a wealthy young lady had fallen in love with the great actor one night in Romeo—­that he had been induced by her father to come to the house and break the charm by feigning intoxication:  some versions had it that he came disguised as a physician.  A popular German comedy was written upon it, and still later Mr. Robertson dramatized it for the English stage, and produced a play in which we have lately had an opportunity of witnessing the fine acting of Mr. Sothern.  Garrick was certainly fortunate among actors:  he not only achieved high professional fame, but he accumulated a large private fortune and lived a happy domestic life in a splendid home filled with choice works of art.  The traveler abroad who is favored with an invitation to the Garrick Club, may there see the picture of the great actor “in his habit as he lived,” looking down nightly on a collection of the most renowned wits and authors of the metropolis; and to crown all, when Mr. Sothern acts—­were it not for his moustache—­we might suppose we saw the man himself alive before us.

Concerning Mr. Sothern’s acting, it affords a fine example of that quality—­so very difficult of attainment, it would seem—­perfect repose; and by repose we do not mean torpidity or sluggishness or inattention, as opposed to clamorous ranting, but we mean the complete subordination of subordinate parts; so that, if we may use the illustration, the gaudiness of the frame is not allowed to over-power and destroy the effect of the picture.  Everything is clear, distinct and well marked:  the forcible passages come with double effect in contrast with preceding serenity.  The actor’s manner is not confined behind the footlights:  it diffuses itself, as it were, among his audience until it seems as if they too were acting with him.  This arises from the perfection of the picture he presents, and that perfection is the result of careful avoidance of everything that is unnatural.  There is no unnecessary exertion put forth, no palpable straining after effect:  he strives to hold the mirror up to Nature, not Art, and in Nature there is much repose between the tempests.  Old players say that the most difficult thing to teach a tyro is to stand still, and some actors never learn it.

Careful attention to costume is another trait exhibited by Mr. Sothern.  He might easily make his first appearance as David Garrick in the wealthy merchant’s house in ordinary walking-dress, which could be readily retained when he returns to the dinner-party to which he causes himself to be invited.  Instead of that, he appears in the full riding-dress of the period—­boots, spurs, whip, overcoat and all.  This is rapidly changed in time for the dinner-scene for a full-dress suit, complete in every point—­powdered hair, white silk stockings, and a little brette, or walking rapier, peeping out from under the coat skirt, not slung in a belt as heavier swords, but supported by light steel chains fastened to a chatelaine, which slips behind the waistband and can be taken off in a moment.  In the last scene, where he goes out to fight the duel, his dress is changed again, and dark silk stockings are donned as more appropriate.