336 A FLUENT PILL-VENDOR. beard and hair were black, and evidently false. Such expressions as the following struck my ear as I stood upon the curb of the opposite pave ment: You feel it, I have white of your eye "You, sir, you have a liver. no doubt, and I know, by the being so yellow-pardon the bull-you are bilious; which means you have too much bile." Then came a flood of words, in which I could distinguish now and then "chyle-bile - gall-liver-stomach— churning-secretions-obstructions-improper assimilations-blood-vessels gorged-head giddybad humor-quarrel with sweetheart--scold wife -bad temper; can't help it-send for doctor-big bill-no cure. True remedy, this box I hold in my hand, the poor man's friend-cure at once— instant relief — made happy in four-and-twentyhours no trouble with wife or sweetheart or friend-shake hands with self every morning. And only twenty-five cents!" Then followed a roar of laughter, and hands were extended in all directions for the magic boxes, when the speaker wound up with, “All gone, ladies and gentlemen-not even one more left,' as the razor-man says. Go home-get more -be back this afternoon. Grateful for favorspublic interest at heart. Till then humble servant. Good-bye." A low bow, and off went the doctor and his spanking blacks with the travelling pillshop. As I walked home to my tavern I could not get rid of the idea that all this adroitly-managed ex AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE DISCOVERED. 337 hibition had a smack of the stage about it. It brought to my memory an old farce called Rochester, in which a mountebank plays just such tricks. As I walked down the long entry-way to my room in the tavern I observed a large poster tacked on to a door, bearing an inscription stating that Doctor Veritas was "At home to the afflicted." Just then the door opened, several persons passed out, and I found my hand grasped by a man in a showy morning-gown and a black velvet cap, who warmly greeted me with, "Mr. Murdoch, my old friend!" I soon recognized in the quack doctor a former actor of what is called the "heavy business" in some of the theatres in which I had performed. His story was, that being out of an engagement he had taken up with an itinerant pill-vendor who was in a consumption and needed an apt speaker to sell his commodities. The man soon died, and my friend of the buskin became heir to his effects and business, and, finding his new profession most profitable, had continued to cry out his medical nostrums rather than return to the spouting of blank verse. A CHAPTER XVII. LONDON THEATRICAL SENSATIONS. NEW departure from the direct line of theatrical mannerism was exhibited in the case of Master Betty the boy-actor. The father of this prodigy instructed him in elocution and fencing when he was only ten years old. At that age he manifested great strength of will and decision of character, and upon seeing Mrs. Siddons perform Elvira in the play of Pizarro he expressed a determination to become an actor, affirming that he would sooner die than not go on the stage. His father, a man of independent circumstances, was much surprised, but decided not to thwart his inclination, and continued his instruction, until at length Master Betty made his appearance at Belfast, August 11, 1803, being then about eleven years old. He took the town by storm, was called an "infant Garrick," and the Belfast ladies pronounced him "a darling." He was received with similar enthusiasm in Cork, Waterford, Londonderry, Dublin, and other cities, the houses being crowded wherever he appeared. Fame heralded his approach to Edinburgh and Glasgow, while fortune continued to smile and the critics declared MASTER BETTY IN LONDON. 339 that he displayed all the powers of Garrick, Cooke, or Kemble. He came to London; and the excitement was no less intense. Gentlemen were crushed in the pit and ladies fainted in the boxes. The public verdict may be summed up in the fact that "Old Gentleman Smith," the original Charles Surface, gave him a seal bearing the likeness of Garrick, which Garrick in his last illness had charged him to keep until he should meet with a player who acted from nature and feeling. Smith pronounced him the proper person to receive the precious relic. It is said that on a motion made by Mr. Pitt the House of Commons adjourned one night and went down to the theatre to see him act Hamlet. He continued to play for two seasons, and retired with a splendid fortune. It seems as though Master Betty took possession of the stage very much as Blind Tom did of the platform. His success was not the result of cultivation, but a natural gift, of which the people knew nothing save that it filled them with wonder and delight. He seemed to have been the embodiment of passion—a master of words, but not of ideas. Instinct and ardor enabled him to take on the semblance of feeling as the chameleon receives the color of the object to which it clings. He learned words as the parrot does, by rote, and caught their meaning from the voice of his preceptor. A talent for expressive speech and graceful action made him the most comprehensive and perfect mimic of Nature that ever dazzled an audience. It is said that he learned the part of 340 MASTER BETTY'S ACTING. Hamlet in three days, and yet, though so quick at catching words, he always dropped his h's. He had seen but little acting before he appeared upon the boards, but it is probable that his father knew something of stage-business and the modes of expressive utterance peculiar to popular actors, and that he reproduced the intonations and inflections he caught from the recitals of his instructor. The most attractive element, however, in Master Betty's performance must have been the quality and force of his vocality. He was fresh and natural, unlike all other favorites, and therefore there could be no comparison. He was himself alone. He had a wonderful memory, self-possession, and elegance of manner, and it would seem that he acted as he felt, like a boy, and with the reckless adventure of a boy, without the fear of criticism, he entered upon his work with a love of its excitement. Without knowledge of the underlying principles of dramatic action, he trusted entirely to the conviction that he was a law unto himself and not answerable to any dictation but that of his own will. Had he been old or artful enough to copy any existing model, he would have thereby restricted his natural efforts and deadened his effects. As long as the ardor of youth prompted his action, it was brilliant and effective, but when the boy passed on toward maturity, with a realizing sense of circumstances and responsibility came a diminution of self-reliance and a restriction of impulse. As he merely practised the functions of acting, without studying the art or its principles, experience was |