Years before, in his first letter as Spectator, he had written these honest words, "If I can in any way contribute to the improvement of the country in which I live, I shall leave it, when I am summoned out of it, with the secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not lived in vain." And the knowledge that he had been true to this pure ambition brought him a calm content in that hour when all the things of this life vanished into the dim background. His funeral in the Abbey has been thus vividly described by Tickell, his friend:— "Can I forget the dismal night that gave My soul’s best part for ever to the grave? How silent did his old companions tread, By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead. Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors and through walks of kings! What awe did the slow solemn march inspire, The pealing organ and the pausing choir; The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid And the last words that dust to dust conveyed! While speechless o’er the closing grave we bend— Accept those tears, thou dear departed friend! Oh, gone for ever, take this last adieu, And sleep in peace next thy loved Montagu." *CHAPTER XVI* *GARRICK, JOHNSON, AND SHERIDAN* Near together and under the shadow of Shakespeare’s monument lie three men whose lives brought them into close contact with each other: David Garrick, the actor and manager; Dr. Samuel Johnson, the critic and conversationalist; and Richard Brinsley Sheridan, prince of playwriters and parliamentary orators. Little Davy Garrick was the first of the trio on whom the curtain fell, and his funeral in the Abbey, which took place on the 1st of February 1779, was a most imposing one. The streets were crowded with people gathered to see the last of him they had so delighted in applauding. The procession extended far down into the Strand; players from Drury Lane and Covent Garden mourned the kindliest and most lovable of comrades; seven carriages were filled with the members of the Literary Club, and round the grave stood Edmund Burke, Charles James Fox, Sheridan, Dr. Johnson, with many another distinguished man. That was a day of triumph for the English stage. True, indeed, other players had been buried in Westminster—Anne Oldfield, who lies in the nave; Anne Bracegirdle and Mr. Cibber, whose graves are in the cloisters—but the death of David Garrick was accounted a national loss, and all desired to honour him, under whose wise guidance "the drama had risen from utter chaos into order, fine actors had been trained, fine plays had been written for the fine actors to act, and fine, never-failing audiences had assembled to see the fine plays which the fine actors had acted." It has often been said that even had he been neither an actor nor a public character his name would have gone down to future generations as a perfect English gentleman, so