necessary,
therefore, if the quotation marks be again brought into requisition.
This time the anecdote is of Thomas Griffith, an excellent comedian,
and a harmless poet.

"After his commencing actor, he contracted a friendship with Mr.
Wilks; which chain remained unbroke till the death of that excellent
comedian. Tho' Mr. Griffith was very young, Mr. Wilks took him with
him to London (from Dublin), and had him entered for that season at
a small salary. The 'Indian Emperor' being ordered on a sudden to
be played, the part of Pizarro, a Spaniard, was wanting, which Mr.
Griffith procured, with some difficulty. Mr. Betterton being a little
indisposed, would not venture out to rehearsal, for fear of increasing
his indisposition, to the disappointment of the audience, who had not
seen our young stripling rehearse. But, when he came ready, at the
entrance, his ears were pierced with a voice not familiar to him. He
cast his eyes upon the stage, where he beheld the diminutive Pizarro,
with a truncheon as long as himself (his own words.)

"He steps up to Downs, the prompter, and cry'd, 'Zounds, Downs, what
sucking scaramouch have you sent on there?' 'Sir,' replied Downs,
'He's good enough for a Spaniard; the part is small.' Betterton
return'd, 'If he had made his eyebrows his whiskers, and each whisker
a line, the part would have been two lines too much for such a monkey
in buskins.'

"Poor Griffith stood on the stage, near the door, and heard every
syllable of the short dialogue, and by his fears knew who was meant by
it; but, happy for him, he had no more to speak that scene. When the
first act was over (by the advice of Downs) he went to make his excuse
with--'Indeed, Sir, I had not taken the part, but there was only I
alone out of the play.' 'I! I!' reply'd Betterton, with a smile, 'Thou
art but the tittle of an I.' Griffith seeing him in no ill humour told
him, 'Indians ought to be the best figures on the stage, as nature had
made them.' 'Very like,' reply'd Betterton, 'but it would be a double
death to an Indian cobbler to be conquer'd by such a weazle of a
Spaniard as thou art. And, after this night, let me never see a
truncheon in thy hand again, unless to stir the fire.' ... He took his
advice, laid aside the buskin, and stuck to the sock, in which he made
a figure equal to most of his contemporaries.

"Our genius flutters with the plumes of youth,
But observation wings to steddy truth."

No one can resist te