"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 telling another story, this time of fat Charles Hulet, whose abilities were only equalled by his corpulence. Having been apprenticed to a bookseller, he straightway proceeded to take a violent interest in the drama, and would often while away the evenings by spouting Shakespeare and other authors. In lieu of a company to support him young Hulet would designate each chair in the kitchen to represent one of the characters in the play he was reciting. "One night, as he was repeating the part of Alexander, with his wooden representative of Clytus (an old elbow-chair), and coming to the speech where the old General is to be kill'd, this young mock Alexander snatch'd a poker instead of a javelin, and threw it with such strength against poor Clytus, that the chair was kill'd upon the spot, and lay mangled on the floor. The death of Clytus made a monstrous noise, which disturbed the master in the parlour, who called out to know the reason; and was answered by the cook below, 'Nothing, sir, but that Alexander has kill'd Clytus.'" * * * * * In latter days Hulet took great pride in the sonorous tones of his voice, and loved nothing more dearly than to steal up behind a man and startle the unsuspecting one by giving a very loud "Hem." It was a "Hem," however, which helped to make the actor's winding-sheet, for one fine day he repeated the trick, burst a blood-vessel, and died within twenty-four hours.