et trembling
manager, and (in allusion to the large share in the slave-trade then
imputed to Liverpool) with that peculiarity of undertone he possessed,
which could be distinctly heard throughout the largest theatre although
pronounced as a whisper, exclaimed, "There's not a stone in the walls of
Liverpool which has not been cemented by the _bluid_ of Africans." Then,
casting one of his Shylock glances of hatred and contempt on the mute
and astounded audience, majestically left the stage.

On the first night of his performance at the Boston theatre, Richard was
the part he had adopted; and so strongly had he fortified himself for
the kingly task, that he deemed himself the very monarch he was destined
to enact. The theatre was crowded in every part: expectation was on
tiptoe: anticipation as to his person, voice, and manner, was announced
by the sibilating "I guess" heard around, and "pretty considerable"
agitation prevailed. The orchestra had begun and ceased, unheeded or
unheard; nor could one of Sir Thomas Lethbridge's best cut and dried
have produced less effect amongst the "irreclaimables." The curtain
rose, and amidst thundering plaudits the welcome stranger advanced, in
angles, to the front of the stage, and, as Sir Pertinax has it, "booed
and booed and booed;" but greeting could not endure for ever: well
justified curiosity assumed its station, and at length silence, almost
breathless silence, reigned around, such as attended Irving in his
Zoar, or Canning when he lately produced his budget. The hospitable
clamour was over; but instead of "Now is the winter of our discontent
made glorious summer by this sun of York" being given, Cooke, in a
respectful but decided tone, requested that "God save the King" might be
played by the orchestra prior to the commencement of the play. The
proposal at first but excited mockery and laughter, which, however, gave
way to far different feelings, on Cooke firmly and composedly declaring,
that, until his request was complied with, he was determined not to
proceed; and, should it be absolutely refused, he was resolved to
retire. The fury of the Bostonians was at its height: menace,
accompanied by every vituperative epithet rage could suggest, was
lavished on the actor; but he kept his station, calm and secure as his
own native island set in the stormy seas, until anger gradually subsided
through very weariness; and every effort having been ineffectually used
to wean "_the tyrant_"