Note 227 — APPENDIX,

Some eighteen or twenty years ago, a person of quality in the neighbourhood of Lichfield, dragged together a shoal of little holiday fry, to give an infantine exhibition of a new sentimental comedy.

A spacious Gothic gallery made an admirable theatre, and for scenery—there was an excellent substitute, in many a mouldering breadth of ancient tapestry, which represented in horrid guise the direful tale of Herod's Cruelty. By the hour announced for the theatrical début of these unfledged actors, the house overflowed. Though the circumstance is not recorded by either Boswell or Sir John Hawkins, a late celebrated moralist was one of the audience. To the beginning of the fifth act he stayed with more patience than could have been expected; at this time he exhibited evident marks of ennui and lassitude—yawned three times, and attempted to make his exit. The lady of the mansion cut off his retreat with, "'Pon honour, Doctor Johnson, you must not go! How can you think of leaving the theatre when my Dicky is in so interesting a situation?" "Madam," replied the sage, "with the plot of your play I was unacquainted, and have waited thus long in the hope that it would turn out a tragedy; I might then have seen how naturally little Dicky and his dramatic associates would have died! I now perceive that the author will neither introduce aconite nor a bare bodkin, and have no prospect of a pathetic termination but in Herod or some of his tapestry hang-dogs starting into life. Should these murderous ruffians once step upon the stage, all your pretty innocents will most assuredly be put to the sword!"