[Footnote A:  “As there were many worthy gentlemen of the army who knew the whole affair, the new rais’d clamour ceas’d, and the play went through without any molestation, and, by degrees, things return’d to their proper channel By this we may see, it is some danger for an actor to be in the right.”—­CHETWOOD.]

How Chetwood bubbles over with a stream of ever-flowing anecdote.  Much that he gives us in his “General History of the Stage” is only gossip, yet what is there more fascinating than tittle-tattle about players?  The gossip of the drawing-room is merely inane, or else scandalous; but shift the scene to the theatre, and a story no longer bores; it is consecrated by the sacrament of interest.  Is any apology 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.