to town, and hired a house in a fashionable
square. Mr. Garrick called upon Sir John,
and was received with coldness, hauteur, and
perhaps rudeness. But the lofty soul and
generous heart of the great actor, who had
studied human nature and human passions
so deeply, would not permit him to take
umbrage or offence at this conduct of the
girl's father. In a Christian spirit, he made
every allowance for Sir John's wrath; but,
at the same time, respectfully pointed out
that he was in no way to blame for the
young lady's infatuation.

"You are to blame, sir," vociferated the
baronet. "The entire drama is to blame,
sir. It is all unreal. I am disgusted with it.
Here are men without a shilling in the world
represented as persons of rank and fortune.
Others, of ordinary looks, if not actually
plain, are painted up to seem handsome.
With your paints, your tinselled garments,
and your gilded walls, you could do nothing.
Appear in your own clothes, and as your
own selves, and few, I warrant, would fall
in love with you."

"That may be, Sir John," replied Garrick,
meekly, to this silly and insulting speech.
"But I think the attributes of an actor are
not quite so mean and contemptible as you
imagine. I cannot, however, at this moment
discuss the subject with you; for, within
the past five minutes, and in this very square,
I have witnessed a scene which has
occasioned my feelings a very severe shock.
The bare recollection of it makes—as you
may see, Sir John—the colour recede from
my cheek, my heart to quiver, and my pulse
to tremble."

"What is it, sir, that has so affected you?"
asked Sir John, with great curiosity,
earnestness, and emotion.

"Picture to yourself, sir, a beautiful
child!"

"Yes."

"A beautiful child, scarcely three years of
age!''

"Yes."

"As lovely a child as the eye of man ever
beheld!"

"Yes, yes."

"Fancy that child having climbed from an
attic window, out upon a parapet, attracted
by a flower which was growing on the very
edge."

"Good heavens!"

"The child stooping over to pluck the
flower—"

"Horrible!"

"The nurse, looking out of the window,
and observing the child in that dangerous
position—"

"Called to the child, and—"

"No! She remained, speechless, at the
window, with her hands upraised—thus."

"Yes, yes."

"Some people in the street observed the
child, and ere long a crowd was assembled.
All eyes were now on the child, whose little
body was half-over the parapet, where the
flower was growing."

"Yes, yes."

"The child snapped the flower from its
stem—had it in its little hand—was smiling
at the people in the street, when—"

"It fell!"

"Amongst the crowd it beheld its own
mother. The poor woman was watching with
the rest, but afraid to speak—"

"The child observing its mother, sprang
off?"

"Nothing of the kind, Sir John," said
Garrick, laughing, "the child threw the
flower to its mother, crawled back to
the window, and was lifted in by the
nurse."

"What do you mean, Mr. Garrick," said
the Baronet, on recovering himself, "by
thus trifling with my feelings?"

"To prove to you, Sir John," returned
Garrick, calmly, "that without any assistance
from dress and scenery an actor may easily
move our passions. I have no paint upon
my face, no tinsel on my coat, and am not
surrounded by gilded walls. It was the tone
of my voice, the manner of my delivery, the
expression of suspense and agony that I
threw over my features, that fluttered your
heart and made you feel what I affected to
feel, while narrating the story of my own,
invented for the occaison. Now, Sir John,
why should you marvel that a young lady
of spirit and feeling should be charmed with
the Romeo that I enact on the stage? But
I am not here to argue, but to cure your
daughter of the malady which I am said
to be the cause. when can I see my
patient?"

"When you please, sir."

"Then at five this afternoon I will call
again, disguised as a physician—a very old
man. You will introduce me as Doctor
Robin to your daughter. I am a physician
whom you have called in to see her. Your
rôle is a very simple one. There must be
bottles of wine and glasses left on the
sideboard."

At the appointed hour Garrick was in
attendance, and was introduced to the young
lady, with whom he was left alone. He took
her hand with great gentleness and felt her
pulse.

"I am not ill, doctor," said she. " It is an
idea—a fancy of my father's."

"You must allow me to be the best judge
of your health," said Garrick. "You are ill,
very ill! Feverish—very feverish! Where
is the pain? In the head?"

"No."

"In the heart?"

The girl blushed and sighed.

"I see; I see. You have seen too much
gaiety of late: balls, masquerades, plays.
You have been to Covent Garden. Seen
Romeo, perhaps? You must have quiet