The regret that stood next, or, rather, that stood alone with Dr. Burney, to that of losing the pure air and bright view of Hampstead and Highgate, by this change to St. Martin’s-street, was missing the frequency of the visits of Mr. Garrick; to whom the Queen-Square of that day was so nearly out of town, that to arrive at it on foot had almost the refreshment of a country walk.
St. Martin’s-street, on the contrary, was situated in the populous closeness of the midst of things; and not a step could Garrick take in its vicinity, without being recognised and stared at, if not pursued and hailed, by all the common herd of his gallery admirers; those gods to whom so often he made his fond appeal; and who formed, in fact, a principal portion of his fame, and, consequently, of his happiness, by the honest tribute of their vociferous plaudits.
Nevertheless, these jovial gods, though vivifying
[Pg 345]
to him from their high abode, and in a mass, at the theatre, must, in partial groups, from the exertions he could never refrain from making to keep alive with almost whatever was living, his gay popularity, be seriously fatiguing, by crowding about him in narrow streets, dirty crossings, and awkward nooks and corners, such as then abounded in that part of the town; though still his buoyant spirits, glowing and unequalled, retained their elastic pleasure in universal admiration.
An instance of this preponderating propensity greatly diverted Dr. Burney, upon the first visit of Mr. Garrick to St. Martin’s-street.
This visit was very matinal; and a new housemaid, who was washing the steps of the door, and did not know him, offered some resistance to letting him enter the house unannounced: but, grotesquely breaking through her attempted obstructions, he forcibly ascended the stairs, and rushed into the Doctor’s study; where his voice, in some mock heroics to the damsel, alone preceded him.
Here he found the Doctor immersed in papers, manuscripts, and books, though under the hands of his hair-dresser; while one of his daughters was reading a newspaper to him;[58] another was making
[Pg 346]
his tea,[59] and another was arranging his books.[60]
The Doctor, beginning a laughing apology for the literary and littered state of his apartment, endeavoured to put things a little to rights, that he might present his ever welcome guest with a vacated chair. But Mr. Garrick, throwing himself plumply into one that was well-cushioned with pamphlets and memorials, called out: “Ay, do now, Doctor, be in a little confusion! whisk your matters all out of their places; and don’t know where to find a thing that you want for the rest of the day;—and that will make us all comfortable!”
The Doctor now, laughingly leaving his disorder to take care of itself, resumed his place on the stool; that the furniture of his head might go through its proper repairs.
Mr. Garrick then, assuming a solemn gravity, with a profound air of attention, fastened his eyes upon the hair-dresser; as if wonder-struck at his amazing skill in decorating the Doctor’s tête.
The man, highly gratified by such notice from
[Pg 347]
the celebrated Garrick, briskly worked on, frizzing, curling, powdering, and pasting, according to the mode of the day, with assiduous, though flurried importance, and with marked self-complacency.
Mr. Garrick himself had on what he called his scratch wig; which was so uncommonly ill-arranged and frightful, that the whole family agreed no one else could have appeared in such a plight in the public streets, without a risk of being hooted at by the mob.
He dropt now all parley whatsoever with the Doctor, not even answering what he said; and seemed wholly absorbed in admiring watchfulness of the progress of the hair-dresser; putting on, by degrees, with a power like transformation, a little mean face of envy and sadness, such as he wore in representing Abel Drugger; which so indescribably altered his countenance, as to make his young admirers almost mingle incredulity of his individuality with their surprise and amusement; for, with his mouth hanging stupidly open, he fixed his features in so vacant an absence of all expression, that he less resembled himself than some daubed wooden block in a barber’s shop window.
The Doctor, perceiving the metamorphosis, smiled
[Pg 348]
in silent observance. But the friseur, who at first had smirkingly felt flattered at seeing his operations thus curiously remarked, became utterly discountenanced by so incomprehensible a change, and so unremitting a stare; and hardly knew what he was about. The more, however, he pomatumed and powdered, and twisted the Doctor’s curls, the more palpable were the signs that Mr. Garrick manifested of

“Wonder with a foolish face of praise;”

till, little by little, a species of consternation began to mingle with the embarrassment of the hair-manufacturer. Mr. Garrick then, suddenly starting up, gawkily perked his altered physiognomy, with the look of a gaping idiot, full in the man’s face.
Scared and confounded, the perruquier now turned away his eyes, and hastily rolled up two curls, with all the speed in his power, to make his retreat. But before he was suffered to escape, Mr. Garrick, lifting his own miserable scratch from his head, and perching it high up in the air upon his finger and thumb, dolorously, in a whining voice, squeaked out, “Pray now, Sir, do you think, Sir, you could touch me up this here old bob a little bit, Sir?”
[Pg 349]
The man now, with open eyes, and a broad grin, scampered pell-mell out of the room; hardly able to shut the door, ere an uncontrollable horse-laugh proclaimed his relieved perception of Mr. Garrick’s mystification.
Mr. Garrick then, looking smilingly around him at the group, which, enlarged by his first favourite young Charles, most smilingly met his arch glances, sportively said, “And so, Doctor, you, with your tag rag and bobtail there—”
Here he pointed to some loaded shelves of shabby unbound old books and pamphlets, which he started up to recognise, in suddenly assuming the air of a smart, conceited, underling auctioneer; and rapping with his cane upon all that were most worn and defaced, he sputtered out: “A penny a-piece! a penny a-piece! a-going! a-going! a-going! a penny a-piece! each worth a pound!—not to say a hundred! a rare bargain, gemmen and ladies! a rare bargain! down with your copper!”
Then, quietly re-seating himself, “And so, Doctor,” he continued, “you, and tag-rag and bobtail, there, shut yourself up in this snug little book-stall, with all your blithe elves around you, to rest your understanding?”
[Pg 350]
Outcries now of “Oh fie!” “Oh abominable!” “Rest his understanding? how shocking!” were echoed in his ears with mock indignancy from the mock-offended set, accompanied by hearty laughter from the Doctor.
Up rose Mr. Garrick, with a look of pretended perturbation, incoherently exclaiming, “You mistake—you quite misconceive—you do, indeed! pray be persuaded of it!—I only meant—I merely intended—be sure of that!—be very sure of that!—I only purposed; that is, I designed—I give you my word—’pon honour, I do!—I give you my word of that!—I only had in view—in short, and to cut the matter short, I only aimed at paying you—pray now take me right!—at paying you the very finest compliment in nature!”
“Bravo, bravo! Mr. Bayes!” cried the Doctor, clapping his hands: “nothing can be clearer!—”
Mr. Garrick had lent the Doctor several books of reference; and he now inquired the titles and number of what were at present in his possession.
“I have ten volumes,” answered the Doctor, “of Memoirs of the French Academy.”
“And what others?”
“I don’t know—do you, Fanny?”—turning to his librarian.
[Pg 351]
“What! I suppose, then,” said Mr. Garrick, with an ironical cast of the eye, “you don’t choose to know that point yourself?—Eh?—O, very well, Sir, very well!” rising, and scraping round the room with sundry grotesque bows, obsequiously low and formal; “quite well, Sir! Pray make free with me! Pray keep them, if you choose it! Pray stand upon no ceremony with me, Sir!”
Dr. Burney then hunted for the list; and when he had found it, and they had looked it over, and talked it over, Mr. Garrick exclaimed, “But when, Doctor, when shall we have out the History of Histories? Do let me know in time, that I may prepare to blow the trumpet of fame.”
He then put his cane to his mouth, and, in the voice of a raree showman, squalled out, shrilly and loudly: “This is your only true History, gemmen! Please to buy! please to buy! come and buy! ’Gad, Sir, I’ll blow it in the ear of every scurvy pretender to rivalship. So, buy! gemmen, buy! The only true History! No counterfeit, but all alive!”
Dr. Burney invited him to the parlour, to breakfast; but he said he was engaged at home, to Messrs. Twiss and Boswell; whom immediately, most gaily and ludicrously, he took off to the life.
[Pg 352]
Elated by the mirth with which he enlivened his audience, he now could not refrain from imitating, in the same manner, even Dr. Johnson: but not maliciously, though very laughably. He sincerely honoured, nay, loved Dr. Johnson; but Dr. Johnson, he said, had peculiarities of such unequalled eccentricity, that even to his most attached, nay, to his most reverential admirers, they were irresistibly provoking to mimicry.
Mr. Garrick, therefore, after this apology, casting off his little, mean, snivelling Abel Drugger appearance, began displaying, and, by some inconceivable arrangement of his habiliments, most astonishingly enlarging hi............