his Catholic Majesty is only to be equalled by the gratification it produces."

Before Cumberland had settled himself at Tunbridge, he produced his comedy of the Walloons in 1782. The character of Father Sullivan (in which it was thought, by many, that the author intended an adumbration of his late colleague in the Spanish mission, the Abbè Hussey), was written expressly for Henderson, who wished to have him drawn "a fine bold-faced villain," (to use his own language)" the direst and deepest in nature, so he had but motives strong enough to bear him out, and such a prominency of natural character, as should secure him from the contempt of his audience." In obedience to these injunctions Cumberland drew the character: but the play was not very successful.

Of Henderson so much less is known than must be wished by every inquirer into dramatic history, that I am tempted to conclude this chapter by inserting what little Cumberland has told of him. He knew him well, and seems to have had much regard for his character, and sufficient admiration of his talents, though he was not successful in curing an engagement for him with Garrick.

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"He was an actor," says he, "of uncommon powers, and a man of the brightest intellect, formed to be the delight of society, and few indeed are those men of distinguished talents, who have been more prematurely lost to the world, or more lastingly

regretted. What he was on the stage, those who recollect his Falstaff, Shylock, Sir Giles Overreach, and many other parts of the strong cast, can fully testify; what he was at his own fire-side and in his social hours, all, who were within the circle of his intimates, will not easily forget. He had an unceasing flow of spirits, and a boundless fund of humour, irresistibly amusing; he also had wit, properly so distinguished, and from the specimens, which I have seen of his sallies in verse, levelled at a certain editor of a public print, who had annoyed him with his paragraphs, I am satisfied he had talents at his command to have established a very high reputation as a poet. I was with him one morning, when he was indisposed, and his physician, Sir John Eliot, paid him a visit. The doctor, as is well known, was a merry little being, who talked pretty much at random, and oftentimes with no great reverence for the subjects, which he talked upon; upon the present occasion, however, he came professionally to enquire how his medicines had succeeded, and in his northern accent demanded of his patient- Had he taken the palls that he sent him' He had'-Well! and how did they agree? What had they done?' Wonders, replied Henderson; I survived them'-' To be sure you did, said the doctor, and you must take more of 'em, and live for ever: I make all my patients immortal' That is exactly what I am afraid of, doctor, rejoined the patient. I met a

lady of my acquaintance yesterday: you know her very well: she was in bitter affliction, crying and bewailing herself in a most piteous fashion: I asked what had happened; a melancholy event; her dearest friend was at death's door'- What is her disease, cried the doctor?' That is the very question I asked, replied Henderson; but she was in no danger from her disease; 'twas very slight; a mere excuse for calling in a physician'- Why, what the devil are you talking about, rejoined the doctor, if she had called in a physician, and there was no danger in the disease, how could she be said to be at death's door?'-' Because, said Henderson, she had called in you: every body calls you in; you dispatch a world of business, and, if you come but once to each, your practice must have made you very rich'- Nay, nay, quoth Sir John, I am not rich in this world; I lay up my treasure in heaven' Then you may take leave of it for ever, rejoined the other, for you have laid it up where you will never find it.'

"Henderson's memory was so prodigious, that I dare not risque the instance which I could give of it, not thinking myself entitled to demand more credit than I should probably be disposed to give. In his private character, many good and amiable qualities might be traced, particularly in his conduct towards an aged mother, to whom he bore a truly filial attachment; and in laying up a provision for his wife and daughter he was at least sufficiently.

careful and œconomical. He was concerned with the elder Sheridan in a course of public readings: there could not be a higher treat than to hear his recitations from parts and passages in Tristram Shandy: let him broil his dish of sprats, seasoned with the sauce of his pleasantry, and succeeded by a desert of Trim and my uncle Toby, it was an entertainment worthy to be enrolled amongst the noctes cænasque Divúm. I once heard him read part of a tragedy, and but once; it was in his own parlour, and he ranted most outrageously: he was conscious how ill he did it, and laid it aside before he had finished it. It was clear he had not studied that most excellent property of pitching his voice to the size of the room he was in; an art, which so few readers have, but which Lord Mansfield was allowed to possess in perfection. He was an admirable mimic, and in his sallies of this sort he invented speeches and dialogues, so perfectly appropriate to the characters he was displaying, that I don't doubt but many good sayings have been given to the persons he made free with, which being fastened on them by him in a frolic, have stuck to them ever since, and perhaps gone down to posterity amongst their memorabilia. If there was any body now qualified to draw a parallel between the characters of Foote and Henderson, I don't pretend to say how the men of wit and humour might divide the laurel between them, but in this all men would agree that poor Foote attached

to himself very few true friends, and Henderson very many, and those highly respectable, men virtuous in their lives, and enlightened in their understandings. Foote, vain, extravagant, embarrassed, led a wild and thoughtless course of life, yet when death approached him, he shrunk back into himself, saw and confessed his errors, and I have reason to believe was truly penitent. Henderson's conduct through life was uniformly decorous, and in the concluding stage of it exemplarily devout."

This is a high character, but I am willing to hope not an undeserved one. The reference to the last moments of Foote has probably some connection with his own efforts for his amendment: for I remember that Davies alludes, (with a sort of sneering scepticism, which does him little credit) to his endeavours. "Good Christians," says he, "are not perhaps acquainted with the obligations they owe Mr. Cumberland. By the power of his eloquence, and the strength of his arguments he almost converted, some time before his death, that wicked unbeliever, Samuel Foote, to Christianity: he assured his friends, that if he had lived a little longer, he did not doubt but he should have completed his work, and made a good man of him."

There is a levity in this statement which ill becomes the subject. If Foote needed conversion, if his belief required strengthening, and if Cumberland really laboured to effect that conversion