Dr. Adams was present the first night of the representation of Irene, and gave me the following account:  ’Before the curtain drew up, there were catcalls whistling, which alarmed Johnson’s friends.  The Prologue, which was written by himself in a manly strain, soothed the audience, and the play went off tolerably, till it came to the conclusion, when Mrs. Pritchard, the heroine of the piece, was to be strangled upon the stage, and was to speak two lines with the bowstring round her neck.  The audience cried out “Murder!  Murder!” She several times attempted to speak; but in vain.  At last she was obliged to go off the stage alive.’  This passage was afterwards struck out, and she was carried off to be put to death behind the scenes, as the play now has it.  The Epilogue, as Johnson informed me, was written by Sir William Yonge.  I know not how his play came to be thus graced by the pen of a person then so eminent in the political world.

Notwithstanding all the support of such performers as Garrick, Barry, Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Pritchard, and every advantage of dress and decoration, the tragedy of Irene did not please the publick.  Mr. Garrick’s zeal carried it through for nine nights, so that the authour had his three nights’ profits; and from a receipt signed by him, now in the hands of Mr. James Dodsley, it appears that his friend Mr. Robert Dodsley gave him one hundred pounds for the copy, with his usual reservation of the right of one edition.

When asked how he felt upon the ill success of his tragedy, he replied, ‘Like the Monument;’ meaning that he continued firm and unmoved as that column.  And let it be remembered, as an admonition to the genus irritabile of dramatick writers, that this great man, instead of peevishly complaining of the bad taste of the town, submitted to its decision without a murmur.  He had, indeed, upon all occasions, a great deference for the general opinion:  ’A man (said he) who writes a book, thinks himself wiser or wittier than the rest of mankind; he supposes that he can instruct or amuse them, and the publick to whom he appeals, must, after all, be the judges of his pretensions.’

On occasion of his play being brought upon the stage, Johnson had a fancy that as a dramatick authour his dress should be more gay than what he ordinarily wore; he therefore appeared behind the scenes, and even in one of the side boxes, in a scarlet waistcoat, with rich gold lace, and a gold-laced hat.  He humourously observed to Mr. Langton, ’that when in that dress he could not treat people with the same ease as when in his usual plain clothes.’  Dress indeed, we must allow, has more effect even upon strong minds than one should suppose, without having had the experience of it.  His necessary attendance while his play was in rehearsal, and during its performance, brought him acquainted with many of the performers of both sexes, which produced a more favourable opinion of their profession than he had harshly expressed in