cy Ryan. When he
was born (1665) Betterton dominated the boards; when he died (1742)
Garrick had become the talk of London; and it is probable that in his
latter years Ben could tell many a story of interesting experiences.

[Footnote A: Ben Johnson excelled greatly in all his namesake's
comedies, then frequently acted. He was of all comedians the chastest
and closest observer of nature. Johnson never seemed to know that he
was before an audience; he drew his character as the poet designed
it.--DAVIES.]

There was one story, at least, that this actor used to relate with
much unction after a visit which he once paid to Dublin. The hero of
the affair was an Irishman, named Baker, who relieved the monotony
of his work as a master pavior by acting Sir John Falstaff and other
parts. When he was in the streets, overseeing the labours of his men,
this pavior-artist usually rehearsed one of his characters, muttering
the lines, gesticulating, and almost forgetting that he was without
the sacred walls of a theatre. The workmen soon got accustomed to
these out-of-door performances, and everything proceeded with the
utmost smoothness, until one exciting day when Baker chanced to be
alone with two new paviors. These recruits (countrymen from Cheshire)
were much alarmed at a sudden change in the demeanour of their master,
whose eyes began to roll and lips to move under the pressure of some
strange emotion. Baker was merely rehearsing Falstaff; but the two men
made up their little minds that he had lost his head, and they felt
quite sure that their employer was a dangerous lunatic, when he gave
them a piercing glance, and cried:

"Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: there's honour for you! here's
no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead
out of me!"

"Wauns! I'se blunt enough to take care of you, I'se warrant you,"
shouted one of the workmen, who had now recovered what he presumed to
be his wits, and thereupon he and his companion laid violent hands on
Baker. A crowd soon gathered, and despite the indignant cries of
the master-pavior, who declared he was never more sane, this son of
Thespis was tied hand and foot, and carried home in triumph with a
howling mob for attendants. That ended Mr. Baker's rehearsal for the
nonce; and it is to be presumed that, when next he essayed the lusty
Sir John, he made sure of an appreciative audience.

It is a seductive occupation to delve into the lives of these by