying, the chUd
made a curtsey, not without grace, to her visitor.
Being favoured with this introduction, the dan
seuse seated herself and explained the motive of her
visit. She had been struck by the beauty of Peg's
face, and by fhe grace and bearing of her figure,
and offered to take her as an apprentice and teach
her the business of a tight-rope dancer. The poor
washerwoman dried her arms, opened wide her
eyes, and looked bewildered at the unexpected
proposal so suddenly laid before her.
" It wUl be well for the leetle Peg ; she will eam
good salaries in a short time," put in Madarae
Violante, "and I will dress and support her."
At this prospect a shrewd twinkle carae into
Mrs. Woffington's eyes. She knew the value of
raoney. "Well, ma'am," she said, putting her arms
akimbo, "none of me blood has ever been play
actors, or ever danced upon a rope ; an' for the
matter o' that, me mother's people never disgraced
themselves be earning a penny piece, but lived
upon their own 'states like the highest in the
land ; an' sure, 'twas often tould us the head of
the family was one o' the rale kings of Ireland
himself. But sure, that was in the good owld
times, and there's no use in talking o' them ; and
here am I, only a poor widee-woman, God help
me, with two chUdren to support, an' the times
mighty hard, an' me good man took from me with

PEG WOFFINGTON 9
little or no warning, God help us. An it's a
miserable world we Uve in."
"It was sad," the sympathetic Frenchwoman
said, taking advantage of a slight pause in the
widow's autobiographical sketch.
"An' sure, every one knows, ma'am," she con
tinued, " that you bear the character of an honest
woman, an' not like most o' them wenches belong
ing to the playhouse. An' sure, as you say Peggy
raight eam a dacent livin' in a little while, an' that
you wUl support and clothe the chUd, sure you
raay take her, an' I'll pray God to protect her,"
said the washerwoman.
So it was settled that Peg was to become one of
madarae's pupils ; and in a little while, attired in
long drawers, short jacket, and flat puraps, she
learned to dance and skip about the stage, and
presently to smg songs ; for all of which she was
duly adraired by the frequenters of the booth,
who flung her showers of pence, which she quickly
picked up and duly gave to her raother. But
public taste is proverbially fickle. Although such
surprising performances on the tight rope as Ma
dame Violante's had never been seen in DubUn
before, yet there was a raonotony about them
which palled after awhUe, and by degrees the
pleasant booth in Fownes Court, with its sconces
of tallow lights, its fiddles, its drums, its raerry
dances, and its aerial perforraances, becarae de
serted. Now Madarae Violante was a woman of

IO PEG WOFFINGTON
enterprise and energy, and no sooner did one
attraction fail to fill her coffers than she quickly
looked about her for another ; and like those who
seek in eamest, she found it in good time.
But a little before all theatrical London had
been in a state of intense excitement concerning
a performance called " The Beggar's Opera," by
the poet Gay. It had been produced by Rich,
then manager of Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre, and
had been played for sixty-two consecutive nights,
"making Rich gay, and Gay rich." The opera
was furthermore notable as being the occasion of
a drawn battle between George II. and her Grace
the Duchess of Queensbury; which of course
added to its notoriety considerably. Now this
comic opera had never been heard or witnessed
in Dublin, though the report of its sparkling dia
logue, its genuine wit and satirical ditties, had of
course crossed the channel. It therefore struck
Madame Violante to form a company of children,
instruct them in the parts of this opera, and have
it performed in her booth. The idea was no
sooner conceived than acted upon, and in a little
whUe the Dublin public was invited to witness
the results of her training.
The principal character, Polly, was given to Peg
Woffington ; and strange to say, not only she, but
almost all the chUdren who played in this opera,
afterward became celebrated actors and actresses.
Madame Violante, meanwhile, moved to a more

PEG WOFFINGTON ii
coraraodious booth in George's Court, which on
the night of the first perforraance of "The Beg
gar's Opera " was prodigiously crowded. Amongst
the audience sat a goodly nuraber of Peg's old
friends and admirers from Trinity College, who,
when this lovely girl with the blue-black hair and
liquid eyes came forward looking pale frora fright,
received her with an ovation that set her nervous
ness to flight and gave her hope of rauch forbear
ance. The charra of her face, the beauty of her
lirabs, the natural grace of her moveraents, com
pensated for much that was crude to a people ever
keenly sensitive to the effects of physical gifts.
When the curtain fell that night, the young actress
had the satisfaction of knowing that her first
appearance in what raay be called an iraportant
part gave proraise of future success. In those old
days and good there existed a coraraon feeling of
friendship between perforraers and their audiences,
which was productive of raany advantages to both ;
and in accordance with the custom of the times,
at the conclusion of the opera Madarae Violante
stepped forward frora the world behind the scenes
to receive the congratulations of her patrons on
her financial success, as well as on the result of
the training of her troupe.
Little Peg Woffington also descended into the
coraraonplace world, by means of a half-dozen
creaking steps, to receive her meed of praise
before joining her mother, who, hoarse frora cry-

12 PEG WOFFINGTON
ing oranges at the door of the booth, was now
awaiting her daughter, with her empty basket on
her arm, a comfortable sense of proprietorship
in her manner and a glow of pride in her honest
face — round, rubicund, and set in a fraraework
of blowsy borders. Now, amongst those who
most warraly congratulated Peg and her patroness
was Mr. Charles Coffey, — a little, wiry, dark-com
plexioned man, who looked as if he were being
half-strangled by his high collar and many-folded
cravat. His meagre frarae was clad in a black
body-coat ; his lower limbs in velvet breeches
fastened at the knee by rows of brass buttons
and bows of black ribbon, and in worsted stock
ings that betrayed a lamentable lack of calf. For
all that, it was easily seen that Mr. Charles Coffey
was a man of parts, and likewise of vast impor
tance ; for he was the composer of " The Beggar's
Wedding," a ballad opera of great humour, which
had met with prodigious success, if not in Dublin,
at least in London, where it had been performed
for thirty consecutive nights at the Haymarket,
and had likewise held the boards of Covent Gar
den and the great Drury Lane playhouse itself.
Moreover, he had likewise written, or rather
plagiarised, a ballad farce rejoicing in the com
prehensive title of "The Devil to Pay," which
had also met with great applause at Drury Lane,
and to which Miss Raftor (known afterward as
Kitty Clive) owed vast obligations, as it afforded

PEG WOFFINGTON 13
her scope for display of the coraic talents which
the world was not aware she possessed tUl then.
Now it pleased Mr. Charles Coffey to graciously
offer to instruct Peg Woifington in the part of
Nell in his new ballad farce, — the character in
which Kitty Raftor had won her laurels. He had
closely studied the Drury Lane actress, untU her
every whirasical raoveraent and huraourous expres
sion were staraped on his mind ; and these he was
ready to teach Peggy, in order that his farce
might meet success in his native town, in which
he was no prophet, such as it had already received
in the greater capital.
At this proposal both Peg and her mistress
were delighted ; she was apt, studied hard, and
raade a sensation in the part when the ballad farce
was duly produced in Madarae Violante's canvas-
covered booth. From this hour she was looked
on as a prodigy, destined for renown some day,
and was sought after by the polite circles of the
town. From association with such society, being
imitative and impressionable, she quickly learned
to act in accordance with its genteel manners, just
as she had rapidly learned singing frora Charles
Coffey and French from Madame Violante.
For a considerable time the charraing Peggy
acted sraall parts, sang ballads, and danced jigs
under Madarae Violante's management ; but fate
proving unkind to this lady, her business declined,
and she was obliged to let her booth. But Peg's

14 PEG WOFFINGTON
reputation as a clever and accomplished young
actress had meanwhUe risen, and her services
were sought for by Elrington, then manager of
the Theatre Royal, as the Aungier Street play
house was called, where she sang in operas and
farces, and danced with grace between the acts
in company with Monsieur Moreau and Mr. Will
iam Delemain. It was not, however, until Feb
ruary, 1737, that she was perraitted to raake her
appearance in what is known as " a speaking char
acter." The accident that gave her this chance
was the same which has afforded siraUar oppor
tunities to many actresses afterward known to
fame. The play of "Hamlet," "written by the
famous i^Shakespeare," was announced for per
formance at the Theatre Royal. Two days
before that on which the tragedy was to be
produced, the lady selected to play the part of
Ophelia fell ill, when Peg came forward and
offered to undertake the character. Elrington
in retum laughed at her proposal ; but nothing
daunted, she offered to repeat some of OpheUa's
lines for his benefit, the result being that Miss
Woffington was announced in the bills to play the
part of this woe-stricken heroine.
She had long ago become a favourite with the
public, and the event of her making her appear
ance in this important character caused vast
excitement to her patrons in particular, and the
town in general. The good citizens of Dublin

PEG WOFFINGTON 15
were excessively fond of playhouses. On friendly
personal terms with most of the actors and ac
tresses, they were familiar with every event of
their lives, and dealt out to them from pit and
gallery their favour or displeasure, if with occa
sional indiscretion, at least with an openness that
left no doubt of their prejudices. Peg Wof&ngton
had been known to thera frora the days when she
had sold salad and watercresses in the streets, and
the town regarded her with especial favour ; her
appearance in so prominent a part as that of
Ophelia was therefore looked forward to with
unusual interest, and on the evening of the 12th
of February the Aungier Street playhouse was
crowded from pit to gallery to witness her per
formance. Seldora had there been seen so bril
liant a house, or one more keenly, nay, anxiously,
attentive; and when at length Ophelia carae for
ward, her dark eyes lurainous with exciteraent,
her beautiful face pale frora fear, she held her
audience as by a spell, which the justness of her
expression and grace of her manner heightened
as the play proceeded. When the curtain de
scended on the mad-scene, it was felt that she
had secured a triuraph which was not only cora
plete in itself, but gave proraise of great achieve
ments in the future.
From this date she no longer danced between
the acts or sang ballads in small parts. It was
her ambition to climb the ladder of theatrical

1 6 PEG WOFFINGTON
fame; and once having gained a step, she was
not the woman to descend to her former level.
Her next iraportant part was that of Phillis in Sir
Richard Steele's "Conscious Lovers," and was
almost as great a success as her representation of
Ophelia. For two seasons she played leading
parts, bringing large audiences and fuU coffers
to the Aungier Street playhouse, gaining espe
cial renown m the character of Sir Harry WUdair,
an elegant young man of fashion. This she had
attempted at the desire of several persons of con
sequence ; and so piquant and full of witchery
was her personation of the fashionable rake, that
she charmed the town to an uncoraraon degree.
About this time an event happened which may
be considered the turning-point in her career : she
fell in love. The object of her affection was a
young gentleman of position but of small fortune,
named Taaffe — the third son of a needy Irish
peer. He was not only delighted with her talents
as an actress, but fascinated by her beauty as
a woman. He was a man well to look upon, —
tall and of goodly shape, with sea-blue eyes, light
brown hair, and a smile as bright, if alas as decep
tive, as April sunshine. Night after night he sat
in the boxes of the theatre, watching the play of
her face that was more beautiful than health, the
glamour of her lustrous eyes, the smUes that
played around a raouth like unto a cleft porae
granate, the turn of her head, the movement of

PEG WOFFINGTON 17
her graceful limbs. When she left the stage,
he felt as if sudden darkness had descended on
him. She was to hira what sunlight is to the
world. By day he wooed her with soft words
and gentle looks and raany endearraents, with all
the passion, the longing, and the pain of his
youth ; for he thought to hiraself no woraan ever
was born so beautiful as she. And as a woraan
she loved hira, not wisely but too well, — trusting
him with the precious treasure of her honour, rest
ing confident that because of her vast affection for
him he would in return make her his lawful wife.
At his request she quitted the stage at a tirae
when the promise of a great career shone before
her ; at his desire she left her native city to ac
corapany him to London. For she loved him all
in all.

CHAPTER IL
In Merry London Town — The King's Court and the Prince's —
Views of the Streets — The Coffee-houses and Then: Fre
quenters — Around Covent Garden — The Players' Quarters
and Clare Market — Laws Conceming the Playhouses and
Their Audiences — Dress of the Period — Johnson, Garrick,
and Savage — At the Fountain Tavem — Visiting on " Clean
Shirt Day " — Reynolds, Pope, and Smollett — Quin at
Drury Lane, Cibber at Covent Garden — VauxhaU, Its
Ways and Its Visitors — With Lady Caroline Petersham
— A Strange Advertisement.
gHEN Peg Woffington arrived in town,
London was then, as it had been for
the last quarter of a century, the very
centre of gaiety and dissipation. The nobUity
were divided in their allegiance between the Court
of St. James — where George II., assisted by
his German mistress, Madame Walmoden, created
Countess of Yarmouth, held drawing-rooms twice
a week — and Norfolk House, where Frederick,
Prince of Wales, an outcast from the royal palace,
had set up a court of his own, where he and his
brilliant followers gambled and fiddled and danced
and acted almost every night throughout the year.
The middle and lower classes made raerry over
rumours that reached them of the royal wrangles,
but little heeding them, enjoyed themselves after
i8

PEG WOFFINGTON

19

their own fashion. The streets, with their steep-
roofed, strangely carved, curiously gabled houses,
crushing up against or overlapping each other in
front, or lying snugly against deep-windowed,
square-towered churches, were bright and busy all
day long — filled by a goodly crowd of courtiers
and citizens, clad in raany-coloured suits, all of
whom were more or less known to each other,
and exchanged salutations or civUities with a grace
of movement and courtesy of speech lost to us in
this latter day.
In the centre of the thoroughfares heavily built
coaches, showily painted, emblazoned with coats-
of-arms or coronets, lurabered along — their slow
way beset by carts or by hired chairs swinging
between abusive-tongued chair-raen, or by the
chairs of persons of quality carried by livery-clad
servants. To add, moreover, to the general ob
struction of the narrow streets, barrows of fruits,
vegetables, and edibles lined either side, as if to
mark where the pavements should have been.
Over the pedestrian's head, from above the door
way of alraost every shop, hung strangely painted
sign-boards, adorned with heraldic bearings, paint
ings of grotesque and fabulous aniraals, boars of
many colours or cocks in legion, all of which
swung and creaked threateningly with every wind
that swept frora the four corners of the globe.
All day long and far into the night the coffee
houses, which were to be found in all quarters of

20 PEG WOFFINGTON
the town, were crowded by men of every degree.
Those whose tastes or vocations took them to St.
James's or St. Paul's alike used them as places
for the interchange of polite conversation or the
transaction of business. In these houses — the
forerunners of clubs — the frequenters paid a
penny or twopence, according to the situation
and circumstance of the house, for a cup of good
coffee; which sum likewise entitled the customer
to read the broadsheets of the day, to linger for
an hour or so, and hear the latest news from the
court or the city, the newest gossip from abroad,
or from the greenroom of the Drury Lane play
house, or to enter into a discussion on the political
questions of the hour, the knavery of ministers,
and the sycophancy of their followers.
There was Squire's Coffee-house, a deep-
coloured red brick picturesque building, adjoining
Gray's Inn Gate, which Sir Roger de Coverley
himself used to frequent in the first decade of
the century, when seated at the upper end of the
room, at a high table, he would call for a clean
pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax
candle, and a newspaper, with such an air of good-
humour that everybody delighted in serving him.
There was Button's faraous coffee-house in Russell
Street, Covent Garden, which Addison and his
friends had frequented, where Sir Richard Steele
told his wittiest story, where Doctor Garth uttered
his best pun, the same that had been made the

PEG WOFFINGTON 21
receiving-house for contributions to the Guardian,
for which purpose the lion's head, designed by
Hogarth, had been put up as a letter-box. At
the St. James's Coffee-house, in St. James's
Street, the Whigs talked politics, and arranged
the affairs of Europe with a satisfaction height
ened by sundry pinches of Brazil snuff. It was
at this house Dean Swift — now dying in Ireland
"like a rat in a hole," as he expressed it — had
received his letters from poor broken-hearted
Stella, under cover to Joseph Addison, Esquire.
At the Grecian Coffee-house handsome Jeraray
Maclaine, the celebrated high way raan, the son of
an Irish dean, the brother of a Calvinist rainister,
might be seen any day, sipping his coffee, raaking
love to his landlord's daughter, keeping an eye
to his neighbour's property, and joining in the
conversation with vast politeness, until one morn
ing in May, 1750, when he was hung on the
charge of stealing a laced waistcoat. In the
open balcony at Toms a great crowd of noblemen
adorned with their stars and garters, and raen of
quality, might be seen nightly, drinking their
tea and coffee, exposed to the crowd. But the
Bedford Coffee-house, in Covent Garden, was
raore than all others at this period signalised
as the eraporiura of wit, the seat of criticisra, and
the standard of taste. Here courtiers and citizens
met on coraraon ground ; here, on the one hand,
the price of stocks was gravely discussed, and

22 PEG WOFFINGTON
on the other. Lord Chesterfield's last bon mot
was laughingly repeated. No student frora the
universities launching himself on the world, no
lawyer's clerk clapping on a sword, no haber
dasher's 'prentice donning a cue wig, but duly
put in an appearance at the Bedford, by way of
qualifying himself as a man about town. In the
little boxes ranged around like hives, raen of every
calling sipped their coffee nightly, discussing the
affairs of the day, exchanging jokes, and narrating
stories more laughable than edifying. And wittiest
among them all, creating roars of laughter by his
saUies or his mimicry of some weU-known actor
or politician, was a young gentleman of famUy
and fortune, at this time a student of the Inner
Temple. Dressed in a frock-suit of green and
silver lace, bag-wig, sword, bouquet, and point
ruffles, he frequented the place daUy, untU the
carriage of some woman of quality would drive
to the door, and Mr. Sarauel Foote being inquired
for, he would hasten out, hat in hand, and ride
away with his lady fair.
Covent Garden in those days was a busy hive,
where not only coffee-houses, but gay tavems and
ordinaries and houses of dissipation thickly clus
tered. At the ordinaries dinners were served at
the rate of sixpence or a shilling per head ; for
the latter sum two courses being supplied, a
goodly company, though somewhat mixed, gather
ing around the board. In each of these houses

PEG WOFFINGTON 23
a second apartment was also set aside for the
accoraraodation of the nobility and raen of quality,
where a higher tariff was charged, and where much
wine and good was drunk. Here in this locality,
which had long become the recognised rendezvous
of raost of the wits and men of parts, the players
had their homes. Booth and WUks had rendered
Bow Street sacred in the raeraory of playgoers,
and in this sarae street the ponderous Quin lived
at this date. Betterton had resided in Russell
Street, where Ryan now had his horae ; Colley
Cibber dwelt in Charles Street, Macklin in St.
Jaraes's Street, Mrs. Pritchard in Craven Street,
Kitty Clive in Southarapton Row, whUst the less
faraous actors and actresses lodged in the sraaUer
streets branching from the Garden. They there
fore met each other continually, and lived in a
state of pleasant and friendly intercourse. More
over, they could at less than an hour's notice be
mustered together for rehearsal in case a sudden
change in a play-bill required the introduction of
a fresh piece.
But it was not the players alone who flocked
together in those days ; merabers of other callings
and professions were apt to congregate in one spot
likewise. Barristers and lawyers dwelt raostly in
the Inns of Court or about Westrainster Hall,
whUst the merchants and bankers lived in their
warehouses or counting-houses in the City, few of
them, and these only of the wealthiest, venturing

24 PEG WOFFINGTON
to approach the West End so near as Hatton Gar
den. Around Clare Market the butchers mustered
in vast numbers. These brawny fellows were
staunch friends of the players, to whom they
were ever willing fo give their services on occa
sions when disputes arose between them and the
town, as was not infrequently the case ; and on
nights when young men of fashion, or gentlemen
of the Inns of Court, or the 'prentices bold threat
ened a riot in the playhouse on account of some
supposed offence given them by manager or actor,
or were determined on condemning an author's
play unheard, the timely appearance of such for
midable critics, stationed in various parts of the
house, made a due irapression upon the nerves of
the would-be rioters.
The laws which held sway relative to the play
houses were curious, but in sorae ways excellent,
being of quite a different complexion frora those
which obtain nowadays. None but persons of
rank, quality, or fortune ever presumed to sit in
a box, nor did a man ever enter one with his head
covered. The boxes were, moreover, sacred to
virtue and decorum, except two or three on each
side of the house, which were specially set aside
for women of the town. These were visited by
raen at the peril of their characters. No indiffer
ent or vulgar person frequented the pit, which was
occupied by men of letters or wit, by students of
the Inns of Court, barristers, or young merchants

PEG WOFFINGTON 25
of rising erainence, all of whora were supposed
to be well read in polite literature and learned in
dramatic lore. Their judgments were therefore
considered worthy of vast regard, as being dic
tated by experience, taste, and learning. The
players, as a consequence, courted their good
opinions in preference to those of the occupants
of any other part of the house. When the play
was over the critics began to talk, mustering in
knots in the lobbies of the theatre or in the cof
fee-houses, — especially the Bedford, — where they
delivered judgments according to their lights, which
were received by the town without dissent.
On nights when sorae attraction brought a vast
crowd to the house an amphitheatre was reared at
the back of the stage, where presently the spec
tators perched row upon row, until the heads of
those seated in high places touched the theatrical
clouds. When this was filled groups of ill-dressed
lads squatted in front three or four rows deep ;
otherwise those behind could not have seen, and
a riot would have ensued. Nor was this all ;
around the single entrance door at each side young
gentleraen of fashion crowded in nurabers, as this
position gave them a delightful opportunity of dis
playing their handsomely dressed persons to the
best advantage. Here they diverted theraselves
by staring, talking to each other across the stage
during the perforraance, making audible and not
very corapliraentary coraraents on the actors, or

26 PEG WOFFINGTON
such people in the pit as attracted their notice
and served as a butt for their wit. Such conduct
was generally resented by the galleries, when the
angry gods in their just wrath rained down on
them showers of half-sucked oranges, half-eaten
pippins, and unsound apples, to the infinite terror
of those who sat in the pit and boxes.
The disadvantage under which this custom placed
the poor players can scarcely be conceived. " On
a crowded night a performer could not step his
foot with safety," says Tate Wilkinson, "lest he
should thereby hurt or offend, or be thrown down
amongst scores of idle, tipsy apprentices."
Amongst such a crowd would some charming
Juliet be discovered in the tomb scene of " Romeo
and Juliet," arrayed in a full white satin dress
with large hoop, then considered indispensable to
the proper costume of this love-sick maiden ; and
with such a throng surrounding her bed would
Desdemona bid her last farewell to the murderous
Moor. Sometimes, whilst the stage was so crowded,
situations and scenes occurred in plays undreamt
of by their authors. For instance, on one occasion,
whilst an actor named Holland was playing Hamlet
to a thronged house for his benefit, a ridiculous
incident happened. When the ghost, with some
difficult and audible apologies, elbowed his way
through the beaux and appeared to this gentleman,
his hat flew off his head, this being the recognised

PEG WOFFINGTON 27
mode of conveying a hint that his hair stood on
end, and of expressing fright generally. Presently,
as he complained that the air bit shrewdly and was
very cold, a stout old lady with a compassionate
heart and a red cloak stepped down unseen by
hira from her seat in the amphitheatre, picked up
his hat, and, coming behind hira, placed it on his
head, when poor Haralet started in real terror.
The house burst into roars of laughter, the ghost
turned and fled, and Haralet, after a raoment's
hesitation, followed hira araidst ringing cheers. On
another night it happened that a certain noble earl,
during the raurder scene in " Macbeth," lounged
across the stage in order to chat with a friend
whora he spied at the other side. Rich, the man
ager, duly incensed, declared he would never admit
him on the stage again ; to which the noble lord
replied by giving him a blow in the face, which
wafe duly returned by Rich, when a fracas began
that extended itself to the whole house. Indeed,
this custom of crowding the stage continued until
1 762, when Garrick finally abolished it, to the vast
indignation of the audience and players, the former
regarding it as an infringeraent on their rights, the
latter as an injustice because of the decrease in
the receipts of their benefits which ensued.
There were likewise unwritten laws regarding
dress at this period, which were strictly adhered
to, — the raerchant being recognisable by his
broadcloth and worsted hose, frora the man of

28 PEG WOFFINGTON
quality habited in velvet, satin, and silk. More
over, those living at a distance of sixty or a hun
dred mUes from the capital scarce ever ventured
to raake the journey to town ; but when they did,
the countryraan was at once known by his suit of
light gray or drab cloth, his slouched hat, and
uncurled hair.
It was only a couple of years before Peg Wof
fington's arrival that Samuel Johnson, in corapany
with young Davy Garrick, had travelled up to
London to seek his fortune, — when the philoso
pher in embryo had dined at the Pine Apple, in
New Street, on a cut of meat, for which he
paid sixpence, and a loaf that cost a penny; or
had in sadder tiraes gone breadless by day and
bedless by night, wandering wearily when all the
world was asleep, in company with Richard Sav
age, poet and vagabond, around lonely squares and
through deserted streets, sUent save for the
watchman's single-noted call, or the striking of
many-toned clocks heard from towers and steeples
lost in darkness ; until with the dawn of a new
day fresh hopes were born within them. But now
Johnson, who had commenced to make way,
might be seen in one of the boxes of the Fountain
Tavern in the Strand, reading with rumbling voice
the ponderous speeches of his tragedy " Irene " to
Mr. Peter Garrick, or sauntering on "clean shirt
day" to Salisbury Court to visit Mr. Samuel
Richardson, the printer, then unknown to fame ;

PEG WOFFINGTON 29
or to carry copy to the editor of the Gentleman's
Magazine, Mr. Edward Cave, of St. John's Gate,
— a spot which Johnson first "beheld with rev
erence," as the source from which so rauch polite
knowledge sprang. Cave, a rough, gruff fellow
enough, who possessed a warra heart, was sur
rounded by a crowd of hack writers, anxious to
pen a sonnet or satire, essay or article, at the nod
of their great chief. As an intellectual luxury,
he had proraised Johnson a sight of the raighty
geniuses who presided over the fortunes of his
magazine, and subsequently introduced him to
thera as they sat araong the clouds, not of Olyra
pus, but of tobacco-smoke ascending from their
pipes in an ale-house in Clerkenwell.
Fielding, who had not at this tirae written a
line of his novels, but who was of good repute as
a draraatist, raight be seen loitering in the shop
of his brother playwright, Robert Dodsley, who
once had been a footraan in the Lowther faraUy,
and had now become a poet, dramatist, and pub
lisher. " You know how decent, hurable, inoffensive a
creature Dodsley is, — how Uttle apt to forget or
disguise his having been a footraan," writes Hor
ace Walpole the magnificent. The Muses, it
would seem, had visited the worthy Dodsley whUe
he wore the shoulder-knot, and the first volurae
of his poeras was very appropriately entitled
"The Muse in Livery." These verses were for-

30 PEG WOFFINGTON
tunate enough to attract the attention of Pope,
who, as the saying is, took him by the hand and
established him as a bookseller. In turn, Dods
ley was one of the first practically to recognise
Johnson's worth as a poet, by giving him ten
guineas for " London, a Poem in imitation of the
third Satire of Juvenal ; " which " happy offspring
of his muse " had previously gone the rounds of
the booksellers, and had been rejected by them.
He had likewise helped Johnson by giving him a
guinea now and then for paragraphs written for
the London Chronicle at a time when guineas
were most welcome guests to the phUosopher's
palm. In this pleasant shop, situated in Pall Mall,
might be seen many of the celebrities of the day,
— amongst others, a thin-faced, shrunken-limbed
little gentleman, slightly bent, and clad in sober
black, who was no other than Mr. Pope of Twick
enham. Here also came for raany an hour's
pleasant gossip a reraarkable-looking man, pale-
faced and with thoughtful eyes, — Edward Young,
who had not then written his " Night Thoughts,"
but who had given Drury Lane a couple of
tragedies which met with little appreciation. Oc
casionally he brought with him a young man, a
doctor's apprentice, — Tobias George Smollett,
who, eight years later, became faraous as the
author of "The Adventures of Roderick Ran
dom," but who at this period, when he came to

PEG WOFFINGTON 31
take a friendly pinch of snuff from Dodsley's box,
and listen to the polite conversation of the raen
of parts who visited hira, had raerely written a
tragedy which had been rejected by the raanagers
of the Drury Lane and Covent Garden playhouses.
Here, too, loitered young Mr. Ame, the uphol
sterer's son, — a brother of the frail and beautiful
actress, Susanna Maria Cibber. Mr. Ame, a
slight, trim man, Ught of foot and easy of carriage,
who dressed in black velvet even in the dog-days,
posed as a wit and a scholar, and had just then
distinguished himself by setting MUton's " Comus "
to music.
Peg Woffington and her lover arrived in the
early part of the summer, when the theatrical
season proper was alraost over, and the actors
and actresses were taking their annual benefits.
At Drury Lane Mr. Quin was playing Julius
Csesar, "with the death of Brutus and Cassius,"
followed by "The Virgin Unmasked," in which
saucy Kitty Clive played one of her favourite
characters, — Miss Lucy. At Covent Garden
" The Rehearsal " was being played for Mr.
Cibber's benefit, with "an epilogue written by
Jo. Haines, comedian, of facetious memory, to be
spoken by Mr. Cibber riding on an ass, followed
by a hornpipe by a gentleman in the character of
a sailor." A pantorairae entertainraent, rejoicing
in the suggestive title of " The Colurabine Courte
san," was given nightly at Punch's Theatre, ad-

32 PEG WOFFINGTON
joining the Tennis Court in St. James's Street ;
and instead of the usual operatic performances at
the Haymarket Theatre, asserabUes were held
weekly, "to commence at nine, and no sooner,"
to which the gay part of the town flocked in large
numbers. Now that the long evenings and warm nights
were at hand, the Marylebone Gardens threw wide
their gates, and gave entertainraents of music,
when "the nobility and gentry are admitted for
sixpence each," and Vauxhall put forth its gay
allurements. On these calm bright evenings in early summer
the placid Thames was crowded by boats and
barges hung with bright bunting, and laden with
blithe companies of citizens on their way to Vaux
hall Gardens, which then had no rival, — Rane
lagh not being opened till AprU, 1742. In the
far-stretching gardens of VauxhaU were woods,
open swards, picturesque vistas, tents, booths, and
a platform for dancers ; all of which were at night
"made Ulustrious by a thousand lights finely dis
posed." In the glades, under the shade of spread
ing trees, walked gentlemen in silken hose and
sUver-buckled shoes, their rich-coloured velvet
coats distended in the skirts by cane or buckram,
their padded breasts covered by bright-hued satin
waistcoats, wide-flapped, and embroidered with
gold or silver lace, their jewelled hands half-cov
ered by point-lace ruffles smelling of orange-water.

PEG WOFFINGTON 33
their powdered wigs surraounted by three-cornered
hats ; and by their sides walked ladies of quality,
powdered and patched, high-heeled, low-bodiced,
and wide-skirted. In the pavUions at either side
of the grove, which were divided into different
departraents, and adorned by pictures and por
traits by Hayman, frora designs by Hogarth, sat
various companies, not only of raen and woraen of
quality, but of goodly citizens in worsted hose and
square-toed shoes, and coats of honest broadcloth,
who, with their buxora spouses and farailies, en
joyed themselves merrily enough ; for here, as
Boswell says, "was good eating and drinking for
those who chose to purchase that regale."
In the centre of the grove stood a vast orches
tra, where bands played and " concerts of musick "
were given nightly ; and at either side of which stood
statues of Mr. Handel as Orpheus playing the lyre
-— Roubiliac's first work in England — and of John
MUton, the latter being cast in lead and painted
stone-colour. Vauxhall had been opened by Mr.
Thoraas Tyres, a raan who had been bred to the
law, which he soon forsook ; for having a vivacious
temper and an eccentric mind, he " ran about the
world with a pleasant carelessness, amusing every
body," as Johnson's biographer says. In opening
Vauxhall Gardens, Tyres stated in his advertise
ments that he was "raerely arabitious of oblig
ing the polite and worthy part of the town," and
charged a shUling siraply " to keep away such as

34 PEG WOFFINGTON
were not fit to mix with those persons of quality,
ladies and gentlemen, and others," who should hon
our him with their corapany.
From the convenience they afforded, the gardens
soon became, as may be supposed, remarkable as
a place of intrigue, — a fact that did not prevent
others bent on more innocent enjoyment frora fre
quenting thera. To the diversions called Ridotti
al Fresco, given here, most of the company went
wearing masks and dominos, and wrapping their
figures in ample cloaks, lawyers' gowns, and such
articles of apparel as served for disguise. These
ridotti coraraenced at about eight o'clock in the
evening, and ended usually at four in the raoming.
They were extremely popular ; and so prodigious a
number of coaches and chairs crossed Westminster
Bridge en route for the gardens from the polite
part of the town, on nights when a ridotti was
held, that an attempt to cross that thoroughfare
oftentimes proved dangerous to limb and life. In
the vicinity of Vauxhall order was sought to be
preserved by a hundred soldiers ; whilst the way
from there to town was patrolled by stout feUows
well arraed, and paid by Tyres to protect the
properties and lives of his patrons.
Horace Walpole pleasantly discourses of a jour
ney he made to VauxhaU in corapany with Lady
Caroline Petersham and Miss Ashe, with whom
indeed her ladyship had broke but a little while
before, but again took under her protection upon

PEG WOFFINGTON 35
the assurance of Miss Ashe that she " was as good
as married " to Mr. Wortley Montagu, Lady Mary's
son, — a gentleman alike reraarkable for the nura
ber of his amours and his snuff-boxes. When Wal
pole arrived, he found the ladies " had just finished
their last layer of red, and looked as handsome as
crimson could make thera." The party also nura
bered Lord March, Harry Vane, the Duke of
Kingston, pretty Miss Beauclerc, and Mii.s Sparre.
As they sauntered down the MaU, a raerry group
of bright-coloured ladies and powdered and per
furaed gentleraen. Lady CaroUne met her lord,
who strode by them on the outside and repassed
thera again without a word. At the end of the
Mall ray lady called hira, but he would not hear ;
when she gave a faraUiar spring, and between
laughing and confusion called out to hira, "My
lord, ray lord ! Why, you don't see us ! " Then
the reraainder of the party advanced, feeling sorae
what awkward and anxious, for ray lord did not
love his lady ; and Lady Caroline said, " Do you
go with us, or are you going anywhere else ? " To
which her lord and master made answer, " I don't
go with you, I am going somewhere else ! " and
quickly marched away. Not the less merry for
his departure, they got into a barge, a boat with a
company playing French horns attending them as
they floated down the tide. When they debarked,
whom should they raeet but my Lord Granby, who
reeled out of Jenny's Whim — a tavern at the end

36 PEG WOFFINGTON
of the wooden bridge at Chelsea — as drunk as
may be, and who of course accompanied them on
their merry way; when he took occasion to pro
pose to Miss Sparre that they should shut thera
selves up for three weeks raerely to raU at the
world. Then they entered the Gardens and se
lected a box, in front of which Lady Caroline sat,
looking dangerously handsome. Learning that my
lord Orford was in a neighbouring box, she sent
for him to mince chickens ; when seven of these
unhappy fowls were minced into a china dish,
which her hospitable ladyship stewed over a lamp
with three pats of butter and a flagon of water,
stirring and rattling and laughing till the company
expected to have the dish about their ears every
moment. My lady had brought Betty, the famous
fruit-girl, who in her tum brought harapers of
strawberries and cherries ; and Betty waited on
this excellent company, and then sat down at a
Uttle table beside them and enjoyed her share
of the good things of this life. Such jokes and
puns and repartee — soraetiraes a little broad, it is
true — never were heard ; such wit fell frora theu:
lips, such laughter rippled all around thera, that
they soon had the whole attention of the garden,
and crowds gathered about their box, tiU Harry
Vane took up a bumper and drank their healths,
and then proceeded to treat them with greater
freedom — when they dispersed.
Mention of Vauxhall is continually made in the

PEG WOFFINGTON 37
newspapers of the day, in connection with the an
nouncements of its f6tes, the people who had visited
it, and soraetiraes with strange advertiseraents, —
one of which, strongly Ulustrative of the tiraes,
runs : " Lost in the dark walk at Vauxhall last
week, two feraale reputations ; one had a small
speck, on account of some dirt previously thrown
at it, the other never soiled. Whoever will bring
them back to their owners shall receive five thou
sand pounds, with thanks."

CHAPTER III.
A Faithless Lover — Fortune-hunting — News of a Marriage —
Hatred and Vengeance — Peg Woffington's Plot — Young
Mr. Adair — The Ridotto at Vauxhall Gardens — Miss Dalla
way and Her Friends — A Scene — Reproaches — A Lover's
Departure. JUCH was London town when Peg Wof
fington and young Taaffe took up their
residence in York Street, Covent Gar
den. For a few brief raonths all went well with
thera ; the actress was delighted with the infinite
attractions and novelties of the capital, and her
lover rejoiced that she was happy.
But by degrees, slow but deadly sure, came the
inevitable reaction of a passion not founded on
unselfish affection ; and the man who had sworn
that he loved her more than life itself, and that
his love for her would outlive his life, already grew
cold in his ardour. For days and weeks he was
absent from her side. But she who had given
him her heart loved him still, and was loath to
admit that her affection was no longer returned ;
and by all those charming arts which the intuition
of a woman of fine feelings teaches her to employ
in inspiring or retaining a love that is dear to her,
38

PEG WOFFINGTON 39
she strove to win hira back once more. For a
time it seemed as if she had succeeded ; to his
carelessness ensued a tenderness that had in it
something of self-reproach. At last there carae
a day when he announced that urgent business
affairs in connection with his property obliged hira
to leave town for Ireland, but he hoped to return
in three weeks at the latest. And then followed
many protestations of affection, which she felt
carae rather from the lips than frora the heart ; for
the old light was missing from his sea-blue eyes,
and the sound of his voice rang false.
He had scarcely gone a week when it reached
her ears that he had been playing her false, — that
he had been wooing a young lady of quaUty and
fortune, named Miss Dallaway, who was heiress to
considerable wealth. Moreover, his attentions to
this young lady had proved so agreeable that she
had promised to wed him on his retum to town.
At this news Peg Woffington was by turns aston
ished, incredulous, and furious ; but recovering
from the first condition, she took pains to ascer
tain that the rumour was undoubtedly true. Then
the scales fell from her eyes, and she saw that the
idol she had blindly worshipped had not a heart of
gold, as she had foolishly iraagined, but of base
clay, made very much after the pattern of the rest
of mankind. She was not jealous of the woman
he had asked to marry him, probably for the sake
of her money ; but she was heart-sore for loss of

40 PEG WOFFINGTON
his love, indignant at the deception practised on
her, and humUiated at the prospect of being flung
aside at the mere dictates of his caprice and con
venience. Brooding over her wrongs, all her love
for him turned to hatred and conterapt ; she was
a woman scorned, and she was deterrained to have
revenge. It was not untU she had thought for long and
sorrowful days that she at last hit upon a plan of
obtaining her vengeance ; and this, when once de
termined on, with the impetuous spirit which was
so strong a trait of her character, she did not hesi
tate to carry out. Knowing the name of the
lady to whom her lover had proposed marriage, it
was a matter of but slight difficulty to become
acquainted with her by sight ; for, being a woman
of quality and fashion, she attended all the polite
assemblies and entertainments of the town. The
next step that Peg Woffington resolved on was to
meet her, obtain an introduction to her, and reveal
to her that the man she had promised to wed was
the lover of an Irish actress. Thoughts of the
sore pain and deep humiUation which this might
cause Miss Dallaway did not prevent Peg Woffing
ton from carrying out her plans ; this woman of
fashion could not love him as she. Peg Woffington,
had loved him — with all the depth and force of
her demonstrative Celtic nature, quick, subtle, and
passionate ; and if she had suffered from his per
fidy, why not this other woman suffer likewise .'

PEG WOFFINGTON 41
It was but just. She must strike at him, though
her shaft pierced another heart.
Remembering how successfully she had played
Sir Harry WUdair on the stage, she now resolved,
in order to carry out her plans more successfully,
to act the part of a young man of fashion in real
life ; and assuming male attire, she so successfully
disguised herself that even those who had seen her
as Sir Harry in the Dublin theatre could not rec
ognise her as Mr. Adair, a young Irishman of
family and fortune, — the name and character she
now assumed. Attired m silken hose and satin
breeches, with broidered waistcoat and wide-
flapped coat, powdered, painted, and bewigged,
she sallied forth upon the town, a perfect speci
men of the irapertinent, dainty, and efferainate
coxcorabs of the period. Everywhere Miss Dalla
way went. Peg Wofl&ngton, if possible, was pres
ent, — in the park before dinner, where the lady
was sure to take the air ; in the theatre at night,
where the lady sat in her box ; and to such assera
blies as were open to the public for payraent,
where the lady was most likely to attend. More
over, Peg Woffington always took care that Miss
Dallaway should notice her appearance, and occa
sionally ventured to give such signs of admiration
and indications of a sraitten heart as were permis
sible by look and gesture.
But aU the while Peg Wofifington found it im
possible to obtain the desired introduction, without

42 PEG WOFFINGTON
which she dared not, in her character as a gaUant,
address the lady. At length fate granted her
desire one night, when they were present at a
public ridotto in VauxhaU Gardens. When Peg
Woffington, otherwise Mr. Adair, entered the
grounds, the scene which presented itself was one
of vast brUliancy and gaiety. In the orchestra a
full band was discoursing the liveliest airs imagi
nable; coloured lamps glittered amidst the thick-
leaved branches of oak and linden that formed an
arch-like roof above the central walk of the grove ;
the pavilions were crowded with brightly clad fig
ures ; dancers glided to and fro upon the platform ;
laughter rang in the air ; and everywhere were
men and women in masks, dominos, uniforms, or
fancy costumes, busy in the pursuit of enjoyment,
and all as merry as might be.
Amongst those Mr. Adair walked with a swag
gering gait, swinging his gold-knobbed clouded cane
with its great bunch of silken tassels to and fro, as
if his heart were as light as a feather, a smile on
his lips, a civU speech on his tongue, a glitter in
his eye that might indicate love or mischief. At
last he caught sight of the figure for which he had
been diligently in search. Surrounded by a group
of friends. Miss Dallaway sat under a tree, watch
ing the crowds pass and repass, now and then
making some comment which showed she was not
devoid of wit. Approaching the little knot with
the easiest and most careless air in the world, Mr.

PEG WOFFINGTON 43
Adair recognised at a glance a certain man of
quality with whora he had during the week ex
changed civUities whUst dining at the raore select
ordinary of the Bedford, and with whora on one
occasion he had cracked a bottle of port. Advanc
ing to him, he assumed his most courteous air,
made a bow which carried its credentials for good
breeding in its every raoveraent, and spoke a vastly
civil speech. The raan of quality was not behind
hand in courtesy, and presently young Adair mak
ing a polite reference to Miss Dallaway, the man
of quality offered to introduce his new friend to
her. "For," said he, "you raust know the young
lady has a partiality for your country, having
given the strongest possible proof of it by con
senting to wed one of your genial-hearted race."
"Indeed," said Mr. Adair. "The young lady
confers an honour on us all by her choice — all
the more so from her condescending to overlook
the worth and parts of those by whom she is at
present surrounded."
When the elaborate bows which succeeded this
speech were raade, and the gentlemen had assumed
their erect figures once more, Mr. Adair was pre
sented to Miss Dallaway, a young gentlewoman of
scarcely raore than eighteen suraraers, beautiful in
features, dazzlingly fair, blue-eyed, and with an
expression of innocence and trust that quickly
won its way to the heart. At the introduction.

44 PEG WOFFINGTON
Mr. Adair slowly removed his hat, and placing it,
with a gesture perfect in , gracefulness, over the
region of his heart, bowed almost to the ground ;
whUst the lady, first rising from her seat, seemed
gradually and gently to sink amidst billows of lace
and satin, as she curtsied low in return.
"Madam," said Mr. Adair, in a voice which,
though a trifle harsh, had in its undertone a ring
that attracted its hearer, "this day shall hence
forth be reckoned amongst the happiest in my
life." "Sir," said the lady, "you are in truth vastly
polite;" and raising her eyes to his, she en
countered a glance the fascination of which few
men had found it possible to resist.
"Madam," said this pretty gentleraan, "when
the truth is spoken concerning you, it must ever
seem polite ; for with such a theme, no tongue
could discourse inelegantly."
The lady bowed once more, and opened her
jewelled fan, which she raised to her face in order
to conceal the smile of pleasure that played about
her lips.
"You have a knack, sir," she said, "of tuming
pretty compliments.''
"Yes, madam," quoth he, "when inspired by
beauty and worth ; for compliments are the due
tributes to such qualities." And so saying, the
gallant gentleman tapped a tiny gold box, helped
himself with an air of satisfaction to snuff, and

PEG WOFFINGTON 45
taking out his daintily scented handkerchief, lightly
brushed a few grains that had fallen on the costly
lace of his ruffles.
By degrees Miss Dallaway's friends gave way to
the newcomer, whose easy grace and vast courtesy
seemed to find ready favour in her eyes. Mr.
Adair, seeing his advantage, quickly followed it
up ; he was anxious to speak to her in a more
sequestered spot, in order to expose the villainy of
the man she had promised to wed. Therefore he
said to her, as soon as the opportunity offered :
" The crowd here to-night is prodigious, madara ;
in faith, we have around us a mixed lot. You wUl
find it more agreeable in the grove, I have no
doubt, may I do rayself the honour of offering
you my arm .' "
And so saying he led the way down the central
walk of the grove, with its star-like lights and its
fragrant odours. By degrees, and as it seemed by
accident, they outstepped their friends ; for the
crowd through which they moved being great,
they were soon separated frora her, an advantage
which was quickly followed up by the young
gentleman proposing that they should turn down
one of the paths to the right, inasmuch that it was
far more pleasant by reason of its sUence and
seclusion. " I believe, sir, by your conversation, that you
live in town," said the lady, laying her hand on
his arm as lightly as might be.

46 PEG WOFFINGTON
"At present, yes, madam," says he; "I have,
however, been here but a few short months,
having arrived in the spring from — from one of
the universities.''
" Young gentlemen are taught many things
there," says she.
"Yes, madam," replies he, with a wicked smUe;
"in the one from which I came they learned raany
things — from me."
" From you, sir .'' " stealing a glance at him.
" That is, I taught them some very pretty man
ners ; I have always been famed for my manners."
" Of that I have no doubt, sir," replied the lady.
" But, alas, madam," the gentleman said, with a
sigh, " I find that I have come to town too late."
He felt as if he were playing a part ; the habit
of acting, difficult to lay aside even in serious
moments, was now strong upon him ; the gardens
with their lights and music were but a stage, the
surroundings but theatrical accessories, and the
purport for which he had donned this disguise,
and sallied forth upon the town for the last week,
but the plot of a comedy. And yet it was all
real, terribly real ; and under the bravery of that
broidered satin waistcoat beat a woman's heart
that was sick from grief, yet strong for revenge.
" Too late ? May I venture to inquire why you
say so ? " said Miss Dallaway.
" If I only dared to tell her," said the gentle
raan, in that undertone, called on the stage an

PEG WOFFINGTON 47
aside, which, though quite audible, is supposed to
be unheard. Then he added, in a louder though
more desponding tone, " Too late, raadam, to
secure my own happiness."
" How do you mean ? " queried Miss Dallaway,
who seemed to conceive a sudden interest in the
cause of his distress.
"When I came to town," said he, lifting his
eyes to hers, and catching a look of pleasure which
promised a deeper concern in his affairs, " I heard
the name of Miss Dallaway on every tongue. In
the coffee-houses it was spoken with respectful ad
miration, in all polite assemblies with unmeasured
praise. Everywhere her beauties and qualities were
vastly lauded, until I grew impatient to see the
object of such general esteem. But when at last
good fortune permitted me to see her — when I
saw you, madam, I knew that all I had heard had
not done justice to your perfections ; I saw that
your merits were as far superior to the corapli
raents which every tongue had uttered, as glorious
day is to the darkness of night, as heaven itself is
to this poor earth."
"Oh, sir," said the lady, blushing, "you over
whelm me."
" Nay, madam," said the gallant, " I speak but
the naked tmth. But with the knowledge of your
perfections carae also the news that you had given
your love, your life, to the keeping of one who had
been happy enough to find favour in your eyes."

48 PEG WOFFINGTON
"That is true, sir," said the lady, as if the fact
had been suddenly recalled to her, and recalled
without pleasure; "he — he is a gentleman of
worth," she added.
"If he were indeed one likely to render you
happy, madam," said the gallant, " I would never
have sought this interview to-night."
" What do you mean, sir .' " said Miss Dallaway,
with a change of tone that indicated both surprise
and displeasure.
"I mean," he answered, boldly, "that he is
unworthy of your esteem and love ; that in fact,
madam, he is a worthless fellow and a profligate."
" It is false," she said, indignantly, removing
her hand from her companion's arm. "This is a
charge tmmped up to blacken his character in ray
eyes — an unworthy trick to ingratiate yourself in
my favour ; but clever as you are, sir, it shall not
succeed." " Upon my honour, madara, it is true," said Mr.
Adair, very quietly. "I see you love hira too,
and I grieve indeed to pain you — in truth I do ;
but this gentleraan is well known, as I have
recently learned, for his gallantries. Nay, bear
with me whUst I tell you that even while he made
love to you from mercenary motives, he was carry
ing on an affair with an actress whom he brought
to town from Ireland."
" An actress ? " she gasped, trembling all over.
Then the colour coming back into her cheeks, she

PEG WOFFINGTON

49

cried out, " I'U not believe it ; it cannot be possible
that the man who swore he loved rae — loved rae
better than aU the world besides, loved me for
myself alone — is false to me. Take back your
words ; say they are untrue, the trick of a rival in
a war of love; or" (with a change of tone no
longer pleading but comraanding) "produce rae
proof that your stateraent is tme."
" Madam," said Peg Woffington, — for it was
no longer the man of fashion, but the woman who
now spoke, — "I cannot take back my words ; but
as it may be well for you to know this man, I will
show you proof that what I have said is true ; "
and she drew out a bundle of letters, sorae of
them of recent date, some of them well worn
because often read. " You know the writing .' "
The young lady fixed her eyes on thera for a
second, and nodded her head.
" Then read them," said Peg Wofifington.
In her haste. Miss Dallaway alraost tore the
squarely folded sheets of paper bearing Taaffe's
seal and his characters addressed to Mrs. Margaret
Woffington, and read Une after line that spoke of
love and faithfulness for this actress, until the
letters seemed to bum theraselves into her brain ;
then the rausic of the band fell fainter and fainter
on her ears, her head swam, and with a low cry
she tottered forward, and would have fallen but
that Peg Woffington caught her in her outstretched
arms. The place was quite solitary ; no one had

SO PEG WOFFINGTON
witnessed this scene. With an effort Peg Woffing
ton lifted the insensible girl to a bench close by,
fanned her face,'and chafed her hands.
" Poor girl," she said, " I did not think she loved
him so. What fools we women are." Tears
sprang into her eyes, and bending down her head,
she kissed the girl's forehead with tenderness.
"Did you know me, you would shrink from the
touch of my lips," she said, alraost in a whisper,
and again she kissed her with the love of a sister.
In a Uttle while the young lady opened her eyes,
and looking around her, remembered all.
" My child," said Peg Woffington, tenderly, for
getting completely the character she assumed, " I
have caused you some pain ; but from suffering
peace often springs. It is best that you should
know the man to whom you were about to trust
the happiness of your whole life. When next a
lover pleads to you, have more care regarding his
character, before you give him the treasure of
your heart."
" You have saved me," said the girl. " I loved
him, and now — now — "
" You see he is unworthy of you. My task has
been, after all, an ungracious one ; and when I
undertook it I had no thought of the trouble it
might bring you. Forgive me."
" Then it was not to save me you told me this .' "
said Miss Dallaway, wonderingly.
" No ; it was to punish hira for his deception to

PEG WOFFINGTON 51
— to one very near to rae," said Peg Woffington.
Her cheeks were burning.
" In any case I owe you thanks," said the young
lady, while tears alraost choked her voice. " Your
words are kind ; surely, ah, surely your heart raust
be good."
" Good .' If you knew rae you would not say
so," said Peg Woffington. Then she hesitated
just for a second ; longing to throw off the char
acter she had assuraed and reveal herself, yet fear
ing to lose the regard which she had gained, and
dreading the dislike and distrust which she knew
her narae must call up. Suddenly resuming her
forraer air of a coxcomb, she therefore laughed
airily and said, "Madam, believe me, I ara no
better than my neighbours."
Miss Dallaway rose up, puzzled by the contra
dictions in raanner and tone which this young
raan's action betrayed.
" Let us seek my friends," she said. " I'm sure
they have raissed me."
She held out her hand, which Peg Woffington
took in both of hers, and raised it to her lips, not
with affected gallantry, but in honest pity. Then
arra in arra, and without exchanging another word,
they went forth araongst the crowd.
The first light of a suramer day had crept into
the sky before Peg Woffington reached her lodg
ings in York Street, Covent Garden. In obedi
ence to the loud sumraons of one of her chair-raen.

52 PEG WOFFINGTON
the door was quickly opened, not by a servant, but
by her lover, who had just returned. She started
for a moment in surprise ; then getting out of her
chair, she quickly passed him and entered the
house, leaving him to wrangle with the chair-men.
Passing into the sitting-room, she flung off her
dainty gold-laced hat and powdered wig, loosened
her cravat, undid her sword, cast it from her on
the floor impatiently, and then sat down in a great
chair to await his coming. Her mood had changed.
The manner of the man about town had vanished
completely ; the air of reckless audacity had given
place to the weariness of reaction ; the scene in
which she had so cleverly enacted a part, now
affected her in an unlooked-for degree, and filled
her with bitter self-reproach.
"Well, Peggy," said Taaffe, entering the room
with a blithe air, " have you no word of welcome
for me, after coming back to you four days sooner
than I expected.'"
"I am tired," she answered, shortly, without
looking at him.
Her face was white and haggard seen by this
early Ught ; there was a dangerous glitter in her
dark eyes, a defiant air in her bearing.
" Ah, I see," said he, with a short laugh. " You
have been out amusing yourself at your old stage
tricks again, and donning the breeches."
Coming over to where she was, he sat down
beside her, and stretched out his arms as if to

PEG WOFFINGTON 53
caress her, with such tenderness as was his wont
in the first days of their courtship. The same
light was in his sea-blue eyes, the same smile on
his lips which had first dazzled her, filled her
heart with a torrent of happiness, and made her
weigh the world light in the balance of his love.
But now she saw only the weakness, deception,
and cruelty of his nature reflected in his eyes and
playing on his lips, and she shrank frora him.
" Don't touch me," she said, in a tone such as
he had never heard her use before. He did not
dare to disobey her.
"Why," said he, "it's in mighty bad teraper
you are ; you don't seera to have got rauch diver
sion out of your night."
" I have got none," she answered hira, briefly.
" It's sorry I ara for it," he said, concUiatingly.
" And may I ask where you have been .' "
" You may, for I intended teUing you. Though
I may act many parts, I cannot play the hypocrite
like you." This tirae she looked hira in the face.
"What the devil do you raean by that civil
speech ? " asked the gentleman, begmning to cora
prehend her huraour.
"I raean," she answered, "that I have seen
Miss Dallaway, the woraan you proraised to marry,
and I have told her aU."
" Good God ! " cried he, nervously grasping his
chair. " Is this a part of your play-acting, or is it
true ? Answer me at once — "

54 PEG WOFFINGTON
" It is true," she replied, unflinchingly meeting
the look of horror that crept into his face.
" You are a devU," he hissed frora between his
clenched teeth.
" I am a woman," she said, rising to her feet,
and throwing back her finely turned head with so
sudden a gesture that her long black hair fell in
a lustrous shower upon her shoulders — "I am a
woman, and you have deceived me. I loved you
with all my heart, and you played me false. You
swore fidelity to me, and then left me to whisper
the same words in the ear of another dupe of your
flattering speeches and soft ways. AU the love I
once bore you tumed to hate, and I determined to
expose you as the liar and hypocrite that you are."
Her eyes flashed, her breast heaved with pas
sion, her face flushed with the crimson of indigna
tion. She was beautiful ; but the man before her
thought only of the injury she had done him. His
anger blinded him to the loveliness that had once
fascinated him, and he rose up and cursed her.
" Tell me what you have done," he gasped, see
ing it was better for him to know the worst at
once ; " what you have said to her."
" I have told her that you are a profligate," she
said, looking at him steadUy. "I have told her
that, whilst you spoke words of love to her, you
were carrying on an affair with — with an actress
you had brought with you from Ireland."
The words came as if wrenched from her.

PEG WOFFINGTON 55
" She will not beUeve you," he said, catching at
some straw by which he might yet be saved.
" I have taken care that she shall. I have
shown her your letters to rae," she answered.
" Good God ! I am undone," he cried out in
despair. "Do you know that you have ruined
me ? My affairs are going to the devU. She is
an heu-ess ; I was to have married her in a couple
of weeks, and her fortune would have saved me.
You have destroyed me."
Woman-like, she began to relent. He strode
up and down the roora with uneven steps, his face
pale as death, his brows knitted in anger, his lips
twitching frora the passion of his despair.
" I only know," she answered back, with strongly
imposed calmness, "that you have deceived me.
It was enough for me."
"You — you are a tigress," he replied, hoarse
with rage ; and, snatching up his cloak and hat, he
rushed frora the roora and out of the house with
out another word ; nay, even without once looking
back at her.
For a moraent she stood motionless, listening
to the quick sound of his feet echoing down the
lonely street in the early morning hour. Even
then she knew that she would never again see this
man whora she had loved so well, whora she yet
loved, despite her wrongs and her rage. Even
then she felt that time had tumed over one of
the brightest pages of her life, that something had

56 PEG WOFFINGTON
gone from her existence which she could never
again recover. Then a dull sense of misery and
unutterable loneliness descended on her ; and with
a passionate movement she flung herself on a
couch, and burying her face in her hands, sobbed
as if her heart were breaking.

CHAPTER IV.
John Rich, Manager of Covent Garden — His First Pantomime
— His Treatment of Dramatic Authors — Peg Woffington's
Interview with Him — Sensation in the Town — Actors at
Covent Garden — Ryan's Tragedy in Real Life — Theophilus
Cibber — Peg Woffington's First Appearance in London —
An Old-fashioned Comedy — Surprise and Admiration of the
Town — Sir Harry Wildair — All the Town in Love with
Her.
~|eG woffington was not a woraan
to sit down idly, and break her heart
because of a lover's perfidy. Naturally
energetic, she delighted in work, and, happily for
her generation of playgoers, resolved to offer her
services for the coraing season to John Rich, who
had eight years previously buUt Covent Garden
theatre, of which he was now raanager. Rich was
a prominent character in his day ; remarkable for
his eccentricities, and famous as being the first to
introduce that form of entertainment known as
pantorairae mto England. In common justice to
his meraory, it raust be borne in mind that his
productions were of a far more refined and intel
ligible order than these which obtain at the pres
ent day. His first atterapt in this direction was
the representation of a story frora Ovid's " Meta-
57

58 PEG WOFFINGTON
morphoses," which, by the aid of magnificent
scenes, glittermg habits, charming dances, to
gether with music and singing, he raade won
derfully attractive to the town. Between the
acts of this serious representation, he interwove
a comic fable, which was chiefly founded on the
courtship of his beautiful columbine and the
heroic harlequin — a character it was the great
deUght of his life to represent. In this perform
ance a variety of the most surprising adventures
and tricks were produced by the mere wave of
a magic wand : cottages and huts were trans
formed into palaces all a-glitter with silver and
gold ; men and women were turned in the twin
kling of an eye into trees and stones ; vast gardens
sprang from the earth ; and such things happened
as had never before been witnessed by the play-
going world. The result was a complete success.
Rich was the son of a gentleman, but was
wholly UUterate ; this being probably due to neg
lect in his education, for by the invention of his
pantomimes he proved himself to be a man of
imagination and abUity. The treatment of his
harlequin Ukewise showed that he possessed the
innate refinement of good breeding. His " Catch
ing the Butterfly " was declared by the chronicles
of his times to be a most wonderful performance ;
whilst his harlfequin, hatched from an egg by the
heat of the sun, proved such an attraction that
crowds waited for admission under the piazza of

PEG WOFFINGTON 59
Covent Garden from midday, and threatened to
break down the doors of the playhouse if they
were not adraitted at three o'clock, at least two
hours before the entertainraent began. This per
forraance was said to be a raasterpiece of dumb
show, for Rich's harlequin never uttered a word ;
yet such was the power he exhibited by his ges
tures and expressions, that he not only provoked
laughter, but drew tears. Jackson, speaking of
the last mentioned pantorairae, says of Rich, or
rather of the harlequin, "frora the first chipping
of the egg, his receiving of raotion, his feeling of
the ground, his standing upright, to his quick har
lequin trip around the erapty shell — through the
whole progression, every lirab had its tongue, and
every motion a voice, which spoke with most mi
raculous organ to the understandings and sensa
tions of the observers."
Rich's success was such that his example was
quickly foUowed, when Drury Lane and the minor
houses introduced harlequinades, in order to draw
full audiences. So important indeed did the char
acter of harlequin become, that he was played by
such clever and accomplished actors as Woodward,
O'Brien, Yates, and even Garrick himself, on an
occasion when the regular harlequin of the Ipswich
theatre had been taken suddenly ill ; this being, of
course, before he attempted the part of Richard
the Third in the same theatre. One of these
entertainraents presented at the last mentioned

6o PEG WOFFINGTON
house greatly took the town. This was called
"A Hint to the Theatre, or Merlin in Labour;
with the Birth, Adventures, Execution, and Resto
ration of Harlequin, by Mr. Devoto." The biUs
announcing this performance stated that, as the
manager had put himself to great expense in get
ting the machinery made "to the neatest per
fection," he hoped to be favoured with "the
company of the curious." Accordingly, the curi
ous and others flocked to witness the pantomime
in great numbers.
Perhaps it was the success of his dumb shows
which helped Rich to cherish a fine contempt in
his raanagerial soul for his contemporary play-
writers, whom he sorely aggrieved. When these
chUdren of the muses sent him their manuscripts.
Rich flung thera into the deep drawer of a cabinet,
where they lay for months. Presently, when the
aspirants for fame timidly approached hira, and
asked with bated breath for tidings of their full-
blooded tragedies or farcical comedies, the raan
ager would coolly inform them he did not know
which plays were theirs ; but they might go to the
deep drawer of the cabinet and take their choice,
for he wanted none of them. This little peculiarity
of his got hira into trouble, on one occasion at
least. It happened that a raedical man, "call
ing himself Sir John HUl," left a raanuscript play
of his, entitled "Orpheus," with Rich, or rather
with that gentleman's maid servant. Of course it

PEG WOFFINGTON 6i
shared the fate comraon to its kind, the manager
never untying even the outer covering. In due
time Mr. Rich announced the perforraance at his
theatre of a play called " Orpheus," which " though
done by a different hand," the doctor insisted on
clairaing as his property. Subsequently a war of
words followed, in which the whole town took
part. Sir John Hill published his " Orpheus," in
the preface of which he stated his case according
to his lights. This was quickly followed by a
paraphlet bearing the coraprehensive title, " Mr.
Rich's answer to the many falsities and calumnies
advanced by Mr. John HUl, Apothecary ; " which
in turn elicited another "Answer to the raany
Plain and Notorious Lyes advanced by Mr. John
Rich, Harlequin ; " and so this paper war raged
briskly for raany months.
For all this. Rich, like raost of those following
the sarae calling, was a good-hearted fellow enough ;
in testimony of this statement a story is told of
his behaviour to a poor raan who fell frora the
gallery to the pit of Covent Garden, whilst wit
nessing some strange escapades of the harlequin.
When the man was picked up, his bones were
found to be broken in many places ; learning
which. Rich had hira carefully tended, eraploying
for the purpose the best raedical skUl of the town.
A few months later the poor fellow carae to thank
the raanager for his kindness, when Rich said to
him in his raost serious manner :

62 PEG WOFFINGTON
"Well, my man, you must never try to corae
into the pit in that fashion again ; and to prevent
it, I'll give you free admission to that part of the
house as long as I live."
To the residence of John Rich, situated in the
then highly fashionable quarter of Bloomsbury
Square, Peg Woffington betook herself, and de
manded an interview with the eccentric manager ;
but as she refused to give her name, she found
this was no easy matter to obtain. According to
John Gait, she paid no less than nineteen visits
before she was admitted. At last she told the
servant to say Miss Woffington desired to speak
with Mr. Rich; when the man returned with a
thousand civil speeches and apologies, and inform
ing her that his master would see her at once,
showed her into his private apartment. Entering
the room, she found the manager lounging on a
sofa, a book in one hand, a china cup from which
he occasionally sipped tea in another, whilst
around him were seven-and-twenty cats, engaged
in the various occupations of staring at him, lick
ing his teacup, eating the toast from his mouth,
walking around his shoulders, and frisking about
him with the freedom of long-standing pets.
The fame of Peg Woffington's achievements in
the DubUn playhouse had crossed the channel, and
made the manager willing to entertain her proposal
of playing at his theatre during the following
season. A salary of nine pounds a week was

Peg Woffington's Visit to Rich
From painting by F. Smallfield

PEG WOFFINGTON 63
offered her, which she accepted willingly enough,
and an engagement was then entered into, when it
was decided that she should raake her first bow to
the English public in the following November,
as Sylvia, in George Farquhar's comedy, "The
Recruiting Officer."
The rumour that this new actress, who had the
rare fortune to be appreciated in her own country,
and whose beauty was reputed to be little less than
that of a goddess, was about to play at Covent
Garden, raade a sensation in the town. She was,
on this her first appearance, to be supported by
two actors who were popular favourites, Ryan and
Theophilus Cibber, — players who subsequently
acted with her for years. Ryan, the son of an
Irish taUor, had, when he and the century were
in their teens, played in " Macbeth " with the
famous Betterton, on which most meraorable occa
sion he had worn a treraendous fuU-bottoraed wig,
which almost smothered hira. Frora that day he
laboured with such effect in his profession, that
Addison had selected hira to play Marcus, in his
long-winded tragedy of "Cato;" and Garrick, in
after years, confessed that this actor's " Richard
III." was a perforraance after which he had shaped
his own. His farae as a tragedian was not indeed
confined to the stage, for he had kiUed his raan
in real life, surrounded by such coraraonplace
effects as a tavem furnished.
It happened one suraraer evening, as early as

64 PEG WOFFINGTON
the year 1718, that, after his performance in the
Lincoln's Inn Fields playhouse, he had gone to
sup quietly at the Sun tavem in Long Acre, and,
for the puipose of being more at his ease, had taken
off his sword and placed it in the window. But,
as fate would have it, scarce had he laid by his
weapon when, with the most rakish air imaginable,
in struts a faraous bravado naraed Kelly, whose
chief diversion it was to pick quarrels with stran
gers in taverns and coffee-houses, and then faU upon
them with preconceived malice and wound them
bodily, he being an excellent swordsman. On the
present occasion, being flushed with wine and full
of bravery, he approached Ryan, who was quietly
sitting at a far table, and, first daring him to fight
him, he subsequently made passes at him which
raeant deadly harra ; the actor, therefore, rushed
for his sword. At this Kelly seemed mightily
diverted and raade thrusts at him afresh ; whereon
Ryan, in self-protection, skUfully ran a sword
through the body of his assailant, who, in another
second, lay stark upon the tavern floor, his sword
grasped tight in his stiff right hand, his life's blood
oozing on the sand. The town was delighted be
yond expression to get rid of this troublesome
fellow, and Ryan in consequence rose in popular
favour. Indeed, such a hold did he take on the
public, that when subsequently he was set on in
mistake whilst returning home late at night, and
received a wound in the cheek that made his voice

PEG WOFFINGTON 65
sound sharp and shrill, his audiences completely
overlooked this defect, and never raoved him from
the warrath of their favour.
Theophilus Cibber, son of old Colley, who was
to act the part of Plume in " The Recruiting Offi
cer " on Peg Woffington's first appearance, had
made that character a special study, and had been
instructed in it by his father. Theo Cibber, as he
was familiarly called, had " a person far frora pleas
ing, and the features of his face were rather dis
gusting," as David Erskine Baker, Esquire, quaintly
inforras us. Theophilus Cibber had frora early in
his career developed what was known as " a fond
ness for indulgences ; " in other words, he was a
scapegrace of the first water, as wUl presently be
seen. But he had a good understanding, a quick
ness of parts, a perfect knowledge of the char
acters he represented, and a certain araount of
vivacity occasionally araounting to effronterie, which
combined to raake hira an actor agreeable to the
town. He had been, it may be noted, the original
George Barnwell in the tragedy of that title.
Now this play preached a raoral, which, though
a rare thing enough in those days, was by no
raeans acceptable to the pubUc ; in consequence
of which it was usual to introduce an epilogue at
the end, which ridiculed aU the virtuous and beau
tiful sentiraents gone before. To heighten the fun
and give it sharper relish this was spoken by Mrs.
Cibber, who smartly and with little disguise sati-

66 PEG WOFFINGTON
rised her husband's vices (for he had many, 'twas
said) and excused her own, which were indeed the
common property of the town. To render the
occasion of Peg Woffington's first appearance
the more important. Rich bespoke the favour of
the presence of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and
his princess ; and, as his Royal Highness was
always anxious to be diverted, he graciously
promised to be present.
The playbUl announcing the performance ran
as follows : COVENT GARDEN.

By command of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.

By the Company of Comedians.
At the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden,
This day will be presented a Comedy, caU'd
THE RECRUITING OFFICER,
written by the late MR. FARQUHAR.
The part of Sylvia by Miss Woffington
(Being the first time of her performing on that Stage),
with dancing
By Mon. Desnoyer and Signora Barberini,
also
By MoN. and Mademoiselle Meckel
(The French Boy and Girl).
To which by command will be added a Tragi-Comi-Pastoral
Farce of Two Acts, call'd
THE WHAT D'YE CALL IT.
Box, 5J. ; Pit, $s.; First Gallery, 2s,; Upper Gallery, is.
To begin exactly at Six o'clock.

PEG WOFFINGTON 67
On the evening of the 6th of Noveraber, 1740,
at the hour of six o'clock, a brilliant and crowded
audience had asserabled in Covent Garden Theatre.
In the royal box, " under a canopy of scarlet sUk
most richly adorned with gold tissue and tassels
of the sarae," sat the Prince and Princess of
Wales ; and in the boxes around thera the gay
and witty courtiers who had turned their backs
on St. Jaraes's to frisk, flatter, sparkle, and enjoy
theraselves in the light of the rising sun, who never
— alas for hira and them — reached the meridian
of his power. In the pit, as usual, sat the students
of the Inns of Court, the raen about town, the
young fellows from the universities, with their peri
wigs, swords, ruflfles, and snuff-boxes ; glib com
pliments on their lips, merry twinkles in their eyes,
and much knowledge of stage affairs in their heads,
by which they would presently, over a glass of
wine, try this Irish actress and pronounce judg
ment upon her. Presently, when the fiddles had
played their last long-drawn notes, and the
candles forraing the footlights had been judi
ciously snuffed, up went the heavy green curtain ;
then silence feU upon the house, broken only by
the fluttering of fans and the snapping of snuff
box lids.
"The Recruiting Officer," a coraedy in which
Peg Woffington's name is closely connected, and
in which she continued to divert the town for
years, had, frora its lively action, spirited dialogue,

68 PEG WOFFINGTON
and rather broad fun, long been a standing favour
ite with playgoers.
Moreover, it was declared to be true to life, and,
indeed, gives an excellent picture of the manners
and ways of the times. George Farquhar had
been himself a recruiting officer at Shrewsbury
where the scene is laid and where the play was
written ; and it was said he had drawn his own
character in that of Captain Plurae, "a rakehelly
officer," who is the hero of the coraedy. The
heroine, Sylvia, daughter of worthy Justice Bal
lance, is a young gentlewoman full of dash and
spirit, as may be gathered from the autobiograph
ical details in the first act, with which she is kind
enough to favour her cousin Melinda, who remarks
that she, Sylvia, has the "constitution of an
horse." Says Sylvia in reply :
" So far as to be troubled with neither spleen,
cholic, nor vapours ; I need no salts for my stom
ach, no hartshorn for my head, nor wash for my
complexion. I can gallop all the moming after
the hunting-horn and all the evening after a fiddle.
In short, I can do everything with my father but
drink and shoot flying ; and I'm sure I could do
everything my raother could were I put to the
trial." Then Melinda inforras her that her captain has
come to town.
"Ah, MeUnda," says she, "now that he is come,
I'll take care he sha'n't go without a companion."

PEG WOFFINGTON 69
"You are certamly mad, cousin," replies the
other. "And there's a pleasure sure in being mad,
which none but madraen know," quoth she.
Then says Melinda : " Thou poor roraantic
Quixote, hast thou the vanity to iraagine that
a young sprightly officer, that rambles o'er half
the globe in half a year, can confine his thoughts
to the little daughter of a country justice in an
obscure part of the world ? "
" Psha ! " replies Sylvia, " what care I for his
thoughts .' I should not like a man with confined
thoughts ; it shows a narrowness of soul. Con
stancy is but a dull, sleepy quality at best ; they
will hardly admit it among the manly virtues, nor
do I think it deserves a place with bravery, knowl
edge, policy, justice, and sorae other qualities that
are proper to that noble sex. In short, Melinda, I
think a petticoat a mighty simple thing, and I am
heartily tired of my sex."
She is in love with Captain Plume, a gentleraan
of parts, who describes himself as having been
" constant to fifteen at a time, but never raelan
choly for one." As by the death of her brother
she coraes in for fifteen hundred a year, old
Justice Ballance, who does not approve of Captain
Plurae as an heir to his estate, tells her she raust
think no raore of hira, and bids her take coach and
go into the country. This coraraand she proraises
to obey ; but in the thu-d act she turns up in the

70 PEG WOFFINGTON
apparel of a beau, and enters on the scene whilst
Plume and Brazen — a very Csesar among women,
and a recruiting officer likewise — are holding
conversation. " Save ye, save ye, gentlemen," says she.
"My dear, I'm yours," says Brazen, an impu
dent fellow, in truth.
" Do you know the gentleman ? " asks Plume.
" No, but I will presently," says the other ; and
then he turns to the pretty young gentleman.
"Your name, my dear.'" says he.
"Wilful," says Sylvia, quite cute — "Jack Wil
ful, at your service."
"What, the Kentish Wilfuls, or those of Staf
fordshire.?" asks Captain Brazen.
" Both, sir, both ; I'm related to all the WUfuls
in Europe, and I'm the head of the family at
present." " Do you live in the country, sir ? " asks Plume,
who of course does not recognise her in the dis
guise she has assumed.
"Yes, sir," says she. "I live where I stand;
I have neither house, home, nor habitation beyond
this spot of ground."
" What are you, sir .' " queries Brazen.
"A rake," says sbe, plainly enough.
" In the army, I presume .¦' " says Plume.
" No, but I intend to 'list iramediately. Look'e,
gentlemen, he that bids the fairest has me."
Then they both bid for this recruit ; says

PEG WOFFINGTON 71
Brazen, "Sir, I'U prefer you; I'U raake you a
corporal this minute."
" Corporal," says Plurae, " TU raake you ray
companion; you shaU eat with me."
"You shaU drink with me," says Brazen.
" You shall Ue with rae, you young rogue," says
Plume. " You shall receive your pay and do no duty,"
says the other, bidding yet higher.
"Then," says Sylvia, "you raust make rae a
field-officer." This latter little joke was one the audience
invariably received with relish. Presently Sylvia,
who does not enlist just yet with either of these
gallant gentleraen, objects to Plurae's too friendly
advances toward a certain Rose, a young raarket-
woman ; but the captain assures her on this deli
cate point, for says he philosophically enough, it
must be admitted, "The women, you know, are
the lodestones everywhere ; gain the wives, and
you are caressed by the husbands; please the
mistress, and you are valued by the gallants ;
secure an interest with the finest woraen at court,
and you procure the favour of the greatest raen ;
so kiss the prettiest wenches, and you are secure
of 'listing the lustiest fellows."
Finally Sylvia is discovered by her wearing a
suit of clothes belonging to her late brother, is
forgiven by her father, married to tbe raan she
loves, and all ends as happily as raay be.

72 PEG WOFFINGTON
Now for weeks previous the town was anxious
to see Peg Woffington in this favourite character,
the representation of which required so much spirit
and vivacity; and when on the night of her first
appearance she was discovered in the second scene
of the first act, her raere appearance won upon
the audience, and gained her a hearty round of
applause. Slightly above the middle height, her
figure had a symmetry and flexibUity which lent
a natural grace to her every moveraent ; whilst
her luminous eyes, beautiful complexion, sUghtly
aquiline nose, and tender lips, completed a pic
ture that charmed even to fascination. Then the
ease of her manner, the justness of her gestures,
the rapt expression of her face that seemed to
reflect her speech, rendered her such an actress
as had not been seen for years. Her playing,
indeed, was nature and not art. To those present
it seemed that up to this hour wooden-limbed,
painted-faced puppets had strutted mechanically
across the stage, uttering speeches that lost their
point, and became limp and duU on faUing from
their lips ; but now, such is the effect of genius,
her mere presence amongst them seemed to endow
them with souls, and transformed them from mari
onettes to men and women with hearts and human
passions. Presently, when this charming woman came on
the stage in the apparel of a pretty gentleman
about town, with a red coat, a sword, a hat

PEG WOFFINGTON 73
trouffie, a martial twist in his cravat, a fierce knot
in his periwig, a cane hanging from his button,
the effect was raarvellous. Her air was at once
graceful and rakish ; her delivery pert and pointed ;
the witchery of her glances was pronounced inim
itable. There were no two opinions regarding her
pronounced in the coffee-houses that night ; for aU
admitted that the satisfaction she afforded was
beyond expression. By desire "The Recruiting
Officer " was repeated for three nights running, —
by no means an inconsiderable compliraent to the
actress's powers in those days, when a different
play was perforraed nightly as a rule. Her praise
quickly reached the court, when the Duke of
Curaberland and the Princesses Araelia, Caroline,
and Louisa bespoke a play in which she was to
appear; to wit, "The Double Gallant," or the
" Sick Lady's Cure." This was the occasion of her
eighth appearance, and she was rauch applauded
in ^the character she represented, that of Lady
Sadlife. Subsequently she played Aura in " The
Country Lasses;" and on the 21st of Noveraber
she appeared, "by particular desire," for the first
tirae in London, as Sir Harry WUdair in the
coraedy of "The Constant Couple, or a Trip to
the JubUee," by Farquhar.
Sir Harry Wildair was a character scarce second
in favour to Sylvia with the town, both having
that dash and brilliancy which suited the cora
plexion of the tiraes. Sir Harry was a spark just

74 PEG WOFFINGTON
come from France, and was at once the joy of the
playhouses and the life of the park. He was
brave and gay ; a gentleman of happy circum
stances ; a plentiful estate, and a genteel educa
tion which left him as free frora rigidness in his
morals as his constitution rendered him liberal in
his pleasures. His humourous gaiety and the free
dom of his behaviour — airy after the fashion of
the times, yet tempered with honour — are skil
fully portrayed in the series of his love adventures
which constitute the comedy. This part had been
first played by WUks, who had some claims to be
considered a man of quality, and who made the
representation of men about town his special study.
So clever was his personation of Sir Harry, that
it set him above the competition of all other actors
of his time, and gained him the praise due to his
great merit. Farquhar said that when the stage
had the misfortune to lose him, Sir Harry might
go to the  JubUee. And since Wilks had
taken his exit from this world's stage, no other
had been found to play the part with justness and
spirit. The atterapt of this new actress was therefore
looked for with eager curiosity by the public, and
with some apprehension by her friends : feeUngs
that on her appearance were changed to admiration
and delight. In the well-bred rake of quality, who
Ughtly tripped across the stage, singing a blithe
song, and followed by two footmen, there was no

PEG WOFFINGTON

75

trace of the woraan. The audience beheld only
a young man of faultless figure, distinguished by
an ease of manner, polish of address, and noncha
lance that at once surprised and fascinated them,
Seldom had a player in one night attained such
success. "So infinitely did she surpass expecta
tion,'' says Tate Wilkinson, in his memoirs, " that
the applause she received was beyond any at that
tirae ever known. An elegant figure, she looked
and acted Sir Harry Wildair with such spirit and
deportraent that she gave flat contradiction to
what Farquhar asserted, — that when Wilks died
Sir Harry raight go to the  Jubilee." Her
success became the conversation of every polite
circle, as well as in every tavern and coffee-house
in town, from St. Paul's to St. James's ; and so
crowded were the houses it drew, that the part
was repeated for ten consecutive nights, — a fact
significantly marking her triumph and establishing
her favour.
She subsequently played during the season
Elvira, in the " Spanish Fryar ; " Violante, in
the "Double Falsehood; " Laetitia, in Congreve's
"Old Bachelor;" Amanda, in Cibber's "Love's
Last Shift;" and PhiUis, in Steele's "Conscious
Lovers." In all of these she was successful ; for
aware that the public was a patron worth pleasing,
she took infinite pains in all that concerned her
profession ; made up with great care and judgraent
suitable to the part ; committed her Unes to mind

76 PEG WOFFINGTON
(a practice that did not always obtain in her day),
and strove to reaUse the author's ideal in the char
acters she assumed. Her reward came quickly in
the appreciation freely given her. She was in
stalled as a favourite in the public raind, — a posi
tion she retained during her bright, brief career.
Praise of her rare beauty — a vast help to such
talents as hers — was likewise on every tongue;
the poets penned sonnets to her ; the print-sellers
sold her portraits ; and as Conway wrote to Wal
pole of her, in this her first season, " All the town
was in love with her."

CHAPTER V.
Peg Woffington's Engagement at Drury Lane— Kitty Clive,
Her Passion for Tragedy — Delane the Student of T. C. D.
— Macklin and His Adventures — The Turning-point of His
Career — His Wonderful Shylock — What Mr. Pope Said —
Young David Garrick — His Early Life at Lichfield — Be
comes a Wine Merchant — Among the Critics at the Bedford
— Hesitates to Go on the Stage — Falls in Love with Peg
Woffington — In the Greenroom at Drary Lane — Sir Charles
Hanbury Williams — Peg Woffington's Definition of an Age.
jOWARD the end of the season — in
May, 1 74 1 — Peg Woffington ceased
to act in the Covent Garden playhouse,
owing to a disagreement with Rich ; and on the
19th of the month the following quaint advertise
ment appeared in the London Daily Post:
" Covent Garden. — Whereas, sorae persons
principally concemed in the Play of the Rehearsal,
etc., being indisposed, is the reason the sarae can
not be performed as Advertised in Saturday and
Yesterday's BiUs ; on this account the Company
are obliged to take this Method of returning
Thanks to the Town for aU their favours, and
humbly take their Leave tUl next Season."
Four months later, at the comraenceraent .of the
winter season, she appeared as Sylvia on the boards
77

78 PEG WOFFINGTON
of Drury Lane Theatre, of which Fleetwood was
then manager. Mrs. Pritchard, an excellent ac
tress, who had the previous season played the
leading parts at Drury Lane, now went over to
Covent Garden, where she ventured to play the
part of Sylvia ; but as her strength lay in the rep
resentation of tragic heroines, she did not win the
applause which invariably attended Peg Woffing
ton's personation of that favourite character.
At Drury Lane there was a strong company
this season, which numbered amongst its ladies
Kitty Clive, Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Bennet, whilst
the male element was represented by Theo Cibber,
Macklin, Delane, MUward, and Raftor. Quin was
at this time playing in DubUn and the Irish
provinces. Kitty Clive, plain of face, warm of temper,
sharp of tongue, was pleased to regard Peg
Woffington as her rival. Kitty had made her
d^but as a page in " Mithridates, King of Pontus,"
in the Drury Lane playhouse, about the same tirae
as Peg Woffington made her first bow to the audi
ence assembled in Madame Violante's booth ; but
Kitty was then in her seventeenth year, whilst
Peggy had but reached her tenth. The page
which the youthful Kitty represented was not
quite a mute creature, with no better task than
supporting a train or carrying a cup, but had a
song to sing proper to the circumstances of the
scene, which was received with extraordinary ap-

PEG WOFFINGTON 79
plause. But from pages in silken hose, velvet
jerkin, and feathered cap, she gradually worked
her way to better parts. She had once by her
singing forced a reluctant audience to give a hear
ing to Colley Cibber's " Love in a Riddle ; " she
had likewise been called "a charming little devU "
by one of the pretty fellows in the stage box ; and
presently she laid claims to be considered a great
coraic actress by her bright, blithesome rendering
of NeU in "The DevU to Pay," a ballad farce of
Coffey's, as well as by her representation of sing
ing chamberraaids, hoydens, roraps, and vulgar fine
ladies. But she who had been styled " a charraing little
devil " possessed a soul that loftily soared above
comedy to the sublime regions of tragedy ; and
her greatest delight in life was to play such parts
as Ophelia, Desdemona, and Portia. Under her
treatraent these characters were little less than
burlesques ; especially when as Portia, in the trial
scene, she introduced coraic business, and raim-
icked to the life the faraous Lord Mansfield,
whose peculiarities were the laughing-stock of the
town. Kitty was altogether a person of vast im
portance ; being the daughter of an Irish gentle
man, — one WUliam Raftor, a native of the city of
KUkenny, who had been bred to the law, and
whose property had been forfeited to the Crown
by reason of his having followed the fortunes of
James the Second, and fought on the side of that

8o PEG WOFFINGTON
unhappy monarch at the famous battle of the
Boyne. Moreover, she had married a brother of
Baron Clive, and was the friend of Horace Wal
pole, in himself a gentleman of the highest quality,
and a patron of aU the arts. Though she parted
from her husband soon after her marriage, no
breath of scandal then, or throughout her career,
was ever attached to her name. According to
Arthur Murphy, she was "a diaraond of the first
water," but, Uke a diamond, she could cut deeply,
for her tongue was as steel; and frequently she
would aim one of her bitter speeches at this new
actress, who had in one night gained the fame it
had taken CUve years to establish ; which speeches
Peg Woffington would return in kind, but with
a charming coolness that sent her hot-tempered
rival furious. In all her battles Kitty was loyaUy
supported by her brother. Jemmy Raftor, a very
indifferent actor, but a genuine Irishman, who had
the characteristic talent of telling a humourous
story and turning a pretty compliment with won
derful ease.
In the ranks of Drury Lane company Peg
Woffington had a more friendly face turned
toward her in that of young Delane, the son
of an Irish gentleman, who had been a student
at Trinity College when she had sold oranges and
watercresses to the " college boys," and enter
tained them with her wit. His friends had des
tined him for the Church ; but the stage had

PEG WOFFINGTON 8i
more attractions for him than the pulpit, and, to
their infinite disgust, he becarae a player. About
the sarae tirae that Peg Woffington appeared as
the pupil of Madame Violante, he was engaged
at the Aungier Street Theatre, by Elrington.
Singularly handsome, with a graceful figure and
a full-toned voice, he had the principal acquire
ments which constitute a good actor. For three
years he played in Dublin ; at the end of which
time, like raost of his countrymen, then and now,
he was tempted by the more liberal rewards held
out to talent by the sister country, and came
to London. His first engageraent was at the
Goodraan's Fields Theatre ; but he subsequently
enlisted under Fleetwood's manageraent, and
played roraantic heroes at Drury Lane.
Charles Macklin, another raeraber of the cora
pany, was also a countryraan of Peg Woffington's,
and soon becarae her friend. A lineal descendant
of an Irish king, a runaway 'prentice of an Irish
saddler, he had been, in his day, a strolling player ;
had acted Haralet and harlequin the same night ;
had passed as a vagrant and a vagabond, played in
barns, starved, been houseless, and had strutted
his brief hour in a booth at Southwark Fair. He
had been known in his earlier days as "the wUd
Irishraan," and had been caUed "Wicked Charley."
Being a Boheraian by nature and profession, his
adventures were many, curious, and amusing ; and
when he became garrulous in his old age, the

82 PEG WOFFINGTON
narration of these used to afford him and his
friends much diversion. Amongst other stories,
he used to tell that he and merry Dick Ashby, a
dissipated fellow enough, the son of a Dublin man
ager, went into a gambling-house by way of having
a frolic one night, when he, Macklin, won over a
hundred guineas, a sum that seemed to him inex
haustible. Accordingly, next day, he and his
friend, attended by two ladies of the town, went
down to St. Albans, to take the air, and enjoy the
pleasures of the country. One night this gay
little party went to a public ball, and, being very
expensively dressed, they passed as people of
condition, until one of the ladies, getting into a
dispute conceming the priority of place in a coun
try dance, her language and temper discovered her
profession ; when she and her companion were
handed out of the room, and the gentlemen re
ceived a hint that it was desirable for them to
follow. But at this time, when Woffington joined the
Drury Lane company, Macklin was in the merid
ian of life. He had sown his wild oats, had mar
ried and settled down, and had proved hiraself
a very useful actor. He had played such charac
ters as Touchstone in " As You Like It," and Sir
Francis Wronghead in " The Provoked Husband,"
with great success ; but he had at heart a great
desire to play another character raore important
than these. So one day he summoned courage to

PEG WOFFINGTON 83
petition Fleetwood, the raanager, to allow hira
to act Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice,"
just for one night. He had long studied the
character, and on his representation of the Jew
he was satisfied to let his reputation rest for ever.
After sorae persuasion the raanager consented, to
Macklin's vast delight ; and " The Merchant of
Venice," "written by Shakespeare," was speedUy
announced for performance. In order to render
the tragedy raore palatable to the public, it was
set forth that the part of Lorenzo would be played
by Mr. Lowe, "in which will be introduced songs
proper to the play, with entertainraents of dancing
by Signor and Signora Fansau, viz., Le Genereux
Corsair, with cloaths and decorations entirely
new." The bUls furtherraore added that, " as no
raoney will be taken for the future behind the
scenes, 'tis hop'd that none will take it iU they
can't be admitted there."
Now heretofore the character of the Jew had
been played as a low-comedy part by all actors ;
nay, even the celebrated Doggett had represented
it in the style of a broad farce. But Macklin was
resolved to depart from old traditions, and for one
night at least to present the Jew as a serious
character. Ruraour of this resolution having got
abroad, the corapany generally regarded it as a
joke ; but finding that Macklin was serious in his
deterraination, they requested the raanager to
make him give up a part, his playing of which

84 PEG WOFFINGTON
would bring disgrace on thera aU. Fleetwood
fled in consternation to MackUn, who merely said
he would pledge his life on the success of the
play. What his intended treatraent of the Jew
really was, none could tell ; for at the rehearsal
he merely spoke his lines in an undertone, unac
companied by gestures. But those who were to
play with him entertained many fears conceming
his representation — especially when it was re
membered that Rich had once dismissed him for
not declaiming in the stilted, orthodox manner
when he played a tragedy part, and had treated it
"too famiUarly," to use the phrase of the harle
quin manager. If he had then departed from the
beaten track, what might he not do now with
the comical Jew.? There was no knowing.
At last the eventful night arrived on which
Macklin was satisfied to rest his future theatrical
reputation. Kitty Clive was cast for her favourite
part as Portia, Peg Woffington as Nerissa, and
Quin for the Merchant. When Macklin made his
appearance in the greenroom, dressed for the
part, he wore a piqued beard, a loose black gown
tied with a coloured sash, and a red hat ; for, as
he subsequently explained to Pope, he had read
that Jews in Italy, especially in Venice, wore hats
of that colour. Moreover, his face was carefully
painted, and the lines on his brow and cheeks well
marked. Those in the greenroom stared at him
with wonder. There was no trace of the comic

PEG WOFFINGTON 85
eleraent in this Hebrew. Their worst fears were
confirraed. " Look at his face," whispered one of thera.
" Why," says another, " if Almighty God writes
a legible hand, Macklin must be a villain."
Then out spoke Kitty Clive, who was already
dressed as Portia, and expected to create great
mirth in that part. " Sure," says she, " no one
ever saw such a Jew."
" Did you expect to see him wear a couple of
hats, and carry a bag on his back, ma'am .' " asked
Peg Woffington, with an air of innocent curiosity.
"No, Peggy, no more than I expected to see
him carry an orange-basket on his arm," replies
the sraart-tongued lady, turning quickly away.
Meanwhile, MackUn nervously paced the room,
muttering his lines in an undertone, untU Delane,
coraing in, announced that the house was crowded
frora top to bottora ; whereon the Jew went on
the stage, and, looking through a slit in the cur
tain, saw the news was true, and felt gratified.
The two front rows of the pit were already
crowded with critics, wearing the air of men who
had come to pass a highly diverting evening.
"Ahera," said Macklin, with his eye at the slit;
" I shall be tried to-night by a special jury." His
heart sank; was he wise, after all, in his deter
mination of playing the Jew as a serious charac
ter .' His whole future as a player depended on
this night. As he turned away in nervous impa-

86 PEG WOFFINGTON
tience, he felt a hand placed gently on his arm,
and, looking up, encountered two lurainous eyes
that shone upon hira comfortingly in the serai-
gloom of the great stage, and heard Peg Woffing
ton's voice whisper, " Courage, Mac, courage.
Show them you can act." In another second the
stage was cleared, and the bell for the curtain
rang with a raerry little peal that seemed to him
to carry rejoicement and assurance, for in its
sound the tone was like the voice that had just
spoken words of hope in his ear.
The heavy green curtain went up with many a
creak; the actors began their parts. Macklin's
heart fluttered wildly ; " but commending my
cause to Providence," says he, " I went boldly on
the stage." He was received with some applause,
though his appearance caused general surprise.
Then came the terrible hour of judgment, in
which he was to be set down as one who had
read Shakespeare aright, or as a fool who had
dared to ignore the traditions handed down to
him by his betters. The opening scenes were
tame and level ; but frora those terrible front rows
in the pit, which had seemed at first bristling with
sarcasm and mocking hilarity, he caught the words,
" Very well — very well indeed ; this raan seems
to know what he is about ; " which praise, though
faint, had the grateful effect of warming him to
his work. A night, a week, ay, whole years
seemed to have passed over his head before the

PEG WOFFINGTON 87
third act carae, for which he had reserved all his
strength in contrasting the passions of joy and
triumph for the merchant's losses with grief and
despair for Jessica's eloperaent. In bewailing her
loss he rushed upon the stage hatless, his face
distorted by rage, his eyes bewildered, his hands
fiercely clutched, his every moveraent abrupt and
convulsive. Never had his audience seen such
a representation of the Jew ; but though new to
them, they felt an echo in their hearts which told
them it was true to nature. Then carae the raost
vehement applause ; the whole house was in an
uproar ; he was saved, his success was assured.
At the trial scene all eleraents of burlesque
were abolished ; even Kitty Clive did not for once
venture on her rairaicry of Lord Mansfield. In
this culminating scene a veritable Shylock stood
upon the stage, — raerciless, full of the passions of
hatred and revenge ; and so intensely were they
portrayed, that when he whetted the glittering
knife which was to cut away the pound of flesh,
the whole house shuddered. Never had there
been such acting, and seldora such applause as
rang through the theatre when the curtain de
scended. The greenroora presented a curious appearance
at the conclusion of the perforraance. Here were
asserabled the nobUity and critics, sorae of the for
mer adorned with stars and garters, and all of thera
clad in velvets of raany colours and satins of rich

88 PEG WOFFINGTON
sheen ; and mixing amongst them, in the freest
manner possible, were the actors and actresses,
scarcely less briUiant in the richness of their six
teenth century Venetian costumes. What bows
were exchanged, what compliments were paid,
what judgments were passed. Every one was now
elated by the triumph, as if it had been a per
sonal matter; and when Macklin came into the
room, a crowd pressed around hira ready to offer
a thousand congratulations.
"Ah, Macklin, you were right, after all," said
Fleetwood, shaking him heartily by the hand.
"And may I ask, Mrs. Clive," says Fielding,
going over to that lady, " why you did not give us
your imitation of the great man to-night .' "
" In faith," says honest Kitty Clive, " when I
looked at Shylock, I was afraid."
Then up went Peg Woffington to the hero of
the hour. "An' sure," says she in an aside,
assuming a broad brogue as she spoke, " it takes
an Irishman to tache them what a Jew is like."
"God bless you, Peggy," said he, in the same
tone, and his voice trembled a little. "Your
words made a man of me."
" Arrah, whist, Charley Macklin ; sure, it's your
self always had the palavering tongue," answered
she, archly, as she slipped away, for others pressed
forward to greet him.
Presently there was a stir and bustle in the far
end of the greenroom, and a group of bewigged

PEG WOFFINGTON 89
and bemffled gentlemen came slowly along, bow
ing their heads, and occasionally laughing mighty
heartily, in answer to the remarks of a thin-legged
little gentleman, deraurely dressed in black, who
walked in the centre of this huraan cluster. This
little gentleman in black had a remarkable counte
nance, with dark-looking eyes and eyebrows that
seeraed to occupy undue space in the upper part
of his face. When he came to where Macklin
stood, he paused, as did those surrounding hira
likewise ; a faded sraile crossed his thin lips, and
rippling upwards, caught the sparkle of his eyes
before it lost itself in the wruikles of his forehead.
Then he helped hiraself leisurely to snuff, resting
both his bony hands on his gold-knobbed cane,
and looked the actor full in the face. Macklin
trerabled as he glanced down at hira, for he knew
well that a biting epigrara or a sarcastic phrase
uttered by these thin lips would be repeated in
every coffee-house and tavern in town on the
morrow. " May I venture to hope," he said, speaking with
a big voice to hide his nervousness, and bowing
with quaint theatric grace, " that my poor efforts
to-night have given the great Mr. Pope some
slight satisfaction ? "
The little gentleraan sraUed again ; those around
him bent their heads in one coramon moveraent,
to catch his words ; then pointing his forefinger to
Macklin, he said :

90 PEG WOFFINGTON
" This is the Jew
That Shakespeare drew."
Poor Macklin, overwhelmed by the compUment,
bowed half-way to the ground ; the group surround
ing the little gentleman cried, "Excellent — pro
digiously fine," and without another word he went
out of the greenroom, surrounded by his courtiers,
to where his coach waited him in the lane. The
couplet, which has outlived the poet who uttered
it, and the actor to whom it was applied, was re
peated all over the town that night. " Gad, sir,"
Macklin would say long years after, when recount
ing the glories of this memorable evening over a
bottle of old port in a snug box at the Bedford, —
" gad, sir, though I was not worth fifty pounds in
the world at that time, let me tell you I was Charles
the Great for that night."
During Peg Woffington's first season at Drury
Lane there frequently came to the greenroom of
the theatre "a very sprightly young raan, neatly
raade ; " whose bright face, singularly mobile, and
remarkable for its luminous eyes, at once attracted
the actress's attention. This was David Garrick,
a character destined to play an important part in
the drama of Peg Woffington's life. His father, a
gentleman of French origin, had been an officer in
the English army, whose regiment was for several
years stationed at Lichfield. Here the captain
married a lady descended on the maternal side
from an Irish family, who bore him ten chUdren.

PEG WOFFINGTON 91
The third of these was David, who grew into a lad
full of brightness and proraise, showing araongst
his other talents a turn for rairaicry and recitation.
He had, indeed, at the age of ten, indicated where
the bent of his genius lay, by forraing a few of his
schoolfellows and his sisters into a theatrical cora
pany, which under his direction perforraed Far
quhar's " Recruiting Officer " before a considerable
audience. A year later and the sprightly lad was
sent to Portugal to his uncle, a prosperous wine
merchant, who had promised to establish him in
his house. But the wine trade had no attraction for
David, and in little more than twelve months he
returned to Lichfield once raore, to a horae that
would have been happy but for its stings of petty
poverty. To strive and reraedy this lack of for
tune, Captain Garrick went to Gibraltar two years
after his son's return frora Portugal ; the exile
frora his affectionate but large faraily being in
sorae measure corapensated for by a pay double
the amount of that he had previously enjoyed. But
even with that portion of it which he allowed his
delicate and desponding wife and seven surviving
children, life was to them a long-continued struggle
to sustain a shabby gentUity in the eyes of their
Lichfield neighbours.
During the captain's residence in what was
known as "foreign parts," David, then a lad of
fourteen, seeras to have been the meraber of the
faraily who was selected to carry on a correspond-

92 PEG WOFFINGTON
ence with the absent head of his house. These
letters, presented to the Dyce and Forster Li
brary in the South Kensington Museum, by the
late John Forster, are marvellously interesting.
Some of thera tell stories of a poverty which,
though occasionally galling, never called forth com
plaint, but was ever bome with a brave show of
cheerfulness. " My mamma received the ,;^30 you was so good
as to send," says David, in the earliest of these
clearly written epistles, commencing with " Hon.
Sir," and directed in big schoolboy characters "To
Captain Garrick, on Brigadier Kirk's Regiment at
Gibraltar." "She paid ;£io to Mr. Rider, one
year's rent ; and ;f lo to ye baker, and if you can
spare a little more, or tell her you will, she is in
hopes of paying all ye debt, that you may have
nothing to fret you when you come home." The
captain took the hint as to sparing a little more,
for presently David writes, " My mamma sends her
dearest Love and affection to you, and desires rae
to tell you she has cleared almost the Debts, ex
cept a little to ye Butcher, which she hopes to
clear in a month or two." Then the poor captain
in foreign parts has to leam that they are so " very
shabby in cloathes and in all our accoutrements,
that we was rather like so many beggars than Gen
tlemen Soldiers." The poor wife at home " has been
nursing one of her daughters, who lay Ul, amost
six months, and has become unwell herself and is

PEG WOFFINGTON 93
ordered to drink wine, which is sorely against her
inclination, as her pocket cannot afford it." Then
"my sister Lenny and sister Jenny," writes young
Davy to his father, " send their Duty to you, and
being in great want for some Lace for their
Heads, and my Mararaa being but very low in
ye Purse, by reason of her illness, could not afford
y" so rauch raoney, they with ye greatest Duty
and Obedience request a small matter to purchase
their Head Ornaments. Great necessity compels
thera to give you this trouble, for they have never
worn anything else but plain Head Cloathes, which
hardly distinguishes thera from ye vulgar madaras."
The lad has had a present raade him by Mr.
Hervey, lately corae frora London, of " two pair of
large sUver buckles, one pair for ray shoes, and
ye other for ye Breeches knees." But alas, what
use are the latter, if young David has no decent
breeches to wear. Perhaps his father will take the
hint ; however, the captain in foreign parts has a
mind that does not readily receive suggestions
where money is concerned, and his son after
waiting a long tirae is obliged to speak plainly.
" I raust tell my dear papa," writes he, approach
ing the subject in a wily raanner, "that I ara quite
turned PhUosopher ; you perhaps raight think rae
vain, but to show you I ara not, I would gladly
get shut of my characteristick of a philosopher,
viz. a ragged pair of breeches. Now, the only way
you have to cure your son of his phUosophick qual-

94 PEG WOFFINGTON
ification is to send some handsome thing for a
waistcoat, and a pair of breeches to hide his naked
ness. They tell me velvet is very cheap at Gi
braltar. Amen, and so be it." No wonder he
"began the world," as Johnson said, "with a
great hunger for money," for as the philosopher
used to remark, "he was bred in a faraily whose
study was to raake fourpence do as much as others
made fourpence halfpenny do."
The poor wife, who had borne hira ten children,
and whose health was now shattered, writes to her
absent husband occasionally, not of the poverty of
her home, but like a true wife, of the riches of that
love which lay stored for him in her faithful heart.
" Dear life and soul," she calls him tenderly ; and
then comes a confession that raust have been sweet
indeed to the exile. " I ara not able," she says, " to
live easy longer without you ; for I grow very jeal
ous. But in the midst of all this, I do not blame
my dear. I have very sad dreams for you, but I
have the pleasure when I am up to think, were
I with you, how tender my dear soul would be to
me ; nay, was, when I was with you last. Oh, that
I had you in my arms, I would tell my dear Ufe
how much I am his." Then David testifies in a
charming manner to the affection of his mother for
his father. Speaking of a miniature of the cap
tain's which the lad says he would sooner have one
glance at than look a whole day at the finest pic
ture in the world, he tells his father, " My poor

PEG WOFFINGTON 95
mamma sighs whenever she passes the picture."
And again he adds, " My mararaa sends her raost
tender affections. She says your presence would
do her raore good than all the physicians in Eu
rope." She has "a fever upon her spirit," and is
sadly depressed by the absence of hira whora she
loves, and whom she thinks of by day and drearas
of by night ; and when he has been away for sorae
two years, she can bear the separation no longer,
and has a scheme for bringing him back to England
which young Davy reveals to his father.
"My raararaa," says he, "designs to try her
interest to get you leave to come over by next
spring, if you are not sent for over before. She
designs to apply first to the Brigadeer. My mamma
will get Mr. Hervey to write her a pretty Letter to
ye Brigadeer ye Purpot of it shall be this, that you
having a son to put out, and my mararaa being
uncapable to do it herself, it would be a great
detriraent to the FamUy if you was not here to do
it yourself ; and as soon as Mr. Hervey has done
it, my raamma wUl copy it, and sent it to Mr.
Adair to give it to ye Brigadeer."
After an absence of about three years Captain
Garrick returned, and David was sent to a school
advertised in the Gentleman's Magazine as "at
Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, where young
gentlemen are taught the Latin and Greek Lan
guages, by Sarauel Johnson." The said Sarauel
Johnson, whose father was a bookseller in Lich-

96 PEG WOFFINGTON
field, was well known to David Garrick, who, in
common with his fellow scholars, had but little
reverence for their master's learning. They laughed
at his uncouth gesticulations, and the oddities of
his manner ; whUst Mrs. Johnson, a lady described
by Garrick to Boswell as " very fat, with a bosora
of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled
cheeks, of a florid red, produced by thick painting,
and increased by the liberal use of cordials ; flar
ing and fantastic in her dress, and affected both in
her speech and her general behaviour," was a
fruitful source for David's mimicry. " The young
rogues," says Boswell, speaking of this tirae, " used
to listen at the door of his bedchamber, and peep
through the keyhole, that they might turn into
ridicule his tumultuous and awkward fondness for
Mrs. Johnson, whom he used to name by the
familiar appellation of Tetty or Tetsey, which, like
Betty or Betsey, is provincially used as a con
traction for Elizabeth, her Christian name, but
which seems ludicrous when applied to a woraan
of her age and appearance."
Johnson's Academy had a short life, if a merry
one, and when its doors closed Garrick and he
went up to town ; Johnson having a tragedy and
twopence-halfpenny in his pocket, as he used to
recount in his palmier days, with a humourous
twinkle in his eyes. Garrick entered himself as
a student of the Honourable Society of Lincoln's
Inn, paying as fees, "for the use of this society.

PEG WOFFINGTON 97
the sum of three pounds, three shiUuigs, and four-
pence." Then he went to study under Mr. Colson,
"a rational philosopher," the chief purpose for
which he had left his horae. This was an eventful
year in his life. Scarce a raonth had elapsed frora
the day on which he had departed from Lichfield,
when news came to him of his father's death ; his
mother quickly followed to the grave the man she
had loved all her life ; and finally came the demise
of the Lisbon wine-merchant, who left his nephew
and namesake a legacy of one thousand pounds
sterling. All idea of studying for the law was now aban
doned, and it was decided that David Garrick and
his brother Peter, his senior by six years, should
set up as partners in the wine trade, — Peter to
conduct the business in Lichfield, and David in
Durhara Yard, situated at the end of one of the
sraaller streets leading from the Strand. Here, as
Foote afterward said, he lived, " with three quarts of
vinegar in a cellar, and called hiraself a wine-raer-
chant." David soon showed he had no talent for
business, and paid it but little heed, to the great
disgust of his elder brother, a man of very differ
ent cast, — formal, raethodical, and industrious, who
even at this tirae entertained a wholesorae horror
of his brother's predUection for the corapany of
players. But fate, it seeraed, favoured David's
passion for the society of those connected in any
way with the playhouses, inasrauch as Durham

98 PEG WOFFINGTON
Yard was within a stone's throw of Covent Garden,
and that the space which lay between swarmed
with the coffee-houses, tavems, and ordinaries,
where the sons of Thespis raost did congregate.
With all of them Garrick made friends, his bright
face, ready ways, and pleasant raanners being
certain passports to the good fellowship of a race
then and now proverbially genial.
At those ordinaries or coffee-houses he spent
that portion of the day which was not devoted to
the study of Shakespeare at his desk. Then at
night he would sit in the pit of Drury Lane, or
Covent Garden, watching Delane's graceful lovers,
or Theo Cibber's fops ; after which he would hie
him to the Bedford, the recognised emporium of
wit and criticism, where he would listen to plain-
faced Jemmy Raftor tell one of his droll Irish
stories, or hear Ryan discourse in his discontented,
piping voice, of the traditional glory of all things
dramatic in the past, and of their worthlessness in
the present.
" You should have seen the great Wilks, sir," he
would say ; " ah, he was an actor, and his were the
days when good acting might be seen at the play
house " (here a pinch of snuff) ; " Betterton, sir,
whose awe-inspiring Hamlet can never again be
equalled ; and then Barton Booth, a gentleman,
sir, and a player of prodigious merit." But 'twas
sure the old school was dead, the old traditions
had passed away for ever (bere a grave shake of

PEG WOFFINGTON 99
his head). Perhaps sorae trace lingered yet m
his own playing ; it was not for him to say, but
he had received great coraraendations for his
Richard the Third, that was true ; and he had
the honour of being instructed in the part of
Marcus in the tragedy of " Cato," by its author,
the great Mr. Addison himself. Then followed a
chorus of critics who had sat in the front rows
of the pit, and spoke learnedly of the play, praised
the stormy mouthing of Bridgewater or Walker,
the stiff -jointed love-making of MUward, or damned
sorae trerabling aspirant to farae, as lightly as they
took a pinch of snuff. Now and then Garrick
would add his voice, and lay down his opinions
with the self-assertion of youth. Araongst the
corapany with which he freely mixed, he singled
out two men as his especial friends ; these were
Macklin, of Drury Lane, and Giffard, the raanager
of the Goodraan's Fields playhouse. With these
kindred spirits he frequently laraented the condi
tion to which the stage was reduced, where nature
was wholly ignored, and false principles of art sup
plied in its place. Coraedy was boldly reduced to
farce that frequently bordered on buffoonery, pas
sion was interpreted by inflated ranting, love raade
its protestations in a measured drawl, whilst the
ordinary dialogue was delivered in a set, monoto
nous tone, most wearisorae to the ear. Macklin
would call to- raind his disraissal for speaking a
part too familiarly, and his recent success in play-

100 PEG WOFFINGTON
ing Shylock with realism ; and Giffard was of
opinion that the town submitted to the present
school of acting merely for want of knowing
better. Then the young wine - merchant would
show them how coraedy should be played accord
ing to his thinking, — how the jest should flow
frora the lips naturally and promptly, the laugh
corae freely as if honestly enjoyed, the facial
expression suiting the words and action. As to
tragedy, he would indicate how he would play
Haralet if he were an actor. The young Dane on
beholding his father's ghost should be fixed in
mute astonishment, his cheeks should gradually
grow pale, his eyes blaze from fear and horror, his
voice tremble, as he questioned the visitor from
an unknown sphere. In the scene with OpheUa,
he should feign madness by look and gesture, and
the expression of his speech ; and to the queen he
should speak daggers to rend her heart with sor
row and remorse ; and as Garrick illustrated his
conceptions by gesture, tone, and facial expression,
the two actors, standing mutely by, would look at
and listen to him with surprise, glancing at each
other significantly and nodding their heads sagely.
Then they would both urge him to give up trade
and take to the stage, for they were sure he had
the makings of a great actor in him.
But this was a suggestion which, though his
heart bounded forward to follow it, he was loath
to put into practice. All the traditional prejudices

PEG WOFFINGTON loi
of caste handed down to him by the struggling
captain in a walking regiraent and his genteel wife
with relatives ui the Church, and carefully raain
tained by the highly respectable wine-merchant
in Lichfield and his sisters, rose in David's mind,
and for a tirae held hira back frora the caUing of a
player. An actor was, indeed, in those days con
sidered a veritable vagabond, — a worthless, god
less creature, the fitting object for the censure
and disdain of his fellow creature. More than
twenty years later, when Garrick's exaraple raight
be supposed to have in sorae measure mitigated
such opinions, Horace Walpole, the elegant patron
of arts, lamenting in the bitterness of his heart
Lady Susan Strangeway's marriage with " O'Brien
the actor," — a man of irreproachable character,
the descendant of an old Irish faraily ruined by
its adherence to James II., — declares this union
"the completion of disgrace. Even a footraan
were preferable. The publicity of the hero's pro
fession," adds this fine gentleman, the descendant
of an honest timber merchant, "perpetuates the
raortification. I could not have believed that Lady
Susan would have stooped so low."
To becorae a player was, therefore, not a step
for Garrick to take without consideration and
apprehension. Meanwhile, as raay well be sup
posed, the wine trade did not prosper ; and when
sober Peter Garrick carae up to town, he found
his partner and brother restless and unhappy.

102 PEG WOFFINGTON
" AU ray IUness and lowness of Spirits," he sub-
sequently wrote to Peter, when he had raade the
great plunge, "was owing to my want of resolu
tion to teU you my thoughts when here." But
before he had taken the decisive step, and whUst
he was yet struggling with his inclinations, he had
made the acquaintance of the Irish actress who
had taken the town by storm. Night after night,
young Garrick was found amongst the crowds that
flocked to see her at Covent Garden and Drury
Lane, nor had she a more enthusiastic admirer
than he. Here was an actress after his own heart,
— one who neither reduced comedy to burlesque,
nor tragedy to rant, but who was at one with
nature. He noted that her style had the effect
of electrifying her audiences ; and this gave him
strong hopes of at least finding a patient hearing,
if ever indeed he came to seek his fortune on the
boards. It was only natural that this bright-look
ing young man, full of enthusiasm for the stage,
should tell this charming creature with the witch
ing eyes, tender Ups, and graceful ways, all that
he thought of her as an actress, and much that he
felt for her as a womaln ; and Peggy, with her sus
ceptible Hibernian heart, listened to his earnest
voice, looked into his flashing eyes, and loved him.
And oh, what a happy tirae this was for both, with
all life before them ; with such golden dreams of
fame in their heads, with such warm love in their
hearts. In the spacious, high-ceUinged greenroom

PEG WOFFINGTON 103
of old Drury Lane, with its great oak fireplace,
curiously carved, and running half-way up the
wall ; its ponderous-framed pictures of NeU Gwyn
and Congreve ; its dust-covered bust of Shake
speare ; its great settle, capable of accomraodating
a dozen persons, drawn close by the fire ; its faded
crirason velvet curtains pulled across the high,
narrow windows, Garrick would wait in the even
ings, with ever a laugh and jest on his lips for the
group around hira, but with his eye turned anx
iously to the door, as if he expected some one to
enter every minute. Presently the door would be
flung wide, and the iraperious, graceful figure of
Peg Woffington would sweep in, dressed as Sylvia
or as Lady Betty Modish. Then her lover would
join her, and they would sit in sorae quiet comer
of the big roora, diraly lighted by a sconce of wax
tapers above the chimneypiece, his hand touching
hers, her eyes flashing on hira in the full radiance
of her love, whilst they whispered each other vol
umes of airiest nothings in the world ; disagreeing
to agree, and painting verbal portraits of each
other that borrowed wondrous colours from the
light of their mutual passion.
Occasionally he would take from his pocket a
copy of the Gentleman' s Magazine just published,
and read for her poems with which he seeraed
most famUiar, which were addressed to Sylvia, and
signed " G." " May Heaven and Sylvia grant ray
suit," begins one of these verses, which are full

104 PEG WOFFINGTON
of quaint references to "wavering hearts, sighing
swains, constant flaraes," and such like phrases,
unintelligible to all unacquainted with love. Pres
ently the hated voice of the call-boy would summon
her from the heaven of her happiness, when, rising
up, she and Garrick would walk hand in hand
toward the wings, in the friendly shades of which
he would kiss her lips ; and then, being free of
the house, run around to the stage box, that he
might be the first to give the signal of her ap
proach by his applause.
Another admirer of Peg Woffington at this
period was Sir Charles Hanbury WUliams, "one
of the plenipotentiaries of fashion," wit, satirist,
poet, paymaster of the marines, and as pretty a
gentleman as ever cracked a bottle at White's.
He was the friend of Lady Mary Wortley Mon
tagu, of Fox, of Horace Walpole, and of merry
Dick Edgecumbe, and had the reputation of being
a rake of the first water. Lady Mary said of hira
tbat he might be happy if he added to his natural
and acquired endowments a dash of morality ; but
Sir Charles knew little of morals, and cared for
them less, they being to his mind but dull things
at best. However, this lamentable absence of
virtue was no drawback to the friendship of his
contemporaries, few of whom were a whit better
themselves. He could tell the wittiest if not the
decentest of stories ; pen a pasquinade in a twink
ling of an eye; ridicule a political enemy in a

PEG WOFFINGTON 105
scathing lampoon ; and gamble from sunset to
sunrise ; for all of which qualities he was beloved
by his friends. With Fox he was ever "Dear
Charles ; " Walpole had his portrait framed in
black and gold, and set in a panel of the bow-
window room in that wonderful giracrack Gothic
castle known as Strawberry Hill ; whUst Lady
Mary hears that "he suffers under a dearth of
flatterers." Sir Charles duly fell in love with
the beautiful Woffington, and coraposed poeras
addressed to her, one of which, " Lovely Peggy,"
included in the edition of his works published in
1776, was vastly adraired by the town. It is in
itself an excellent example of the love verses of
the period, and is not without touches of poetic
beauty :
" Once more I'll tune the vocal shell.
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,
That burns for lovely Peggy.
" Ye greater bards the lyre should hit.
For say what subject is more fit,
Than to record the sparkling wit
And bloom of lovely Peggy.
"The sun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-bespangled thorn.
Does not so much the day adorn
As does my lovely Peggy.

io6 PEG WOFFINGTON
" And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy west,
He's not so beauteous as undressed
Appears my lovely Peggy.
" Were she arrayed in rustic weed.
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed.
And pipe upon mine oaken reed,
To please my lovely Peggy.
" With her a cottage would delight.
All's happy when she's in my sight.
But when she's gone it's endless night,
AU's dark without my Peggy.
" The zephyr air the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not half the sweets disclose
That does my lovely Peggy.
" I stole a kiss the other day,
And trust me, nought but truth I say.
The fragrant breath of blooming May
Was not so sweet as Peggy.
" While bees from flower to flower shaU rove.
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or stately swans the waters love,
So long shall I love Peggy.
" And when death, with his pointed dart,
Shall strike the blow that rives my heart.
My words shall be, when I depart.
Adieu, my lovely Peggy."

PEG WOFFINGTON 107
As was natural, Garrick entertained a dread of
his verse-makmg, witty rival, and entreated Peg
Woffington not to see or listen to him. One
evening when David visited her, he asked her how
long it was since she had seen Sir Charles.
" Not for an age," says she, with a humourous
sraile on her charraing face.
" Nay," said Garrick, gravely, " I know you have
seen hira this raorning."
"Well," replied she, her beautiful lips pouting
like a chUd's, " I count tirae by your absence ; I
have not seen you since morning, and is it not an
age since then ? "

CHAPTER VI.
Garrick's Irresolution — Plays at Ipswich under a False Name
— First Appearance in Town — A Memorable Night — De
scription of His Richard — The Talk of the Town — Persons
of Distinction at the Playhouse — Our Little Poetical Hero
— Letters to Peter — The Wine-merchant Will Not Be Com
forted — David's Arguments and Fair Promises — "The
Lying Valet " — Mimicking the Old Players — The Favour of
Great Men — Going to Dublin with Peg Woffington.
IEANWHILE Garrick continued ner
vously irresolute conceming his future,
experiencing by tums both hope and
despair. Now his spirits rose at the prospect of
his success as an actor held out to him by his
friends and by the woman he loved ; and again
his mind was sorely depressed by the letters of
grave reproof he received from respectable Peter
at Lichfield, who heard with much disquietude
that his brother David had formed a friendship
with one Giffard, a player. After long-continued
mental fluctuations, it happened in the summer of
1 74 1, the fourth year of his career as a wine-
merchant, that through the interest of this sarae
player and manager an opportunity was offered him
of testing his strength as an actor, and for a few
nights, at least, of gratifying the longing and ambi-
io8

PEG WOFFINGTON 109
tion to play before an audience, which had taken
a firm hold upon his life. Moreover, this could
be done in the most private manner possible, so
that his friends in town, or Peter conducting his
decent business in Lichfield, need know nothing
of the matter ; for the theatre concerning which
this offer was made was at Ipswich, and he could
of course change his name for the occasion.
Accordingly away he went quite secretly with
Giffard to Ipswich, carrying with him Peg Woffing
ton's best wishes for his success ; and in due time
he appeared as Aboan, a blackamoor, in the trag
edy of " Oroonoko," — a part which recomraended
itself to the nervous amateur, frora the fact that
the necessary black face offered an excellent dis
guise. The reception he received was sufficient
to encourage his appearance in other characters,
including that of Captain Brazen ; and in these his
success was such that the house was not only
crowded nightly by the inhabitants of Ipswich,
but the surrounding gentry drove in their coaches
to see this excellent new player, styling hiraself
Lyddal. This unlooked-for result, coupled with
the fact of his fast declining business, finally de
terrained hira to become an actor ; and he accord
ingly arranged with Giffard to act Richard III.
at his theatre in Goodman's Fields in the coraing
auturan. This playhouse, situated in an unsavoury
district, had never been favoured with the cora
pany of the polite. Indeed, it raerely existed on

IIO PEG WOFFINGTON
sufferance; four years previously, the passing of
the Licensing BUl had limited the nuraber of Lon
don theatres to two. In order, therefore, to keep
its doors open, the manager had recourse to a very
simple ruse, which at the same time fulfilled its
object ; this was to charge for an entertainment of
singing and dancing, and perform plays gratis.
Such was the theatre where Garrick first made
his bow to a London audience. Toward the
middle of October it was whispered in the green
rooms of the two West End theatres, and in the
coffee-houses and tavems all over the town, that a
young gentleman of great promise was about to
act the part of Richard III. in the Goodman's
Fields playhouse. Much curiosity therefore ob
tained, especially amongst the friends of the said
young gentleman. Presently the London Daily
News printed the following announcement in its
columns : GOODMAN'S FIELDS.
At the Late Theatre in Goodman's Fields
Monday next (Oct. 19th) will be performed a
CONCERT of VOCAL and INSTRUMENTAL
MUSIC,
Divided into Two Parts.
Tickets at Three, Two, and One Shilling.
Places for the Boxes to be taken at the Fleece Tavem,
near the Theatre.
N. B. — Between the Two Parts of the concert will be
presented an Historical Play, call'd The
LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD THE THIRD.

PEG WOFFINGTON iii
Contaimng the Distresses and Death of King Henry VI. ,
The Artful Acquisition of the Crown by King Richard.
The Murder of young King Edward V. and his brother in
the Tower,
The Landing of the Earl of Richmond,
And the Death of King Richard in the Memorable
Battle of Bosworth-Field, being the last that was fought
between the Houses of York and Lancaster,
With many other true Historical Passages.
The Part of King Richard by a Gentleman
(Who never appear'd on any stage).
With entertainments of Dancing, by Mons. Froment,
Mme. Duvall, and the two Masters and Miss Grainger.
To which will be added a Ballad Opera, in One Act, call'd
THE VIRGIN UNMASKED,
Both which will be performed gratis by Persons for
their Diversion.
The Concert will begin exactly at Six o'clock.
It happened at this very tirae that a battle royal
was raging between the two greater houses, where
for four consecutive nights " As You Like It "
was being played ; Peg Woffington and MUward
taking the parts of Rosalind and Orlando at the
Lane, and Mrs. Pritchard and Hale enacting the
same at the Garden,
On the fourth night, Monday, October 19, 1741,
Garrick appeared in the part of Richard IIL,
playing Colley Cibber's freely treated but effective
version of the tragedy. In his day the poet
laureate, who modelled his style after an antiquated
actor naraed Sandford, used to drawl and declaim
the part in a shrill, feeble voice, and strut about

112 PEG WOFFINGTON
the boards, to the satisfaction of his audiences.
But nothing could present a raore striking contrast
to his playing than that of Garrick's; here there
was neither strut nor drawl. As he came before
a house crowded by those whom curiosity or in
terest had drawn to this end of the town, the
character he assumed was at once visible in the
lines of his singularly mobUe face, in the accents
of his voice, in every turn and raovement of his
figure. As he proceeded, it was seen that nature
had given place to rant. Here was a man acting
as if he veritably felt the contending passions that
swayed the wicked king. Never had such playing
been seen before, and those who witnessed it were
at first undecided as to whether they should accept
or reject such a complete innovation. But before
they were aware of it he had touched their hearts,
and now played upon them at will ; and presently
an irresistible burst of applause ringing through
the house proclaimed that his genius had triumphed
over prejudice. " His look, his voice, his attitude
changed with every sentiment," says Arthur
Murphy, one of his biographers. " The rage and
rapidity with which he spoke —
" ' The north — what do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ? '
made a most astonishing irapression. His solUoquy
in the tent scene discovered the inward raan.
Everything he described was almost reality; the

PEG WOFFINGTON 113
spectator thought he heard the hum of either
array from camp to camp, and steed threatening
steed. When he started from his dream he was
a spectacle of horror. In all, the audience saw
an exact imitation of nature." Then coraes the
interesting testiraony to his genius of Mr. Swynfen,
an honest neighbour and friend of the Garrick s at
Lichfield, who sat in the Goodraan's Fields on this
eventful night, and wrote the news of it next day
to Peter, preserved in the collection already raen
tioned. " My good friend David Garrick perforraed
last night at Goodraan's Fields Theatre," says this
good old gentleraan. " I was there, and was wit
ness to a raost general applause He gained in the
character of Richard the Third ; for I believe there
was not one in the House that was not in Rap
tures, and I heard several Men of Judgraent declare
it their Opinion that nobody ever excelled Hira in
that Part ; and that they were surprised, with so
peculiar a Genius, how it was possible for Hira
to keep off the stage so long."
The next day nothing was talked of but the
perforraance of the young gentleraan, whose narae
was not yet printed in the biUs, but who was
pretty well known to the town. Groups gathered
in the coffee-houses to hear the enthusiastic de
scriptions of hira given by those who had witnessed
his perforraance. The critics raet, exchanged
bows, took snuff, bobbed their wigs, raised their
eyebrows, and looked grave; for it was certain

114 PEG WOFFINGTON
the world was coming to an end now that the
town had ventured to admire a man in whose
favour they had not first pronounced. To cap all,
the London Daily Post, which had seldom noticed
even the finest performance, actually devoted half
a dozen lines to the commendation of this young
man. "Last night," runs the paragraph, "was per
form'd Gratis the Tragedy of Richard IIL, at the
late Theatre in Goodraan's Fields, when the Char
acter of Richard was perform'd by a Gentleman
who never appear'd before, whose reception was
the most extraordinary and great that ever was
known upon such an occasion ; and we hear he
obliges the Town this Evening with the same
Performance." It was not only the following evening, but four
times during this week, and every night of the
following save one, that he obliged the town by
his performance of Richard. The fame of his
extraordinary acting ran frora east to west; and
every evening a vast concourse of people gathered
outside the doors of the little theatre hours before
they were opened, whilst hundreds were unable to
obtain admittance. Even Dmry Lane, with the
acting of the charming Woffington as Adriana
in "The Comedy of Errors," Berintha, in "The
Relapse," and Clarinda, in "The Double Gallant,"
was left half empty. Time seemed to increase
the fame of this new actor. " From the polite

PEG WOFFINGTON 1x5
ends of Westminster," says Murphy, quaintly
enough, "the most elegant company flocked to
Goodraan's Fields, insorauch that frora Teraple
Bar the whole way was covered with a string of
coaches." People of the first figure and fashion,
dukes and duchesses by the dozen, rainisters and
raerabers of Parliaraent, wits, critics, and poets, aU
rushed to see the great actor ; raoreover, the prince
was expected nightly. The Rev. Thomas Newton,
a gentleraan described as a learned person with a
critical eye, who afterward becarae a right reverend
bishop, but who at this tirae was tutor to Lord
Carpenter's son, writes to Garrick to secure for
himself and his party a stage box, that they " might
see his looks in the scene with the Lady Anne."
The ladies expressed themselves "almost in love
with Richard," and Mr. Newton wishes later on
to take another box for some other friends, in
order to see Garrick in "The Orphan" and "The
Lying Valet," new characters he essayed. These
were to include araongst thera Mrs. Porter, a
famous and most charming actress now some tirae
retired, "and no less a man than Mr. Pulteney
desires to be of our party, and have a place in our
box," writes the Reverend Thomas, Mr, Pulteney
was certainly a raan of consequence, having been
Secretary of War, and being at this tirae the raost
popular man in England, though in the foUowing
year he " shrank into insignificance and an earl
dom." For all that, Garrick's arrangeraents did

ii6 PEG WOFFINGTON
not permit him to act in these plays on the night
suggested by the embryo bishop, who consequently
writes to the player : " It would certainly have been
a very great honour to you, if of no other advan
tage, for such a person as Mr, Pulteney to come
so far to be one of your audience ; and if I had
been in your capacity I should have thought it
worth whUe to have strained a point, or done
almost anything rather than have disappointed
him, I would have acted that night, if I had
spared myself aU the rest for it,"
However, the party carae later on, and Mrs.
Porter was in raptures ; " she retumed to town on
purpose to see you," says Newton, "and declares
she would not but have come for the world. You
are born an actor, she says, and do more at your
first appearing than ever anybody did with twenty
years' practice ; and good God ! says she, what
wUl he be in tirae ? " Another famous actress,
Mrs. Bracegirdle, who had played in the previous
century, and who had now retired for over thirty
years, came out into the world again, anxious to
see this prodigy of her later days ; and with her
came old Colley Cibber, who had laughed mali
ciously whenever Garrick's praises had been sung,
but who, when he had seen him act, was forced to
mutter the bare admission, "Why, faith, Bracey,
the fellow is clever."
Among others who flocked to the stuffy little
theatre was my Lord Orrery, an authority where

PEG WOFFINGTON 117
the draraa was concerned, and a critic, mind you,
of the first understanding, and moreover a man of
vast experience. He was delighted with Garrick's
prodigious powers, but feared the young man
would be spoiled, "for," says his lordship, "he
wUl have no competitor." Then his Grace of
Argyle drove down in his ponderous coach to
Goodman's Fields, and swore a ducal oath that
this player was superior to the great Betterton of
famous raeraory. Likewise came Horace Walpole,
dainty in rufl3es and velvet, and high-heeled, sUver-
buckled shoes, who never had sympathy with pub
lic opinions, and now barely adraitted with a sneer
that "the wine-raerchant tumed player" was an
excellent raimic, but he could see nothing in his
acting, "though," he added, "it is heresy to say
so." Mr. Pitt came also and added his testiraony
that " this young raan was the best player in Eng
land." But araongst all those who carae nightly
to the playhouse, there was one of whora Garrick
was far more proud than the dozen dukes, who,
according to Gray, were to be seen at Goodman's
Fields of a night. This was none other than Mr.
Pope, who was looked upon with the most pro
found respect, and whose opinions were regarded
with feelings little less than reverent by his con-
teraporaries. Long years after, Garrick described
his sensations to Percival Stockdale, on learning
that the little poet of Twickenhara was one of his
auditors. "When I was told," said he, "that

ii8 PEG WOFFINGTON
Pope was in the house, I instantaneously felt a
palpitation at my heart ; a tumultuous, not a disa
greeable emotion in my mind. As I opened my
part, I saw our little poetical hero, dressed in
black, seated in a side box, near the stage, and
viewing me with a serious and earnest attention.
His look shot and thrilled like lightning through
my frame, and I had some hesitation in proceeding
from anxiety and frora joy. As Richard graduaUy
blazed forth, the house was in a roar of applause,
and the conspiring hand of Pope shadowed me
with laurels." The conspiring tongue of little Mr.
Pope, however, did him more honour still. Turn
ing to my Lord Orrery — beside whom he was
seated — the little poet said, "That young man
never had his equal as an actor, and he wUl never
have a rival ! "
But although the town might ring with the news
of his triumph, David had his private misgivings,
which were not easily to be overcome, regarding
tbe step he had taken. He knew but too well
tbat his brother Peter, sedate and grave, his sis
ters, who even in the gentility of their early girl
hood had feared to be considered as mere vulgar
madams, and his friends — these terrible friends,
who are as the plague and pestilence to many an
aspiring life — would one and all regard this new
departure as a black disgrace wantonly flung upon
the spotlessness of their respectability. Accord
ingly he must write to them, and get his good

PEG WOFFINGTON 119
friend Mr. Swynfen to do likewise, and represent
in as fair a light as was possible this dreadful act
of his, before any false and misleading reports con
cerning him could reach their ears. Therefore, on
the morning following David's great perforraance,
Mr. Swynfen wrote to Peter ; and even during the
excitement of that day David himself found time
to pen a letter to his brother, and to his cousin,
Peter Fermignac, a scion of the wealthier branch
of the famUy.
" I do not doubt," coraraenced Mr. Swynfen,
bluntly enough, in his epistle to Peter, "but you
wUl soon hear ray good Friend David Garrick per
forraed last night at Goodraan's Fields Theatre ;
and for fear you should hear any false or raalicious
account that raay perhaps be disagreeable to you,
I will give you the truth, which much pleased me."
Then follows the account of that raost raeraorable
night already quoted. Moreover, the worthy man
strives to appease Peter by imputing to hira senti
ments less narrow in their circumference than
those which sway his neighbours ; which shows
that he mistook his raan, as the wine-raerchant of
Lichfield soon let hira see. " Many of his country
friends," continues Mr. Swynfen, " who have been
most used to theatrical perforraances in Town
HaUs, etc., by strollers, wiU be apt to iraagine the
highest Pitch a Man can arrive at on the stage is
about that exalted degree of Heroisra as the Her
berts and the Hallaras have forraerly raade us

120 PEG WOFFINGTON
laugh and cry with ; and there are, I don't ques
tion, many others, who because their fathers were
caU'd Gentleraen, or perhaps theraselves the first,
that wiU think it a disgrace and a scandal that the
ChUd of an old Friend should endeavour to get an
honest Livelihood, and is not content to live in a
scanty manner all his Life because his Father was
a Gentleman. I think I know you weU enough to
be convinced that you have not the same senti
ments, and I hope there are sorae other of his
Friends, who wUl not alter their Opinion or Re
gard for Him, tiU they find the Stage corrupt his
Morals and makes Him less deserving, which I do
not take by any means to be a necessary conse
quence, nor Ukely to happen to ray honest Friend
David." But honest David's letter to his brother is not
quite so hopeful ; he knows Peter's hard nature,
and pleads to hira submissively.
"I rece'd my shirt safe," he begins, "and am
now to tell you what I suppose you may have
heard of before this. But before I let you into
my affair, 'tis proper to premise some things, that
I raay appear less culpable in yr opinion than I
might otherwise do. I have made an Exact Esti
mate of my stock of wine, and what money I have
out at interest, and find that since I have been a
wine-merchant I have run out near four hundred
pounds, and trade not increasing. I was very
sensible sorae way must be thought of to redeem

PEG WOFFINGTON 121
it. My mind (as you must know) has been always
incUn'd to ye Stage; nay, so strongly so that
all ray Illness and lowness of Spirits was owing
to my want of resolution to tell you my thoughts
when here. Finding at last both ray Inclination
and Interest requir'd sorae new way of Life, I have
chose ye most agreeable to myself; and though
I know you wUl be rauch displeas'd at rae, yet I
hope when you shall find that I have ye genius for
an actor without ye vices, you will think less severe
on me, and not be asham'd to own me for a
Brother." How could Peter resist this touching
appeal ? " Last night," he continues, " I played
Richard ye Third to ye surprise of Every Body ;
and as I shall raake very near ,£300 per annura
by It, and as it is really what I doat upon, I ara
resolv'd to pursue it." Then he adds nervously,
" Pray write rae an answer iraraediately," and con
cludes with a postscript : " I have a farce (' Ye
Lying Valet ') coming out at Drury Lane."
Then comes the letter to his cousin, Peter Fer
mignac. Lest this worthy relative, whora he is
anxious to conciliate, should be apprehensive of
his design to continue on the stage, he troubles
him with an account of his intention. To hira he
therefore repeats the excuses already raade to
Peter. " You must know," he writes, " that since
I have been in Business (the wine trade I mean), I
have run out almost half my Fortune." After
some further particulars relative to business, he

122 PEG WOFFINGTON
continues : " My mind led me to the stage, which,
from being very young, I found myself very much
Inclining to, and have been very unhappy that I
could not come upon it before. The only thing
that gives rae pain is, that my Friends, I suppose,
wUl look very cool upon me, particularly the Chief
of them ; but what can I do .¦" I am wholly bent
upon the thing, and can make .£300 per annum by
it. As my brother wUl settle at Lichfield, I design
to throw up the wine trade as soon as I can con
veniently, and desire you will let my uncle know.
If you should want to speak to rae, the Stage Door
will be always open to you, or any other part of the
house; for I am manager with Mr. Giffard, and
you may always command your most hurable
servant." This letter Mr. Peter Fermignac sent to his
aunt, with the following quaint commentary :
" Dear Madam, the underwritten is a copy of
a Letter sent me from David Garric, who play'd
Crook'd Back Richard last night, and does it
to-night again at Goodman's Fields. I leave you
to consider of it, and ara very sorry for the
contents, but I thought fit to communicate them
to you, and am your most dutiful nephew."
When the sedate Peter had sufficiently recovered
frora the prodigious blow which his respectable
feelings had received by his brother's news, he
wrote up to town, in no gentle terms it may
be assumed. What he said can alone be gathered

PEG WOFFINGTON 123
from David's reply. "My dear Brother," writes
the poor, perplexed player, " the uneasiness I have
received at your letter is inexpressible; however,
'twas a shock I expected, and had guarded Myself
as well as I could against it ; and the Love I
sincerely have for you, together with ye prevailing
Arguments you have raade use of, were enough
to overthrow ray strongest resolutions, did not
necessity (a very pressing advocate) on ray side
convince rae that I am not so rauch to blarae
as you think I ara. As to my uncle upbraiding
you with keeping our Circumstances a secret, I am
surpris'd at it ; for to be sure, what I have run out
has been raore owing to my own wilfulness than
any Great miscarriage in Trade. But run out I
have, and let me live never so warily, I raust
run out more ; and indeed, the Trade we have,
if you will reflect very seriously, can never be
sufficient to maintain me and a servant hand
soraely. As for the stage," he urges, with rauch
meekness of spirit, " I know in general it deserves
your Censure ; but if you will consider how hand
somely and how reputably sorae have liv'd, as
Booth, Mills, WUks, Cibber, &c., and adraitted
into and adraired by the Best Corapanies, &c.
And as my genius that way (by ye best judges)
is thought wonderful, how can you be so adverse to
my proceedings, when not only ray Inclinations
but ray Friends, who at first were surpris'd at ray
intent by seeing rae on ye stage, are now well

124 PEG WOFFINGTON
convmc'd 'twas impossible for me to keep off. As
to Company," he continues, with a pardonable air
of pride, " ye Best in Town are desirous of mine,
and I have rece'd more civUities and favours from
such since my playing than I ever did in aU my
Life before. Mr. Glover (Leonidas, I mean) has
been every night to see me, and sent for me, and
told rae, as weU as Every Body he converses with,
that he had not seen such acting for ten years
before. In short, were I to tell you what they say
about me, 'twould be too vain, though I am now
writing to a Brother. However, Dear Peter, so
wiUing am I to be continu'd in your affections
that, were I certain of a less income with more
reputation, I would gladly take to It. I have not
yet had my name in ye Bills, and have play'd only
ye Part of Richard IIL, which brings crowded
audiences every night, and Mr. Giffard retums ye
service I have done him very amply. However,
Dear Peter, write me a Letter next post, and I'll
give you a full answer, not having Time enough at
present. I have not a Debt of twenty shUlings
upon rae, so in that be very easy. I am sorry my
sisters are under such uneasiness, and as I really
love both them and you, will ever make it my
study to appear your affectionate Brother."
But even these soft words had not the desired
effect of turning away Peter's wrath. An honest
wine-raerchant, whose father had been a recruiting
officer, whose mother had been the daughter of an

PEG WOFFINGTON 125
irapoverished vicar choral, disgraced by a brother
turned stage-player, was a serious matter, not to
be lightly overlooked. In the eyes of his neigh
bours poor Peter raust assuredly fall frora the high
estate of his respectability ; nay, his very business
would assuredly feel the shock frora the proceed
ings of one who was once intimately connected
with it. Therefore Peter's anger was exceeding
great ; the more so as no persuasion he could use,
no arguraents concerning the misfortunes which
his brother's stage-playing must assuredly entaU on
the family, had any avail with the perpetrator of
the outrage, who met his complaints with gentle
reasonings, his sneers and murmurings with fair
words and kind.
" I am very sorry you still seera so utterly
averse to what I ara so greatly Inclin'd, and to
what ye best Judges think I have ye greatest
of Genius for," David again writes to hira on
the IOth of Noveraber. "The great, nay, inde
scribable success and approbation I have raet with
frora ye Greatest Persons in England have alraost
made me resolve (though I am sorry to say it
against your entreaties) to pursue it, as I certainly
shall make a fortune by it, if Health continues.
Mr. Lyttieton, Mr. Pitt, and several other raem
bers of Parliament were to see me play Charaont
in ' Ye Orphan ' ; and Mr. Pitt, who is reckon'd
ye Greatest Orator in the House of Coraraons,
said I was ye best actor ye English Stage had

126 PEG WOFFINGTON
produc'd, and he sent a Gentleman to rae to let
me know he and ye other Gentlemen would be
glad to see Me. The Prince has heard so great
a character of me that we are in daily expectation
of his coming to same." Then he proceeds to
business, of which he never lost sight even in
his palmiest days. " I have been told," he writes,
" tbat you are afraid Giffard has had ray money.
Upon ray honour, he does not owe rae a farthing,
having paid me long ago what I lent him, which
was but £2,0. I receive at present from him (tho'
'tis a secret) six guineas a week, and am to have a
clear Benefit, which will be very soon, and I have
been offer'd for it ;^I20. You can't imagine what
regard I meet with; ye Pit and Boxes are to be
put together, and I shall have all my friends (who
StUl continue so to me, though you cannot be
brought over). If you come to town, your lodg
ings will cost you nothing, I having a bed at
Arthur's for you. Pray let me know if you'll
come immediately. And if you chuse to have
your share with what you have at Lichfield, ye
Cooper shall take a Strict Survey of ye vaults, and
I will be at half ye expense of ye carriage ; if not,
I'll make a sale here, but let me know what you
resolve upon, and I wiU assure you 'tis my greatest
desire to continue your affectionate Brother."
The account of so much honour done the player
by Mr. Glover, an author of erainence in his day,
a clever speaker, and an adviser of the prince, and

PEG WOFFINGTON 127
by Mr. Lyttieton, likewise a friend of his Royal
Highness, probably helped to lighten the burden
of disgrace that Peter had allowed to fall so heav
ily on his shoulders ; for David, in writing to hira
next, says :
"As you finished your last Letter with saying,
though you did not approve of ye Stage, yet you
would always be my affectionate Brother, I raay
now venture to tell you I am very near quite re
solv'd to be a player, as I have ye judgment of ye
best Judges (who to a raan are of opinion) that I
shall turn out (nay, they say have) not only
ye Best Tragedian, but Comedian in England. I
would not say so much to anybody else, but as this
may soraewhat palliate my Folly, you must excuse
me. Mr. Lyttieton was with me last night, and
took me by the hand, and said he never saw such
playing upon ye English stage before. I have
great offers from Fleetwood, but he's going to sell
to Gentlemen, and I don't doubt but I will raake
for myself very greatly. We have greater business
than either Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Mr.
Giffard himself gave rae yesterday twenty Guineas
for a Ticket. As to hurting you in your affairs,
it shall be ray constant endeavours to forward your
welfare with my all. If you should want money,
and I have it, you shall coraraand ray whole, and I
know I shall soon be more able by playing and
writing to do you service than any other way. My
uncle," he adds, " I ara told, wUl be reconcU'd to

128 PEG WOFFINGTON
me, for even ye raerchants say 'tis an honour
to him, not otherwise."
Surely, with tidings of such prosperity, with
offers of such generosity, and with the intelli
gence of his uncle's reconciliation, Peter could
not hold out any longer ; and so a reconciliation
ensued, over which the wine-raerchant had in after
years rauch reason to rejoice. Meanwhile David,
or, as the play-bUls down to the 22d of November
continued to style him, " the young gentleman who
perform'd Richard," was playing several new char
acters, such as Clodia in "Love Makes a Man,"
Chamont in "The Orphan," Jack Smatter in
" Pamela," and winning fresh success. The Lon
don Daily Post of November the 27th, speaking
of the Goodman's Fields Playhouse, says : " Sev
eral hundred persons were obliged to return for
want of room, the House being full soon after five
o'clock." His farce, "The Lying Valet," was ready bythe
end of November, and was produced on the 30th
of that month, not at Drury Lane, but at Good
man's Fields, Garrick playing the part of Sharp ;
and such was its success that, five days later, the
farce, in two acts, was published for a shUling,
" As it is performed Gratis at the late Theatre in
Goodraan's Fields, by David Garrick," a name to
become henceforth memorable in the annals of the
stage. Of course a copy of this farce was sent to
Peter with all the pride which an author feels in

PEG WOFFINGTON 129
his first-born. " On Monday last I sent you,"
he writes to hira, " ' The Lying Valet.' The Valet
takes prodigiously, and is approv'd of by men of
Genius, and thought ye raost diverting Farce that
ever was perforra'd. I believe you'll find it read
pretty well, and in perforraance it's a general Roar
from beginning to end ; and I have got as rauch
Reputation in ye Character of Sharp as in any
other character I have perform'd." Then he
names the various plays in which he has acted,
thinking Peter would be glad to hear of them, and
adds, " I have had great success in all, and 'tis not
determined whether I play tragedy or comedy best.
Old Cibber has spoken with ye greatest comraen-
dation of ray acting."
On the 2d of December (the occasion of his first
beneflt) Garrick played this farce, which was pre
ceded by the tragedy of "The Fair Penitent,"
taking the part of Lothario, " being the first time
of his appearance in that character." So great was
the expected crush, it was announced that for this
night " the Stage wUl be built after the Manner of
an Araphitheatre, when servants wUl be allowed
to keep Places and likewise in the Front Boxes,
but not in the Pit, who are desir'd to be at the
House by Three o'clock."
The downfall of the old school of acting was
now coraplete. Having once seen nature por
trayed on the stage, Garrick felt sure the town
would never again accept pedantic rant in its

130 PEG WOFFINGTON
place. The old actors were, of course, terribly
incensed by his success. Quin, who for years
had been without a rival, could ill brook one now
in a novice of five and twenty summers. The
town, he declared, was mad, but would presently
come to its senses, the inference being it would
return to its old love in the sturdy person of this
famous ranter. The young man's style, he fur
thermore declared, was heresy ; to which Garrick
replied it was reformation. He was yet, however,
to give the old school its final blow by his per
formance in "The Rehearsal." In this amusing
comedy — in which Mr. Bayes, a stage-manager,
instructs his company in the way they should act
— Garrick saw an ample outlet for the rich vein
of mimicry he possessed, inasmuch that, as the
manager, he could give representations of the best
known actors of the day. Yet for some time he
shrank from affording them such annoyance as
this must naturally cause, though Giffard was
desirous of putting the comedy on his stage. A
strange tale, beautifully illustrative of human
nature, hangs thereby, which is told in a manu
script note that the writer found among the pages
of some old theatrical records, once the property
of Doctor Burney, whose son Charles writes :
"WhUe Mr. Garrick was acting at the Theatre
in Goodman's Fields, Mr. Giffard, the manager,
urged him to play the part of Bayes on that stage,
in order that he might display his talents for mim-

PEG WOFFINGTON 131
icry in his imitation of the favourite actors at all
the theatres. Mr. Garrick declined it at first ; but
when Mr. Giffard pressed the point strongly, Mr.
Garrick promised to play the part, provided he
might be allowed to take off the manager hiraself.
Mr. Giffard declared he had not the slightest
objection ; but when the trial was raade, and
Mr. Garrick's iraitation of Mr. Giffard created
unusual laughter, it offended hira so deeply that
a challenge was the consequence, and Mr. Garrick
was wounded in the arra. This story my father,
Doctor Burney, received from Mr. Garrick."
" The Rehearsal " was, however, played without
the personation of Giffard on the 3d of February,
1742, with prodigious success. The whole town
laughed loud and long at the imitations of those
they had formerly adraired, " In the character
of Bayes," says Arthur Murphy, " he exhibited to
life the vain coxcorab who had the highest conceit
of hiraself, and thought the art of draraatic poetry
consisted in strokes of surprise and thundering
versification. The players of his day he saw were
equally raistaken. In order, therefore, to display
their errors in the raost glaring light, he took
upon hira occasionally to check the performers,
who were rehearsing his play, and teach them to
deliver their speech in what he called the true
theatrical manner. For this purpose he selected
some of the most erainent performers of the tirae,
and by his wonderful powers of rairaicry was able

132 PEG WOFFINGTON
to assume the air, the manner, and the deport
ment of each in his turn. Delane was at the
head of his profession. He was tall and comely,
had a clear and strong voice, but was a mere
declaimer, Garrick began with hira ; he retired
to the upper part of the stage, and drawing his
left arra across his breast, rested his right elbow
on it, raising a finger to his nose, and then came
forward in a stately gait, nodding his head as
he advanced, and in the exact tones of Delane
spoke the following lines :
" ' So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh.
Snuff up and smell it gath'ring in the sky.' "
Those who were mimicked were of course out
rageous, but the town was highly diverted, and
Garrick and his manager were equally satisfied.
On the I Sth of March, he had another benefit,
when he played Master Johnny, a lad of fifteen,
in "The Schoolboy," after the performance of
"King Lear." "The farce of 'The Schoolboy,'"
says Boaden, in his biographical memoir, "was
written by Colley Cibber, who was still living;
and he raight, and very probably did, see that
wonderful junction of eighty-four and fifteen by
the same actor." His fame daily increased, the
crowds StUl flocked to Goodraan's Fields, and
the great ones of the earth paid hira honour. In
April he writes to Peter with a sense of triumph
at his heart :

PEG WOFFINGTON 133
" Ye favour I raeet frora ye Greatest Men, has
made me far frora Repenting of my choice. I
am very intimate with Mr. Glover, who wUl bring
out a tragedy next winter upon my account. I
have supped twice with ye Great Mr. Murray,
Counsellor, and shall with Mr. Pope by his intro
duction. I supped with Mr. Lyttieton, ye Prince's
Favourite, last Thursday night, and met with ye
highest civUity and complaisance. He told me
he never knew what acting was tUl I appeared,
and said I was only born to act what Shakespeare
writ. These things daily occurring give me great
Pleasure. I dined with Lord Halifax and Lord
Sandwich, two very ingenious noblemen, yester
day, and am to dine at Lord Halifax's next Sun
day with Lord Chesterfield. I have ye pleasure of
being very intiraate with Mr. Hawkins Browne,
of Burton ; in short, I believe nobody (as an actor)
was ever raore caressed, and ray character as a
private raan raakes thera raore desirous of my
company. All this entre nous as one brother to
another. I am not fix'd for next year, but shall
certainly be at ye other end of ye Town. I ara
offered five hundred guineas and a clear benefit,
or part of manageraent. I can't be resolved what
I shall do tUl ye season is finished."
In this month he made his first appearance at
Drury Lane, on which occasion he played for
the benefit of the widow of a coraedian naraed
Harper ; and later on entered into ah engageraent

t34 PEG WOFFINGTON
with Fleetwood to play at his theatre in the com
ing auturan. Before the end of this most memo
rable season, his fame had spread so far that it
crossed the St. George's Channel, and Du Val,
the manager of Smock Alley Theatre in Dublm,
arranged with him and Peg Woffington to play
in that fair city in the months of June, July,
and August. And so together they departed for
Ireland.

CHAPTER VII.
Excitement in Dublin — A Warm Greeting — The Delight of
the Town — Hamlet and Ophelia — Back to London — The
Rival Playhouse — Quin's Reputation — His Contempt for
Garrick — Quin and Macklin — A Greenroom Quarrel —
Making It Up — Charming Susanna Cibber — "A Romp
and a Good-natured Boy " — Theo Cibber's Baseness —
Elopement, Rescue, and Action — Legal Bathos — VV offing-
ton and Garrick at Drury Lane.
(HE announceraent that Peg Woffington,
a chUd of the people, who had thirteen
years ago sung in a canvas booth in
George's Court, had first put forth her genius
at the Aungier Street playhouse, and had since
gained wide-spread farae in London Town, was to
appear at the Sraock Alley Theatre, threw the
excitable citizens of Dublin into a fever of delight.
This was heightened by the advertisement stating
thaf Garrick would likewise play on the same
stage at the sarae time. Their engagement was
not to begin at Smock Alley till the raiddle of
June. On the Sth of that raonth the Dublin Mer
cury announced to its readers that "the faraous
Mr. Garrick and Miss Woffington are hourly ex
pected from England to entertain the nobility and
gentry during the summer season, when especially
I3S

136 PEG WOFFINGTON
the part of Sir Harry WUdair wiU be perforraed
by Miss Woffington." The same journal, it may
be noticed, requested the manager of the theatre
" that he wiU cause the naUs to be carefully pulled
out of the benches of the pit, otherwise nine
gentlemen in ten wiU be a pair of stockings out
of pocket every tirae they go there."
On the I Ith of June, 1 742, Peg Wofifington
arrived in her native city with Garrick and the
Signora Barbarina, who was to dance between the
acts, and represent in her charming person a
Nymph of the Plain, in the new grand ballet
called "The -Rural Assembly." Dancing, it may
be here remarked, was an important item in the
progrararae during the engagement ; for presently,
when, at the desire of several persons of quality,
Garrick played the part of Lothario in " The Fair
Penitent," the following "entertainraents of danc
ing " were given between the acts : At the con
clusion of Act I., "The Grecian Sailor," by Mr.
Will Delamain ; of Act II. , " The Wooden Shoe
Dance," by Mr. Morris ; of Act IIL, a musett
by Signora Barbarina; of Act IV., "The Old
Woman with Pierrot in the Basket," by Mr.
Morris. Four days after the arrival of Peg Woffington
and Garrick, she appeared in her famous character
as Sir Harry Wildair. Her narae had become a
famUiar sound in the raouths of the goodly citi
zens ; stories of her wit and repartee were yet

Peg Woffington as Wildair
From an original water-colour in the possession of the late
Augustin Daly
" That excellent Peg!
Who showed such a leg
When lately she dressed in man^s clothes —
A creature uncommon.
Who's both Tnan and woman
And the chief of the belles and the beaux .'"

PEQ WOFFINGTON 137
recounted in the quadrangles of Trinity College ;
and a tradition of her beauty lingered like a warm
memory in the hearts of a people never insensible
to the effect of woman's loveliness. She had come
back to her ovwi people ; not a man and woraan in
the town but felt as if they had a special interest
in her ; as if her triumphs in sorae way reflected
credit on them ui whose midst the first years of
her life had been spent. So the audience that
gathered to receive her on this the first night of
her reappearance was great. As she carae upon
the stage, a sea of bright faces beamed on her frora
pit to gallery ; and a pleasant sense of kindly grati
tude went out from her heart to the audience that
united them in a comraon bond of friendship.
Cheer upon cheer rang through the house, in
response to which, with a strange fluttering at her
heart, with sraUes on her lips, and with tears in her
beautiful eyes, she bowed again and again. Gar
rick was not playing tbat night, but he stood at
the wings to witness her reception, and when she
came off the stage he was ready to greet her.
"Ah, Peggy," he said, "you are the queen of all
hearts." She looked straight at the bright face
before her, and a smile in which sadness lurked
shadow-Uke carae on her lips. "Ay," she replied,
as she passed hira, "queen of all hearts, yet not
legal raistress of one."
Dublin audiences had pleasant raeraories of her
Sir Harry Wildair, but practice having added a

138 PEG WOFFINGTON
higher polish, a more subtle finish to her acting,
they were now delighted beyond expression with
the perfect picture of the graceful and accom
plished rake which she presented them. She
became the theme of every tongue ; prints of her
were exposed for sale in the stationers' windows ;
and baUads setting forth the charras of "purty
Peggy, the true love of my heart, with eyes as
black as hurtleberry, and glance like Cupid's dart,"
were sung and sold in vast numbers in the streets.
On the third night of the season, Garrick
appeared as Richard the Third, Peg Wofifington
playing Lady Anne, when the theatre was again
crowded to excess by people of the first conse
quence, who three hours before the performance
began had sent servants to keep their places. The
combination of two such famous personages playing
in the same house made the town stage-mad ; and
the scenes which were occasionally witnessed in
the playhouse were distressing. Women shrieked
at Richard's death, sobbed aloud at sad Ophelia's
madness, and went into hysterics over the sorrows
of King Lear. The heat which people endured in
the stifling atraosphere for hours was prodigious.
So warm was the season toward the end of June
and the beginning of the following month, that the
Dublin Mercury of July the 6th raentions that
"oats is very near being reaped, and if the
weather is favourable we wUl have some in our
own market next Saturday ; which is something

PEG WOFFINGTON 139
extraordinary, oats being the latest grain." The
result of this unusually warm weather and the
crowded houses in Smock Alley was, that a fever
broke out in the town, which attacked many, and
carried numbers from the playhouse to the grave.
It was duruig this engagement that Garrick first
attempted the part of Haralet, which he had long
and carefully studied. The Dublin citizens were not
only enthusiastic admirers of the drama, but were
moreover profound worshippers of Shakespeare;
therefore the announcement that Garrick was
about to play this favourite character gave them
imbounded satisfaction, and though their expecta
tions were great, they were not disappointed.
Never had they witnessed such acting. On his
first appearance the marked melancholy of his
face, the deep thought dwelling in his eyes, his list
less movements, and attitudes indicative of de
pression struck all beholders ; while his mere
utterance of the line, " I have that within me
which passeth all show," sent a thriU of syrapathy
through their hearts. When presently the ghost
appeared, the colour fled frora his face, the words
trembled as they escaped his lips. Then his ex
quisite sensibUity, the melting tenderness of his
love for Ophelia, the whirlwind of his passion, the
depth and despair of his grief, were portrayed with
an effect never before produced. "The strong
intelligence of his eye," says Davis, speaking of
bim in this play, "the animated expression of his

140 PEG WOFFINGTON
whole countenance, the flexibility of his voice, and
his spirited action riveted the attention of an
admiring audience." Nothing could be more grace
ful, more pathetic, more beautiful than Peg Wof
fington as Ophelia ; her love and sorrow were
inexpressibly tender, her madness filled the house
with awe and brought tears to many eyes. But
whether she played OpheUa or CordeUa, Laetitia in
"The Old Bachelor," or Miss Lucy m "The
Virgin Unmasked," she charmed her Dublin ad
mirers. On the first night of July she took her benefit,
when " The Tragical History of King Richard the
Third was presented ; the part of King Richard to
be performed by Mr. Garrick, being the last time
of his appearing in that character during the sea
son ; the part of Lady Anne to be performed by
Miss Woffington ; with entertainments of dancing
by Signora Barbarina. To which will be added a
diverting ballad opera called 'The Virgin Un
masked.' The part of Miss Lucy by Miss Wof
fington, with a new epilogue in the character of
Miss Lucy wrote by Mr. Garrick." This brief but
remarkable season ended on the 19th of August,
1742, when Peg Woffington and Garrick returned
to London, preparatory to their appearance in
September at old Drury Lane.
The London season now beginning was one of
the most brilUant and memorable in the history
of the stage — brilliant because of those two stars

PEG WOFFINGTON 141
who had so suddenly arisen in the theatrical firraa
raent ; memorable as a period when the battle
between the old school and the new was fought,
with a vast show of bravery on either side. At
Drury Lane, Fleetwood had gathered around hira,
besides Peg Woffington and Garrick, such favourite
players as Kitty Clive, Mrs. Pritchard, and Mack
lin ; whUst at Covent Garden were Mrs. Cibber,
Quin, Ryan, and Bridgewater. Quin was the
acknowledged head of the old school. He had m
his day played with WUks and Booth, and since
the retu-ement of the latter he had no rival till
young Garrick carae to push hira frora his high
place in the playgoers' regard. His faraous solilo
quy in "Cato," it was remembered, had been
encored ; his Sir John Bute had been pronounced
inimitable, his Falstaff was considered unequalled.
Foote recoraraended any one who wanted to witness
a character perfectly played to see Mr. Quin in his
part ; " and if he does not express a desire to spend
an evening with that raerry mortal," said the wit,
"why, I would not spend one with him, if he
would pay my reckoning." Quin's contempt for
Garrick and his new-fangled ways was openly
avowed. " If he is right," said the veteran, with
an uicredulous smile, "then I and the rest of the
players must have been wrong." He had no fear,
therefore, of this young jackanapes, and was ready
to test the public favour with him any night.
The dislike which he cherished for Garrick he

142 PEG WOFFINGTON
likewise heartily extended to another raeraber of
the Drury Lane corapany, — Macklin, who by his
playing the part of Shylock in a realistic manner
but a little before, had paved the way for the nat
ural school of acting. Moreover, there had been
an old standing quarrel between these actors, the
origin of which happily illustrates the manners of
the greenroom in those days. It happened one
night that, when Macklin was playing the part of
Jerry Blackacre to Quin's Captain Manly, the
former, by some business he introduced, raade
the audience laugh heartily. When they came
off the stage, Quin, who ruled as supreme despot in
tbe theatre, abused him in round terms, told him
he was at his tricks, and there was no having a
chaste scene with him as an actor. To this Mack
lin repUed that he did not want to disturb him, but
was anxious to show off a little himself. In the
following scenes Macklin continued the same busi
ness, when tbe audience now laughed more than
ever, and gave him some signs of their approba
tion ; which disturbed the great raan raightily, who
on going into the greenroom indulged in fresh
abuse. Macklin declared he could not play other
wise; Quin insisted that he could, to which the
other replied in plain EngUsh, " You lie." Now
at that instant it happened that Quin was chewing
an apple, which in his vast indignation he spat into
his hand and flung full in Macklin's face. In a
second the greenroom was in confusion ; there was

PEG WOFFINGTON 143
a violent scuffle, and in less than a rainute Macklin
had forced Quin into a chair and was puraraelling
his face in a right hearty raanner, until it was
swelled to double its ordinary size. To raake
matters worse, Quin was obliged to go on the
stage in a short time, but he mumbled his part in
such a manner that the audience began to hiss ;
whereupon he at once stepped to the centre, in
formed them that something unpleasant had hap
pened, and that he was ill.
When the curtain was down, he told Macklin
he raust give hira satisfaction, and that when he
had changed his clothes he would wait for hira at
the Obelisk at Covent Garden. Macklin proraised
he would be with hira presently ; but when Quin
had gone he reraerabered he had to play in the
afterpiece, so he resolved that till this was over
he would let Quin fret and furae. When the part
was finished, Fleetwood, who was desirous of peace
araong the raembers of his company, carried Mack
lin to his house, where he raade him sup and sleep,
and, when morning came, persuaded hira to make
an apology to Mr. Quin, which he did, and there
the matter dropped. After this no word was
spoken between thera for long, and a studied
deportment on either side seeraed to indicate that
nothing save the necessity of business could ever
make them associate again ; till at last it happened
they both, in company with many others, met one
evening in a tavern at Covent Garden. Their

144 PEG WOFFINGTON
hearts were softened, for they had just returned
from laying a fellow actor at rest, — an excellent
fellow, the son of a baker, concerning whom Foote,
who could not resist being funny even on such an
occasion, said they " had been to see hira shovelled
into the faraily oven." By degrees the corapany
at the tavern dropped off one by one, untU these
two were left together.
Presently Quin roused himself, looked around,
and finding he was alone in MackUn's company,
becarae embarrassed ; and for some moraents there
was silence in the roora. But in a little whUe he,
in polite and solid phrases, drank Macklin's health,
which the latter, as in duty bound, returned. Then
came a pause more awkward than the first, which
Quin again broke by addressing his companion.
"There has been a foolish quarrel between you
and me, sir," said he, "which, though accommo
dated, I must confess I have been unable to forget
till now. The melancholy occasion of our meeting,
and the circumstance of our being left together, I
thank God, have made me see my error. If you
can, therefore, forget it, give rae your hand, and
let us live together in future like brother perform
ers." Macklin eagerly stretched out his hand, and
assured hira of bis friendship in hearty words. It
would not have been proper if this reconcUiation was
not sealed by a fresh bottle, ordered by Macklin,
which was followed by another called for by Quin ;
and by the time this was finished, the latter had

PEG WOFFINGTON 145
quietly closed his eyes on this wicked world of
hatred and quarrels and revenge, and wandered
into the peaceful land of drearas. The light of
early dawn had by this tirae begun to peep in at
the high, narrow windows of the tavern parlour ;
the candles burned low in their sockets, and it was
full time for Mr. Quin to rest in his virtuous bed.
A chair was therefore sent for, but not one could
be found at that hour, when Macklin, desiring the
waiters to lift the great man on his back, carried
him in that manner to his lodgings. But Quin was
not, in his cooler moraents, ready to act up to the
words he had uttered when his heart and his head
were softened by wine. He seldora raentioned
Macklin's narae without a sneer or a sarcastic
remark, and he was now mortified that this excel
lent old actor should strengthen the opposition
corapany of Drury Lane playhouse.
The actress engaged to take the principal feraale
parts at Covent Garden was the wife of the unfor
tunate scapegrace Theophilus Cibber. This lady,
who rejoiced in the narae of Susanna Maria, long
occupied the attention of the town. She was the
daughter of a respectable upholsterer in Covent
Garden, and sister to Thomas Ame, afterward
doctor of music. She, too, had a musical genius,
and a voice so sweet that Handel specially ar
ranged one of the airs in "Messiah" to suit it.
Shortly after her raarriage with Theo Cibber she
expressed a strong desire to becorae an actress, for

146 PEG WOFFINGTON
which her melodious voice, beautiful face, and
graceful figure seemed eminently suited. She
therefore received instructions from her father-in-
law, old Colley, who was regarded as a master of
his art. She subsequently appeared as Zara in the
tragedy of that name at Drury Lane in the year
1736, when, according to a quaint account, "she
gave both surprise and delight to the audience,
who were no less charmed with the beauties of her
present performance than with the prospect of
future entertainment from so valuable an acquisi
tion to the stage, — a prospect which was ever
after perfectly maintained, and a meridian lustre
shone forth fully equal to what was promised from
the morning dawn."
The " raeridian lustre " was for a time, however,
eclipsed by the ugly shadow of her husband's
wickedness, the story of which vastly diverted the
town, whUst it lent additional interest to the per
formances of this frail and beautiful woman, who
was more sinned against than sinning. Theophilus
Cibber, even in the first years of their married life,
had appropriated his wife's earnings, and freely
squandered them in reckless profligacy. Not sat
isfied however with this, being sorely pressed for
money by reason of his extravagances, and being
utterly devoid of principle, he determined to sell
his wife's honour. For this purpose Mr. Cibber,
hideous and worthless, introduced to her house a
young gentleman of comely mien, who was pos-

PEG WOFFINGTON 147
sessed of station and fortune. The young gen
tleraan's narae was WiUiam Sloper; but Cibber
presented hira as Mr. Benefit, adding that the
youth "was a rorap and a good-natured boy."
Soon after Mrs. Cibber making the acquaintance
of Sloper, her spouse, affectionately anxious to
give her change of air, took lodgings at Kensing
ton for her and hiraself and the young gentleman,
whose good nature Mr. Cibber tested by borrowing
from him suras amounting to four hundred pounds.
They had been but a little while established at
Kensington when, unfortunately, Mr. Cibber found
himself called away on pressing business to France.
When he subsequently returned, he refused to
occupy his former lodgings, but was obliging
enough to hire a bed for himself at the Blue
Green Inn, not far removed. When he had first
supped comfortably with his wife and their rautual
friend he retired nightly to his inn, being con
ducted thither by a raan with a lanthom and a
candle. Next raorning he returned to breakfast
with thera. For the accoraraodations, both at the
lodgings and the inn, young Sloper freely paid,
being a good-natured boy, and raoreover a rorap.
Now Mrs. Cibber, seeing her husband's base
ness, despised hira heartUy, and was too spirited
to adrait of an arrangeraent by which her lover was
heavUy mulcted of his money, whilst her infaraous
spouse was spared the censure of the world. She
therefore eloped with Sloper, whom she had learned

148 PEG WOFFINGTON
to love. This was a moveraent Mr. Cibber had
not expected, and it was now plain to him that he
must pose before the town as an outraged husband,
whose friendship had been vilely abused. The
r61e has frequently been played since then with
more or less success. Therefore, accompanied
by Mr. Fife, a sergeant in the Guards, he set off
in a coach for Burnham, the place where Sloper
was staying, in order to rescue his wife. Entering
her lodgings whilst she and her friend were at
breakfast, Cibber and the sergeant of the Guards
carried her away, whilst Sloper cursed many oaths
and called Theophilus a villain. As she was being
taken to the coach, her lover walking beside her,
she put her hand in her pocket and gave hira a
watch, on which he cried out, 'twas well reraem
bered, as the rascal would else have had it. When
they came to the inn at Slough, Cibber and his
wife rested there, and next day he drove her across
country, fearing she might be rescued by her lover,
and entering the town next evemng, he placed her
at the Bull Head Tavern, near Clare Market, under
the care of Mr. Stint, candle-snuffer at Covent
Garden playhouse. Presently her brother, Mr.
Arne, came, who called out to Mr. Stint, and
besought him to let his sister go with him, saying
he would take care of her ; but the candle-snuffer
refused, raaking answer, "I shall not betray the
trust which was placed in me." Then, not being
admitted, Ame gathered together a great crowd

PEG WOFFINGTON 149
from the neighbouring market, to the number of
over one hundred, and broke into the house, and
beat the snuffer severely, injuring him in the body,
and tearing the clothes from his back, which was
left naked. In this manner, Mrs. Cibber was res
cued and restored to her friend, under whose pro
tection and care she lived happily till her death.
Cibber, seemg in this a cause for the recovery
of daraages, took an action against Sloper for elop
ing with his wife, whereby he " lost her corapany,
corafort, society, and assistance." The daraages
clairaed for such loss were estimated at the round
sum of five thousand pounds. The foolish bathos
indulged m by the gentlemen learned in the law,
who conducted the case, is quite on a par with that
which distinguishes raany merabers of that erainent
profession at the present day. The wise solicitor-
general, one Mr. Strange, who stated the plaintiff's
case, declared, in a voice choked by eraotion, that
no sura of raoney could compensate for the injury
done to Mr. Cibber, which was of the most tender
concem to his peace of mind, happiness, and hopes
of posterity ; for no sura of raoney could restore
that tranquillity of mind which had now deserted
him for ever. The learned Mr. Strange, however,
took an opportunity of hinting that five thousand
pounds would be regarded by his client as a slight
recompense to his deeply wounded honour. The
observations "upon the plaintiff being a player,"
made by the eloquent gentleraan, are wonderfully

I50 PEG WOFFINGTON
quaint, and moreover amusing, when read by the
light of raodern times. He was fully aware that
in a matter of this nature "players were consid
ered as not upon the same footing with the rest of
the subjects." It was true the plaintiff was a
player, but he was also a gentleman, being well
descended and having had a liberal education ; his
father was well known to all gentleraen who
deUghted in theatrical entertainraents to be of
the first figure in that profession, and an author,
too ; and the plaintiff's grandfather was the best
statuary of his times ; and the plaintiff, by the
mother's side, was related to WUliam of Wyke
ham, and in right of that pedigree had received his
education upon a foundation of government. The
leamed gentleman likewise dwelt upon Mr. Cibber
being " endowed with the finest sense of morality,"
and became eloquent on the mischievous conse
quences of suffering a man to commit such an
injury to the raarried state without being obliged
to repair it in daraages. The jury, however, duly
appreciated Mr. Cibber's fine sense of morality
and Mr. Strange's bathos, and awarded ten pounds
damages to the Ul-looking vagabond, Theophilus
Cibber. On the 22d of September, 1742, Covent Gar
den Theatre opened for the season with " Othello,"
Mrs. Cibber playing Desdemona — it being "her
first appearance on that stage." The parts were
" all new dressed, and the theatre new decorated,"

PEG WOFFINGTON 151
as the bUls informed the public. A few nights
later. Peg Woffington and Garrick appeared respect
ively as Sylvia and Captain Plume, and so great a
crowd was expected, that it was announced "No
persons will be admitted behind the scenes but
those who have silver tickets." The lines of car
riages and chairs which had stretched from Teraple
Bar to Whitechapel, when Garrick played at Good
man's Fields, now blocked Drury Lane and the
adjacent streets. Night after night the theatre
was crowded to excess, and nothing could exceed
the delight and applause when the two reigning
favourites appeared in the same piece. It became
plain even to Quin, who still thundered and
strutted at Covent Garden, that the days of the
old school were numbered. Yet he was not wUl
ing to quietly lay down his arras and own hiraself
defeated in the corabat with this young David,
but plucked up courage enough to play Richard
the Third on the sarae night as Garrick. An
account of the marked difference between the
champion of the old school and the new is
given us by one who saw both play later on in
Rowe's "Fair Penitent," on the stage of Drury
Lane. Garrick took the part of Lothario, Quin
of Horatio. Upon the rising of the curtain the
latter presented himself in a green velvet coat
embroidered down the seams, an enormous full-
bottoraed periwig, rolled stockings, and high-heeled,
square-toed shoes. " With very little variation of

152 PEG WOFFINGTON
cadence, and in a deep, fuU tone, accompanied by
a sawing kind of action, which had more of the
senate than of the stage in it, he rolled out his
heroics, with an air of dignified indifference which
seemed to disdain the plaudits that were bestowed
upon him," writes Richard Cumberland in his
"Memoirs." "But when I beheld little Garrick,
young and light, and alive in every muscle and
in every feature. Heavens, what a transition. It
seemed as if a whole century had been stepped
over in the transition of a single scene ; old things
were done away, and a new order at once brought
forward, bright and luminous, and clearly destined
to dispel the barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless
age, too long attached to the prejudices of custom,
and superstitiously devoted to the Ulusions of im
posing declamation."
Early in this season Garrick produced "King
Lear," which he had attempted at Goodman's
Fields, and subsequently played during his Dublin
engagement. As an instance of the pains which
he took in the study of his characters, it may be
mentioned that, when he first played in this
tragedy, he had requested his old friend MackUn,
and Doctor Barrowly, a physician by profession, a
dramatic critic by reputation, to sit in judgment
on his performance. These worthy men accepted
the pleasurable task, and with that conscientious
ness which distinguishes truthful friends delivered
their opinions next moming. He was dressed

PEG WOFFINGTON 153
very appropriately for King Lear, they adraitted,
but he did not sufficiently enter uito the infirraities
of a raan fourscore and upwards. Then in the
repetition of the curse he began too low and ended
too high, the reverse of which would, they argued,
have a better effect ; and in the fourth act he had
not dignity enough, and his voice was too loud.
To all of which Garrick listened with patience,
nay, he even made notes of their reraarks, and,
thanking thera said he would not again play the
part till he had profited by their judicious hints.
When in due tirae he again appeared as King
Lear, his friends, who once more acted as his
critics, assured hini he played the part rather
worse than before. They were good enough to
offer him their services at rehearsal, which he
declined on the plea that so rauch graciousness
would embarrass him. On his third appearance as
the sad old man, his critics were of opinion that
he had sufficiently profited by their advice, and
praised hira accordingly. The announceraent that
he was again to play the part with Peg Wofifing
ton as Cordelia, caused a thrill of excitement in
every coffee-house and tavern in town ; nor on the
night when the Drury Lane curtain fell on the
last act of the tragedy was his audience disap
pointed. O'Keefe tells us his exclaiming, in the bittemess
of his anger, " I will do such things — what they
are I know not," and his sudden recollection

IS4 PEG WOFFINGTON
of his own want of power, were so pitiable as to
touch the heart of every spectator. The simplic
ity of his saying, "Be these tears wet — yes,
faith," puttuig his finger to the cheek of Cordelia,
was exquisite. Never had the sorrows, rage, and
madness of the king been so portrayed, and never
had Garrick more forcibly impressed the pubUc.
"The curse," says Macklin, "exceeded all imag
ination, and had such an effect that it seemed to
electrify the audience with horror. The words
'kiU — kiU — kill,' echoed aU the revenge of the
frantic king, whUst he exhibited such a sense of
the pathetic on discovering Cordelia as drew tears
of commiseration from the whole house. In short,
he made it a chef-d'ceuvre, and a chef-d oeuvre it
continued to the end of his life." Garrick had
carefully studied the expressions and signs of
madness which he so skilfully represented from
one who had suddenly lost his reason through a
dreadful afHiction. This unhappy man, whilst
dandhng his only child, a little girl of whom he
was passionately fond, at his dining-room window,
had let it drop into the flagged area, when it was
instantly kUled. His shrieks summoned the house
hold, who by way of assuaging his grief, placed
the lifeless body of the chUd in his arms. From
that raoment his senses fled for ever. But for
years he alraost daily rehearsed the terrible
tragedy ; seizing a pillow, he would dandle and
caress it, then let it suddenly drop, when he gave

PEG WOFFINGTON 155
vent to the raost heart-piercing shrieks, which
gradually subsided to low, treraulous raoans. Frora
this study Garrick had taken hints for the repre
sentation of King Lear's raadness over the body
of Cordelia which had electrified his audience.

CHAPTER VIII.
Peg Woffington and Garrick Keep House — Old Colley' Cibber
— Drinking Tea at Peggy's Rooms — Fielding, Quin, Mrs.
Porter, Foote, Johnson, and Macklin — Peg Woffington and
Garrick Part — Polly Woffington — Lord Tyrawley's Amour
— George Anne Bellamy — Acting in a. Bam — Captain
Cholmondeley's Marriage — Violette the Dancer — Her
Love for Garrick — Marriage — Peg Woffington Goes to
Covent Garden — Her Dublin Engagement.
|N their return from Dublin, Peg Woffing
ton and Garrick kept house together in
Bow Street, when it was agreed between
them that they should alternately defray the
monthly expenses. Here they entertained the
first wits of the day, and it soon became a stand
ing joke that a more hospitable board was always
spread before their visitors on the month when it
was Peggy's turn to pay the reckoning. What
illustrious men and women, whose names are now
as household words in our mouths, assembled in
her rooms ; what wit and repartee were exchanged
around her board. Here came Samuel Foote, the
prince of wits, the most perfect of mimics, whom
Garrick feared in secret, and concUiated in public ;
and burly-figured Samuel Johnson, now a writer
for the Gentleman' s Magazine, who likewise feared
156

PEG WOFFINGTON 157
Foote, but chuckled heartUy over the jokes he
raade at Davy's expense; and Charles Macklin,
who had always an excellent story to tell, and
told it with the huraour native to his race ; and
Mrs. Porter, who had played to Queen Anne,
and who now delighted in meeting the younger
generation of players who were carrying the town
before them ; and Henry Fielding, who just at
this tirae had produced his coraedy, "The Wed
ding Day," with but little success. And likewise
carae Dr. John Hoadly (son of the right reverend
bishop), a chaplain in the household of the Prince
of Wales, and as became one who held such a
position, a play-writer. It was in Peg Woffing
ton's lodgings, as he raentions in his letters, that
he read Garrick his farce, " The Force of Truth."
Another playwright also frequently visited these
pleasant apartraents in Bow Street, — old Colley
Cibber, an antiquated beau, dramatic author, re
tired player, ex-manager, and most execrable lau
reate, at your service. Watch hira as he enters
Garrick's lodgings ; his ponderous wig falls upon
the shoulders of his velvet coat, richly erabroid
ered at the searas and at the flaps ; his shrunken
shanks are clad in silken stockings ; his feet
encased in high-heeled, silver-buckled shoes ; his
thin fingers are adorned with precious stones ; and
as he presses his gold-laced hat above his heart,
and raakes a low bow to Mistress Wofifington, with
whom 'tis whispered he is in love, there is a world

iS8 PEG WOFFINGTON
of grace in his movements. His thin, sharp fea
tures, aquiline nose, bright small eyes, and great
plumage-like wig, together with his solemn, strut
ting air, give him the appearance of some gro
tesque bird at once venerable and vindictive
looking. Amongst all the actors of the old
school there was none so slow to admit the merits
of Garrick's powers, and old CoUey's sharpest
words were continually hurled at young Davy's
head. Let us picture to ourselves a few of Peg Wof
fington's friends — Ryan, Fielding, Mrs. Porter,
and, of course, Cibber and Garrick — drinking
tea in Peggy's sitting-room in Bow Street; a
high-ceilinged, wainscoted apartment, with quaint
engravings and concave mirrors hanging on the
painted walls, silver sconces branching from the
carved oak chimneypiece, and a polished floor on
which the high heels of the company patter when
they walk. Let us listen to their pleasant banter,
their wit, their friendly bickerings and droll stories.
" Faith, I'm vastly sorry," says old Cibber, with
a wicked twinkle in his eye that belies his words
addressed to Fielding, " that your ' Wedding Day '
didn't bring you more pleasure and profit."
"Much obliged to you, Mr. Cibber," says the
unsuccessful draraatist, "but the public taste has
been spoiled for originality by the plagiarised
rubbish forced down its throat for the last fifty
years."

PEG WOFFINGTON 159
" Ha, ha, ha ! " laughs burly Quin, " that's a
hint for you, Mr. Cibber."
The laureate drew out his box and daintUy
helped hiraself to a pinch of snuff.
"When," said Garrick by way of soothing hira,
" raay we hope to have another coraedy frora Mr.
Cibber's pen ? "
"Psh!" said the old raan, spitefully, throwing
away the snuff he held in his dainty fingers,
" what is the use of my writing another coraedy,
when we have no actors to play it .' "
" It would be impossible, indeed, sir," said Gar
rick, with a malicious sraile hovering on his lips,
"to get actors to play such absurd characters
as 'The Rival Fools.'" This was a coraedy of
Cibber's which had been a dead faUure, and he
now winced at its narae, whilst the others laughed
with a pleasant sense of enjoyraent.
" Now," said the charming hostess from behind
her teakettle, "this is my kingdora, and here I
rule suprerae — "
"Madam," said Cibber, rising from his high-
backed chair, and bowing to her with courtly
grace — " Madam, you rule suprerae in all
hearts. " Much obliged to you, sir," said Peg, with one
of her brightest smiles, "but I was about to say
that I won't have ray subjects quarrel araong
theraselves. We poor players are looked upon
by one half the world as rogues and vagabonds.

i6o PEG WOFFINGTON
and by the other half as soulless puppets ; why
can we not regard each other with kindness ? "
"True, ma'am," says Mrs. Porter, her wrinkled
face beaming all over with kindness.
" Speaking of puppets," said Ryan, in his whis
tling voice, " I'll teU you a story — "
" Ah, you often tell stories, Jimmy," said
Garrick. " A story of the great Betterton, " continued
Ryan, unheeding the interruption. "One day,
being in company with a rustic at Bartholomew
Fair, he went to visit the puppet-show. The
manager refused to take the money. 'Mr. Bet
terton,' says he, 'you are a fellow actor; walk in
and see my company perform, and welcome, sir.'
The rustic, who had never before been within a
a booth or playhouse, expressed himself vastly
delighted by the humour of the puppets. ' Faith,'
he says, 'they are such jolly fellows, I will drink
with them.' Betterton assured him they were but
rags and sticks ; but this the rustic refused to
believe till he was taken behind the scenes, and
saw the once merry company silent now, and laid
pell-raell in a box. On that sarae night Betterton
took him to the theatre, and placed him in front
of the stage, by way of giving him a great treat,
as he and Mrs. Barry were to play in 'The
Orphan ; ' for, thought Betterton, if the fellow
was araazed by the performance of puppets, how
much more wUl he delight in good actors. When

Thomas Betterton
Engraved in mezzotint by R. li. Parkes, after the painting by Sir
Godfrey Kneller

PEG WOFFINGTON i6i
the play was over Betterton raet his friend.
'Well,' says he, 'how liked you the entertain
ment ?' 'I don't know,' replies Hodge ; ' but
'twas well enough for rags and sticks.' "
" Gad," said Garrick, " the opinion of the rustic
and of the great Mr. Johnson about us are much
the same. What did he say the other day ? "
(and Garrick drew down his wig on his forehead,
wrinkled up his face in an iniraitable raanner,
and miraicked Johnson's voice to perfection), " ' a
player, sir, is a fellow who claps a hurap on his
back, and a lurap on his leg, and cries, " I am
Richard the Third." Nay, sir, a ballad-singer is
a higher man, for he does two things ; he repeats
and he sings, there is both recitation and rausic
in his performance ; the player only recites.' "
When they had all laughed at Garrick's iraita
tion : " Egad," says Quin, " I'll teU you what
Lord Lincoln said to rae the other day. 'Quin,'
said he, ''tis the devU of a pity that a clever
fellow like you should be a player.' ' Why,' says
I, in great surprise, 'would you have me a lord ?'"
" Good, good," says Cibber, chuckling in great
glee. "Foote said a good thing last week to the
same noble lord," said Garrick ; " his lordship
asked him to dine, and Foote went, daintUy
decked in lace and ruflfles. As they entered the
roora, his lordship reraarked to Foote that his
handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket.

1 62 PEG WOFFINGTON
'Thank you, my lord,' said Foote, who had pur
posely designed this piece of foppery, and now
resented the remark. 'Thank you; your lord
ship knows the company better than I do.' "
" Ah, he is a witty dog," remarks Peg Woffing
ton. " And, as I Uve, here he comes."
" Speak of the devU — " says Quin.
"And you will mention the narae of one of
your raost intiraate friends," Foote said, entering
the room, and making his bow to those assembled.
"Your servant, Mrs. Woffington."
"A cup of tea, sir.?" said she; and in a mo
ment he was by her side.
" Ah, Mr. Cibber," said he, when he was seated,
" I am glad to see you looking so well."
" Egad, sir," the laureate answered, " at my age
'tis well for a man if he can look at all ; " and in
the enjoyment of this apt speech he shakes his
head, until his wig in tum shakes the powder
from its ponderous folds.
Presently comes a loud knocking at the door;
afterward a heavy step is heard in the hall, and
Samuel Johnson enters, bobbing his scratch-wig in
friendly salutation to all assembled. Then he
seats himself close by Cibber, for whom he had
no love. But the poet laureate thinks well of the
learned Mr. Johnson, whom by and by he will
consult regarding one of the wonderful birthday
odes to royalty, which are the laughing-stock of
the town, but which Cibber considers it his duty

PEG WOFFINGTON 163
to grind out annually frora the heavy raiU-work of
his brain. In a little while the conversation turns
on Macklin, whose head, Quin and Ryan avow,
has been turned by the success of his Shylock,
when suddenly up starts Foote, a raerry twinkle
in his eye, as if on raischief bent. By a raere
effort of will, he rapidly changes the whole ex
pression of his face ; his eyebrows seera to stand
Uke penthouses over his eyes ; his raanner as
suraes an air of vast iraportance.
" Now, raadara," he says, turning to Peg Woffing
ton, in the exact tones of Macklin, "I, Charles
Macklin, tell you there are no good plays araong
the ancients, and only one great one araong the
moderns, and that is the 'Merchant of Venice,'
and there's only one raan can play it. Now,
madara, you have been very attentive, and I'll
tell you an anecdote of that play. When a royal
personage, who shall be nameless, witnessed my
perforraance of the Jew, he sent for rae to his
box, and reraarked, 'Sir, if I were not the prince,
ha — hum — you understand, I should wish to be
Mr. Macklin.' Upon which I answered, ' Sir,
being Mr. Macklin, I do not desire to be — ' "
At this moment a voice interrupts Foote : " No,
I'll be damned if I ever said that ; " and Macklin,
who, araused by Foote's mimicry, had stood at
the door unheeded by the company for sorae
time, enters the room amidst the laughter of all.
Soon after Mrs. Porter rises, and Cibber is

1 64 PEG WOFFINGTON
ready to conduct her, with great gallantry, to her
chair. "Pray, madam, do you carry firearms with you
now ? " said the old feUow, referring to an episode
in her career when she presented a pistol at the
head of a highwayman who had demanded her
purse whilst she drove in her chaise to Hendon.
"No, no, Mr. Cibber," said she, laughing and
shaking her head.
" Did you shoot the vUlain, ma'ara .¦' " asks Peg
Woffington. " No, child ; thank God I didn't," says she.
" For the poor fellow told me he was driven to
the roads to relieve the wants of a starving
family." "And you voluntarily gave him your purse,
ma'am .' " says Johnson, with a look of approba
tion. "And, moreover," added Cibber, "made him
an honest man by finding out the truth of his
story, and raising £60 for him."
" It was bravely done," says Peg Woffington.
"But not more than you would have done,
child," she replies; and erabracing her, she de
parts, leaning on Colley Cibber's arm.
It is now full time for Peggy and Garrick to
prepare for the theatre, so Quin and Ryan take
their leave, and Foote and Fielding depart for
the Bedford, where the former has many friends
awaiting him, with sorae of whom he wUl presently

PEG WOFFINGTON 165
sit in the front benches of the pit at Drury Lane,
and play the part of a critic, with much arause
raent to hiraself and to those who raay have the
benefit of his reraarks.
The connection between Peg Woffington and
Garrick did not last raore than a couple of years.
Save in that art ui which they both held superior
rank, they had little in coraraon. She was ira
petuous, warra-hearted, and extravagant, whilst
Garrick was cold, cautious, and econoraical to a
degree tbat raade hira the butt of a thousand jests
and witticisms. Boswell records that whilst John
son was drinking tea with them once, Garrick
grurabled at her for making it too strong.
" Why," said he, "it is as red as blood."
It was Garrick's month to pay the household
expenditure. Foote, of course, laid hold of this
trait in the great actor's character, and cracked
his jests upon it till David waxed wrathful. One
night when they were both leaving the Bedford,
Garrick dropped a guinea for which he vainly made
diligent search.
" Where on earth can it have gone ? " said Foote.
"To the devil, I think," said the other, irritably,
" Ah, Davy," replied the wit, " let you alone for
making a guinea go farther than any one else."
On hearing which the coffee-house gossips
cackled with laughter, swore 'twas prodigiously
fine, and repeated it all over the town next day.
Yet, for all his saving, econoray was a feature

1 66 PEG WOFFINGTON
which David by no means relished in his friends ;
and one day, when Delane was telling Foote of
Garrick's reflection on another man's parsimony,
he wondered why David would not pluck the beam
out of his own eye first.
" Why, so he would," replied Foote, "if he were
sure of selling the timber."
Notwithstanding the disparity which existed in
their characters, it seemed that, in the first glow
of their friendship, Garrick had intended making
this beautiful woman his wife. Macklin, who was
for a time a close friend of both, and who at one
period kept house with them, believed from many
conversations which he had with Peg Woffington,
that she was assured Garrick would marry her.
Arthur Murphy, who enjoyed the pleasure of her
acquaintance for years, heard her tell at different
times that Garrick went so far as to try the wed
ding-ring on her finger; whUst Boaden asserts
" it was supposed that Garrick had really married
her." Sbe loved him with all the strength of her
nature, hoped to spend her days by his side, to
nestle his chUdren at her breast, to share the
meridian of his fame, to cheer the evening of his
life ; but Garrick, cautious, irresolute, and merce
nary, hesitated tUl such love as he had ever felt
for her drifted from his life.
At last the hour of their separation was at hand.
Macklin tells us how tbey parted. One night
Garrick, returning to his lodgings in Bow Street,

PEG WOFFINGTON 167
found Peg Woffington, who had not been playing
that evening, waiting up for hira. She greeted him
with words that rang like music on the toiler's
ears, when coraing frora the lips of a woman he
loves ; but her ways were quieter than usual, and
in her eyes was a look of thought close kin to
sadness. " Peggy," said Garrick, sitting down beside her
in the shadow of the high, carved oak chimney
piece, ' are you not well .' "
" I ara."
" But you seera dull."
" I have been thinking much whilst here alone
to-night." "And what were the thoughts that raade you
sad .'' " he asked, taking her hand in his.
" Those of ray past life. David, I have been
thinking of our raarriage."
" Oh, is that aU ? " he said, affecting to laugh
lightly. " All .' " she answered. " Marriage raeans a
great deal to a woraan — a great deal to me."
" Yes, yes, yes," he replied, evasively, not know
ing what to say, and feeling that her eyes were
steadily fixed upon hira.
" David," she said, quietly, but in a tone that
was alraost iraploring, " when is it to be .¦' "
" What ? "
" Our raarriage."
" Oh, I can't say now ; we'll talk of it another

1 68 PEG WOFFINGTON
tirae," he replied, rising, as if to end the conver
sation. " Why not speak of it to-night ? "
" Because — because I'm tired."
She had tact, and saw there was no use pur
suing the subject then, so she let it drop.
Next raorning Garrick was restless, ill at ease,
and unusually silent ; it was now her tum to ask
him if all was well with him.
" Well with me ? " he replied, as if disturbed
from a train of thought. " Yes — that is, no ; "
he did not look at her as he spoke.
On the stage she exhibited vivacious audacity
and brilUant courage ; in her home she betrayed a
woman's hopes and fears.
"Will you not tell rae what troubles you?"
she said ; " you know a burden shared loses half
its weight."
"Well," he said, looking down, "I have been
thinking, Peggy, that marriage would be the raost
foolish thing possible for both of us. It would
only hamper us; the knowledge of the fact that
we were chained together would make us mis
erable." The colour carae into her face.
" And your proraises ? " she said.
" Were foolish," he answered ; then he went on
rapidly, " I shall always love you ; let all go on as
before — "
" Until the day comes at last when, grown tired

PEG WOFFINGTON 169
of me, you wiU cast rae off as your discarded rais
tress," she said, rising to her feet, whilst a light
came into her eyes that he recognised as a danger-
signal. "Never, Peggy, I swear to you," he said,
anxious to soothe her at any cost.
"Sir, you are a liar," she replied, her wrath
bursting forth; her cheeks aflame with humUia
tion, her eyes ablaze with indignation. "You
promised to raake me your wife, and I believed —
and loved you ; but now that I know you as you
are, I would not raarry you if you were to ask me
on your knees."
"Peggy," said he, nervously, "don't be unrea
sonable. You know I love you."
" Sir, don't insult rae," she answered, with spirit.
"To-day I leave the house, and I shall never
again willingly interchange a word with you except
on business."
So saying she quitted the roora, unwilling to
hear another word from him. Believing she would
not put her proraises into execution when her
passion cooled, he left the house, to find her gone
on his return in tbe aftemoon. She had left a
parcel for hira containing all the presents he had
given her, with a written request that he might
return such as she had presented hira. Now
amongst those mementoes wbich the liberal and
warra-hearted Wofifington had given hira, were a
handsorae pair of diaraond shoe-buckles of consid-

I70 PEG WOFFINGTON
erable value. With these he was unwilling to
part, and accordingly, when he returned her pres
ents, the most considerable of all was missing.
"She waited a month," says Macklin, "to see
whether he would return them ; she then wrote
him a letter delicately touching on the circum
stance. To this Garrick replied, saying, ' as they
were the only little memorials he had of the many
happy hours which passed between thera, he hoped
she would permit him to keep thera for her sake.'
Peg Woffington saw through this, but had too
much spirit to reply ; and he retained the buckles,
to the last hour of his life."
Garrick, according to Miss Bellamy's " Memoirs,"
"languished for a reconciliation," but to this Peg
Woffington would not consent. Soon after her
departure from Bow Street she took up her resi
dence at Teddington, when she sent for her sister
Polly, for whose education in a French convent
she had for years past generously paid. It was
her intention to bring her sister forward on the
stage, as an actress, and in order to test her abili
ties she got up a private performance of "The
Distressed Mother," the important part of Her-
raione being allotted to Miss Polly, and Andromache
to a young lady who rejoiced in the somewhat
singular names of George Anne Bellamy, of
whom the world was to hear overrauch for the
next half century. However, it was not only her
naraes and subsequent career which were remark-

PEG WOFFINGTON 171
able, but also the circumstances attending her
entrance on the world's stage.
At the age of sweet fourteen. Miss Seal, who
afterward becarae the mother of George Anne
Bellamy, eloped from a highly genteel boarding-
school in Queen's Square with my Lord Tyrawley,
an Irish nobleman reraarkable for his gallantry, a
soldier distinguished for his bravery, a raan of
parts reraarkable for his wit. The young lady,
who was captivated by his assiduous addresses,
took up her residence with ray lord at Soraerset
House, where she was treated with all honour and
respect. These two had not dwelt within one
house for quite twelve months, when the noble
lord was ordered to join his regiment in Ireland ;
it being all the more necessary for him to depart,
because his property in that country required his
inspection. He therefore tore himself away from
the lady whom he loved, and whom he left in a
state of distraction.
Arriving in Ireland, he found his affairs in a
desperate condition, an unjust steward having
taken an opportunity of enriching himself and
leaving his lordship poor indeed. There was clearly
but one reraedy by which he could retrieve his
fallen fortunes, and that was by marriage. Here
were all the elements of romance, ready for the
strong hand of Fate to mould into tragedy or
comedy at will. His affairs being urgent, my lord
looked around him for a mate possessing wealth.

172 PEG WOFFINGTON
and selected as the object of his choice Lady Mary
Stewart, daughter of the Earl of Blessington, who
had a fortune of thirty thousand pounds.
Though her ladyship was by no means hand
some, her figure was described as genteel, and her
disposition engaging. To her the noble lord paid
his devoirs, postponing to tell the lady of his heart
residing at Somerset House the necessity that had
arisen for his marriage. Now it happened that my
Lord Blessington had heard much of Miss Seal,
who indeed called herself Lady Tyrawley; and
being anxious for his daughter's happiness, he
wrote a vastly polite note to the lady, asking if
her connection with her lover had been broken off,
informing her at the same time that his motive for
this inquiry was his lordship's approaching mar
riage with my Lady Mary. Whereon the lady
of Soraerset House fell into a violent rage, and in
her fury sent back to Earl Blessington every letter
she had received from her lover, each one contain
ing ardent protestations of eternal love and fideUty.
Among these, in her blind fury, she enclosed one
she had just received, the seal of which she had
not even broken. In this Lord Tyrawley con
fessed to her his loss of fortune, the entanglement
of his affairs, his approaching marriage with one
whora, he said, he would tarry with not a day
longer than was necessary for hira to receive her
portion. Then he would immediately fly on the
wings of love to her who alone possessed his heart.

PEG WOFFINGTON 173
He added by way of detaU that Lady Mary was
ugly and foolish, but he had elected to raarry her
rather than a woraan who was sensible and beauti
ful, lest these charras might wean him from the
affection of one who was his wife in the sight of
Heaven. At reading this charming and express
ive letter, my Lord Blessington was flung into a
state of fury bordering on madness ; when he
recovered, he forbade his daughter ever to see the
perfidious Tyrawley again. It is highly probable
she would have obeyed, but that she had already
privately raarried his lordship, who, not being quite
certain as to the old earl's sentiraents toward hira,
had at all hazards resolved in this manner to
secure the lady, or rather her fortune. But even
a guinea of this the earl now refused to give ;
whereupon the bridegroora deraanded and obtained
a separation frora his wife, and returning to Eng
land, had suflficient interest to be sent at his
request as minister to one of the foreign courts.
In the next scene of this roraance. Miss Seal,
late of Somerset House, became an actress, and
went over to Dublin, where her connection with
Lord Tyrawley being well known, she caused sorae
attention. Here she reraained for several years.
In the raeantirae, her lover forgave her, frequently
wrote to her, and pressed her to join hira in Lis
bon. To this she at last consented, and, arriving
in that city. Lord Tyrawley, for reasons of his own,
placed her in the family of a British merchant^

174 PEG WOFFINGTON
where he occasionally visited her. Whilst in Lis
bon she met with an English gentleman named
Bellamy, who, struck by her charms and unac
quainted with her situation, became enamoured of
her and solicited her hand. This she refused,
until one day it came to her ears that my lord
had an intrigue with a lady named Donna Anna,
when, in a fit of jealousy, she accepted Bellamy's
offer, married him, sailed with him for Ireland,
and in a few months, to his infinite surprise, pre
sented him with a daughter. So ungrateful was
he that he instantly abandoned her, and never saw
her again. The child, who was named George
Anne Bellamy, being Tyrawley's offspring, his
lordship gave instructions to have her taken care
of, sent her, when of proper age, to be educated in
a French convent, and then handed her over to
the charge of a lady of quality.
In the meantime, Mrs. Bellamy returned to the
stage, and as she had never exhibited any talent in
that line, was soon reduced to extreme poverty.
This condition had been considerably hastened by
the fact that a mere boy, whom she had recently
married — the son of Sir George Walter — had
stripped her of all the valuables she possessed,
and, dressing a companion of his in his wife's
finery, set off with her to join his regiment at
Gibraltar, Whilst in this state, she sought an
interview with her daughter, and besought her
to take up her residence with her, believing that

PEG WOFFINGTON 175
in such case Lord Tyrawley would allow her the
sura of one hundred a year, wbich he had stipu
lated to pay the lady of quality for George Anne's
maintenance. Her daughter consented to the pro
posal, which, however, had not the result Mrs.
Bellamy expected ; for, not only did he refuse her
an allowance, but he wrote to England renouncing
his daughter for ever.
At this period of her history. Peg Wofifington
met Mrs. Bellamy, whom she had forraerly known
in the Dublin theatre, and, with that ready gen
erosity which was always a marked trait in her
character, invited the unhappy woraan and her
daughter to stay at Teddington, This offer Mrs.
Bellaray quickly accepted, and George Anne, being
rauch of the sarae age as Polly Wofifington, was
asked to take part in the perforraance which was
to test the histrionic powers of that young lady.
A barn was fitted up as a theatre for the occasion,
which was considered by Herraione and Androra-
ache as one of vast importance. Peg Woffington
and Mrs, Bellamy played the parts of attendants,
the great Garrick undertook the character of
Orestes, and the barn was crowded by people
of the first fashion and quality in the neighbour
hood. It was indeed a rauch raore eventful per
forraance for the two young girls who sustained
the principal parts than even they iraagined, for
the beautiful blue-eyed Bellamy gave such proofs
of her power as at once indicated her career.

176. PEG WOFFINGTON
whUst charming Polly Woffington made a con
quest of the Hon, Captain Cholmondeley's heart,
and frora that hour kept it through life till death.
The captain, a staid man and good, who subse
quently left the array to enter the Church, was
a younger son of Earl Cholraondeley, a nobleraan
excessively poor and proud, Walpole, in one of
his pleasant epistles, tells us of a "terrible dis
grace " which befell his lordship " t'other night at
Ranelagh. You know all the history of his letters
to borrow money to pay for damask for his fine room
at Richmond, As he was going in, in the crowd, a
woraan offered hira roses — ' right damask, my
lord.' He concluded she had been put upon it."
After a short courtship. Captain Cholmondeley
offered his heart and hand to Miss Polly, who hav
ing already stolen the one, now willingly enough
accepted the other. When the old earl, whose
household goods had by this tirae been seized for
debt, heard of this intended alliance, he broke out
in great wrath ; for not only was the object of his
son's choice the sister of a player, but she had not
a penny fortune, save what the actress raight allow
her. He therefore posted in great haste to see
Peg Woffington, in order to break off the raatch
between the young people if possible. Peg re
ceived him graciously, and by her soft words
helped to turn away the first impetuous rush of
his anger,
"They love each other, my lord," she said,

PEG WOFFINGTON 177
calmly, "and I see for both a fair prospect of
happiness," " Love and happiness, madara," said he, as if
much disgusted by the probabUity of such a future.
" Pshaw, let us speak sense ; the fellow has not a
penny save his pay, and this marriage will be their
ruin." "I think, ray lord," she answered, "that honest
love soraetimes saves lives from wreckage,"
" To be plain, raadara," said he, " ray son is a
man of quality, and might marry a fortune."
" Whilst the girl he honours with his attentions
is but the sister of a player," she said. " But, my
lord, her name is spotless ; she is by education a
gentlewoman, and she shall not be dowerless,"
At hearing this latter piece of intelligence his
lordship felt inclined to view the union with less
horror. By degrees, indeed, be becarae so sub
dued under the influence of Peggy's good sense
and powers of fascination that, before he left, he
declared himself satisfied with the raarriage he
had come to break off. As he stood up to take
his departure, he begged that dear Mrs. Woffing
ton would forgive his being previously offended
with his son's conduct.
" Previously offended," repeated she. " It is I
who have cause for offence, my lord,"
" Why, dear raadara, how can that be ,' " asked
he, in amazeraent,
" Because," said Peggy, speaking with emphasis.

178 PEG WOFFINGTON
" I had but one beggar to support, and now I shaU
have two ; " and she curtseyed, to show the inter
view was at an end.
The marriage took place in 1746, and Mrs.
Cholmondeley became " a bright and airy " raatron,
living on terms of friendship with Johnson, Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldsmith, and the celeb
rities of her age. Peg Woffington lived to see
four chUdren born to her sister, two of whom
subsequently married into the noble houses of
Townshend and BeUingham.
Now in the same year that saw Mrs. Cholmon
deley a bride, there arrived in town a young lady,
fair to look upon, who in a little while filled that
place in Garrick's life which he had once promised
Peg Woffington she should occupy. This lady
was the daughter of a respectable inhabitant of
Vienna, and had been baptised Eva Maria Veigel.
Destined to become a dancer by profession, she
was received as a pupil by M. HUferding, the
celebrated mattre de ballet, who with others whom
he taught, introduced her to the court, in order to
form a class for the royal chUdren. Her grace
and beauty attracted the attention of the Empress
Maria Theresa, who desired she should change her
name from Veigel (which in Vienna patois signifies
Violet) to Violette, The admiration of the em
press for the young dancer soon becoming shared
by the emperor, Frederick I., her Imperial Majesty,
in order to prevent unpleasant consequences, hur-

PEG WOFFINGTON 179
ried her off to London, furnishing her at the sarae
time with favourable reeoraraendations to English
ladies of the first importance, amongst whom were
the sister Countesses of Burlington and Talbot.
Both of these ladies received Mademoiselle Violette
— who, it may be remarked, arrived in the costurae
of a page — with open arras, exerting, as Walpole
says, " their stores of sullen partiality and compe
tition for her." My Lady Burlington had her
portrait painted, and carried her to the houses of
her friends, whUst my Lady Talbot introduced her
to Frederick, Prince of Wales, the doors of whose
court were ever opened to singers, fiddlers, and
dancers. As his Royal Highness was politely
supposed to be at once judge and patron of all the
arts, his opinions were always listened to, and his
suggestions followed with that attention due to a
princely connoisseur. It was an anxious moraent,
therefore, for the sister countesses when he pro
nounced judgment on the Violette. To their
delight, he praised her in rapturous terms ; but in
order that her moveraents might acquire a greater
grace, he suggested that she should take lessons
frora his favourite, Denoyer, a French gentleraan
of rare talent, who to his various professions of
dancing-raaster, fiddler, and spy, added the raore
useful occupation of raan raidwife. This advice
the Violette, being no courtier, neglected to fol
low, whereby she lost the favour and patronage of
this remarkable prince.

i8o PEG WOFFINGTON
With such support as that of the charming
countesses, it was the easiest thing possible for
her to get an engagement as dancer at the Opera
House ; all the more so as it was at this time gov
erned by a company of lords and men of quality,
headed by my Lord Middlesex, who devoted their
elegant leisure to diverting the town in this way,
to the ruination of their fortunes. Accordingly
she made her d^but in October, 1746, on which
occasion George IL was induced to lend his august
presence, as likewise that of his fair, fat Gerraan
raistress, Madarae Walmoden. The fashionable
part of the town was thrown into a state of vast
excitement over the first appearance of this
dancer, who had brought with her the commenda
tions of an empress. The Opera House was
crowded by a briUiant company ; and there, at the
wings, was my Lady Burlington, ready to hold the
Violette's pelisse whUst she was on, and to wrap
it around her when she came off the stage. When
the Violette danced, it was declared that never
had there been such a union of grace and beauty.
The whole house rose in its enthusiasm, and ap
plauded again and again untU the charming dan
seuse came forward, bright colour dyeing her
olive cheek, her dark eyes glistening with excite
ment, and bowed her thanks repeatedly. In the
Wentworth correspondence, my Lord Strafford
thought it worth mentioning that the Violette
"surprised her audience at her first appearance

PEG WOFFINGTON i8i
upon the stage ; for at her beginning to caper she
showed a neat pair of black velvet breeches, with
rolled stocking ; but finding they were unusual in
England, she changed them the next time for a
pair of white drawers."
If she lost the patronage of Frederick, Prince
of Wales, she gained favour in the eyes of the
king, who, though ancient, was amorous, and could
yet leer at a pretty woraan, and stutter corapli
raents in broken English in their ears. According
to a rare and curious paraphlet entitled "The
Meraoirs of St. Jaraes's," printed by H. Carpenter,
in Fleet Street, about the year 1749, his Gracious
Majesty conceived a raost violent admiration for
her, " insorauch that, notwithstanding the pressing
exigency of state affairs, he could not abstain so
much as one evening frora viewing the delightful
performances of this new charmer, whose graceful
personage and active accoraplishraents raade such
warra irapressions on his old heart that they en
tirely obliterated all the affection that he had for
merly conceived for the adorable Walraoden. So
that at one raoment the countess lost all the
empire over his soul that she had maintained the
possession of for ever so raany years. But such was
the dexterity of his Majesty that, notwithstanding
his hasty teraper and choleric disposition, he found
means to keep his new passion a secret from her
for sorae tirae, to prevent those doraestic feuds and
strifes which he raust be certain it would occasion

102 PEG WOFFINGTON
as soon as ever she should perceive the least spark
of that flame which burnt so vehemently in his
breast," The king, therefore, employed a courtier,
leamed in the ways of love, to plead his cause,
"contenting himself with the sole pleasure of
enjoying a sight of his charmer through his per
spective glass whenever she made her appearance
in pubhc ; neither could the penetrating Walmoden
take the least umbrage at his constant attendance
at the opera, as she had always been a great pro
moter of that amusement,"
The Violette, however, would not listen to the
pleadings of love made by the courtier on behalf
of his king. Had it, she answered, been her
desire to acquire wealth or rank at the expense of
her reputation, it would have been in her power
to have accepted of such long since. This was
language foreign indeed to his Gracious Majesty's
ears, and his disappointment was great. To make
matters worse, the Walmoden came to hear of the
king's inconstancy, when in a violent rage "she
flew to the king's apartments, and meeting with
him alone, upbraided hira in the most bitter and
opprobrious terms with his injurious treatment of
her. He, no longer able to disguise the want
of his former affection for her, much provoked at
her coming to the knowledge of the affair, and
more vexed at the lingering disappointments that
had all along attended the course of his amour,
was so incensed that, having no longer command

PEG WOFFINGTON 183
over himself or his passion, nor any regard to her
person or sex, he returned her volleys of upbraid-
ings with such smart blows as soon forced her to
quit the chamber."
The Violette was, however, carefully guarded
by her patronesses, and for awhile all went well
at the Opera House ; but she was soon destined
to raeet with sorae unpleasantness. Her refusal
to take dancing lessons frora Denoyer at the
prince's special request was the means of bringing
her into disgrace with that illustrious personage
and his butterfly court ; and my Lord Middlesex,
seeing in her a rival to his mistress, the famous
Nardi, quarrelled with "the raost adraired dancer
in the world," seized this opportunity of involving
the whole minage of the opera in the altercation,
dissolved the coraraittee of noble lords and pretty
gentleraen, and shut up the Opera House. Great
was the sensation which followed ; for ray lord not
only closed the Opera House, but his exchequer
likewise, and declined to pay anybody, save indeed
the composer Gluck, who had highly diverted the
town during the season by playing on a set of
drinking-glasses modulated with water. In reward
for this ingenious talent Gliick received a bad note
from his lordship, whilst the principal man dancer,
by reason of his being left penniless, was arrested
for debt, when the poor, fantastic fellow was
mercUessly thrown into durance vUe,
But the Violette was not long without another

184 PEG WOFFINGTON
engagement, and she accordingly made her ap
pearance at Drury Lane on the 3d of Deceraber,
1746, when she danced between the acts in com
pany with Signor Salomon, Now the Violette
had some months before this sat one night in the
Countess of Burlington's box, and seen Garrick
act, whereon she fell in love with him. When a
little later the actor met her at one of the drawing-
rooms of his fashionable friends, he had at first
sight returned her love ; and from that hour Peg
Woffington was forgotten. To woo the Violette
was not an easy matter, for my Lady Burlington
was not pleased to regard him in the light of a
suitor with favourable eyes. Garrick had not
then reached the raeridian of his farae, and the
countess was of opinion that other suitors more
eligible with regard to fortune and position might
claim the hand of her beautiful protdgde. There
were indeed many men of the first rank and
fashion ever ready to flutter around her wherever
she went, and amongst these was WUliam, fifth
Earl of Coventry, whose admiration was plain to
all, though his intentions were not quite so certain
to the world. Horace Walpole tells an amusing
story of my lord following the Violette, who was
under my Lady Burlington's arni at a fine masquer
ade. Seeing this, the countess pulled off her glove,
and moved her wedding-ring up and down her
finger. "Which," says Walpole, "it seems was
to signify that no other terms would be accepted."

PEG WOFFINGTON 185
A short time after, the same writer speaks of
the Violette and Garrick being at "the prettiest
entertainment in the world," given by the Duchess
of Richmond, which was honoured by the presence
of the king, the Princess Emily, the Duke of
Cumberland, and his mistress, Peggy Banks. Two
black princes, the Duke of Modena, the mad
Duchess of Queensbury (dressed in a white apron
and white hood). Lady Lincoln, Lord Holderness,
"all the Fitzes upon earth," and everybody of
fashion in town were likewise present. The gar
dens at Richmond House, Whitehall, sloped down
to the Tharaes, on which lighters were moored.
On these "a concert of water music was per
formed," after which a vast nuraber of rockets
were thrown into the air; then wheels, ranged
along the rails of the terrace, were let off, and
fireworks discharged frora the boats which covered
the river ; and finally there was the illuraination
of a pavUion on the top of the slope, in the bright
glare of which the shore and the adjacent houses
were seen thronged with spectators. The king
and the Princess Eraily "bestowed theraselves
upon the raob," whilst the Duke of Cumberland,
with Peggy Banks and pretty Mrs. Pitt, who was
likewise supposed to share a corner of his royally
capacious heart, sang "God Save the King," by
way of setting a good example to the crowd. The
observed of all observers was the Duke of Modena,
a charming creature, who " instead of wearing his

i86 PEG WOFFINGTON
wig down to his nose to hide the humour in his
face, has taken to paint his forehead white, which,
however, with the large quantity of red that he
always wears on the rest of his face, raakes him
ridiculous enough." The Duchess of Richmond
had asked Garrick, whilst Lady Burlington had
brought the Violette ; but the countess kept such
a guard upon her prot6g^e that the lovers could
do no more than sigh and ogle each other the
whole night. Presently Sabbatini, one of the
Duke of Modena's court, came up to Walpole and
asked who all the people were.
"And who is that ? " said he.
" C'est mUadi Hartingdon, la belle fiUe du Due
de Devonshire."
" Et qui est cette autre dame .' "
It was a distressing question ; after a little hesi
tation, Walpole repUed, "Mais c'est MademoiseUe
Violette." "Et comment Mademoiselle Violette! J'ai
connu une MademoiseUe Violette par exemple."
Walpole begged him to look at Miss Bishop, a
fashionable beauty.
But love, who laughs at locksmiths, no doubt
behaves in the same irapertinent manner to count
esses ; at all events, Garrick found opportunities
of meeting the Violette in secret, when they ex
changed vows of eternal fidelity. Long years
afterward she used to tell how the great actor
once dressed himself up as an old woman in order

PEG WOFFINGTON 187
to convey her a letter. Unable to extinguish the
love which had taken possession of the dancer's
heart for Garrick, ray Lady Burlington at last
gave her consent to their union, and one fine
morning early in June, 1749, the dancer and the
actor were wedded. A marriage settleraent of
ten thousand pounds was raade upon the bride ;
my Lady Burlington giving six thousand, and
Garrick the remauiing sura.
It happened tbat in 1747, a period at which
Garrick had begun to give proof of his devotion to
the Violette, he becarae joint patentee, with Lacy,
of Drury Lane Theatre, a circurastance especially
disagreeable to Peg Woffington, whose engage
ment to Lacy obliged her to continue a meraber
of his corapany for the coraing season, Garrick,
according to Macklin, felt likewise erabarrassed ;
but what made Peggy's "situation more critical,"
he adds, "was the interference of Mrs, Cibber,
Pritchard, and Clive, particularly the latter, who,
being naturally quick as well as coarse in her
passion, frequently drew upon her the sarcastic
replies of Woffington, who raade battle with a
better grace and the utraost composure of temper."
The first hour she was free, she withdrew her
services from Drury Lane, and went over to Cov
ent Garden, under Rich's raanageraent, and during
the first raonths of her engagements here won a
fresh triumph by her personation of Lady Jane
Grey in Rowe's tragedy of that name. Never, it

i88 PEG WOFFINGTON
was said, was her beautiful face, her graceful fig
ure, seen to better advantage, whilst her pathos
raoved the house to tears. Not satisfied with the
success she had already gained, when the theatre
closed during the sumraer months of 1748, she
crossed over to Paris, in order to take lessons
from the famous MUe. DumesnU. From the day
when little Peg Woffington had leamed French
and dancing from Madame Violante, she had never
failed to seize on every possible opportunity of
improving herself ; and now, not satisfied with her
position as the first actress in England, she, recog
nising the greater excellence of the Frenchwoman,
resolved to become her pupU, The Dumesnil was
at this time at the head of her profession Ln
France, Her elocution was considered unsur
passed, her actions pronounced classical in their
grace, and her raanner the reflection of nature, it
being her chief study to identify herself with the
character she personated. Peg Woffington studied
her closely, and on her return from Paris played
Veturia, in Thomson's "Coriolanus," which the
town vastly admired. Like a true artist, it was
the arabition of her life to gain the public favour,
and the result was such as usuaUy attends such
endeavours. In Veturia she sacrificed her beauty
to the propriety of the character by painting her
face with wrinkles and other unlovely signs of
age ; and again she frequently accepted inferior
parts in plays in order to strengthen the cast.

PEG WOFFINGTON 189
Tate WUkinson bears evidence that "she never
perraitted her love of pleasure and conviviality to
occasion the least defect in her duty to the public
as a perforraer. Six nights in the week has been
often her appointed lot for playing, without raur-
muring ; she was ever ready at the call of the
audience, and though in possession of all the
first line of characters, yet she never thought it
improper or a degradation of her consequence
to constantly play parts which are mentioned as
insults in the country if offered to a lady of
consequence," So rauch could not be said for other actresses
of her tirae, who delighted in harassing the souls of
their raanagers by the refusal of parts, as well as
by convenient illnesses which were wont to attack
thera at their own sweet wills. This was, indeed,
a constant practice not only with Mrs, Cibber, but
with Quin and Barry likewise, who were at this
tirae raerabers of the Covent Garden Company.
At a few hours' notice they frequently sent word
that they were attacked with an illness, whereon
the tragedies they were advertised to perform were
substituted for the sprightly comedies in which
Peg Wofifington was always certain to draw a
crowded house. Considering this treatraent un
just, the latter protested against it ; but this not
having the desired effect, she threatened that if it
occurred again she would likewise be seized with a
convenient illness. Soon after it happened that

19° PEG WOFFINGTON
Mrs. Cibber was announced to play Jane Shore,
but almost at the last moraent she declared herself
too indisposed to act, and Peg Woffington was
instead announced to perform Sir Harry Wildair ;
but just as the doors of the playhouse were opened,
she despatched a message to the manager that she
also had suddenly been taken Ul, and would be
unable to play that evening. Therefore, the only
thing that could be done was to substitute another
comedy. This the remaining members of the com
pany performed so badly that the audience became
incensed to a degree, and resolved to punish the
offending absentees in general for their capricious
conduct, and Peg Wofifington in particular for
having disappointed them on this special occasion.
Accordingly, when a couple of nights later she
appeared as Lady Jane Grey, for the first time in
her life she was received with a storm of disappro
bation. She stood still a moment speechless from
surprise, when the audience bade her ask pardon.
"Whoever saw her tbat night," says Tate Wil-
.kinson, who tells the story in his interesting mem
oirs, " will own they never beheld any figure half
so beautiful since. Her anger gave a glow to her
complexion, and even added lustre to her charm
ing eyes. She behaved with great resolution, and
treated their rudeness with glorious contempt.
She left the stage, was called for, and with in
finite persuasion was prevaUed upon to retum.
She did return, walked forward, and told them she

PEG WOFFINGTON 191
was then ready and wiUing to perform her charac
ter if they chose to perrait her ; that the decision
was theirs, on or off, just as they pleased, — it was
a matter of indifference to her. The ons had it,
and all went smoothly afterward."
She attributed the origin of the storm to the
contrivance of the manager, who took this means
of frightening her against being ill at an inoppor
tune moment, and therefore resenting it as an
insult, refused to engage herself to him at the
end of the season. The only other theatre open
to her in London was Drury Lane, and Garrick
being manager of this, she was reluctant to serve
under his generalship. At this crisis she tumed
her thoughts to the playhouses of her native city,
crossed the channel, and was engaged by Tom
Sheridan, father of the famous dramatist, for the
season of 175 1, at a salary of ;^400.

CHAPTER IX.
Thomas Sheridan, the Manager — Letter to Garrick — Becomes
a, Manager — Conditions of the Playhouse — A Theatrical
Riot and Its Result — Dublin before the Union — Lionel,
Duke of Dorset, at the Castle — Diversions of the Town —
High Life and Low — Mrs. Butler, Miss Bellamy, and David
Garrick — A Strange Love-letter — Mrs. Butler's Present.
JHOMAS SHERIDAN, the manager of
the Dublin theatres with whom Peg
Wofifington now engaged, was a man
whose name is intimately connected with the his
tory of the Irish stage. A son of the Rev. Doctor
Sheridan and godson of Dean Swift of witty mem
ory, he had been educated at Westminster School,
and had graduated at Trinity College, Dublin,
where he was yet reading for a fellowship when
David Garrick paid his first visit to the Irish
capital. Seeing the great actor perform, Sheridan
was seized by stage fever, and abandoning all idea
of becoming a fellow, he, to the intense indigna
tion of his friends, left college and became a player.
His appearance on the boards of Sraock Alley
Theatre on the 29th of January, 1743, in the char
acter of Richard IIL, caused considerable sensation
in the town. He was in the twenty-third year of
192

PEG WOFFINGTON 193
his age ; his appearance was handsome, his voice
mellow and expressive, and his d6but a decided
success. He next played OtheUo, Hamlet, Cato,
and Brutus, when his acting gained so rapidly on
the town that he became the rage ; his narae was
on all men's lips. "So great," says Davis, "was
his influence over the Dublin audience, tbat Quin,
who arrived in that city during the first warra glow
of Mr. Sheridan's prosperity, with an intention to
act a nuraber of characters and put a handsorae
sura of raoney in his pocket (a custora which he
had often practised), was obliged to quit the me
tropolis with disgust, if not in disgrace. He was
told by the proprietors that all the acting days
during the remainder of the winter were engaged
to the new actor."
His fame readUy spreading across the channel,
Garrick wrote to hira suggesting that he might
share the honours of London town with hira.
Sheridan's interesting reply to this is preserved
in the Garrick correspondence, dated AprU, 1743.
He comraences by apologising for not having
answered Garrick's obliging letter with greater
speed, more than a fortnight having passed since
he had received it ; but during that tirae he had
had three new characters to study as well as to
play, — Othello being one of thera. He thanks
Garrick for his invitation to pass the suraraer with
him at Walton, — an enjoyment which the posture
of his affairs wUl not permit. However, it is not

194 PEG WOFFINGTON
iraprobable but that he may see London about the
middle of May, as he intends to take a jaunt of
pleasure there if all goes weU. Then he continues :
" I have not as yet fixed any scherae for the next
winter, but I have been offered such advantageous
terras as will, I believe, detain rae here till January
at least. As to your proposal of our playing to
gether, I ara afraid I have too many powerful
reasons against it ; a well-cut pebble may pass for
a diamond tUl a fine brUliant is placed near it, and
puts it out of countenance. (A bold metaphor
that; or, as Bayes says, 'Egad, that's one of my
bold strokes ! ') Besides, we should clash so much
in regard to characters that I ara afraid it is
impossible we can be in the sarae house. Richard,
Haralet, and Lear, as they are your favourite
characters, are mine also ; and though you were
so condescending to say I might appear in any
part of yours, yet I question whether the town
would bear to see a worse performer in one of
your characters in the same house with you,
though they might endure him in another." He
has, however, a scheme to propose to Garrick,
which at first view may seera a little extraordinary,
but which, if rightly considered, might turn to the
advantage of both ; which is that Garrick might
be brought to divide his immortality with him,
when, like Castor and Pollux, they might always
appear in different hemispheres, or in plain Eng
lish, they might divide the kingdoms between

PEG WOFFINGTON 195
them, one playing one winter in Dublin, and
another in London — when they would be always
new in both kingdoms, and consequently the more
followed. "But raore of this," he concludes,
" when I have the pleasure of raeeting you. Pray
reraeraber ray best respects to Mrs. Wofifington.
I should own rayself unpardonable in not having
wrote to her, were it in ray power ; but I have
been already suflficiently punished at the loss of so
agreeable a correspondent, for I assure you I have
a long tirae envied her pretty Chronon that pleas
ure ; as soon as I have a raoraent to spare, I
intend to do rayself the honour to write to her."
Sheridan in a short tirae quarrelled with the
raanager of Sraock Alley, when he went over to
the opposition playhouse in Aungier Street, and
back again to the theatre in which he raade his
first appearance. Dissatisfied with the condition
of things here, he crossed the channel, and in
March, 1744, played at Covent Garden in oppo
sition to Garrick, to which theatre he succeeded
in drawing great audiences. Two playhouses in
Dublin not finding suflficient support, the pro
prietors wisely agreed that the one corapany
should play alternately at each house, and invited
Sheridan to take the full raanageraent. This he
accepted, and returned to Dublin within the sarae
year as he had quitted it.
Now, at this period the Dublin theatres had
been fast hastening to ruin frora bad raanageraent.

196 PEG WOFFINGTON
the wretched acting of stock companies, and cer
tain liberties allowed a portion of the audiences.
Araongst the latter it was the habit of the under
graduates frora the college to visit the theatre for
the midday rehearsal, crowding the stage to such
an extent that the players were surrounded by a
circle of those precocious youths, who made audible
comments not always of the most complimentary
order, and cracked jests of the freest character.
At night the " college boys," as they were called,
together with the young men of quality about
town, thronged behind the scenes, or crowded the
greenroom, where they diverted themselves accord
ing to their desires, — flocking on to the stage
when the curtain went up, where they lounged
at the entrances, crossed before the footlights,
and exchanged civilities, or the reverse, with the
pit and boxes, at their own sweet wills duruig the
performance. These abuses Sheridan was deter
mined to abolish ; but time-honoured customs that
admitted such pleasant liberties were not to be
removed in a day, and for three years he struggled
against thera with but slight success. At last
a circurastance occurred which, though at first
fraught with discord and danger, resulted in gain
ing him the assistance of the town in preserving
order and decency in his theatre.
It happened one night in January, 1747, whilst
the coraedy of " ./Esop " was being performed, a
young man of quaUty, named Kelly, entered the

PEG WOFFINGTON 197
theatre. This pretty fellow, being inflamed with
wine, was in a mood to divert hiraself, for which
laudable purpose he presently clirabed over the
spikes, with which it was at that tirae found
necessary to divide the orchestra from the pit.
Getting on to the stage in this raanner, he rushed
into the greenroom, where he met Mrs. Dyer, an
actress of excellent character, whom he addressed
in terms that obliged her and the other women
present to fly to their respective dressing-rooms,
to which he proraptly followed thera. Hearing
the noise, Sheridan, who was in his private roora,
carae out, and seeing Kelly was more merry than
wise, ordered some of his men to carry hira to the
pit whence he carae. At this interference with
his pleasure the pretty young gentleraan was
raighty indignant, and taking a basket frora one
of the orange-woraen who were then allowed to
vend fruit in the pit, when Sheridan appeared, he
began to pelt him with oranges. So excellent was
his aim that one of thera struck the visor the man
ager wore in his character of .^Esop, and cut his
forehead ; on this Sheridan appealed to the audi
ence. Kelly then stood up and informed him he
was a scoundrel and a rascal, to which the man
ager replied he was as good a gentleman as he;
those in the pit then obliged Kelly to sit down.
But at the end of the play his spirit was up again,
and bent on raischief, he forced his way through
the stage door, rushed to Sheridan's roora, and told

igS PEG WOFFINGTON
him he was a rascal and a scoundrel. By way of
rewarding him for such information the manager
thrashed him soundly, and had him turned out-of-
doors. With face sadly swoUen and blood-smeared,
and clothes torn and soiled, this young gentleman,
alas, no longer pretty, betook himself to the Brown
Bear Coffee-house, where those of his kind most
did congregate. To them he told a lamentable
tale, garnished with such additions and improve
ments as were best calculated to rouse the ire
sleeping in their ruffle-adorned breasts. Sheridan,
quoth he, had said he was as good a gentleman as
any in the house ; and when he (Kelly), burning
with exasperation, had gone behind the scenes to
avenge this insult, he had been held hand and foot
by the manager's servants, whilst the said manager
beat him. Then, said they, this shall not be. No
scoundrel play-actor shall be allowed to beat a
pretty gentleman with impunity. If such were
permitted, why, the end of the world might be
expected any day. Great was their indignation,
and fervent their vows of vengeance, which not
only threatened Sheridan, but those who should
take his part. A theatrical storm was therefore
promptly expected. A few days later, Sheridan
was advertised to play Horatio in " The Fair Peni
tent," upon which he received several letters, cards,
and messages from his friends, begging him not to
venture outside his door that evening, and to have
his house well guarded.

PEG WOFFINGTON 199
This advice he coraplied with, fortunately for
himself, for the theatre was that night packed
with Kelly's friends. When it was announced
that Sheridan was unable to appear, about fifty
of those, with Kelly at their head, rose in the
pit, and, with a cry of rage and disappointment,
scrambled on to the stage ; from thence they im
mediately rushed to the greenroom and the dress
ing-rooms, forcing open all doors that were locked,
in eager pursuit of their prey. But the manager
was not to be found. They next proceeded to the
wardrobe, and, by way of feeling if he were in any
of the chests or presses, ran their swords through
the valuable costuraes these contained. They next
set out for his house in Dorset Street, but, seeing
it was guarded, and believing safety the better
part of valour, they retired, harbouring their ven
geance for another occasion. Next day nothing
was spoken of all over Dublin but this atterapted
outrage. The citizens having a keen interest in
matters theatrical, this subject of the hour was
regarded by one and all almost as a raatter of per
sonal interest. The town was therefore divided
into two parties, unequal in nuraber, it raust be
confessed, the raajority being in favour of Sheri
dan, For a raonth the theatre reraained closed,
during which period letters relative to the quarrel
were published alraost daUy in the Dublin Journal,
whilst paraphlets teeraed frora the press. The
decorura of the stage and the defence of raorality

2 00 PEG WOFFINGTON
were at a stake, one party asserted ; whUst the other
complained of the infringement of time-honoured
rights and the insult given to a man of quality.
The riot grew more bitter daily, and spread from
the city all over the kingdom.
At the end of the fourth week the greater
part of the town declared it would no longer be
deprived of its usual and favourite amusement.
Sheridan was therefore requested to open the
theatre, when he was assured he would receive
powerful protection. He accordingly announced
the performance of "Richard IIL," his favourite
character. No sooner were the doors of the thea
tre opened than the house was filled by Sheridan's
friends, to the vast surprise of the rioters, who
arrived late and in comparatively small numbers.
They, however, considered theraselves sufficient to
create a disturbance ; and, when Sheridan appeared,
they set up a cry of "Subraission, submission,
submission, off, off, off ! " which was answered by
a counter-cry of "No submission, on with the
play." At this a citizen of fair renown, named
Charles Lucas, stood up in the pit and claimed a
hearing. Every person in the house, he said, came
to receive the entertainment promised in the bill,
for which he paid his money. The actors were
therefore the servants of the audience, and under
their protection during the perforraance ; and he
was of opinion that every insult or intermption
given them in the discharge of their duty was

PEG WOFFINGTON 201
offered to the public. In conclusion, he would
ask those who were in favour of the decency and
freedora of the stage to hold up their hands, frora
which sign it raight be learned if the play was to
proceed or not. Amidst shouts of applause more
than two -thirds of those present held up their
hands, at which the rioters left the house, and the
play ended peacefully. But the Kellyites were not
yet suppressed ; their threats of vengeance con
tinued ; they were determined to ruin the man
ager. By way of indicating the spirit which
animated them, they set upon Charles Lucas two
nights after his speech, and beat hira severely
whilst he was peaceably walking through Sackville
Street. Next day he had an advertiseraent printed
and distributed all over the town, offering a re
ward oi £^ for the arrest of a nuraber of disor
derly persons in the garb of gentlemen who had
assaulted him in a cowardly manner.
Sheridan, seeing the rioters were yet bent upon
injuring him, closed the theatre again, and it was
not for sorae weeks later that he once raore ven
tured to open it, when " The Fair Penitent " was
announced to be performed for the benefit of the
Hospital for Incurables. The governors of this
institute, who were all persons of consequence,
assured the manager they would take it on them
selves to defend him from danger or insult, and
several ladies of quality promised their presence
on the occasion. When the night came a brUliant

202 PEG WOFFINGTON
house assembled ; the governors of the hospital
were present, carrying white wands ; ladies of the
first fashion filled the boxes, and over a hundred
of them had to be accoraraodated with seats on
the stage. It was, however, noticed that about
thirty young men had taken possession of the
middle part of the first three benches in the pit.
When the curtain rose Sheridan was in due state
ushered on the stage by some of the governors,
when he came forward to speak a prologue. No
sooner, however, had he appeared than the thirty
men in front, who it was now seen were all armed,
rose up in a body and authoritatively ordered him
off. The manager bowed to the house and with
drew, when a violent argument between these men
and the governors ensued. Amongst the latter
was a student from the college in his bachelor's
gown, who spoke with great warmth in Sheridan's
defence, in return for which one of the rioters
struck him with an apple and called him a scoun
drel. At this insult offered to one of their body
several of the undergraduates who were present
flew like feathered Mercury to the college, and in
a short time returned with a number of their fel
low students, all armed. Meanwhile the rioters,
seeing the " college boys ' ' had rushed from the
house, guessed their errand and quickly left the
pit. The undergraduates were therefore disap
pointed of their prey, but, their blood being up,
they were not easily pacified. They had, during

PEG WOFFINGTON 203
this disturbance, remained neutral, but now they
were glad to take this opportunity of one of their
body being insulted to espouse the cause of a man
who had left old Trinity to become a player. They
had, therefore, a double incentive in punishing the
rioters. Not finding thera at the theatre, they
searched every club, coffee-house, and tavern in
the town, but in vain. They then returned to the
college, baffled for the present, but raore deter
rained on vengeance than ever^ and held a council
of war which lasted all night. Next raorning,
when the gates were opened, out they flocked to
a man, armed and ready for corabat, and, separat
ing into various bodies, went in search of the
rioters at their divers residences. They were
informed that the man who had fired the apple
had but just corae up frora the country ; but, not
being aware of his abode, they were corapelled to
inquire at lodging-houses and hotels for hira, and
it was not until eleven o'clock that he was led a
captive inside the coUege gates. The city was
meanwhile in a tumult of excitement ; the guard
ians of the peace seldom interfered with the stu
dents ; the shopkeepers, fearing a general riot,
had not opened their doors ; business was sus
pended, and raany of the rioters, conscious of the
search which was being raade for thera, rushed, in
fear of their lives, to the Court of Chancery,
where the chanceUor was sitting, and besought his
protection.

204 PEG WOFFINGTON
Having secured the principal offender, a number
of the undergraduates next sallied forth to look
for a young officer, a gay jack-a-dandy, who had
likewise made himself specially offensive. It was
known that he lived in his father's house in Capel
Street, which was found by the students barri
caded and guarded. These obstacles but made
them raore desperate, and afforded them a pleas
ant though dangerous incentive to their efforts.
A raid was promptly raade, a skUful breach
effected, the offender seized, placed in a hackney-
coach, and, amidst loud huzzas, hurried within the
walls of Trinity. Then came the punishments.
The first offender was compeUed to travel on his
bare knees around all the courts of the college,
and to repeat a form of humble apology prepared
the previous night ; the second offender, by
reason of his holding the king's commission,
was allowed to read the apology standing. Both
were glad to escape with a chastiseraent which,
if humUiating, at least raercifuUy left thera whole
bones. The theatre was now ordered by the Lords
Justices to be closed, and the next scene of this
eventful draraa was laid in court, — Sheridan
having taken an action against Kelly for assault,
and damages done to the theatrical wardrobe ; the
manager in return being indicted for assault and
battery. Sheridan was tried first ; but so clearly
and satisfactorily was it proved he had been

PEG WOFFINGTON 205
incited to a breach of the peace that the jury,
without leaving their box, acquitted him. Then
carae Kelly's turn. The first witness called was
the prosecutor. The chief counsel for the defence
rose up with that air of dignity becoming one
learned in the law, and said he vastly desired to
see a curiosity. He had seen a gentleman soldier,
likewise a gentleman sailor, but he had never yet
seen a gentleraan actor. On which Sheridan,
turning to hira, said, " Sir, you see one now," —
an answer which was received with such prodigious
applause that it dawned on the learned gentle
raan he had made a raistake. Justice Ward tried
the case, which ended by Kelly being sentenced
to three months' imprisonment and fined ;£soo.
This undreamt of result fell like a thunderbolt
on Kelly. At the beginning of the suit it was
ruraoured that a subscription would be made
to defray his law expenses, but in the hour of
his trial his friends deserted and left him to
meet his fate alone. A week's iraprisonraent
seeraed to have the wholesorae effect of bringing
hira to his senses, for at the expiration of that
period he, with words of sorrow and humility,
applied to Sheridan that he raight petition the
court in favour of lightening his sentence, which
this raan, whora he had called a scoundrel, accord
ingly did, with such good effect that the fine was
reraitted, and Sheridan further pledging hiraself
as bail for the prisoner's future good conduct, that

2o6 PEG WOFFINGTON
young gentleman was restored to liberty once
more. Dublin, in the days before the Union, was the
gay capital of a prosperous nation, and boasted of
a society at once cultured, fashionable, and bril
liant. A native parliament sat in CoUege Green ;
Irish peers and commons of note dwelt in the
city ; and the lord lieutenant, then surrounded
by regal pomp and circumstances of state, held
court at the castle. Irish society, smaUer in its
circles than that which revolved around the court
of St. James's, was not less briUiant ; the beauty
of its women was proverbial, the sprightliness of
its men characteristic. By nature a pleasure-
loving people, their days and nights were chiefly
devoted to the pursuit of amusement ; and the
diaries and memoirs of those who formed part of
the gay and goodly crowd that held revelry in the
middle of the last century in the Irish capital,
present us with a series of vivacious and interest
ing pictures.
The chief and most fashionable promenade in
the city was St. Stephen's Green, which was to
the residents of the Irish capital what the Mall
was to Londoners. Situated in the centre of the
town, it was planted with trees, and boasted broad
and shady walks, where ladies of quality and men
of fashion disported themselves in the mornings.
Having taken tbe air here, they visited and went to
dinner betimes. Then in fair weather they drove in

PEG WOFFINGTON 207
great coaches or rode on horseback to the Phoenix
Park, — a piece of ground which, with its delight
ful wood and turfy ground, rivalled St, Jaraes's or
Hyde Park. Moreover, it coraraanded an agreeable
prospect of the Dublm Mountains, frora which
healthful breezes blew. In the raidst of the wood,
in view of the coluran surraounted by the fabulous
bird which gives its narae to the park, the gift of
Lord Chesterfield, a circular-shaped space was
cleared, where society raet and talked of routs
and ridotti, plays and concerts, its neighbours'
shortcoraings, and the delightful scandal of the
town. The polite Lord Chesterfield, during his reign
as lord lieutenant, a few years before Peg Woffing
ton's second visit to her native city, had left
behind hira rerainiscences of costly splendour that
equalled, if not eclipsed, the glory of St. Jaraes's,
He had added to the castle a new roora, which
was allowed to be the raost raagnificent in the
three kingdoras. In this he held balls, to which
the nobUity of the land were bidden, where, when
dancing was over, says Victor, quaintly enough,
" the corapany retired to an apartraent, to a cold
supper, with all kinds of the best wines and sweet
meats. The whole apartment was raost elegantly
disposed and ornamented with transparent paint
ings, through which was cast a shade like moon
light, flutes and other soft instruraents playing all
the while, but, lUie the candles, unseen. At each

2o8 PEG WOFFINGTON
end of the building, through which the company
passed, were placed fountains of lavender water,
that diffused a raost grateful odour through this
fairy scene, which surpassed everything of the
kind in Spenser, as it proved not only a fine feast
for the iraagination, but, after the dream, for our
sensualities by the excellent substantials at the
sideboard." The luxurious earl had been succeeded for a
brief while by my Lord Harrington, who in tum
gave place to Lionel, Duke of Dorset, — his Grace
arriving in Ireland toward the autumn of 175 1,
in the same month as Peg Woffington made
her appearance at Smock Alley playhouse. The
sharp-tongued Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough,
who seldom indeed had a good word to say of any
one, writes in a charraingly characteristic manner
of his Grace. " Such a wretch as he is I hardly
know," says the eccentric duchess ; " and his wife,
whose passion is only for money, assists him in his
odious affair with Lady Betty Jermyn, who has a
great deal to dispose of." Wretch or no wretch,
he was, for a time at least, popular in the Irish
capital, and exceeding great was the throng of
courtiers that flocked to the castle drawing-rooms
during his reign. Mrs, Delany, in one of her
letters, pleasantly gossips of going to the vice
regal court one birthday in her coach, whUst
a friend of hers, whom she styles Madame, went
thither in her sedan, "with her three footmen in

PEG WOFFINGTON 209
Saxon green, with orange - coloured cockades,"
marching in step before her. " Can you tell why
she desired me to go with her .' " asks Mrs. De
lany, giving way to a bit of feminine pique. " I
can. She was superb in brown and gold and dia
monds ; I was clad in purple and white silk I
bought when last year in England, and my little
ness set off her greatness." After half an hour's
stoppage on the way, caused by the vast nuraber
of coaches and chairs blocking the thoroughfares
leading courtwards, this blaze of colour reached
the castle, and took its way to the drawing-room,
where the duke and duchess came, "half an hour
after one, very graceful and princely. The duchess
had a blue paduasoy, embroidered very richly with
gold, and there was a great deal of handsome
finery." Presently a band and choir, under the
direction of Dubourg, gave a birthday song in
honour of royalty, which was vastly adraired ;
and in the evening a ball was held in the old
beef -eaters' hall, — an apartraent capable of hold
ing seven hundred persons.
The crowd asserabled on this occasion was so
prodigious that the ladies were seated on an araphi
theatre at one end of the roora in rows one above
another, so that the last row alraost touched the
ceUing, — presenting an appearance which re
minded some of the gentlemen of "a Cupid's
paradise in a puppet show," In this vast room,
with its blaze of lights and shining floor, women

210 PEG WOFFINGTON
with narrow waists, bare breasts, and far-extend
ing hoops danced stately minuets with men in
powdered wigs, velvet coats, and high-heeled
shoes ; curtseying, undulating, advancing, and
retreating with slow pace and a world of grace
to the raeasured rausic discoursed |by French
horns. In an apartraent at the end of the suite
sat the Duchess of Dorset, playing basset with
sorae dowagers whose dancing days were over,
whilst in the rooms adjoining were quadrille par
ties, where those who had danced might saunter
up and down and look on at the garaes. Finally,
the duke and duchess, who had been vastly oblig
ing all the evening, led the way to supper, which
was laid in the council-chamber. In the raidst
of this apartment was placed a holly-tree illumi
nated by a hundred wax tapers ; around it was
placed all sorts of meat, fruit, and sweetmeats ;
servants waited and were encompassed round by
a table, to which the company came by turns to
take what they wanted. When the doors were
first opened, the hurly-burly is not to be described,
— squalling, shrieking, all sorts of noises ; some
ladies lost their lappets, others were trod upon,
and poor Lady Santry alraost lost her breath in
the scuffle, and fanned herself two hours before
she could recover herself enough to know if she
was dead or alive.
But it was not only at the castle that great
receptions were held and lively balls given. The

PEG WOFFINGTON 211
stately and magnificent mansions of the nobility,
faced with sparkling granite native to the Wick
low HUls, and adorned by the genius of foreign
artists, which retain traces of their beauty to the
present day, though converted into schools or let
in tenements, were in those times the scenes of
constant revelry. My Lord Grandison delighted
in assembling the wit and beauty of the capital
around a board heavy frora the weight of golden
candelabra and services of silver. Lord Mount
joy gave balls that were the talk of the city. His
lordship was a gay raan, though not a brave ; for
when he quarrelled with old Norse the garabler,
ray lord refused to fight hira, whereon the raan
who loved cards, by way of having revenge in a
fashion truly Hibernian, went home and cut his
own throat, — a fact that by no means prevented
Lord Mountjoy frora diverting hiraself as usual.
Then Lady Doneraile had faraous quadrille parties
at her handsorae raansion in Dawson Street, ray
Lord Strangford and his lady gave delightful con
certs, and Bishop Clayton's wife, who loved this
world well, opened the doors of her big raansion,
with a front like Devonshire House, situated in
Stephen's Green, every Wednesday for the recep
tion of her friends, who passed through a great
hall filled with servants in showy liveries. The
reception-room was "wainscoated with oak, the
panels all carved, and the doors and chiraney fin
ished with a very fine high carving, the ceiling

212 PEG WOFFINGTON
stucco, the window curtains and chairs yellow
Genoa damask, portraits and landscapes very well
done around the room, raarble tables between the
windows, and looking-glasses with gilt frames,
besides virtu and busts that his lordship brought
frora Italy, the floor being covered with the finest
Persian carpet that ever was seen."
The bishop did not love the things of earth less
than his buxora spouse, and " kept a very hand
some table, six dishes of meat being constantly at
dinner, and six plates at supper." The clergy,
indeed, took no ordinary share in entertaining the
town, an excellent example being set them by the
priraate, whose choice dinners and cosy suppers
were luxuries long to be remembered. This right
reverend and easy-going man's vocation for the
Church had been decided not so much by divine
inspiration as by a game of dice. The story is
told in one of Dean Swift's letters, given in
Nichol's "Literary Illustrations," When the
Duke of Dorset, who had been lord lieutenant
about sixteen years previous to his appointment
to that office in 1751, was quitting Ireland, he had
but two preferments to bestow, — a cornetcy and a
Church living, value two hundred a year. For the
former two of the duke's friends, Lushington and
Stone, anxiously contended, and not being able to
settle the matter amicably between them, it was
agreed that dice should decide which would become
a pastor of souls and which a gay and gallant soldier.

PEG WOFFINGTON 213
Lushington won the garae, and entered the array,
whilst Stone went into the Church. Being a very
ingenious raan, he quickly rose in his profession to
be Bishop of Derry and subsequently Archbishop
of Armagh and primate. Once when this worthy
raan was about to give a dinner in honour of the
birthday of his friend and patron, the Duke of
Dorset, he ordered a Perigord pie for the occasion,
with directions to have this delicacy directed to a
raerchant of his acquaintance. The pie arrived in
the absence of the raerchant, whose wife, suppos
ing it to be a present frora one of her husband's
friends abroad, sent out and invited sorae of her
neighbours to sup with her at an early date. But
on the very day when these good people were to
regale themselves, the primate's maitre d' hdtel,
who had hitherto inquired in vain for the lost pie,
hearing of the good lady's hospitable intentions,
swooped down on her, and carried it away.
" I own," writes Mrs. Delany, who tells the
story, " I am sorry they did not eat it ; such
expensive rarities do not becorae the table of a
prelate, who ought not to ape the fantastical luxu
riances of fashionable tables." This charraing
correspondent likewise speaks of the dinners of
the Bishop of Elphin, whose daughter "was
brought up like a princess," The bishop "lives
well," she writes ; " but high living is too rauch
the fashion here. You are not invited to dinner
to any private gentleraan of a thousand a year or

214 PEG WOFFINGTON
less that does not give you seven dishes at one
course, and Burgundy and charapagne ; and these
dinners they give once or twice a week."
A taste for painting and rausic likewise obtained,
and was highly encouraged, — - for the former, by
the exhibitions at the Royal Academy in Shaw's
Court, Darae Street ; for the latter, by the per
formances of oratorios constantly sung at St, Pat
rick's Cathedral, and concerts which were always
attended by vast crowds. An excellent entertain
ment was given every Wednesday during the sea
son by a musical society, the members of which
were all men of quality, some of whom played
prodigiously well, notably Mr. Brownlow, M. P., a
fine executor on the harpsichord, and Captain
Reade, who performed on the German flute to
great perfection. At the PhUharmonic Roora in
Fishamble Street, concerts were almost nightly
given, the place " being illurainated with wax, and
the whole conducted in the genteelest raanner."
Likewise at the Great Music Room in Crow Street
there was a weekly concert given, " the instru
mental parts by Messrs, Marella, Lee, Storace, De
Boeck, and others ; the vocal by Mr. Sullivan. To
begin exactly at seven o'clock and continue until
nine each night, after which there wUl be a ridotto,
with tea, coffee, chocolate, jellies, cards, and all
sorts of liquids of the best kind at the usual prices,
and suppers by giving notice the day before,"
By way of adding to the diversion of the town.

PEG WOFFINGTON 215
subscription balls were got up by the beaux, headed
by Lord Belfreld, and were occasionally held in one
of the theatres, converted for the tirae being into
a baUroom. One of these, which was given whilst
Peg Woffington was in Dublin, cost seven hundred
pounds. The theatre in which it took place was
decorated to represent a wood, space being left in
the raiddle for thirty couples to dance. At one
end was a portico of Doric pillars, lighted by green
wax candles, arranged in baskets of flowers ; then
there was a Gothic teraple in which refreshments
were served, and a jasraine bower where lovers
whispered, and a grotto with rustic arches, where
the musicians, dressed as shepherds and shepherd
esses, discoursed sweet sounds. The trees which
lined the walls were the veritable growth of nature,
adorned by art in the shape of cotton leaves. The
Duke and Duchess of Dorset were present, as
were all the merabers of the polite world which
the city nurabered, and enjoyed theraselves vastly,
dancing being kept up long after daylight did
appear. One of the raost inveterate dancers of
the night was a certain Captain Folliat, "a raan
of six feet odd inches high, black, awkward, roar
ing, raraping." His gaunt figure was seen contin
ually in every dance. " I thought," says a partner
of his whora he raost affected on this occasion,
" he would have shook ray arras off, and crushed
my toes to atoms ; every raoment he did some
blundering thing, and as often asked 'my lady-

2i6 PEG WOFFINGTON
ship's pardon.' I was pitied by the whole com
pany ; at last I resolved to dispatch him with
dancing, since he was not worth my conquest any
other way. I called a council about it, having
some scruples of conscience, and fearing he might
appear and haunt me after his death staggered my
resolutions ; but when it was raade plain to me
that I should do the world a great piece of service
by dispatching him, it solved all my scruples, and
I had no raore qualms about it. In the midst of
his furious dancing, when he was throwing his
arms about him most outrageously (just like a card
scaramouch on a stick), snap went something that
we all thought had been the main bone of his leg ;
but it proved only a bone of his toe. Notwith
standing this he fought upon his stumps, and
would not spare me one dance."
Besides these social amusements, there were
great reviews held frequently in the park, where
the troops, to quote from the Dublin Journal,
"went through their different evolutions and fir
ings with the greatest exactness, to the satisfac
tion of the duke and the general officers." These
reviews were attended by all the fashionable world,
her Grace of Dorset at its head in a yellow coach
and six horses, very fine to see. Then the citizens
frequented the public gardens every night, they
being open to all ; where, says Benjamin Victor,
in writing to the Countess of Orrery, " great regu
larity and decency is unaccomitably preserved, and

PEG WOFFINGTON 217
of course unusual dulness is the consequence. If
no valiant captain will knock down a lady, nor any
lady cock her pistol at her perfidious man (both
these shocking events happened lately in the
public gardens), we must reraain in this stupid
state of tranquUlity." At Marlborough Green
there were bi-weekly entertainraents made up of
dancing, fiddling, and singing by Miss Rachel
Baptiste, — an African lady, who wore a wreath
of roses, and clad her sable person in orange silk.
So raultiforra, indeed, were its attractions, that the
green was usually attended by vast crowds.
So far as cleanliness morally and physically
went, Dublin was rauch in the same condition
as the sister capital. An advertisement in Faulk
ner's Journal, October 2, 175 1, informs the inhab
itants of the city " they are requested by the lord
mayor to sweep the dirt before their houses twice
every week into the channel, for the speedier
reraoval of the sarae by the scavengers, other
wise they will be fined." The sarae journal says :
" Street and house robberies are now become so
coraraon in this city that it is dangerous to be out
late on evenings ; and hats, capuchins, books, etc.,
are frequently stolen from churches and other
places of worship in the tirae of divine service."
This stateraent is verified by the oftentiraes quaint
reports in the daily papers, a few of which vrill
serve to illustrate the general condition of the
town. " Last Thursday," says Faulkner s Journal,

2i8 PEG WOFFINGTON
October 15, 175 1, "a young gentleraan was at
tacked by a single highwayraan near Harold's
Cross, who robbed him of his gold watch, twenty
guineas, three crowns, and a shUling. He rode a
bay gelding about fourteen hands and a half high,
was dressed in a white fustian frock, a scarlet
waistcoat, and a silver-laced hat, and appeared
by his looks to be about thirty years of age."
Here is another : " Last Sunday night a gentle
man was attacked in Mary's Lane by two feUows
with an intent to rob him ; he seized one of them
and threw him into a cellar, but the other knocked
him down. He soon recovered hiraself, and boldly
attacked them again ; upon which they made off,
but he still pursued, and took one of them, and
called a watchman, who was only a short distance
from him, but would not corae to his assistance ;
the gentleman was obliged to let the vUlain go, on
some ruffians coming up. He lost his watch and
buttons, but the next morning found them in some
mud where he had been knocked down. The same
day a woman, genteelly dressed, was detected for
picking the pocket of a gentlewoman in Liffey
Street, out of which she had taken fifteen shil
lings, and, upon searching her, half a crown was
found in her shoe, and half a pistol in a snuff-box ;
the rest she lost in the hurry. The populace
dragged her to the quay, tied a ship's rope around
her, and ducked her severely." A few days later
we read that " some rogues attempted to rob the

PEG WOFFINGTON 219
house of Mr. Preston, in Little Butter Lane, but
by the courage of his daughter were prevented
from accoraplishing their design, — who, on hear
ing a noise, got out of bed, charged two pistols,
opened the parlour window, and fired araongst
thera, upon which they raade off ; she then
charged again, went up-stairs and looked out of
the window, in order to give them another salute
if they thought it proper to have paid a second
visit." A paragraph, which throws a somewhat
curious light on the punishraent of criminals, says :
"The woman whora the watch discharged the
other night, and who was principal in stealing
a great quantity of plate, is the very notorious
pickpocket who goes into public asserablies in
fine cloathes, the better to perpetrate her wick
edness, and who was sorae tirae ago convicted
of picking pockets, and sentenced to be whipt
at the cart's taU ; but the hangraan did not think
fit to execute the sentence, so she only walked
after the cart in a sort of triuraph to College
Green, where she was put into a landau, though
two poor devUs were alraost whipt to death the
sarae week, not having stolen money enough to
bribe the hangman or some other officer."
It was not only money and goods, however,
which were stolen in those days, but huraan
beings. " Last week," says the Dublin Journal,
August, 1751, "a raan near Aungier Street desired
two little girls to go along with hira on pretence

220 PEG WOFFINGTON
of seeing his wife, whom they knew, and to bring
their caps with them, which they did; but their
mothers, getting intelligence which way they had
gone, pursued and luckily came up with them on
George's Quay, and brought them back. 'Tis
imagined the villain intended to put them on board
a kid-ship, to send thera to the plantations in
Araerica." A month later a "fellow was taken
up in Back Lane for running away with a child
from a woman ; and as it has not since been heard
of, he was committed on suspicion of kidnapping
or murdering of it." A little while later we read
in the same paper that "since the late strict
and severe inquiry after the kidnappers, these mis
creants have ceased to perpetrate their villainy, at
least in so pubUc a manner as heretofore ; but
we are told that amongst these robbers there is
a prirae young villain, who soraetiraes in the dress
of a beau, and at other times like a raerchant, tells
the wretches he deludes that he went a few years
ago from DubUn to America, a poor boy, to try his
fortune, and that a lady of that country soon fell
in love with him ; that he married her and has now
many negro slaves under him, and that all the
women who transport themselves, especially from
Ireland, immediately get rich husbands. Besides
this fine-dressed rogue, there are several in the
habit of sailors, who pick up poor tradesmen in the
street, pretending to know them, then ply them
with spirituous hquors and abundance of lies about

PEG WOFFINGTON 221
the pleasures they are to enjoy in the plantations
abroad, by which raeans they delude those unhappy
victiras into a raiserable and dangerous voyage,
where they lie during the whole tirae proraiscu
ously in the hold of the ship, in filth and nastiness,
insulted perpetually by brutish saUors, and gen
erally die miserably in their tedious passage."
The streets were badly lit, ill paved, "out of
repair, and in several places raised to such a height
that carriages or horses cannot with safety pass
over the same," whUst the entrances to under
ground ceUars, extending far into the sidewalk,
without rail or other protection, were frequently
the cause of severe accidents, and occasioned
deaths to those who passed that way, as we
learn from the papers. Speaking of these mis
haps, Faulkner' s Journal says : "As lives are sorae
tiraes lost, and many legs, arms, skulls, and bones
of coraraon people broken by cellars projecting too
far into the streets, it is most humbly requested
by raany who wish well to the publick, and are
not carried in coaches or chairs, that sorae of
our nobility, gentry, magistrates, grand and petit
jurors, would be pleased to break a few of their
limbs, or knock out their eyes, or brains, and
then perhaps laws raight be raade, or those already
in being put into execution against the encroach
ments of cellars into the streets." Here is another
strange paragraph from the same journal which
speaks volumes for the condition of the town :

2 22 PEG WOFFINGTON
" Upon account of the many sturdy and stroUing
beggars, impostors, and idle vagrants throughout
the kingdom, the nobUity, gentry, and clergy are
determined to have all the faces of the men
shaven clean ; to examine their tied up legs and
arms, to force the tongues of those who pretend
to be dumb in order to make them speak, and
to detect those vUe impostors who pretend to
have been sailors, to have been slaves in Morocco
and Turkey, and to have their tongues cut out
— which good resolutions, if put into practice
in city and country, will be a means of ridding
this nation of the vUest miscreants and vermin
that infest this earth, and are the plague and
pest of ^all human society, having every vice in
them without one virtue, as they will not work,
but live on the blood, vitals, and labour of the
industrious poor, who, when reduced by sickness
or want of work, are ashamed to beg." Another
paragraph declares, "The lord mayor hath given
orders that no coach, cart, chariot, chaise, chair,
etc., shall stand without horses after sunset, before
any coachmaker's or wheelwright's house whatever ;
which wUl be of great service to the public, as
vUlains and idle vagabonds often lie in them,
and frequently surprise people on dark nights ; and
sometimes coaches and chairs run against them, to
the great danger of lives and limbs."
To all classes of the DubUn citizens the theatre
was the favourite source of amusement. So fond

PEG WOFFINGTON 223
was the polite world of plays that private the
atricals were much in vogue in the houses of
the nobUity. Frequently, too, at the castle the
officers and gentleraen of the vice-regal house
hold gave amateur perforraances ; whilst once,
at least, a play, "The Distressed Mother," was
acted in the great council-charaber of the Par
liament House itself. The dramatis persona
were of the first rank and fashion. My Lord
Molesworth's fair daughter played Herraione ;
Miss Parker, Androraache ; my Lord Mountjoy,
Pyrrhus ; and my Lord Kingsland's brother, Ores
tes. All the bishops, judges, and privy councU
lors attended, besides the whole fashionable part
of the town.
Amongst the ladies of quality most attracted
by the theatre and all conceming it was the Hon
ourable Mrs. Butler, a bright, busy, vivacious
woman, whose husband. Colonel Butler, my Lord
Lanesborough's brother, " a plain, rough, merry
ofificer, doted on her, and adraired everybody that
liked her." Mrs. Butler was a frequent attendant
at the playhouse ; and when George Anne Bellaray
had been in Dublin six years previous to Peg
Woffington's second visit, this daughter of an Irish
peer had been introduced by Miss O'Hara, Lord
Tyrawley's sister, to Mrs. Butler, who at once
took the actress under her social wing, patronised
her on the stage, and lionised her in her draw
ing-room. Garrick was at this period, 1745,

224 PEG WOFFINGTON
immediately after his parting with Peg Woffing
ton, performing for the second time before a DubUn
audience, in corapany with Sheridan, they having
agreed to play Shakespearian characters alternately.
Miss Bellaray was likewise in the company. As
Quin on her first appearance in Covent Garden
had objected to the lady's playing Monimia in
the same piece with him, so Garrick, who had but
a poor opinion of her talents, protested against her
playing Constance to his King John. Moreover,
he desired that Mrs. Pritchard, a "hard-featured"
actress, should take the part.
Now George Anne had set her heart on being
seen as Constance, and had secured some very
fine gowns wherewith to dress the character ; she
therefore resented Garrick's objection and almost
involved him and Sheridan in a quarrel on the
subject, Sheridan having taken her side. It was,
however, finally settled that the "hard-featured"
actress was to play the part ; whereon Miss Bel
lamy, who was a lady of spirit, or in other words,
a little vixen, determined to have her revenge. She
therefore fled to her patroness, Mrs. Butler, and
laid full her bitter complaint before that sympa
thetic lady, who having no objection to give proof
of the power she exercised in the genteel world,
at once promised to espouse her protdg^e's cause.
Therefore, setting aside her partiality for Garrick,
she resolved to punish him for thwarting Miss
BeUamy in ber lawful desires. To this end she

PEG WOFFINGTON 225
sent around polite messages to all her friends, re
questing them, as a favour to her, not to attend
the theatre on the night when " King John "
was played. As she was a social power, and gave
prodigiously fine balls, to which admission was
always eagerly sought, her request was readily
coraplied with, so that on the night when the
tragedy was played the boxes were tenantless and
the pit erapty, to the consternation of David
Garrick and the wonder of the world. This was
the first hurailiation in connection with his pro
fession which the great actor ever received. But
it was not the only triuraph which the young
lady of spirit secured this season ; for presently
Sheridan played King John, and she Constance,
when the theatre was so crowded that vast num
bers could not be accoraraodated with adraission.
Nor was this all. Being of opinion that Garrick
had not yet received sufficient raortification, the
young actress eagerly awaited an opportunity of
inflicting raore. Accordingly, when Garrick's bene
fit carae around, he selected to play in "Jane
Shore ; " and knowing frora experience the social
influence which Miss Bellaray coraraanded, and
being ever a wise raan where raoney was con
cerned, he requested her to play the part of the
unhappy heroine. This she refused ; as she was
unfitted to perforra the character of Constance,
she, in her woraanly spirit, told hira she was like
wise unsuited to take that of Jane Shore.

226 PEG WOFFINGTON
But Garrick, unwUling to let his interest suffer,
besought Mrs. Butler to use her influence with her
protegee on his behalf ; in the meantime, he strove
to make his peace with the young lady, and in
gratiate himself in her favour. For this purpose
he resorted to flattery, an artifice which in the
world's history has so often served to overcome
a woman's heart. He therefore wrote to her
that if she would oblige him by playing, he would
write her "a goody-goody epilogue," which with
the help of her eyes, "would do more raischief
than ever the flesh or the devil had done since
the world began." This raissive, which contained
raany similar compliments, was addressed "To
my Soul's Idol, the Beautified Ophelia," and given
into the hands of his servant to carry to Miss
Bellamy. The man, being busy, called a porter,
and without looking at the address, bade him de
liver the letter. The porter, believing some joke
was intended, carried it to a newspaper office, the
result of which was that it appeared in print next
day. When the story got abroad, the whole town
made merry of Garrick's love-letter. The idol of
Mr. Garrick's soul was, however, reconciled to
him ; no doubt the reference to her eyes, which
were beautiful and blue, had the desired effect of
softening her heart.
Garrick, whilst in Dublin this season, constantly
visited at Mrs. Butler's home in Stephen's Green.
The lady was fond of theatrical lions, and liked

PEG WOFFINGTON 227
Davy for himself. Garrick retumed the compli
raent in kind, but she having reason to suspect
that the coraplexion of his love was not of the
same platonic type as hers, and having sorae
Hibernian huraour, deigned to play hira a trick.
When he was about to take his leave previous to
his retum to London, she told him with faltering
words she had a sealed package for hira, which
contained that which was more valuable than life.
" In it," said she, " you wUl read my sentiments ;
but I strictly enjoin you not to open it untU you
have passed the Hill of Howth." Garrick, having
Uttle doubt that this package contained a declara
tion of her sentiraents for hira, which prudence
forbade her to make known whilst he remained
in the same country with her, received it from
her hands with a significant glance, and an air
of regret that was touching. Next day, when
the vessel which bore him across the Channel
had reached the specified point, he eagerly broke
the seals and tore the cover from the packet,
which contained — not the declarations of a broken
heart, but a copy of Wesley's hymns and Dean
Swift's "Discourses;" when so great was his
chagrin and disappointment, that he flung both
the dean and Wesley into the sea.

CHAPTER X.
Peg Woffington in Dublin — A Command-Night — Going to the
Play — A Brilliant Audience — Some Irish Celebrities of
the Period — "The Only Theme in or out of the Theatre"
— Mrs. Gunning and Her Family — Miss Bellamy's Account
of Them — Peg Woffington and the Gunnings — The Beauties
Go to London — Wooed and Wedded.

^^HE autumn season of 1751, when Peg
Wofiington was engaged to play at
Smock Alley Theatre, was one of excep
tional brilliancy. Parliament was opened in Octo
ber with great ceremony by the new lord lieutenant,
as representing his Most Gracious Majesty King
George, the coach in which he rode to College
Green being most superb, and seeming all glass
and gold. It was drawn by six horses, magnifi
cently caparisoned. By tbe traces stood six tiny
pages, attired in the splendour of crimson velvet
and gold lace, with feathered hats upon their
curled heads, and swords by their little thighs.
Then on either side of this great glass coach
walked the gentlemen of the ducal retinue, in
full dress, with their hats under their arms ; the
whole presenting a prodigiously fine show. A
228

PEG WOFFINGTON 229
vast nuraber of persons of distinction flocked
from England in the wake of the viceroy ; and
most of the Irish county famUies settled in the
capital for the winter.'
The additional attractions given to the season
by the performances of Peg Woffington were
eagerly anticipated, and crowded houses at Smock
Alley were duly expected by the raanager. In
the first week of Septeraber the Dublin Journal
stated that " the workmen who have for some tirae
past been eraployed in raaking the galleries of the
theatre more spacious and comraodious have now
finished, and we hear it will be opened on the i6th
of this month." It was not, however, till the 5th
of October that " the celebrated Mrs. Wofifington,
'To country ladies with pretensions to gentility of fashion,
it was a certain necessity that they should spend at least part
of the season in Dublin, and enjoy the festivities of the castle ;
the mere descriptions of which, doled out to their less fortunate
neighbours, would form the subject of conversation for the
remainder of the year. Concerning this desire of the provincial
ladies to winter in town, Faulkner's Journal of October, lyS'i
publishes the following quaint paragraph :
" Some time ago we received a letter signed Sarah Lovecity,
complaining for herself and many other ladies of their fathers
and husbands not bringing them to town this winter, on account
of the exorbitant price of hay and oats. Now we — agreeable
to the ladies' commands, and our ardent desire of being blessed
with their presence, being well assured that there can be neither
splendour nor magnificence but where they are — have made
strict inquiries, and have found hay from ten to eleven shillings
per load, and oats from eight to nine shillings per barrel, and
the markets falling."

230 PEG WOFFINGTON
from the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden," was
announced to perform the part of Lady Townley
in " The Provoked Husband ; " the coraedy being
likewise supported by Sheridan, Theophilus Cibber,
Digges, King, Mrs. Bland, and Miss Davies. The
house was of course crowded, and the reception
given Peg Woffington hearty ; but it was not untU
a fortnight later, when by command of the Duke
and Duchess of Dorset she repeated her perform
ance of Lady Townley, that the theatrical season
may be said to have begun.
A command-night by the lord lieutenant was
always regarded as an occasion of special grace.
His presence, as well as that of his court,
and of the lord mayor and lady mayoress, whose
courteous custom it was to likewise attend on such
nights, gave an air of state and ceremony little less
than royal to the performance. Moreover, a vast
crowd of the fashionable world was sure to attend
tbe playhouse on such occasions, and lend it all
the charm and brilliancy of a court drawing-room.
Accordingly, about five o'clock on this October
evening, when their Graces for the first time during
the season visited the theatre. Smock AUey and
the ways that led thereto became the scenes of
strange and wonderful confusion. Already the
great, lumbering, showily painted coaches and
sedan-chairs had commenced to invade the some
what narrow thoroughfares, intent on depositing
their burdens of the first rank and distinction at

PEG WOFFINGTON 231
the playhouse doors, where sentries in full uniform
were drawn up on guard.
All was bustle, moveraent, and confusion ; the
noise of innuraerable voices was deafening. Here
were coachraen, red-faced and powder-wigged,
thundering sturdy oaths at their steeds ; footraen
shouting and running to and fro ; silver and gold
laced lacqueys, with staffs surraounted by the cor
onets of their noble raasters, striving to keep at
bay the good-huraoured crowd pushing forward
to peep through the windows of the coaches ; and
plush-liveried chairraen cursing with Hibernian
heartiness their sturdier fellows who had out
stripped them in the race for place. Horses
pranced, the city gamins screamed to each other,
saluted such of the gentlefolk as were known to
them, or who were rendered conspicuous by their
dress ; a crowd of orange-women cried their wares ;
the raotley throngs, gathered around the pit and
gallery doors, shouted witticisras and pleasant
badinage as they crushed each other almost to
death ; and the link-boys, who had already lighted
their flambeaux, darted here and there, leaving
flaraing tracks, brief and lurid, in their fitful wakes.
Never was there such a to-do ; and in the midst
of it all a cry was heard frora the street-boys,
hearty and full of cheer, as if in welcorae to sorae
old friend or well-approved favourite ; and then,
followed by a right merry, though half-ragged
crowd, came Peg Wofifington's coach and pair.

232 PEG WOFFINGTON
with servants in fine liveries, as grand as any lady
of quality that came to see her, Tuming to the
throng with a smUe that fell on and brightened
them like a burst of sunshine, she descended from
her coach with the air of a duchess, " an' yet with
as friendly a face as if she only left us yesterday,"
says one of the orange-women, who stares at her
as she enters the sacred portal of the stage door,
"An' it's herself has the charitable heart," says
another, " an' is the good daughter ; sure her mother
has nothin' in the world to do for the remainder
of her days but say her prayers ; an' it's the hand
some velvet cloak and gold snuff-box she sports,"
" Ay, an' if it goes to that," replied the first gossip,
" she wears a diamond ring too — sure, she showed
it to me herself a month ago ; an' they're all the
gifts of Peggy,"
Most of the people of quality have arrived by
this time, and there is a lull in the street, untU the
tramp of cavalry is heard, and a cry of "The
duke, the duke," is carried down the street long
before the first redcoat of his escort turns the
corner. As the cavalry approaches, the crowd
flies to right and left ; then the ducal coach is
drawn up, the guard which lines the way, carpeted
with scarlet cloth from the coach to the playhouse
door, present arras, and the duke and duchess are
met by Sheridan and Cibber, who stand bare
headed and with candles in their hands, ready to
receive their Graces, and conduct them to their

PEG WOFFINGTON 233
boxes, canopied with scarlet silk, and erablazoned
with the royal arras. As they enter, the orchestra
strikes up the national anthera, and the house
receives thera with uncoraraon testiraonies of joy.
When they have bowed their thanks in a raost
gracious manner, up goes the curtain, and the
manager comes forward and speaks a senseless
prologue, to the effect that when George com
mitted the reins to Dorset's hands, the effect
which imraediately followed was as day superseding
the tedious night ; the said Dorset was ever dear
to the Muses nine, and his mere presence was
sufficient to " new warra the poet's lay, new rouse
the actor's fire," and do a vast nuraber of other
extraordinary things.
The playhouse had never presented a more bril
liant appearance. In the centre of the horseshoe-
shaped arena, illuminated with wax in honour of
their Graces, sat my lord mayor, wearing his scarlet
cloak and chain of office, and beside hira his lady,
plurap, as becarae the spouse of such a dignitary,
and attired in green satin, as behoved her patriotic
spirit. And in the boxes all around what an array
of beauty and fashion, what a glitter of diaraonds
and precious stones, what a sheen of satins and
silks, what a waving of feathered head-dresses and
perfuraed fans, what a gleaming of white shoulders
and bosoms rising frora billows of lace. Near
their Graces' box sat my Lady Gormanstown, a
rare beauty, with dark blue eyes, and hair that

234 PEG WOFFINGTON
looked black as the raven's wing by night ; and
with her ray lord, who invariably dressed in a full
suit of light blue. Close beside them was Lord
Trimlestown, in scarlet clothes, gold-frogged, and
a f uU-powdered wig ; and where the soft light fell
full on her box sat the Viscountess Grandison, a
Uly-fair beauty with eyes of tenderest blue, and
smooth hair the colour of dead gold. Of course
the Hon. Mrs. Butler was there, and in her box
sat Miss Betty Forth, whose finery was almost
flung into the gutter at the playhouse door, through
the overturning of her sedan-chair by its inebriated
carriers. Likewise there was present Viscount
Taaffe, whose son had years ago taken away this
approved good actress whom they all had assembled
to see ; and old Lord Kerry, who dressed in crimson
satin with gold frogs ; and Viscount Molesworth,
whose favourite attire was purple satin and silver
frogs ; and Sir John Meade, in black velvet with
white facings. And opposite their Graces' box was
the sport-loving Lord Howth, who dressed after
the manner of a groom, and wore a coachman's
wig, witb rows of many curls ; and the eccentric
Captain Debrisay, who accoutred in the style of a
habitui of Charles the Second's court.
The pit too had its celebrities, and could boast
of little Doctor Padmore of Britain Street, wearing
black velvet and scarlet stockings ; and Counsellor
Costello, a prime favourite with the populace, and
a great lover of good plays ; and George Faulkner,

PEG WOFFINGTON 235
the proprietor of the Dublin Journal, a round-
stomached little man in brown clothes, who was a
fine judge of the stage likewise. Presently when
Peg Woffington appeared, the brilliant crowd
greeted her with uncoraraon applause, the pit
lustily clapping its hands, the boxes waving their
fans, the galleries cheering. And as she bowed
her thanks, her beautifully rounded cheeks flushed
crirason with pleasure, her liquid eyes sparkled
with exciteraent, her perfect lips parted in a sraUe
that lent a wonderful charra to her countenance.
" Her beauty," adraits Miss Bellaray, who set her
self up as her rival, "beggared all description."
But besides the loveliness of her face there was a
grace in her bearing, a piquancy in her raanner of
speech, that corapleted the spell she exercised, and
exalted it to fascination.
Press criticisras on perforraances were rare in
those days, when critics were self-elected, and held
sway in coffee-houses and taverns. It is therefore
worth noting what George Faulkner printed, in
the next issue of his paper, regarding this actress.
Here it is : " The celebrated Mrs. Woffington's
perforraance in Sraock Alley Theatre continues to
draw the raost crowded audiences hitherto known.
Her elegant deportraent at her first entrance is a
prologue in her behalf. Her correct pronunciation
is accorapanied by the raost just and graceful
action. Her unaffected ease and vivacity in
coraedy, her majestic pathos in tragedy, show her

236 PEG WOFFINGTON
to be an exact imitation of nature, without the
least appearance of her handmaid, art, though at
the same time possessed and executed by that lady
Ul the highest degree.
"These eminent qualities have so universally
obtained for her the esteem and applause of all the
tasteful and judicious in this city, that it may be
said of her, in imitation of Caesar's praise, 'She
came, was seen, and she triumphed.' "
Then followed a long eulogy in rhyme on her
genius, which ends :
" Hail, then, in whom united we behold
Whatever graced the theatres of old.
A form above description ; and a mind
By judgment tempered and by wit refined.
Cut off in beauty's prime, when Oldfield died.
The Muses wept and threw their harps aside ;
But now assumed, the lyre amazed to see
Her greatest beauties far outdone by thee."
Conceming these lines, Mr. Benjamin Victor,
the treasurer of Smock Alley Theatre, found he
had something to say ; and accordingly he un
burdened his mind in a quaintly penned letter,
addressed "To Mrs. Woffington in Dublin."
"Madara," said he, "you have long been the sub
ject of true praise, and have received raany public
instances of it from the admiring world : but the
scribbling fools here offer it up so fulsome, that
instead of incense, I dare say it is as offensive to

PEG WOFFINGTON 237
you as the snuff of a candle — now, madara, if my
praise proves the snuff of a wax-candle, it wUl at
least not offend, and I shall have reason to be
satisfied." This siraile is rather obscure, but the
manager goes on triumphantly. " The sUly poet
in Faulkner's Journal, on Saturday last, raade me
laugh. He raade you the successor to the poor,
antiquated Mrs. Vanderbank (who often declared
that in her youth she was the glory of the Irish
stage), and concludes it one of your least excel
lencies to far outdo Mrs. Oldfield.
" I was one of the audience when Lady Townley
raade her first appearance in London ; and since
the death of that celebrated actress, Mrs. Oldfield,
I have not seen a coraplete Lady Townley tUl
last Monday night. You know she was called
inimitable in that character, by the author, Cibber,
that great raaster of coraedy ; but I dare say
even he will adrait that epithet falsified by your
perforraance. "After your first appearance in tragedy in
London, I had the favour of two letters frora hira ;
in the first he eraployed a whole sheet in your
praise in Andromache. I had so great a prepos
session of your good understanding and his judg
ment, that I could easUy give hira credit, though I
had known hira long an adrairer of your person.
" On Wednesday night last I was convinced that
you are a most provoking creature (to use the
laureate's phrase). You are not content with des-

238 PEG WOFFINGTON
troying all our feraales, but raake even our heroes
shrink before you. I take this opportunity of con
gratulation, and beg to remain, madam, your most
humble servant."
Night after night she played to densely crowded
houses, appearing alternately as Andromache and
Herraione in " The Distressed Mother ; " Sylvia in
"The Recruiting Officer;" Calista in "The Fair
Penitent ; " and Sir Harry Wildair in " The Con
stant Couple," and never faUed to meet the most
enthusiastic applause. Hitchcock, in his "View
of the Irish Stage," says, speaking of Peg Wof
fington : " Her reception was such as surprised the
raost sanguine expectations of her friends, and
astonished even the manager, who was highly
pleased with his acquisition. It is almost impos
sible to describe the raptures the audience were in
at beholding so beautiful, elegant, and accomplished
a woman, or the happy consequences which re
sulted to Mr. Sheridan." On this latter point,
Victor adds his testimony. " By four of her char
acters," he writes, " performed ten nights each
that season, there were taken about ;£4,ooo ; an
instance never known in any theatre from four
old stock-plays, and two of them in which the
manager acted no part,"
Presently Colley Cibber's comedy of " The
Nonjuror," not acted in Dublin for eight years,
was rehearsed and duly played in order to give Peg
Woffington an opportunity of appearing as Maria

PEG WOFFINGTON 239
in this comedy ; she was likewise to dance a ramuet,
and all the dramatis personez were to figure in a
country dance. Great were the audiences that
asserabled to witness the play, and so numerous
were the poeras and criticisras, eulogising her,
which were showered upon Faulkner 's Journal, that
the editor was obliged to apologise for their non
appearance, and offer his would-be contributors the
hackneyed excuse of want of space.
Sheridan was now anxious to revive sorae Shake
spearian plays, and sounded the public on the
raatter by the following advertiseraent : " The
manager of the Theatre Royal proposes to perforra
the six following plays of Shakespeare as soon as
the boxes are engaged : viz., ' Richard,' ' Haralet,'
' Macbeth,' ' King John,' ' The Merchant of Venice,'
and 'As You Like It,' The plays will be per
formed in order, according to the nuraber of places
taken for each. The house will be illurainated
with wax-lights. Places to be taken of Mr. NeU,
box-keeper." To see Peg Wofifington and Sheridan in Shake
spearian plays was a treat which the stage-loving
people of this good city could not resist, and
places were quickly taken, their Graces of Dorset
giving coraraand-nights for " The Merchant of
Venice," " Haralet," and " As You Like It," Peg
Wofifington had been praised before, but she was
now lauded exceedingly. Panegyrics on her per
son, her elegant deportraent, her graceful acting.

240 PEG WOFFINGTON
appeared alraost daUy in the press, as likewise
verses comparing her to the most charming of
the Muses, the most beautiful of the goddesses.
She was the pride and the glory of the stage, she
pleased the giddy age, she read aright the author's
page, and did many other excellent things. To
Sheridan, another poetaster admitted much was
due ; " for,'' said he, quaintly enough, " we owe
our Woffington to you." Their mutual talents,
this young gentleman was of opinion, " shaU adorn
the scene, and add new lustre to a Dorset's reign."
But people more sensible than poets spoke well of
Peg Wofifington's talents ; and amongst them was
a correspondent and admirer of the Countess of
Orrery, who says : " The brilUant Mrs. Woffington
is the only theme either in or out of the theatre.
Her performances are in general admirable. In
Andromache her grief was dignified and her
deportment elegant ; in Hermione she discovered
such talents as have not been displayed since the
celebrated Mrs. Porter, whora I dare say Lord
Orrery remembers — such commanding force, such
variety, such graceful attitudes ; the very fools
stared and felt her powers. In short, poor Bland
is inevitably undone, for those fools (her greatest
adrairers) who had not sense enough to see her
defects before, now see them by the comparison,
I heartily wish I had force enough to excite a
desire in your ladyship to come to Dublin to see
this actress,"

PEG WOFFINGTON 241
On the 9th of March, 1752, she took her
benefit, on which occasion she again played Lady
Townley, Their Graces of Dorset were present,
and so great was the demand for tickets that it
was announced "the pit will be laid open to the
boxes for the convenience of the ladies," This
memorable theatrical season ended in May.
It was during this visit to Ireland that Peg
Wofifington made the acquaintance of two young
ladies of quality, who soon afterward becarae
faraous throughout Europe for their rare loveli
ness, and were invariably spoken of as " the beau
tiful Gunnings," Their father, John Gunning, a
thriftless Irish gentleraan, is described as hailing
frora " Castle Coote in Ireland ; " but, inasrauch
as he was wholly penniless, it is safe to argue that
his castle was a raere ruin — raore picturesque
than tenantable, as castles in Ireland are wont to
be. He had raarried Bridget Bourke, a daughter
of the sixth Viscount Mayo, who becarae the
mother of chUdren remarkable for beauty from
their infancy. The parents of these budding
graces seemed to have lived in a state of chronic
poverty ; to which George Anne Bellaray bears
witness in those interesting, if soraewhat scandal
ous, raeraoirs written for her by Alexander Bick
nell, in an arausingly inflated and raost verbose
style. During her stay in Dublin, 1754, she tells
us that one day, as she was passing through
Britain Street on her way from rehearsal, she

242 PEG WOFFINGTON
heard some cries of distress, when yielding to
what she calls tbe impulses of humanity, but
which might probably be better described as
the temptations of curiosity, she "overleaped the
bounds of good breeding," and stepped into the
house. Led by an irresistible attraction, this
gushing young lady entered without ceremony
into the parlour, the doors of which, it may be
significantly noted, "appeared to be guarded by
persons not at all suited to those within," Here
she found a gentlewoman of a most elegant figure
surrounded by her children, one of whom was
"a sweet boy."
George Anne curtseyed, apologised for her
abrupt intrusion, and informed the lady with the
elegant figure, otherwise Mrs. Gunning, that the
lamentations of the family had reached her ears,
on which she had taken the liberty of inquiring
if she could be of any assistance. It was now
Mrs. Gunning's turn to make a polite speech.
She complimented her visitor upon possessing
"such humane sensations," and inforraed her
that, being in debt, her husband had found it
necessary to seek a seclusion unknown to bum-
baUiffs, Mrs. Gunning added that she had been
in hopes her brother. Lord Mayo, "Ustenmg to
the dictates of fraternal affection, would not suffer
a sister and her faraUy to be reduced to distress ; "
but that his lordship remained in a condition, com
mon to peers and others with numerous and needy

PEG WOFFINGTON 243
relatives, elegantly described as "inflexible to re
peated solicitations." At this stage of the con
versation, some ill-looking men, already referred
to as burabailiffs, entered the apartraent ; whereon
Mrs. Gunning and the syrapathetic George Anne
retired to consult what was best to be done in
so disagreeable a predicaraent. In a little while
the actress departed ; but when night carae, with
her sable shadows, a dark figure might have been
observed hovering in the vicinity of Mrs. Gun
ning's house. This was rione other than Miss
Bellamy's man-servant, seeing whora, Mrs, Gun
ning noiselessly raised her drawing-room windows
and flung out such of her household goods as she
could manage to convey to hira, which he carried
to the actress's lodgings. Here two of the bud
ding graces — Maria, who was " all life and
spirits," and Miss Betty, who was " raore reserved
and solid" — were subsequently brought.
Now it happened that when Peg Woffington
carae to Dublin, she took up her residence in
Capel Street, at a house opposite that occupied
by the Gunning famUy. The graces had by this
time budded, and had now reached the respective
ages of seventeen and eighteen years. Seeing
Peg Wofifington daily walk in silk attire, or drive
in her elegant coach ; witnessing, likewise, the
attention she commanded, and hearing the praises
lavished on her, these young girls, dowered with
a divine gift of surpassing loveUness, resolved that

244 PEG WOFFINGTON
they too would become actresses. Then there
rose before thera visions in which they saw them
selves dressed in purple and fine linen, lauded,
feted, and with all the world at their feet. But
this resolve was not one which they were allowed
to carry out. They were the daughters of a
gentleman who once possessed a castle, and the
nieces of a viscount ; and though he had remained
"inflexible to repeated solicitations," yet for his
sake they must endure a lowly lot — nay, even
starvation itself — rather than take a step which
in those days it was considered would entaU dis
grace on a family even to the third and fourth
generations. However, if they dared not try
their fortunes on public stages they might at
least adventure in private drawing-rooms. Hav
ing come to this conclusion, they clearly saw their
first step toward such an end must be to get pre
sented at the castle. There was no difficulty in
procuring a chaperone to undertake the required
introduction, but there was an obstacle which at
first sight seemed insurmountable. Nature had
given them wonderful beauty, but fortune had
denied them decent dresses. Now, the one
seemed worthless without the other, for though
a poet had declared beauty unadorned was adomed
most, the world was prosaic, and would prove
heartlessly intolerant of any attempt to test the
virtue of this assertion savouring of the flesh,
no matter how true in spirit. Alack-a-day, what

PEG WOFFINGTON 245
was to be done ? Dresses or money they had
none. At this point in their dileraraa the thought of
Peg Wofifington flashed on thera like an inspira
tion. They had heard she was wilUng to help all
who asked her ; and they knew frora watching her
at the windows that her wardrobe was varied and
splendid. Summoning heart of grace, they there
fore wrote to her, asking Lf she would lend them
dresses in which they might be presented at court.
To this request Peg Woffington replied, with ready
good nature, that they might come and select from
her stock such gowns as pleased them best. And
so it happened that Maria and Betty Gunning
— afterward destined to becorae respectively a
countess and a duchess — raade their d6but in
society in the borrowed robes of an actress.
Their success at the viceregal court was great ;
two angels, it was said, had dropped frora the
clouds. Their praises were on every tongue.
Therefore Mrs. Gunning, who was wise in her
generation, deterrained to carry thera farther
afield, and present thera to London society, where
men of position and wealth were more nuraerous,
and less given to fortune-hunting than in the Irish
capital. An annuity of ;^i5o, which she at this
tirae inherited, enabled her to put her project into
execution at once. It raay be, too, that it was
hastened by an incident which adds an additional
colour of roraance to the reraarkable career of the

246 PEG WOFFINGTON
beauties. So elated were they by their triuraph
at the viceregal court, and at the prospects so
newly opened up before them, that they became
anxious to know their fate ; and accordingly sought
out a mysterious hag, who, by virtue of her sup
posed close social relationship to the devU, enjoyed
a reputation for reveaUng the future to those who
consulted her. To the Gunnings her promises of
high rank and brUliant fortune were liberal, but
to one of them she likewise predicted a premature
death. So Mrs. Gunning and her daughters fair set out
for London town ; and in due course were intro
duced to the court of George IL, who kissed
' thera with a heartiness unusual to the stereotyped
osculation customary at royal presentations. So
great was the sensation they made that the town
could talk of nothing else save their extraordinary
beauty, "The two Miss Gunnings," writes Wal
pole, "are twenty times more the subject of
conversation than the two brothers Newcastle
and Pelham, and Lord Granville. These are two
Irish girls of no fortune,' who are declared the
handsomest women alive. I think their being
two, so handsome, and both such perfect figures,
is their chief excellence; for, singly, I have seen
much handsomer woraen than either; however,
they can't walk in the Park, or go to Vauxhall,
but such raobs follow them that they are generally
driven away."

PEG WOFFINGTON 247
So anxious were the people to catch a glirapse
of thera that when it was known they were going
to the theatre, vast nurabers asserabled at the
playhouse doors, and waited there hours before
their arrival ; and on one occasion, whilst taking
the air on the Mall, the raob was so great that
they were obliged to seek the protection of a file
of the Guards, In another letter Walpole tells
a story of the beauties, "who raade raore noise
than any of their predecessors since the days of
Helen," They went down to see Hampton Court ;
and as they were going into the Beauty Room,
another corapany arrived, "The housekeeper
said, ' This way, ladies ; here are the Beauties,'
The Gunnings flew into a passion, and asked her
what she raeant ; they came to see the palace,
and not to be showed as a sight themselves,"
Every day it seemed as if their reputation in
creased, A bootmaker, by the exhibition at a
penny a head of a shoe belonging to Miss Betty,
realised the sura of two guineas and a half in one
day ; wits raade epigrams in praise of them ; beaux
paid thera courtly horaage ; their naraes were
coupled with a thousand toasts. The objects of
such adrairation were wise enough to estimate
their charras at their proper raatriraonial worth ;
and the fine gentleraen who had no titles witb
which to ennoble thera, or wealth with which
to endow thera, received no encourageraent ;
whUst those so possessed were srailed on with

248 PEG WOFFINGTON
heavenly sweetness. Amongst those favoured in
this manner were Jaraes, fourth Duke of Ham
ilton, and George WiUiam, sixth Earl of Coventry,
both of whom subsequently became the respective
husbands of the beauties. The story of their woo-
ings and of one of their weddings is inimitably
told by the prince of letter writers, "The event
that has made most noise since my last," writes
Horace Walpole to Horace Mann, in Febmary,
1752, "is the extempore wedding of the youngest
of the two Gunnings, who have made so vehement
a noise. Lord Coventry, a grave young lord of
the remains of the patriot breed, has long dangled
after the eldest, virtuously with regard to her
virtue, not very honourably with regard to his
own credit. About six weeks ago Duke Hara
ilton, the very reverse of the earl, hot, debauched,
extravagant, and equally damaged in his fortune
and person, fell in love with the youngest at the
masquerade, and determined to marry her in the
spring. About a fortnight since, at an immense
assembly at my Lord Chesterfield's, made to show
the house, which is really most magnificent, Duke
Hamilton made violent love at one end of the
room, while he was playing at pharaoh at the other
end — that is, he saw neither the bank nor his
own cards, which were of three hundred pounds
each ; he soon lost a thousand, I own I was so
little a professor in love that I thought all this
parade looked Ul for the poor gurl, and could not

The -Fair Hibernian {Maria Gunning)
From the painting by Griffin

PEG WOFFINGTON 249
conceive, if he was so much engaged with his
mistress as to disregard such sums, why he played
at all. However, two nights afterward, being left
alone with her, while her raother and sister were
at Bedford House, he found hiraself so impatient
that he sent for a parson. The doctor refused
to perform the ceremony without license or ring ;
the duke swore he would send for the archbishop.
At last they were married with a ring of the bed-
curtain, at half an hour after twelve at night, at
Mayfair Chapel. The Scotch are enraged. The
woraen raad that so rauch beauty has had its
effect ; and what is raost silly, ray Lord Coventry
declares that now he wiU raarry the other."
The earl was as good as his word, and Maria
Gunning was, on the sth of March, 1752, raade
Countess of Coventry. When the duchess was
presented at court, a great crowd asserabled to see
her; "the noble mob," says Walpole, "clarabered
upon chairs and tables to look at her." Then
he gives us a glirapse, which he says is not
unentertaining, of their Graces' domestic life.
"Duke Hamilton," he teUs Horace Mann, "is
the abstract of Scotch pride ; he and the duchess
at their own house walk in to dinner before
their company, sit together at the upper end of
their own table, eat off the same plate, and drink
to nobody beneath the rank of earl. Would not one
wonder how they could get anybody either above
or below that rank to dine with them at all ? "

25° PEG WOFFINGTON
The poor, foolish Countess of Coventry was not
quite so happy in her raarried life; her grave
young lord was "jealous, prude, and scrupulous,"
and watched over her closely. Among other
things which he objected to was her painting her
beautiful face red and white, after the fashion of
the age. That she bedaubed her cheeks with a
hberal hand my Lord Chesterfield testifies; "for,"
says his observing lordship, "I was near enough
to see manifestly that she had laid on a great
deal of white, which she does not want, and which
would destroy both her natural complexion and
her teeth," It did more than that; it hastened,
if not actually caused, her death. It was in vain
that my lord protested against the usage, so one
day, by way of teaching her a lesson, while at
Sir John Bland's house, before a company of six
teen persons assembled to dine, he coursed her
round the table and forcibly scrubbed off the
red with a napkin. The poor countess used to
confide her wonder to her friends that her lord
could use her so ill, when she knew he had so
great a regard that he would die for her, and
when he was so good as to marry her without
a shUUng.

CHAPTER XL
A Second Dublin Season — The Acme of Her Fame — The
Beefsteak Club — The Sublime Society of Beefsteaks —
Political Disturbances — The Tragedy of "Mahomet" — Mr.
Digges and the Audience — Sheridan's Address to His Com
pany — Riot in the Playhouse — Sheridan's Address — Peg
Woffington Leaves Ireland.
J HE beautiful Gunnings had been fdted,
wooed, and wedded whilst Peg Woffing
ton was yet in Ireland. At the begin
ning of the season 1752, Sheridan engaged her at
a salary of eight hundred pounds, which was then
considered prodigiously large. This began on the
night of the Sth of October, when she played the
part of Lady Betty Modish. A week later she
appeared in the character of Belvidera in "Venice
Preserved," by comraand of the Duke and Duchess
of Dorset. Later on, according to the bills, she
played in " Julius Caesar," in " Ulysses," " writ by
Mr. Rowe," and in Congreve's deUghtful coraedies.
The season, so far as its success was concemed,
proved a repetition of the previous winter. In
tragedy and comedy. Peg Wofifington was pro
nounced alike inimitable, and crowded houses
nightly testified to her vast popularity. " At this
251

252 PEG WOFFINGTON
time," says Hitchcock, "the theatre was the
fashionable resort of all ranks. Crowded every
night with the first characters in the kingdom, it
was in reality a source of entertainment and in
struction. Its exhibitions might grace a Greek
or a Roman stage. Propriety, order, and decorum
presided over the whole. Its professors were held
in the highest esteem, adraitted into the first
asserabUes, and treated with the utmost respect."
In social life, as well as in theatrical. Peg Woffing
ton's society was sought after, not only for her
beauty, but for her humour, her abUity, and the
sweetness of her natural disposition. " It was at
this era," says Charles Macklin, "that Wofifington
raight have been said to have reached the acme of
her fame. She was then in the bloom of her per
son, accomplishments, and profession ; highly dis
tinguished for her wit and vivacity ; with a charm
of conversation that at once attracted the admira
tion of the men and the envy of the women. Her
company off was equally sought for as on the
stage; and though she did not much admire the
frivolity of her own sex, and consequently did not
mix much with them, she was the delight of some
of the gravest and most scientific characters in
Church and State."
For awhUe all went well, but at the close of the
second season, both Sheridan and Woffington
found themselves stranded on a political rock that
wrecked their chances of regaining the popular

PEG WOFFINGTON 253
good wUl. The sraall beginning from which this
great event sprang, was the establishraent of the
Beefsteak Club. Such clubs, Benjarain Victor
says, were " of ancient institution in every theatre,
when the principal perforraers dined one day in the
week together, generally Saturday, and authors
and other geniuses were adraitted merabers." A
Beefsteak Club had been established in London in
the first decade of the eighteenth century, the
founder of which was Dick Estcourt, a wonderful
mimic, the pleasantest of boon companions, and an
actor who " had the honour (nature endowing hira
with an easy, free, and unaffected raode of elo
quence) in comedy to laetificate his audience,
especially the quality." By virtue of his ofifice as
providore, Estcourt wore a sraall gold gridiron
suspended from his neck, of which the merry
fellow was mighty proud. The club was composed
of the chief wits and great raen of the nation, and
araongst those who raost frequently gathered round
the cheerful board in Estcourt's house in Covent
Garden, were Sir Roger de Coverley, facetious
Doctor King, and Sir Robert Steele, who loved
Estcourt well, and mourned him true.
There was likewise the Sublirae Society of
Steaks, founded by Rich and Charles Mordaunt,
known as the raad Earl of Peterborough, about
1735. Rich, the father of English harlequinades,
manager of Covent Garden playhouse, and lover
of cats, was in the habit of arranging, in a private

254 PEG WOFFINGTON
room in his theatre, the wonderful tricks he would
play as harlequin, tbe astounding transformations
he would reveal by a wave of his magic wand, and
the various other comic businesses of his enter
tainments. To this apartment frequently came
the polished courtier and skiUed diploraatist. Lord
Peterborough, the friend of Pope, the compan
ion of Dean Swift, who humourously described
him as, — " A skeleton in outward figure."
His lordship was a man of varied talents, and loved
to hold converse with wits, poets, and players, by
reason of which fancy he spent many a pleasant
hour with Rich. It happened one day that he
tarried in the manager's room untU the clock
struck two, when Rich rose up to spread a white
cloth on tbe table, for he was a regular man, and
ate his dinner betimes, as became a harlequin.
Presently he proceeded to cook his beefsteak, beg
ging that his lordship might stay and share his
meal. Nothing loath, Peterborough at once as
sented, when another steak was clapped on the
gridiron, and a second bottle of good port sent for
to " The Rose and Crown Tavem " close by, when
the peer and the player sat down and enjoyed
themselves heartily. So delighted, indeed, was
the earl, that he proposed they should dine in the
same place and manner on the following Saturday,
and begged that he might be allowed to bring with

PEG WOFFINGTON 255
him sorae men of parts. To this Rich readily
enough assented, and in this raanner was founded
the Sublirae Society of Beefsteaks, which held its
own down to the middle of the present century,
changing its quarters more than once, and ending
its raerry days in the Lyceura Theatre.
The Beefsteak Club which Sheridan founded
was modelled on somewhat different lines. It
was opened by a dinner given in the great roora
of the theatre, the guests invited numbering
about fifty, who were either peers, merabers
of Parliaraent, or raen of the first distinction.
Thirty of these accepted the invitation, enrolled
themselves merabers of the club, and elected the
charming Wofifington as their president. She and
Sheridan were the only players who were adrait
ted, and Peggy had the further distinction of
being the only female meraber. What added to
the singularity of the club was that its founder
defrayed all costs in connection with it. "The
reader will readUy believe," says Benjarain Victor,
"that a club where there were good accoraraoda
tions, such a lovely president full of wit and spirit,
and nothing to pay, raust soon grow reraarkably
fashionable." Fashionable it certainly becarae;
witty peers, castle courtiers and raen of fashion
flocked around the manager's hospitable board
once a week, when never was there such a flow
of humour, such rairth, such conviviality. " Yet,"
says MackUn, "though wit and spirit here took

2S6 PEG WOFFINGTON
their most excursive flights, they never once broke
through the laws of decorum."
Now it happened at this very time that politics,
never long absent from the surface of Irish life,
ran particularly high. "Our city of Dublin,"
writes Victor to Mrs. Knight in London, " in the
parliamentary winters used to be the assembly of
aU the people of figure and fortune in the king
dom, who have had nothing to do here these thirty
years past but the govemment business and pur
suing their pleasures ; but this winter a very
strange thing called patriotism has appeared, and
as violent an opposition in the House of Commons
as ever was known in England to the measures of
the government, which has drove the whole people
into the most outrageous spirit of party ever known
in the kingdora. The consequence wUl, I fear, be
fatal to many of these patriots, for the king wUl
no doubt support his viceroy, and all within the
power of govemraent have lost their places and
pensions — a loss I daresay they will have leisure
to be sorry for. This, you will suppose, has been
very detriraental to all public diversions, and the
theatre has greatly suffered by these commotions."
The Duke of Dorset, who had commenced his
reign with great popularity, had speedUy fallen
into disfavour with the people, not from any per
sonal faults, but rather from the political policy
he represented. Discord and discontent rapidly
spread through the nation, and in the capital party

PEG WOFFINGTON 257
spirit was rampant. The Beefsteak Club num
bering among its raerabers Lord George SackvUle,
the Duke of Dorset's son, and being principally
composed of courtiers and the supporters of gov
ernment raeasures, public indignation was raised
against it, and was inflaraed by the knowledge
that the toasts drunk at the raanager's hospitable
board were not of the most patriotic coraplexion.
The club was not in reality used for any party
purpose whatsoever, its object being the proraotion
of conviviality ; but the fact of the toasts being
favourable in their sentiraents to the castle policy
was sufficient to render it distasteful to popular
prejudices. It was but a natural consequence
that the indignation should speedily turn frora
the club itself to its founder. Therefore Sheridan
quickly becarae an object of suspicion and dislike,
and the public determined to give him proof of
their feelings on the first opportunity which pre
sented itself.
All this was not of course the growth of a day.
The club had been founded in February, 1753,
and it was not until a year later that Sheridan's
patrons seized upon an opportunity of venting
their long-harboured resentment. It happened in
this way. It was announced that "the tragedy
called ' Mahomet ' " would be perforraed at Sraock
AUey Theatre on the 2d of February, 1754. The
citizens, being faraUiar with the play, knew it con
tained several speeches denouncing wicked minis-

2S8 PEG WOFFINGTON
ters of state and court favourites, which speeches
they at once determined to distinguish by applause.
Several of the actors, being aware of this, resolved
to emphasise such passages by way of expressing
their sympathies with the audience. When the
night of that eventful 2d of February arrived, the
house was crowded, and it was readily seen that a
spirit of raischief brooded over the pit ; a place in
which such spirits are popularly supposed to dwell
in the theatres and elsewhere. The principal
characters in the tragedy were undertaken by
Sheridan, Peg Woffington, and Digges, an actor
whose handsome person, graceful bearing, and
careful playing rendered him a popular favourite.
In the first act of " Mahomet," Digges, who
played the part of Alcanor, delivered the following
sentiment in a notably marked manner :
" If, ye powers divine !
Ye raark the movements of this nether world,
And bring them to account ! Crush, crush those vipers,
Who, singled out by the community
To guard their rights, shall for a grasp of ore,
Or paltry office, sell them to the foe."
So applicable were those lines considered by the
audience to those who sat in high places, that they
were iraraediately greeted by thunders of applause,
which ceased but to give place to a cry of " En
core, encore," with a vehemence that admitted of
no refusal. In a moment the theatre was in an

PEG WOFFINGTON 259
uproar. Digges therefore repeated the words,
which were again applauded, and the play was
then allowed to proceed. But throughout the
night all Alcanor's speeches savouring of the sarae
character as this raet with a like reception, whUst
the finest efforts of Wofifington and Sheridan were
passed over in silence. The deraonstration of party
spirit which had in this raanner crept into the
theatre might have ended here, if the play had
not been again performed. Strange as it raay
seem that the manager allowed the tragedy to
be repeated, it was yet scarcely in his power to
decline producing it, as notices continually ap
peared in the Dublin Journal to the effect that
"as the raanager of the Theatre Royal is deter
mined to give the greatest variety of plays in his
power to the publick, he intends to repeat none
that have been presented in the former part of the
season, unless they should be particularly bespoke.
He could wish that such ladies as want to see any
particular play perforraed would send their cora
mands to the box-keeper, according to the custom
in London ; for by this method the manager could
form a more certain judgraent of what plays were
raost called for. There will be a raeraorandura
book for the purpose kept by Mr. Neil at his
house in Abbey Street, and there shall be at least
a week's notice given of the day of perforraance
of any such plays."
Taking advantage of this custora, a vast nuraber

26o PEG WOFFINGTON
of ladies, probably at the desire of their lords, or
such as they hoped to make their lords, crowded
to Mr. NeU's house, and there entered their re
quest that " Mahomet " should be again performed.
Before the month was out, it was therefore an
nounced that the tragedy would be represented,
for the second time that season, on Saturday
night, March the 2d, 1754. Sheridan was fully
aware of the storra which was brooding, and might
at any raoment break above his head. It was his
duty, therefore, to guard against it as far as pos
sible, and for this purpose, on the Friday morning
previous to the representation of the play, he re
quested the members of his company to meet him
in the greenroom. When they had assembled, he
entered, bowed, and addressed them. He regretted
that a party had become so universal in Dublin as
to make its appearance on the stage, a most im
proper place for the display of political spirit ; on
account of this he thought it his duty to lay before
thera a rule by which they ought to act at such a
juncture. He did not pretend to dictate to them
regarding their private sentiments, but he consid
ered it the business of an actor to divest himself
as much as possible of such, and enter with all the
spirit he was master of into the character he rep
resented. But if an actor, in order to please part
of the public, should by any unusual emphasis,
gesture, or significant look, mark out a passage in
his part which at another juncture he would have

PEG WOFFINGTON 261
passed by lightly, he stepped out of his feigned
character into his natural one ; than which nothing
could be raore disgusting or insolent to any auditor
who carae with no other intent but of seeing the
play. Such a perforraer ought, he said, to be
looked upon by the public as an incendiary, as
one who throws the brand of discord araongst
them ; for supposing persons of a different way
of thinking should take it into their heads to
resent and oppose this behaviour, the theatre,
histead of serving as a place of entertainment,
would become a scene of riot and disorder.
At this point Digges rose up, and said the drift
of this lecture was evidently directed to hira ;
Sheridan, in reply, acknowledged that he was the
first actor he ever heard of who repeated a speech
upon the encore of an audience ; but he felt sure
his corapliance arose frora the suddenness of the
deraand, and the want of tirae to reflect on the ill
consequences which raight have arisen frora his
acceding to the request. Digges then said that,
as the demand was almost certain to be repeated
the following night, he wished to know how
he should act ; to which the raanager wisely
made answer that he would give him no direc
tions, but would leave hira to do as he thought
proper. " Sir," said Digges, " if I should comply with the
demand of the audience, and repeat the speech, am
I to incur your censure ? "

262 PEG WOFFINGTON
Sheridan replied, " Not at all ; I leave you to
act in the matter as you think proper."
This concluded the audience between the man
ager and his company. Next night, almost as
soon as the doors were opened, the theatre was
densely packed. The pit looked capable of dark
things, the gaUery dangerous ; a feeling of excite
ment and apprehension settled over the house. A
storm brooded in the atmosphere ; nor was it long
before it burst. The moment Digges made his
appearance he was greeted with universal applause ;
then silence settled on the house whUst it waited
breathlessly on the delivery of the lines beginning,
" Ye powers." No sooner were these spoken than
they were greeted with loud acclamations, mingled
with cries of " Encore, encore." Digges, as if
undecided, paused, when the cries burst out again
witb great fierceness ; then Digges, making a mo
tion of his hand to enforce silence, stepped for
ward and said : " It would give him the highest
pleasure imaginable to comply with the request of
the audience ; but he had his private reasons for
begging they would be so good as to excuse him,
as his compliance would be greatly injurious to
him." The cowardly insinuation conveyed in these
words fired the house with indignation, and
gave those present the long-sought-for pretext
of expressing their feelings toward the manager.
Accordingly, an angry and imperative cry of

PEG WOFFINGTON 263
" Sheridan, Sheridan," went up from the pit, and
was echoed by the gaUery : on which Digges left
the stage, and the curtain was ordered down. The
manager was not inclined to coraply with the re
quest of the audience, but sent the prorapter for
ward to say the actors were ready to perforra the
play, if suffered to do so ; if not, aU present could
have their raoney returned to thera. A fresh out
burst followed the delivery of this message, and
again cries for Sheridan rang through the house.
Angered and agitated by this, the manager, who
was standing behind the scenes, declared they had
no right to call on hira, and he would not obey
thera ; saying which he went to bis roora and
began to undress. He was quickly followed by
sorae of his friends, who, leaving the boxes, hur
ried around to entreat hira to pacify the people,
who were every raoment becoming raore enraged.
To this request he firraly refused to accede. Look
ing back over the years of his raanageraent, it
seemed to hira that all his spirited exertions for
the public entertainraent, all his labours for the
purification of the stage, were in a raoment for
gotten by those he bad sought to serve and to
amuse. He was, perhaps, more grieved than an
gered; the hour had now arrived, he said, when
he could no longer support the stage upon a foot
ing of which the world had approved for raany
years, and he was therefore resolved to have done
with it.

264 PEG WOFFINGTON
Even in his dressing-room the ominous sound of
the angry storm reached hira, and, believing it was
the intention of the crowd to do him personal vio
lence, he left the theatre, got uito a chair, and was
carried to his house in Dorset Street. By this
time nothing could equal the uproar and confusion
that raged amongst the audience; caUs for the
manager, deafening cries for vengeance on all
court favourites, and shouts demanding the firing
of the house filled the theatre. In the midst of
this, the curtain went up, and Peg Woffington
came forward, in hopes that she might be able
to throw oil upon the troubled waters. But in
this hour her sovereign beauty had no effect upon
the people, for she was not only a member of the
obnoxious club, but its president; and those who
had a little while before followed every inflection
of her voice with rapture now refused to hear her
speak. She therefore indignantly withdrew, and
as a last resource to assuage the fury of the peo
ple, Digges stepped on the stage. He was now
the favourite of the hour, and immediately the
storm abated to hear that which he had to say.
He told them the manager had not laid him under
an injunction not to repeat the speech, and had
not, therefore, incurred their deeply deplored in
dignation. But this acknowledgment had come
too tardily; the hurricane, raging at its highest
pitch, was not to be easily subdued.
Moreover, Sheridan had refused to obey the

PEG WOFFINGTON 265
voice of the people and come forward, and this
was in itself a sufficient and independent cause
for anger and resentment ; they were resolved he
should apologise. Therefore, they called for him
once more, on which Digges told them he had
left the house sorae tirae. The pit then held a
consultation, the result of which was two of its
leaders, described as "persons of condition and
gravity," rose up and requested the manager might
be sent for, adding that the house would wait
an hour for his return. Messages were therefore
speedily despatched to Dorset Street, acquainting
Sheridan of what had passed ; but true to his first
resolution, he declined to obey those who had no
authority to command him. MeanwhUe the audi
ence kept possession of the playhouse, and araused
itself very much to its liking as the hour of grace
wore on. At the expiration of that tirae, the
two persons of condition and gravity rose up once
more, and asked if Mr. Sheridan was forthcoming.
As they obtained no satisfactory reply, the irapa
tient crowd iraraediately set to work on the busi
ness of the night. The ladies were first carefully
handed out, and no sooner had the last of the
fair creatures betaken herself to her sedan, than
a youth in the pit, who was eager for the fray,
juraped up and cried out, "God bless King George
vnth three huzzas." This invocation was regarded
as the signal for attack ; the raob, therefore, the
greater portion of which consisted of raen of con-

266 PEG WOFFINGTON
dition, fell on the house with a ruthlessness en
gendered by long delay, and in five minutes the
audience part of the theatre was a complete wreck.
Not satisfied with this, the ringleaders, swords in
hand, jumped upon the stage, cut and slashed the
finely painted curtain which had cost a vast sum
of money, smashed and tore the scenes which came
within their reach, and then rushed to the ward
robe. Fortunately, this had been well protected,
and, being unable to break into it, the idea oc
curred to these ruffians to fire the house. They
therefore dragged a grate full of burning coals
into the middle of the box-room, left some broken
doors upon them, and departed with the happy
conviction that the whole building would be
wrapped in flames in a little while ; such a catas
trophe was, however, fortunately prevented.
In the meantime, the treasurer, Benjarain Victor,
seeing the theatre attacked, hastened to the castle
to inforra the lord lieutenant of the extreme danger
to which the house was exposed. The duke lis
tened to him with all the patience and resignation
with which one man hears of another's distress,
and then suggested that Victor should go to the
lord raayor. Arriving at the Mansion House, he
found his lordship had been suddenly and sadly
visited with a pain in his great toe, and so severe
was the suffering of that afflicted meraber that it
wholly prevented my lord mayor from mixing in
this party warfare. From the mayor to the sheriffs

PEG WOFFINGTON 267
Victor next betook hiraself ; but, strange to say,
these gentleraen were not at horae, nor were any
of the city raagistrates to be found, though it is a
significant fact that the taverns were searched for
them as places where they were raost apt to be
seen. At last, about one o'clock in the raorning,
Victor discovered a deputy-constable ; but alas,
the captain of the guard refused to raarch under
such a dignity, or rather indignity, for the said
deputy-constable is spoken of in Victor's pages as
"a low, mean, sorry scoundrel," whose hand, it
may be safely inferred, was never closed to the
offer of a guinea.
The theatre was therefore left to its fate, and
becarae a wreck. For a tirae all perforraances
were irapossible ; but it being partially repaired,
its doors were again opened in a fortnight, in order
that the actors and actresses, who, being deprived
of their raeans of support, suffered raost by the
unhappy riot, might have a series of benefits.
The first of these was given to Peg Woffington,
who played in "All for Love," under the patron
age of the Duke and Duchess of Dorset. On this
occasion the town, as if to raake reparation for
its recent wrath, crowded once raore to testify its
appreciation of an old favourite who had becorae
alraost as a personal friend to her audiences, and
who, though she usually perforraed four tiraes a
week, had never disappointed thera once in three
winters by affected Ulnesses, as was the habit of

268 PEG WOFFINGTON
Other actresses of consequence. "Yet," says
Victor, who gives this information, " I have often
seen her on the stage when she ought to have
been in her bed."
The paper which advertised her benefit contained
lUcewise the following notice : " Mr. Sheridan,
lately manager of the Theatre Royal, thinks it
necessary to acquaint the public that he has
entirely quitted the stage, and will be no more
concemed in the direction of it. He has lent the
house to the performers during their benefits with
out any emolument to himself. He hoped to have
been able before this time to have laid before the
public a full vindication of his conduct, but a near
domestic concern had so far affected him for some
days past that it was impossible for him to give
that attention to the subject which it required.
He hopes, however, to have it published soon, and
in the meantime earnestly entreats of all candid
and impartial persons that they will not give ear
to the many stories and falsehoods which are in
dustriously propagated to his prejudice. He makes
no doubt of convincing all (who are to be con
vinced) that he has done nothing but what he
ought to have done, and that he could not have
acted otherwise consistent with the character of
a good citizen or a good manager,"
He therefore let the theatre to his treasurer,
Victor, and took his farewell of the stage in a
pamphlet addressed to the town. Peg Woffington,

PEG WOFFINGTON 269
with that generosity which endeared her to all,
tarried to take part in the benefits of her fellow
players ; then bidding good-bye for the last time,
though she knew it not, to her native city, she
crossed the channel and turned her face toward
the English capital once more. Again she en
gaged with Rich, and made her reappearance at
Covent Garden Theatre on the 2 2d of September,
1754, in the character of Maria in "The Non
juror ; " when " she drew a great house, was wel
comed with great applause, and played the part as
well as it could be played," At this theatre she
"continued a delighting favourite," says John
Gait, "untU she left the stage," This event
happened three years later.

CHAPTER XII.
Diversions of the Polite World — My Lady Coventry — "A
Little Lively Sort of Fairy" — Masquerade at Somerset
House — The Prince with the Pink Eyes — Juliet Discon
certed — The Player and the Peeress — A Scotch Venus —
Lady Albemarle's Dream — Poor Lord Montford — General
Braddock and Mrs, Upton — Entertainments Abound — Jack
Spencer's Wedding,
r URING these years many strange things
happened in the world which surrounded
the actress. In London town diversion
continued to be cultivated as an art, and the bril
Uant current of fashionable life swept on un
troubled even by the breath of political faction.
So untroubled, indeed, that when the graver
members of society were concemed as to whether
Mr, Pitt was in or out of the ministry, Mr. Chute
raet Dick Edgecumbe, a man of parts, who flut
tered butterfly-like in the drawing-rooms of the
great, and moth-like in the gambling-rooms of the
clubs, where he soraetimes bumt his wings, and
asked him if he knew whether Mr. Pitt was out.
" Yes," repUed Edgecumbe,
" Why, how do you know .' " asked his friend,
270

PEG WOFFINGTON 271
" Because," answered he, " I called at his door
just now, and his porter told rae so,"
Never, it seeraed, had there been such doings,
never such gossamer-like gossip floating in the
summer atmosphere of the world of fashion.
" Corae to town," writes ray Lady Hervey to a
friend, in the third raonth of the year 1756, "and
you will hear of ladies of quality who uphold foot
raen in insulting gentlemen, and of ladies who
steal not only hearts, but gold boxes. In short,
you will see and hear of every kind of luxury and
of vice, without delicacy, taste, or pleasure," In
the brUliant circles of fashionable life Lady Cov
entry was the observed of all observers, and a
thousand stories were told about her and her
grave young lord, whom she called her "dear
Cov." Mrs. Piozzi, speaking of the countess,
whom she styles "the true perfection of female
beauty," says when she went to the playhouse
"she was received with repeated bursts of ap
plause by the pit and galleries." Mrs, Delany, at
this tirae staying in London, gives us a description,
curious to read, of the countess, now in the very
heyday of her beauty, " Yesterday after chapel,"
she writes frora WhitehaU, " the Duchess (of Ports
mouth) brought home Lady Coventry to feast me,
and a feast sbe was. She is a fine figure, and
vastly handsome, notwithstanding a silly look
soraetiraes about her raouth ; she has a thousand
airs, but with a sort of innocence that diverts one.

272 PEG WOFFINGTON
Her dress was a black sUk sack, made for a large
hoop, which she wore without any, and it traUed
a yard on the ground ; she had on a cobweb-laced
handkerchief, a pink satin long cloke, lined with
ermine mixed with squirrel-skins ; on her head a
French cap that just covered the top of her head,
and stood in the form of a butterfly with its wings
not quite extended, friUed sort of lappets crossed
under her chin, and tied with pink and green
ribbon a head-dress that would have charmed a
shepherd. She has a thousand dimples and pret
tiness in her cheeks, her eyes a little drooping at
the corners, but fine for all that,"
When the beauty was bidden to the great mas
querade at Soraerset House, "about which all the
world of London is wild," she raust invite George
Selwyn, who was loved well by all the world in
general, and the countess in particular, to see her
fine dress for the occasion, which was black, cov
ered all over with sUver spots tbe size of a shUling.
"La," said the wit, "you will be change for a
guinea," Then when she went to Somerset
House, who was there but Lady Carysfort's sister.
Miss Allen, " a little lively sort of fairy," who was
not conversant with the great world, and had not
yet been to court, and had not seen my Lady Cov
entry before. So at the close of the night, when
people began to unmask. Miss Allen, stUl keeping
her face covered, went up to the countess, and
said she, "I have indeed heard a great deal of

PEG WOFFINGTON 273
this lady's beauty, but it surpasses all I have
expected," " What," said ray lady, in great surprise, " have
you never seen rae before ? "
Standing close by was a young raan with a
florid face, bunches of white eyebrows, and pink
Uds, who, being equally astonished, asked Miss
Allen, " Are you not an Englishworaan .' "
Then answered this lively sort of fairy, " I don't
know whether I raay be called an EngUshworaan,
but I ara just corae frora New York upon the
farae of this lady, whose beauty is talked of far
and near, and I think I carae for a very good
purpose." Lady Coventry marched off in high satisfaction ;
but the pink-lidded young man lingered, as young
men wUl, and the young lady made hira raany
witty speeches, as young ladies will — when they
can, " Come," said he, at last, " I must see who has
entertained me so well," and he made her sit down,
" Hands off," said she, archly enough — she
was a gay young thing, " You know," she added,
"that is impertinent." But though her words
reproved hira, her eyes shone brightly through her
satin raask. Then Lady Carysfort beckoned her
to approach.
" Do you know," she whispered, " it is Prince
Edward you are talking to ? "
Whereon the fairy, unlike her aerial sisters, was

274 PEG WOFFINGTON
covered with vast confusion; but, being a fairy,
she was cute, and went back to the prince's side,
and pretended she did not know who he was, and
treated him as she had done before, untU an
opportunity offered, when she slipped away from
him. Presently she sat down in a corner where
she believed herself unseen, and took off her mask
to cool her face. But the young prince had
watched the fairy from under his pink lids all the
while, and now came and seated himself beside
her, and took her hand hi his very gently, and
asked, thinking more of tarts than of hearts at
that moraent, if she knew her way to the room
where coffee was served. She repUed she did not,
when he offered to conduct her thither, and so
they set off to seek their supper, through the
dense forest of humanity, meeting many adven
tures by the way, till at last they came to their
journey's end, and there was a supper-table laid as
if by magic, glittering with silver and with gold
that reflected a vast number of star-like lights,
and was crowded with strange, fragile flowers.
The prince helped the fairy to nuraerous dishes,
and to wines sparkling in many-coloured glasses,
and they enjoyed themselves vastly, until the
clock struck one, when an elderly fairy — for sure
such she must have been, as she called herself the
young fairy's mother — came up and carried her
away in a great rumbling coach, leaving the young
prince with the pink Uds disconsolate.

PEG WOFFINGTON 275
Araong others, George Anne Bellamy has a
story to tell of my Lady Coventry, though it is
not an over-pleasant one. When Maria Gunning
came over frora Ireland, she reraerabered the
friendly office which Miss BeUaray had forraerly
done her faraily, and again besought other favours
at the actress's hands. Indeed, it was only a
couple of days before her raarriage that she had
paid the player a visit concerning a little pecuniary
business, which resulted in George Anne accepting
a note of hand for cash received. Tirae passed,
Maria Gunning becarae Countess of Coventry, but
Miss Bellaray saw her no raore till one night when
the actress was playing Juliet in Covent Garden to
a great house, on which occasion the beauty sat
in a stage box in corapany with sorae other ladies
of the highest distinction. During the first part
of the play all went well ; but when the tragic
moment arrived in which the love-sick Juliet is
about to drink the poisoned draught, a loud laugh,
proceeding frora her ladyship's box, and indeed,
for the raatter of that, from her ladyship's lips,
fell upon the sUent house. So disconcerted was
Juliet that not only was she unable to drink the
poisoned draught, but she was Ukewise rendered
incapable of proceeding with her part ; she there
fore advanced to the footlights and begged per
mission to retire until sbe should be able to
recover herself. The audience was incensed, and
insisted on the ladies quitting the playhouse ; mor-

276 PEG WOFFINGTON
tified by which, the countess said to a gentleman
in a neighbouring box, who reproached her, that
since she had witnessed Mrs. Cibber as Juliet, she
could not bear to see Miss Bellamy play that
part. However, Lord Eglington, who was in the
countess's company at the time, subsequently com
ing around to the greenroom to apologise, assured
the blue-eyed Bellamy that no offence had been
meant to her ; but that the laugh Lady Coventry
"had broke out into had been involuntary, and
had been excited by her twirling an orange upon
her finger, and sorae ridiculous thing that was
said upon the occasion." Whatever caused the
laughter. Miss Bellamy was highly incensed, and
next morning dispatched her house-steward with
the note of hand Lady Coventry had given her a
few days previous to her raarriage, bidding him to
demand immediate payment of it from her lady
ship. When the man reached Lady Coventry's
house he was informed her ladyship was taking
the air on horseback, when it was his pleasure to
wait her return. Then he presented her with the
note-of-hand, " What," quoth she, " is it from Miss Bellamy,
the actress .' "
To which the raan replied it was ; upon which
her ladyship's beautiful countenance flushed indig
nantly. " If she is impertinent," said the countess, " I
will have her hissed off the stage."

PEG WOFFINGTON 277
On this the raan raade bold to say that " con
tinuing on the stage was a raatter of indifference
to his mistress ; but if she chose to perform, it
was not in her ladyship's power to prevent it."
Having made which remark, he speedily left the
house ; but he was soon overtaken by a messenger,
who said the money would be shortly sent — a
promise never fulfilled.
The second of the Gunnings, the beautiful
Betty, otherwise Elizabeth, Duchess of Hamilton,
had not yet an opportunity of proving her talent
for further matrimonial alliances with ducal houses,
but lived in peaceful retirement, giving the world
sons destined to becorae dukes. But another Scotch
duchess was at this time affording rauch diversion
to her conteraporaries. This was her Grace of
Gordon, "who looks like a raw-boned Scotch
raetaphysician, who has got a red face by drinking
water." One day at a court drawing-roora the
duchess — now a widow of two years' standing —
met Stanislaus, King of Poland ; she did not
speak to him, but she perceived he was a very
fine man, and being a woraan of prompt action,
sent one of the foreign muiisters next day to
invite his Majesty to dine with her, Stanislaus
went. The raoment he entered her Grace's draw
ing-room, her two little sons, dressed as nearly as
decency would permit like cupids, and equipped
with bows and arrows, jumped forward and shot at
him. Their aims were not of the best, and one of

278 PEG WOFFINGTON
the arrows was so far frora striking his heart that
it almost put out his eye, and prevented him seeing
the red-skinned Scotch Venus reclining in as grace
ful a repose as her raw bones would permit. The
king was not smitten by such loveliness as she
displayed, and her Grace was subsequently con
tent with becoraing the wife of Colonel Saates
Morris, Foreigners were indeed the fashion at this time
in London society, always provided they were not
Germans, of which there was ever a plentiful sup
ply at court, "Have you heard of a Countess
Chamfelt, a Bohemian, rich and hideous, who is
arrived here, and is under the protection of Lady
Caroline Petersham ,' " writes Horace Walpole to
George Montagu. "She has a great facility for
languages, and has already leamed 'damn you'
and 'kiss me,' I beg her pardon — I believe she
never uses the former but upon the miscarriage of
the latter ; in short, as Doddington says, she has
the honour of perforraing at raost courts in
Europe." The sarae worthy authority tells us a
story of another foreigner which admirably illus
trates the raanners of the tiraes. " There is a
young Frenchman here," he writes to Richard
Bentley, "caUed Monsieur Herault. Lady Har
rington carried him and his governor to sup with
her and Miss Ashe at a tavern t'other night, I
have long said that the French were relapsed into
barbarity, and quite ignorant of the world. You

PEG WOFFINGTON 279
shall judge : in the first place, the young man was
bashful ; in the next, the governor, so ignorant as
not to have heard of women of fashion carrying
men to a tavern, thought it incumbent on him to
do the honours for his pupU, who was as raodest
and as rauch in a state of nature as the ladies
themselves, and hazarded some familiarities with
Lady Harrington, The consequence was that the
next moming she sent a card to both, to desire
they would not corae to her ball that evening, to
which she had invited thera, and to beg the favour
of them never to come to the house again."
But all such gossip as this gave place to the
wonderful story concerning Lady Alberaarle,
daughter of Charles, fifth Duke of Richraond,
who two nights together drearat she saw and took
leave of her lord ; and the dream was put in the
newspapers, and talked of by all the town, and
furnished the chief subject in the correspondence
dated December, 1754. The most graphic narra
tion of the story comes frora Walpole's pen. Lord
Alberaarle died suddenly at Paris, frora which gay
city an express containing the news was sent to
his son. Lord Bury, then at Windsor, who carae
to town betiraes, and found his raother and sisters
at breakfast, Walpole shall tell the rest,
" ' Lord, chUd ! ' said my Lady Albemarle,,
•what brings you here to town so early?'
" He said he had been sent for.
" Says she, ' You are not well ? '

28o PEG WOFFINGTON
" ' Yes,' replied Lord Bury, ' I am, but a little
flustered with something I have heard.'
" ' Let me feel your pulse,' said Lady Albemarle.
' Oh,' continued she, ' your father is dead.'
"'Lord, madara,' said Lord Bury, 'how could
that come uito your head ? I should rather have
imagined that you would have thought it was my
poor brother WUUam ' (who is just gone to Lisbon
for his health),
" ' No,' said my Lady Albemarle, ' I know it is
your father ; I dreamt last night that he was dead
and came to take leave of me,' and she immediately
swooned, " I do believe," adds Walpole, " the dream hap
pened, and happened right among the mUlions of
dreams that do not hit." When Lady Temple
tells the story, she adds that my Lady Albemarle
saw her lord all dressed in white. "The same
thing," she adds, "happened before the Duke of
Richmond's death, and often has happened before
the death of any of her famUy."
Then there was a curious story, which was like
wise in the papers, of another dream which was
realised in a strange manner. One Mr. Dalker, it
was recounted, visited an ancient raansion situated
in the country, where among other things of inter
est, he saw the figure of a marble lion, represented
as open-mouthed and enraged. "There's my
enemy," said the poor man, "I have more than
once dreamed that I should owe my death to a

PEG WOFFINGTON 281
lion." And so saying, and smiling in scorn as he
spoke, he thmst his arm into the Uon's mouth.
But within was an iron spike, which severely
lacerated his hand, and a mortification ensuing, he
died in consequence. Then at the same tirae
occurred Lord Montford' s death, a more extraor
dinary story yet. My lord, who was high steward
of the town of Cambridge, was a good-natured and
agreeable man enough, with the most compendious
understanding. In the first raonth of the year
1755, he consulted several persons on the easiest
method of ending life. Next, he invited a com
pany to dinner for the day after his death, and
ordered a supper at White's, where he supped like
wise the night before. In the midst of this, whUst
wine and wit flowed freely, and Lord Robert Bertie
drank to hira a happy new year, he suddenly clapped
his hands to his eyes. Next day he sent for his
lawyer, as Lady Hervey tells us in her interesting
letters, made his will, and had it read over three
times, that there might be no flaw or roora for dis
pute. Afterward he asked the lawyer if it would
stand good though a man were to shoot himself,
who assured hira it would ; on which his lordship
went into his bedroom and shot himself. " These
things," writes my Lady Hervey, "are what our
countrymen attribute to more reflection, solid rea
soning, and greater resolution than other people
are masters of ; I impute them to more phlegmatic
constitutions, thicker and more uncertain blood.

282 PEG WOFFINGTON
and lower spirits — natural effects of our cliraate
on our bodies, and therefore a physical evil, not a
moral excellence, I have as yet heard no reason
assigned for this event but that tedium vitse which
is so frequent in this country. Happy shall I be
when I return to that country where the air, the
people, and the manner of living dispose one to
cheerfulness, and to enjoy life, not destroy it,"
My Lord Montford's tragic death did not, how
ever, make much impression on some of his friends.
Lord Lincoln, whom George II. declared was the
handsomest man in England, when he heard the
news, said, with an air of vast philosophy, " Well,
I am sorry for poor Montford ; but it is the part
of a wise man to make the best of every misfor
tune — I shall now have the best cook in England."
This reraark was made before Lord Anson, who
likewise loved the things of this earth properly
cooked. The late earl's chef would not, however,
protaise to bestow his service on my Lord Lincoln
till he knew if the present earl would retain him.
When it was decided that he would not. Lord Lin
coln proposed that he should enter into his service ;
but the great chef was already engaged by my
Lord Anson. Great was the quarrel that ensued
between these noble gentlemen concerning a cook ;
so great that at one time it was considered blood
could alone atone for this breach of friendship and
deplorable selfishness. The chef was, however,
spared the honour of having a duel fought for his

PEG WOFFINGTON 283
sake, A more lively story than this soon amused
the town, the hero of which was General Braddock,
the heroine, Mrs, Upton, The lady loved hira so
well that she parted with all her pin-money to
him ; the gallant man considered it but a due
reward for his tenderness, and yet craved for
more. Pressing her one day for further suppUes,
she pulled out her purse to show him she had but
twelve or fourteen shillings left. He twitched it
from her. " Let me see," said the gallant man,
and sure enough he found five guineas tied up at
the other end ; possessing himself of which, he
flung back the empty purse in her face. "Did
you raean to cheat rae .¦' " he said, indignantly, and
he went out of the house ; and Mrs, Upton saw
her lover no raore. The town was, however, rauch
diverted by her loss.
All through the fashionable seasons of these
years the great houses entertained — suppers,
breakfasts, dinners, and asserablies continually
kept the polite part of the town in motion. My
Lady Norfolk's receptions were distinguished by
their special magnificence and the vast crowds
that flocked to them. It was at one of these that
Charles Townshend, who had a reputation for wit
and many other things, heard somebody say that
my Lady Falraouth, who had a great raany dia
raonds on, had a very fine storaach, "By Gad,"
said he, " ray lord has a better." My Lady Nor
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284 PEG WOFFINGTON
these occasions, when, according to one of the
gossips who attended thera, "the tapestry, the
erabroidered bed, the illuminations, the glasses,
the lightness and novelty of the ornaments, and
the ceiUngs were pronounced delightful." Then
my Lady Lincoln, whose husband was auditor
of the exchequer, gave vast assemblies in the Ex
chequer House, when Westminster Hall was
illuminated for chairs, the passage from it hung
with green baize and coloured laraps, and the
cloisters ornamented with volterra vases, — the
whole presenting the prettiest scene in the world.
"Gaiety of all kinds reigns here at present,"
writes Lady Hervey in 1755. "Balls, masquer
ades, and parties for play, and suppers abound so
much that not only each night furnishes one, but
many nights produce two or three. That at Lord
Granville's has made a very great match. Mr.
Spencer there fell in love with one of the daughters
of Sir CecU Bishop, who has a great many children
and a sraall estate."
This merry gentleman was the son of the
Honourable Jack Spencer, the favourite grandson
of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough. Having dis
inherited, to the utmost of her power, his eldest
brother, Charles, Duke of Marlborough, she had
made a settlement of a very great estate upon
the Honourable Jack and his sons, which they
were to forfeit if any of them should ever accept
any employment, raUitary or civU, or any pension

PEG WOFFINGTON 285
from any king or queen of the realm. " This, I
think," the ' reraarkable woraan wrote when she
had raade her wUl, "ought to please everybody;
for it will secure my heirs in being very con
siderable men. None of them can put on a fool's
coat, and take posts frora soldiers of experience
and service, who never did anything but kill
pheasants and partridges." The fortune of nigh
,;^30,ooo a year, which she left tbe Honourable
Jack, did not help by any raeans to prolong his life ;
for he died at the age of six and thirty, " because,"
says Horace Walpole, briefly, "he would not be
abridged of those invaluable blessings of an Eng
lish subject, — brandy, sraall beer, and tobacco."
His son, whora Lady Hervey raentions, and who
afterward became first Earl Spencer, did not marry
the beautiful Miss Bishop, but rather Miss Poyntz,
whose nuptial festivals, which took place in Decem
ber, 1755, caused much arauseraent to the town.
" One has heard of nothing for some time past,"
writes Lady Hervey, "but the magnificence, or
rather the silly, vain profusion on account of Mr.
Spencer's wedding; and what is more extraordi
nary, is that it is quite disagreeable to both the
young people, and entirely the effect of the vanity
and folly of Lady Cowper, Mr. Spencer's mother.
They came to town frora Althorp, where they
were raarried, with three coaches and six horses,
and two hundred horsemen. The viUages through
which they passed were put into the greatest con-

286 PEG WOFFINGTON
sternation ; some of the poor people shut them
selves up in their houses and cottages, barricading
theraselves up as well as they could. Those who
were more resolute or more desperate armed them
selves with pitchforks, spits, and spades ; all crying
out it was the invasion which was come ; and to
be sure, by the coaches and six horses, both the
Pretender and the King of France were come too.
In short, great was the alarm, and happy they
were when this formidable cavalcade passed by
without setting fire to the habitations or murder
ing the inhabitants."
When the bride and bridegroom came to town,
they were entertained with routs and assemblies,
and in return gave entertainraents reraarkable for
their vast displays of splendour. Then there were
great suppers at my Lord Hertford's, where all
the world of fashion was duly bidden, and where
the king's mistress, my Lady Yarmouth, "who
loved nothing so much as cramming," enjoyed
herself to sucb an extent that she was unable to
join in tbe minuet, in which Lady Rochford made
so graceful a figure. This was indeed a right
merry tirae. In every quarter of the town during
the fashionable seasons fiddles sounded, tapers
blazed, and courtly figures glided over waxed floors.

CHAPTER XIIL
Another Side of London Life — Men of Letters — The Poverty
of Poets — The Ingenious Samuel Boyse — His Wretched
Life and Miserable Death — Picture of a Poet — Richard
Savage — A Man of Melancholy Aspect — A Noble Patron —
An Author to Be Let — The Volunteer Laureate — Striving
to Live — Life in Bristol — Death in a Prison.
jHERE is another side to this sparkling,
vivacious, London life, raore interesting^
if sorrow fraught, glirapses of which we
catch in the careers of various raen of letters of
this period. Up and down Fleet Street and the
Strand, thin-figured, round-shouldered, haggard-
faced raen pass and repass ; the pockets of their
threadbare coats filled with manuscripts, poems
for Mr. Cave's Gentleman's Magazine, paragraphs
for Robert Dodsley's Morning Chronicle, para
phlets for Mr. John Newberry's press, aU of which
have been conceived in some miserable garret,
penned in a coffee-house box, or scrawled at raid
night on a tavern table.
Though the town at this tirae could boast a full
supply of raagazmes, reviews, and journals, yet
literature was at a low ebb, and the life of the
287

288 PEG WOFFINGTON
Grub Street ' hack was one of need and sore pri
vation. " I have a reluctance to think of living
among the facetious barbarians of London," writes
David Hume from Paris. "Letters are there
held in no honour. The taste for literature is
neither decayed nor depraved here, as with the
barbarians who inhabit the banks of the Thames."
And Horace Walpole tells a friend that he " shuns
authors, and would never," says he, "be one
myself, if it obliged me to keep such bad com
pany." The nobility preferred the society of
gamesters, fiddlers, and buffoons to that of men
of letters; whilst the middle class, ever following
in the wake of the greater current, treated writers
by profession witb a contempt which it must be
confessed their conduct oftentiraes deserved.
It is true that Pope had been lifted to independ
ence by powerful patronage, and could afford to
sneer in many a bitter line at the Grub Street
scribblers ; that Gay, concerning whom a king
and a duchess had wrangled at a drawing-room in
St. James's, was likewise protected by the great ;
that Young had been pensioned by Sir Robert
Walpole; but Fielding, after working arduously
as a dramatist, novelist, and hack writer for the
journals of the day, quitted England, worn out in
' Grub Street, according to Johnson, was " the name of a
street in London much inhabited by writers of small histories,
dictionaries, and temporary poems ; whence any mean production
is called Grub Street."

PEG WOFFINGTON 289
health and wrecked in fortune, to die in exile;
Samuel Richardson alone saved hiraself from want
by keeping shop ; both Savage and Boyse starved ;
Johnson was cast into a sponging-house ; Thorap
son wanted shoes, and would have wanted bread,
but for a player's charity ; ' CoUins died neglected
and mad ; and Smollett, after long years spent m
translating, compiling, reviewing, dramatising, and
novel-writuig for a bare subsistence, cried out in
bitterness against " the incredible labour and cha
grin " of his life. To be a hack writer was indeed
a sorry mortal, to be a poet was a raan acquainted
with wretchedness. "All that is squalid. and rais
erable," writes Lord Macaulay, speaking of this
period, "might now be suraraed up in the word
poet. That word denoted a creature dressed like
a scarecrow, faraUiar with compters and sponging-
houses, and perfectly qualified to decide on tbe
'John Gait, in his "Lives of the Players," says that Quin,
" hearing Thompson, the poet of the ' Seasons,' was confined in
a sponging-house for a debt of about ;^70, he repaired to the
place. Thompson was a good deal disconcerted at seeing
him, and the more so as Quin told him he had come to sup
with him, and that as he supposed it would have been inconve
nient to have had the supper dressed at the place they were in,
he had ordered it from an adjacent tavern, and, as a prelude,
half a dozen of claret was introduced. Supper being over, Quin
said, ' It is time now we should balance accounts. The pleasure
I have had in perusing your works I cannot estimate at less than
a hundred pounds, and I insist on now acquitting the debt.' On
saying this he put down a note, and took his leave without waiting
for a reply."

290 PEG WOFFINGTON
comparative merits of the Coramon Side in the
King's Bench prison and of Mount Scoundrel in
the Fleet. Even the poorest pitied him ; and they
might well pity him. For if their condition was
equally abject, their aspirations were not equally
high, nor their sense of insult equally acute. To
lodge in a garret up four pair of stairs, to dine in
a cellar among footmen out of place, to translate
ten hours a day for the wages of a ditcher, to be
hunted by bailiffs from one haunt of beggary and
pestilence to another, from Grub Street to St.
George's Fields, and from St. George's Fields to
the alleys behind St. Martin's Church, to sleep
on a bulk in June and amidst the ashes of a glass
house in December, to die in a hospital and to be
buried in a parish vault, was the fate of more than
one writer who, if he had lived in our time, would
have found encouragement and munificence in
Albemarle Street or in Patemoster Row."
Of such was Samuel Boyse, "well known by
his ingenious productions," whose sad, improvident
course was typical of his class. The son of "a
learned, pious, and useful divine," he had by some
Ul chance strayed into the perUous paths of litera
ture, and professed himself a poet. His genius
gave such early promise that it raised him many
friends, and would have rendered his name illus
trious, but that his natural indolence and self-in
dulgence lowered him, until he grew to be that
most miserable thing, a Grub Street scribbler.

PEG WOFFINGTON 291
As such he became, as a biographer mUdly puts
it, "a man of no parts whatever — his political
creed being influenced by his necessities." In
other words, his talents were for sale to the politi
cian desiring an anonjonous scourge for his oppo
nent, to the dependent choosing to flatter his
patron. Now we find him dedicating an ode,
entitled " The Olive," to Sir Robert Walpole, for
which he received ten guineas ; then dedicating a
volume of poems to the Countess of Eglington,
a lady of raany accoraplishraents ; and again writ
ing an elegant elegy on the death of the Viscount
ess Stormount, called " The Tears of the Muses,"
for her ladyship, being the patroness of raen of
wit and possessing a taste in the sciences, was one
for whose loss the mystic nine were supposed to
weep. The guineas which these and other effu
sions of a like kind afforded him brought hira but
little benefit. Whilst they lasted he forsook the
Irish ordinary in Shoe Lane, or the yet raore
squalid eating-house in Porridge Island, where he
and his fellows, when quite pennUess, would stand
to sniff the scent of that which they raight not
enjoy, and now hastened to the " Rose and Crown "
ordinary close by Covent Garden, there to partake
of a dainty supper and drink rare wines, the cost
of which left him pennUess on the morrow. Then
came letters of supplication to persons of distinc
tion, — "a freedora," says one of his conterapo
raries, " to which he was entitled by the power of

292 PEG WOFFINGTON
his genius ; " and odes, the object of which was to
gain a guinea or two frora those they flattered.
When such failed the poet would turn to work,
and pen rhymes for the Gentleman' s Magazine,
the proprietor of which paid him by the hundred
lines, "which after awhile he wanted to make
what is called the long hundred," or write a his
tory for the same publisher, for which he was paid
half a guinea a week, his labour including not only
the coraposition of " a work not destitute of raerit,"
but proof-correcting likewise.
This lack of generosity on the part of Mr. Ed
ward Cave soraewhat prepares us for the raiserable
picture which Shiels has given of the poor poet.
Shiels was himself a chUd of the Muses, — sad to
say, an unsuccessful chUd, as raay be gathered from
the fact that when he wrote his " Lives of the
Poets," his publisher, to secure their sale, paid
Theo Cibber, then a prisoner for debt, the sum
of ten guineas for allowing his name to be affixed
to the title-page as the author. Shiels, in speak
ing of Boyse, tells us his misery was extreme.
"He had not,'' he writes, "a shirt, a coat, or any
kind of apparel to put on ; the sheets in which he
lay were carried to the pawnbrokers, and he was
obliged to be confined to bed with no other cover
ing than a blanket. He had little support but
what he got by writing letters to his friends in
the most abject style. Whoever had seen him
in this study must have thought the object singu-

PEG WOFFINGTON 293
lar enough. He sat up in bed with the blanket
wrapped about him, through which he had cut a
hole large enough to adrait his arra, and, placing
the paper upon his knee, scribbled in the best
raanner he could the verses he was obliged to
make. Whatever he got by these or any of
his begging letters was but just suflficient for
the preservation of life. And perhaps he would
have remamed rauch longer in this distressful
state had not a compassionate gentleman, upon
hearing the circumstances, ordered his clothes to
be taken out of pawn."
This compassionate gentleraan was Sarauel John
son, who, being a contributor to the sarae raaga
zine, had becorae acquainted with the poor poet.
Hearing now of his distress, and reraerabering the
days when he "subsisted hiraself for a considerable
space of time upon the scanty pittance of four-
pence halfpenny per day," and had eaten his din
ner at the ordinary at St, John's Gate behind a
screen because he was ashamed of his ragged
clothes, Johnson collected a sum of money to re
deera such articles of attire for the distressed poet
as would enable hira to venture forth among his
more prosaic fellow creatures with due deference
to a sense of what they termed decency. The sum
necessary for this laudable purpose was collected
by sixpences, "at a tirae when to rae," Johnson
afterward reraarked, " sixpence was a serious con
sideration," This charity avaUed the poet little,

294 PEG WOFFINGTON
for the clothes were soon again in the possession
of the pawnbroker ; and for the future, according
to Shiels, " whenever his distresses so pressed him
as to induce him to dispose of his shirt, he fell upon
an artificial method of supplying one. He cut some
white paper in slips, which he tied around his wrists,
and in the same way supplied his neck. In this
manner he frequently appeared abroad, with the
additional inconvenience of want of breeches."
The charming simplicity of this costume, which
in Arcadia would have been regarded as super
fluous, was considered insufficient in the vicinity
of Fleet Street, "He was once sent for in a
hurry to the house of a printer, who had employed
him to write a poem for his magazine," writes
Shiels. "Boyse then was without breeches or
waistcoat, but was yet possessed of a coat, which
he threw upon him, and in this ridiculous manner
went to the printer's house, where he found sev
eral woraen whom his extraordinary appearance
obliged immediately to retire,"
His shifts to obtain money were indeed pitiful.
He sometimes ordered his wife — for he had raar
ried when barely eighteen — to inforra his friends
he was just expiring; by which artifice he worked
on their corapassion, though he frequently excited
their anger when next day they encountered him
whom they had believed was at that moment on
the point of death. Yet this man, who was
reduced to such sad straits, was the writer of sev-

PEG WOFFINGTON 295
eral charming poems, one of which, "The Deity,"
Fielding speaks of as a " very noble composition ; "
an opinion Hervey, author of " The Meditations,"
endorses by speaking of it as " very beautiful, sub
lime, and instructive ; quite poetical, truly evangel
ical, and admirably fitted to delight and comfort
the heart," Moreover, he laboured hard. "I
have all last sumraer," he writes in 1741, "been
eraployed by Mr, Cave in French translations ; a
province highly agreeable to rae, and the most
profitable business stirring. I have been since
last September alraost constantly with Doctor
Douglas, in the slavish work of index raaking,
alias word catching, and ara only now interrupted
by his ' Osteology,' which takes up his whole
attention. I have the prospect of having a new
translation from the French in a few days ; but
booksellers are so undistinguishing, and authors,
or rather scribblers, so plenty, that learning, unless
supported, bids fair to starve between them. I
hope the best, and would endeavour, as far as
I could, to support a good character in a literary
way." Yet he suffered from hunger and nakedness, and,
to coraplete the history of his miseries, was cast
into a sponging-house, frora whence he cries out
to Cave, his employer, for help. "I am every
moment," writes the poor poet, " threatened to be
turned out here, because I have not money to
pay for my bed two nights past, which is usually

296 PEG WOFFINGTON
paid beforehand ; and I am loth to go into the
compter tUl I can see if my affairs can possibly be
made up. I hope, therefore, you will have the
huraanity to send me half a guinea for support,
till I finish your papers in my hands. I humbly
entreat your answer, having not tasted anything
since Tuesday evening I came here ; and my coat
wUl be taken off ray back for the charge of the
bed, so that I must go into the prison naked, which
is too shocking for me to think of."
Hewas soon released, and was in "the enjoy
raent of serene melancholy;" for his spouse —
who, by tbe way, had during life entertained very
liberal views regarding the duties pertaining to
matrimony — had now gone to that bourne from
whence wives never retum, leaving the poet to
nurse his sorrows and a pet dog, which he was
wont to carry in his arms because it gave him the
air of a man of taste, and which he decorated with
a piece of black ribbon as expressive of the loss
which both he and the puppy sustained for their
late mistress. Boyse died in the year 1749, at
the age of fifty-one. Mr. GUes, described as "a
late collector of poems," says he was found dead
in his bed in a wretched garret in Whitefriars,
with the pen in his hand in the act of writing ; but
Johnson assured Mr. Nichols that during a fit of
intoxication he was run over by a coach ; whilst
Mr. Francis Stewart declared he was attacked in
Westminster by two or three soldiers, who not

PEG WOFFINGTON 297
only robbed hira, but used hira so barbarously that
he died from the effects. In any case, his Ufe
ended in misery, and a pauper's grave received his
body. A scarcely less raiserable poet was Savage, a
man of melancholy aspect, of a thin habit of body,
with a voice tremulous and mournful, and raanners
elegant and graceful. He was the son of Anne,
Countess of Macclesfield, unlawfully begotten by
Earl Rivers ; his raother hated him from the hour
of his birth, and persecuted him tiU that of his
death. Bound 'prentice to a shoemaker in Hol
born, he might have lived a respectable tradesman,
if accident had not made known to him the secret
of his birth, by means of some papers left in the
possession of an old nurse ; or had not the Muses
discovered to hira the fact that he was richly dow
ered with the fatal gift of song. Spurned by the
woraan who bore him, and through her machina
tions left penniless by his adulterous father, he
spent his tirae, as Johnson writes, " in raean expe
dients and torraenting suspense, living for the
greatest part in the fear of prosecutions frora his
creditors, and consequently skulking in obscure
parts of the town, of which he was no stranger to
the reraotest," comer."
At such tiraes it was his habit to lie in bed all
day, getting up only when darkness carae, and
stealing out into the night to visit an acquaint
ance, sell a few verses he had written, and wander

298 PEG WOFFINGTON
about in the enjoyment of that liberty which he
might not enjoy by day ; retuming to his garret
before mom and the baUiffs awoke. Occasionally,
and in happier times, he lived in luxury at the
tables of the great, whom the exercise of his
talents, the fascination of his manners, and the
sprightliness of his conversation delighted ; until
he disgusted them by his irregularities, when the
wretched Bohemian was tumed from the doors in
anger and disgrace, and was again reduced to the
uttermost depths of hunger and despair.
One of the noble patrons who bore with his dis
sipated ways was my Lord Tyrconnel, an Irish
peer. His lordship, upon the poet laying aside a
design of exposing his guilty mother's cruelties,
consented to receive him into his household, to
treat him as one of his famUy, and to allow him an
income of two hundred a year. This, as the biog
rapher states, was the golden part of his poet's
life. " For a time he had no reason to complain
of fortune ; his appearance was splendid, his ex
penses large, and his acquaintance extensive. He
was courted by all who endeavoured to be thought
men of genius, and caressed by all who valued
themselves upon a refined taste. To admire Mr.
Savage was a proof of discernment, and to be
acquainted with hira was a title to poetical repu
tation. His presence was sufficient to raake any
place of public entertainment popular; and his
approbation and example constituted the fashion ;

PEG WOFFINGTON 299
SO powerful is genius when it is invested with the
glitter of afifiuence. Men wiUingly pay to fortune
that regard which they owe to raerit, and are
pleased when they have an opportunity at once of
gratifying their vanity and practising their duty."
It was whUst under the protection of ray Lord
Tyrconnel, at a time when he fondly believed him
self removed for ever above the mean expedients of
a hack writer's existence, that he published a para
phlet called " An Author to be Let ; being a pro
posal humbly addressed to the consideration of the
knights, esquires, gentleraen, and other wonderful
and weighty members of the Solid and Ancient
Society of the Bathos, by their associate and well-
wisher, Iscariot Hackney." This was written to
satirise the Grub Street scribblers, of whom he
had raany bitter recollections. Johnson, in speak
ing of it, declares that in this paraphlet Savage has
left " exact observations on huraan life which would
do honour to the greatest naraes." That it was a
mirror in which those satirised saw themselves
reflected in a manner most true to nature was
at once evident frora the fact that several of them
accused Savage of making use of their confidences
for the purpose of holding them up to public
scom. No more forcible picture of the swarming
tribe who contributed so rauch to the literature of
the day, — a race now for ever, happily, extinct,
— who stung in paraphlets, flattered in odes, slan
dered in paragraphs, translated, plagiarised, cora-

300 PEG WOFFINGTON
pUed, and starved, can be given than by quoting a
few passages from this pamphlet, now almost wholly
unknown. In the preface he says most of the scribblers are
" persons of a very low parentage, and without any
pretence of merit, are aspiring to the rank of gen
tlemen. Thus they become all economists. Poverty
is the consequence of all econoray, and dirty tricks
the consequence of their poverty. Though they
are sad writers, they raight have been good rae-
chanics; and therefore, by endeavouring to shine
in spheres to which they are unequal, are guUty
of depriving the public of many that might have
been its useful members. Had not the great Mr.
Dennis, the son of a saddler, better have been a
common parish-crier than a poet or critic.'' Had
it not been an honester and more decent livelihood
for Mr. Norton (Daniel Defoe's son of love, by a
lady who vended oysters) to have dealt in a fish-
market than to be dealing out the dialects of
Billingsgate and detraction in the Flying Post?
Should not Dick Morley rather have been blacking
shoes at the corners of streets (to which it is well
known his industrious and more prudent younger
brother submitted) than blackening reputations in
the Weekly Journal? The blackening of the
brush from the Japan pot is so useful and orna
mental that it is frequently called honour ; but
the dash of Dick's pen, so often dipped in an ink-
standish, is dirty and detrimental, consequently

PEG WOFFINGTON 301
dishonour. So that Dick and his brother iUus
trate St. Paul's saying, ' Sorae are raade to honour,
and some to dishonour.' Had it not been raore
decent for Mr. Roorae to have sung psalras, accord
ing to education, in an anabaptist raeeting than to
have been altering ' The Jovial Crew ' or ' Merry
Beggars ' into a wicked iraitation of the ' Beggar's
Opera ' ? When Mrs. Haywood ceased to be a
strolling actress, why might not the lady (though
once a theatrical queen) have subsisted by turning
washerwoman ? Has not the fall of greatness
been a frequent distress in all ages ? She might
have considered the sullied linen, growing white in
her pretty red hands, as an emblem of her soul,
were it well scoured by repentance for the sins of
her youth ; but she rather chose starving, by writ
ing novels of intrigue to teach young heiresses
the art of running away with fortune-hunters, and
scandalising persons of the highest worth and dis
tinction. When this lady, or these gentlemen, are
asked why they abuse such and such persons, their
answer is they are obliged to write for want of
money, and to abuse for want of other subjects.
Is want of money an excuse for picking pockets,
or what is worse, taking away a man's good name ?
Is the poverty of Moore's genius an excuse for
filching Pope's lines ? And appears not the theft
in his comedy as plain as if a cinder-wench should
steal a gold watch, and afterward wear it ? "
So much for the preface, which could not at

302 PEG WOFFINGTON
least be accused of ambiguity ; then comes the au
tobiographical, detaUs of the career of Iscariot
Hackney, the Grub Street scribbler. Whilst a
boy he developed a genius for raischief, carried
tales frora one lad to another, and then to the
raaster, to have them whipped ; and always, when
he comraitted a fault himself, laid the blame on
another, — a sure prognostic of his future abilities
as a politician. When he grew to be a youth, he
hooted at any unfortunate, Ul-dressed person in
the street, if he looked like a gentleman, — a cer
tain sign of his talents as a critic. As he grew to
manhood, with a natural sourness of temper, a
droll soleranity of countenance, and a dry manner
of joking upon such accidents as fools who value
themselves upon huraanity would be apt to com
passionate, he set up for a man of humour about
town ; and as he had, furthermore, a propensity to
sneer upon all mankind, especially those who iraag
ined they could oblige him, he became a writer.
" Soon after," Iscariot says, painting a portrait in
which several persons saw themselves respectively
represented, " I was eraployed by Curll to write a
raerry tale, the wit of which was its obscenity.
This we agreed to palra upon the world for a pos
thumous piece of Mr. Prior. However, a certain
lady, celebrated for certain liberties, had a curiosity
to see the real author. Curll, on my promise that,
if I had a present, he should go snacks, sent me to
her. I was admitted whilst her ladyship was shift-

PEG WOFFINGTON 303
ing ; and on my admittance, Mrs. AbigaU was
ordered to withdraw. What passed between us,
a point of gallantry obliges me to conceal ; but
after some extraordinary civUities, I was disraissed
with a purse of guineas, and a comraand to write a
sequel to my tale. Upon this I turned out smart
in dress, bit Curll of his share, and ran out raost
of ray raoney in printing ray works at ray own
cost. But some years after the varlet was re
venged. He arrested me for several raonths'
board, brought me back to my garret, and made
rae drudge on in my old dirty work. It was in his
service that I wrote obscenity and profaneness
under the names of Pope and Swift. Sometimes
I was Mr. Gay, and at others. Theory Burnet or
Addison. I abridged histories and travels, trans
lated from the French what they never wrote, and
was expert at finding out new titles for old books.
" When a notorious thief was hanged, I was the
Plutarch to preserve his memory ; and when a
great man died, mine were his remains, and mine
the account of his last will and testaraent. . . .
One of ray books had the honour of being pre
sented for a libel by the grand jury, and another
was raade a burnt offering by the hands of the
common hangraan. If an author writes a piece
that has success in his own character, I abuse
hira ; but if in a fictitious one, I endeavour to per
sonate him, and write a second part to his work.
. . . Rather than stand out of the play, I have

304 PEG WOFFINGTON
penned panegyricks on Rich's pantorairaes, and I
ara always Usted by hira to hiss the first night at
any of the Drury Lane perforraances.
" I have an excellent knack at birthday odes,
elegies, acrosticks, anagraras, prologues, recom
mendatory poems, rhymes for almanack makers,
and witty distiches for the signs of country inns
and ale-houses. When a man of quality is dis
tinguished for a wit, or an encourager of it, I
endeavour to strike him for a dedication. I have
tried all means, but what folks call honest ones,
for a livelihood. I offered my service for a secret
spy to the state ; but had not credit enough even
for that. When it was indeed very low with rae,
I printed proposals for a subscription to my works,
received money, and gave receipts without any
intention of delivering the book. ... In short,
I am a perfect town author ; I hate all mankind,
yet ara occasionally a mighty patriot. I am very
poor, and owe ray poverty to my merits — that is,
to my writings. I ara as proud as I ara poor ; yet
what is seemingly a contradiction, I never stick at
a raean action when ray own interest is concerned.
It is reckoned a vUlainous action to write a libel,
but more so to father one on a person who neither
wrote it nor approves of it ; now I own I never
scruple to do both. When a man of figure, per
haps an ornament to his country, hath been cruelly
aspersed in his lifetime, I love to revive the asper
sion at his death. . . . Now, gentlemen, if you

PEG WOFFINGTON 305
like me for a correspondent my price is the price
of a journalist, — a crown. You raay find rae in
the raorning at my lucubrations over a quartern
pot in a Geneva shop in Clare Market. I generally
dine with a brother bard at one of the little cook's
shops near St. Martin's Church, and probably
spend the evening with him at a night cellar in
the Strand, where I shall be ready to enter into a
treaty with you."
The whole tribe of Grub Street scribblers were
incensed by the pamphlet, and great was their re
joicing when presently its author feUfrom his high
estate ; or in words, quarrelled with my Lord Tyr
connel, and was once more cast adrift upon the
world. He had known hunger, had been clad in
rags, and he could not therefore bear with equa
nimity the fortune which had suddenly promoted
hira to fare suraptuously and dress in purple and
fine linen. The reaction had been too great, and
he soon learned to abuse the privileges extended
to him. It was his habit. Lord Tyrconnel alleged,
to enter a tavern with various companies, and drink
the rarest wines with great profusion, he not hav
ing a penny in his pocket to pay the reckoning
withal. If his companions were willing to defray
the cost, the raatter ended peaceably ; but if they
becarae refractory, and deraanded that he should
pay for his own Uquor, his raethod of settleraent
was to take thera to his own apartment in my
lord's mansion, assurae the governraent of the

3o6 PEG WOFFINGTON
house, imperiously order the butler to set the best
wines in the cellar before his guests, who drank
"till they forgot the respect due to the house in
which they were entertained, indulged theraselves
in the utmost extravagance of merriment, practised
the most licentious frolicks, and committed all the
outrages of drunkenness."
Moreover, Lord Tyrconnel avowed that, having
allowed Savage the use of a valuable collection of
books stamped with his own arms, he had the
mortification to see them in a short time upon
the stalls ; it being one of the poet's ways to
pawn the volumes when he wanted the accorarao
dation of a small sum. Johnson said that whoever
was acquainted with Mr. Savage easily credited
both these accusations ; " for having been obliged
frora his first entrance into the world to subsist
upon expedients, affluence was not able to exalt
bim above them ; and so much was he delighted
with wine and conversation, and so long had he
been accustomed to live by chance, that he would
at any time go to the tavem without scruple, and
trust for the reckoning to the liberality of his com
pany, and frequently of company to whom he was
very little known."
Savage, in giving his reasons for the dispute
with his patron, states that " Lord Tyrconnel had
involved his estate, and therefore poorly sought
an occasion to quarrel with him." Moreover, he
said his lordship had taken the liberty of exhorting

PEG WOFFINGTON 307
him to regulate his raethod of life ; had protested
against his spending his nights in tavems, and re
quested that he would pass those hours with him
which he so freely bestowed upon others. Liberty
is dear to a Bohemian, and Savage resented this
interference with it ; he loftily declared he " would
spurn that friend who should presurae to dictate
to him." He added that his maintenance and
allowance was not so rauch a favour as a debt ;
as it was offered hira upon conditions which he
had never broken. However, the result of the
quarrel was that the old life wretchedness and
want lay once more before hira.
When Ensden, the parson poet-laureate died.
Savage exerted all the interest he possessed to
gain the vacant office. To succeed such a rhyme
ster as Ensden would in itself have been no
honour. The pieces written on particular occa
sions by hira had brought hira ridicule frora the
town in general, and raerciless satire frora such
pens as those of Pope, Oldraixon, the Duke of
Buckinghara, and Savage. However, the vast
merit which Lord Halifax beheld in the translation
which Ensden made into Latin verse of his lord
ship's poem, the "Battle of the Boyne," had
secured hira that nobleman's patronage, and
eventually gained him the ^laureateship frora
George the First, who probably never read a line
of verse in his life. Savage, in satirising this
reverend and poetic personage, gives a strange

3o8 PEG WOFFINGTON
picture of hira. "Methinks Laurus had better
been an university vintner than a divine or a
poet," he writes. "Would not bad wine have
been easier put off than bad poetry ? Had not a
bunch of grapes flourished raore naturally on his
brow than a sprig of bays .' Had he nbt with
raore propriety been seen sitting astride a butt,
with a bottle in one hand and a bumper in the
other, roaring out a merry catch, than raounting,
after the first stave, to thump a pulpit cushion,
and pause at every half sentence with a hiccup ? "
Now that the laureate had gone to enjoy the
music of the spheres. Savage sought his place;
which was however given to Colley Cibber, whose
verses were scarcely less inferior to those of his
predecessor. But notwithstanding his disappoint
ment. Savage addressed an ode to the queen,-
signing himself the Volunteer Laureate. Having
written tbe poem, he had no friend at court to
present it, and the verses, therefore, made their
appearance in pamphlet form. No sooner, how
ever, had her Majesty heard of thera than she des
patched a raessenger to the bookseller for a copy,
and though the usual ceremony of presentation was
wanting, she was obliging enough to send bim
a bank-bill for fifty pounds, accompanied by a
gracious message that she was highly pleased
with the verses, that he had permission to write
annually on the sarae subject, and that he should
yearly receive the same present.

PEG WOFFINGTON 309
He therefore continued to style himself the
Volunteer Laureate, much to the disgust of
Colley Cibber, who took an opportunity of in
forming him that "the title of laureate was a
mark of honour conferred by the king, from whom
all honour is derived, and which, therefore, no
man has a right to bestow upon hiraself ; and that
he raight with equal propriety style himself a vol
unteer lord or a volunteer baronet," Savage,
however, did not consider any title which was con
ferred upon Colley Cibber so honourable as that
the usurpation of it could be imputed to him as an
instance of very exorbitant vanity. He therefore
continued to write under the same title, and to
receive the proraised reward. This sura was by
no means equal to his notions of luxury, and with
the reckless improvidence of his character, it was
quickly spent. WhUst it lasted, he feasted sump
tuously at tavems, drank rich wines, kept gay
company ; and when his last guinea had rattled on
a tavern table, or passed into the possession of a
woraan of the town, he faced the future without
the certainty of a raeal or a lodging.
Johnson gives us a very graphic etching — raost
worthy of reraerabrance — of tbe poet's life at
this time. "For sorae part of the year," he
writes, " Savage generally lived by chance ; eating
only when he was invited to the tables of his
acquaintances, from which the meanness of his
dress often excluded him, when the politeness and

3IO PEG WOFFINGTON
variety of his conversation would have been
thought a sufficient recompense for his entertain
ment. He lodged as much by accident as he
dined, and passed the night sometimes in mean
houses which are set open at night to any casual
wanderers, sometimes in cellars among the riot
and filth of the raeanest and most profligate of the
rabble, and sometimes, when he had not money to
support even the expenses of these receptacles,
walked about the streets till he was weary, and
lay down, in the sumraer, on a bulk, or in the
winter, with his associates in poverty among the
ashes of a glass-house.
"In this manner were passed those days and
those nights which nature had enabled him to
have employed in elevated speculations, useful
studies, or pleasing conversation. On a bulk, in
a cellar, or in a glass-house, among thieves and
beggars, was to be found the author of ' The Wan
derer ; ' the man of exalted sentiments, extensive
views, and curious observations ; the raan whose
remarks on life might have assisted the statesman,
whose idea of virtue might have enlightened the
raoraUst, whose eloquence might have influenced
senates, and whose delicacy might have polished
courts," On the death of the queen the sum he was in
the habit of receiving from her as volunteer laure
ate ceased, and he was now poorer than ever. His
distress being, however, publicly known, his friends

PEG WOFFINGTON 311
held counsel together that they might concert
some raeans of helping hira. The result was a
proposal to raise by subscription a sura of fifty
pounds a year, on which he should retire into
Wales, where he could live in a private and eco
noraical raanner without, as they agreed, " aspiring
to influence, but at the sarae tirae without any
dependence on those little creatures which we are
pleased to call the great." This offer, the poor
poet, now in the lowest state of distress, gladly
accepted, and looked forward with pleasure to
residing in the country; of which it may be re
marked he had not the slightest knowledge, except
such as he had gathered from pastorals and other
songs descriptive of rural delights. To the raan
whose days had been passed between the garret
and the tavern, the land lying outside the city
gates was an arcadian scene of flowery raeads,
watered by sUver strearas, dotted by flower-covered
cottages ; where innocent pleasures obtained,
where nightingales perpetually sang, where sor
row and sin, toil and trouble, were unknown, A
poet's heart beat ui his breast ; a poet's imagina
tion tinted his future with hues of the rose,
FuU of hope, he therefore bade adieu to London
town, having fifteen guineas in his pocket, which
it was intended should pay his way to Swansea,
and support him there for some tirae. But four
teen days after his departure, he wrote to his
friends that he was yet upon the road, and that,

312 PEG WOFFINGTON
not having a penny in his purse, he could proceed
no farther. A remittance was therefore sent him,
and he reached Swansea, feeling sadly disappointed
with the country, miserably dissatisfied with his
lot, and full of indignation with those who, he
said, had banished him from town. These feeUngs
he took care to express forcibly in the letters he
addressed to his friends, the result being that
several of them refused to further subscribe toward
his support. After about a year's residence in
Swansea, he set out for London ; but reaching
Bristol on his way, tarried there, where he was
received with generous kindness, until such time
as his conduct wearied his new friends. Here his
life becarae a sequel to what it had been in Lon
don : he contracted debts at taverns, was pursued
by baUiffs, starved, was cast into prison, and ended
his raost raiserable life on the last day of July, in
the year 1743.

END OF VOLUME I.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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