beneath you. Altogether, I will not trouble you to go
on with me." And not to go on as an attendant upon Lothario was
precisely what Austin desired.

O'Keeffe, in his "Memoirs," has related a curious instance of the
prompt bestowal of an article of apparel upon an actor attached to the
Crow Street Theatre, Dublin. Macklin's farce of "The True-born
Irishman" was in course of performance for the first time. During what
was known as "the Drum Scene" ("a 'rout' in London is called a 'drum'
in Dublin," O'Keeffe explains),--when an actor, named Massink, had
entered as the representative of Pat FitzMongrel--a gentleman, who
with a large party occupied the stage-box, was seen to rise from his
chair, with the view, as it seemed, of interrupting the performance.
It should be stated that the gentleman was known to have recently
inherited a large fortune, and had evinced a certain eccentricity of
disposition. He was now of opinion that an attempt was being made to
personate him on the stage. "Why, that's me!" he cried aloud, pointing
to the figure of Pat FitzMongrel. "But what sort of a rascally coat is
that they've dressed me in! Here, I'll dress you, my man!" So saying
he stood up, divested himself of the rich gold-laced coat he wore, and
flung it on to the stage. "Massink took it up smiling, stepped to the
wing, threw off his own, and returned upon the stage in the
gentleman's fine coat, which produced the greatest amount of applause
and pleasure among the audience."

To suit the dress demands the actor's art,
Yet there are some who overdress the part.
To some prescriptive right gives settled things--
Black wigs to murderers, feathered hats to kings.
But Michael Cassio might be drunk enough,
Though all his features were not grimed with snuff.
Why should Poll Peachum shine in satin clothes?
Why every devil dance in scarlet hose?

Thus, in regard to the conventionalism of stage costumes, wrote
Churchill's friend, Robert Lloyd, in his poem of "The Actor," 1762.
And something he might have added touching the absurd old fashion of
robing the queens of tragedy invariably in black, for it seemed agreed
generally that "the sceptred pall of gorgeous tragedy" should be taken
very literally, and should "sweep by" in the funereal fashion of sable
velvet. "Empresses and queens," writes Mrs. Bellamy, the actress, in
1785, "always appeared in black velvet, with, upon extraordinary
occasions, the additional