Eccentric Mirror, and thereby get myself some return for the four shillings and sixpence I paid for it.

Bridge Frodsham was born at the town of Frodsham, in Cheshire, in the year 1734. As you may guess, he belonged, like a true hero, to an ancient family. His education was begun at Westminster, but owing to some youthful imprudence he ran away and joined a company of strolling players. It was not long before he had drifted to York, where he became the leading actor at the little make-shift theatre. He was not, it appears, without talent, for he soon became the darling of the theatre-going crowd, such as it was, of that city. York knew no better actor than Frodsham, who was acclaimed in all the local pot-houses, where he was something of a boon companion. Hear the author of The Eccentric Mirror on this very theme:

‘Such was the infatuation of the public at York, and indeed so superior were Frodsham’s talents to those of all his coadjutors that he cast them all into the shade. This superiority was by no means a fortunate circumstance for Frodsham. It filled him with vanity and shut up every avenue to improvement; nor had he any opportunity for observation, as no actors of any high repute were ever known to tread the York stage, and he was never more than ten days in London.’

Even in this passage, short as it is, you will have remarked a certain air of patronage, a suspicion of asperity, and you will be on your guard; for this London hack, this biographer of dwarfs and infant prodigies, who dotes on filthy misers and becomes lyrical in praise of Daniel Lambert, is trying to rob our sturdy provincial of his greatness. For greatness he certainly achieved, and not at York, mark you, among his pot-house followers, but in London, during a short visit of ten days or so. He had been given a fortnight’s holiday, which he determined to spend in London, to the great distress of the people of York, who thought that once Garrick saw Frodsham, the Yorkshire stage was doomed to lose its bright particular star. They did not know their man, as you shall see. Fate had decided that for once Garrick should meet his match, or more than his match, in a fellow actor; and it is Frodsham’s conduct in this encounter that gives him some title to our applause. For my own part, I applaud more readily because it happened to be the great Garrick who was so disconcerted by the unknown player from the country. We have all our little prejudices, and one of mine chances to be against the swollen fame of Garrick. I am no great hater of mummer-worship, and am always ready to believe what I read of Betterton, Mountford, Kemble, Kean, Macready, and I know not how many more old actors; but somehow I have always been suspicious of Garrick. No doubt I could invent, if necessary, half-a-dozen respectable reasons, but suffice it to say that I have always felt that he was over-rated, that things went too easily with him, that for all his sense of humour he took himself too seriously; I see him as a strutting, perky little figure. I may be wrong, and it is quite possible that I do Garrick an injustice, but that matters little, in no way detracting from the newly burnished fame of our friend from York.

At the time when Frodsham determined to take a holiday in London, Garrick was at Drury Lane, and at the very height of his fame. Adulation was his daily food, and no flattery was too gross for him to swallow. A chorus of praise from high and low followed him everywhere; he could do nothing wrong; and, it goes without saying, he could make the fortune of a fellow actor with a nod of his head.

Judge then of Garrick’s surprise when, one day, a card was left at his house in Southampton Street, ‘Mr. Frodsham, of York,’ unaccompanied by any humble request or letter of adulation. This cool conduct on the part of one who turned out to be nothing but a country player so excited Garrick’s curiosity that, on the day following, Frodsham was admitted into the great man’s presence. Not unnaturally, he imagined that Frodsham had come to solicit an engagement, but after some slight conversation, during which the young stranger showed astonishing coolness, Garrick, finding that no such request was made, determined to cut short the interview by offering his visitor an order for the pit for that evening, when he was to play Sir John Brute, one of his favourite parts. At the same time, he asked Frodsham if he had seen a play since his arrival in London.

‘O yes,’ replied Frodsham, ‘I saw you play Hamlet, two nights ago,’ and remarked further that it was his own favourite part.

At this, Garrick, not without irony, said that he hoped Frodsham had approved of the performance.

‘O yes,’ cried the provincial, unmoved, ‘certainly, my dear sir, vastly clever in several passages; but I cannot so far subjoin mine to the public opinion of London, as to say I was equally struck with your whole performance in that part.’

Garrick was dumbfounded. The thing was unheard of. Here was monstrous heresy, high treason, madness, we know not what.

‘Why,’ he stammered, ‘why now—to be sure now—why I suppose you in the country....’ And then, bringing all his artillery to bear on this fortress of impudence: ‘Pray now, Mr. Frodsham, what sort of a place do you act in at York? Is it a room, or riding house, occasionally fitted up?’

‘O no, sir, a theatre, upon my honour,’ returned Frodsham, as cool as ever.

Garrick was nonplussed, and tried to carry it off lightly: ‘Why—er—will you breakfast to-morrow, and we shall have a trial of skill, and Mrs. Garrick shall judge between us.’ The thing was beneath his dignity, but he was piqued and determined to lower the fellow’s colours. With this, he dismissed his strange visitor, crying: ‘Good day, Mr. York, for I must be at the theatre, so now pray remember breakfast.’ If he expected his man to be daunted, he was mistaken, for Frodsham, still composed and affable, promised to attend him at breakfast, and retired. And I wish that our sturdy provincial could have had drums and trumpets to escort him as he marched down Southampton Street, for he certainly bore away the honours.

The next morning found him seated at Garrick’s table. To quote my authority: ‘During breakfast, Mrs. Garrick waited with impatience, full of various conjectures why the poor man from the country did not take courage, prostrate himself at the foot of majesty, and humbly request a trial and engagement.’ But the ‘poor man from the country’ did nothing of the kind, though from no want of courage; and at last Garrick himself was compelled to break the ice.

‘Why now, Mr. Frodsham,’ he said, sharply, ‘why now—I suppose you saw my Brute last night? Now, no compliment, but tell Mrs. Garrick—well now, was it right? Do you think it would have pleased at York? Now speak what you think.’

‘O certainly,’ replied the other, ‘certainly; and upon my honour, without compliment, I never was so highly delighted and entertained; it was beyond my comprehension. But having seen your Hamlet first, your Sir John Brute exceeded my belief; for I have been told, Mr. Garrick, that Hamlet is one of your first characters; but I must say, I flatter myself I play it almost as well; for comedy, my good sir, is your forte. But your Brute, Mr. Garrick, was excellence itself! You stood on the stage in the drunken scene flourishing your sword, you placed yourself in an attitude—I am sure you saw me in the pit at the same time, and with your eyes you seemed to say—‘D——n it, Frodsham, did you ever see anything like that at York? Could you do that, Frodsham?’

Could anything have been more friendly? But it did not please Garrick, who did not relish being treated by an unknown country player with such ease and familiarity. Comedy his forte, indeed! He pretended to laugh the thing off, but determined to put an end to