for the Moor: his figure was a good apology for
Desdemona's attachment, and the harmony of his voice to tell such a tale
as he describes, must have raised favourable prejudice in any one who
had an ear, or a heart to feel. There is a length of periods and an
extravagance of passion in this part, not to be found in any other for
so many successive scenes, to which Mr. Barry appeared peculiarly
suitable. He happily exhibited the hero, the lover, and the distracted
husband; he rose through all the passions to the utmost extent of
critical imagination, yet still appeared to leave an unexhausted fund of
expression behind; his rage and tenderness were equally interesting, but
when he uttered the words "rude am I in my speech," in tones as _soft as
feathered snow that melted as they fell_, we could by no means allow the
sound an echo to the sense."

To these extracts we will add one from the life of the celebrated John
Palmer, already mentioned, in the Thespian dictionary.

"The following summer he (Palmer) was engaged at the Haymarket, when Mr.
Barry was also engaged. The part of Iago was given to Mr. Palmer to
study, but at rehearsal he was so awed at the presence of Mr. Barry,
that in spite of all that gentleman's encouragement, he could not subdue
his terrors, and was obliged to resign his part to Mr. Lee."

Yet there was a suavity and familiar frankness in his manner,
particularly if he had a point of interest or pleasure to carry, which
won young and old--man and woman. A British merchant having occasion to
go to Dublin when Barry and Mossop headed the rival theatres, was
commissioned to collect some debts, and among others two owing by those
celebrated men. When he returned to London his constituent asked him,
"Well, have you got the actors to pay you?" "Mossop has paid," he
replied, "Barry, not." "How comes that?" "To tell you the truth,"
answered our merchant, "I called on Mr. Barry several times, but he
delighted me so much with his talk, and his kindness, that I swear, I
could not ask him for money, or do anything to hurt his feelings. When I
went from him to Mossop, he looked so stern, that I was overawed and
cowed, and so told him, that as I wished to _oblige_ him, I would let
the matter lie over; and what do you think was his answer? In a voice
that made me tremble, he said, disdainfully, "_You_ oblige ME, sir!--and
pray sir, who are _you_ that presume to offer to oblige me?--call
tomorrow, sir, on my treasure