covered, he ſoon grew able to expreſs them; and his ſecret of his obtaining this great leſſon of the theatre, was an adaption of his look to his voice, by which artful imitation of nature, the variations in the ſound of his words, gave propriety to every change in his countenance, ſo that it was Mr. Booth’s peculiar felicity to be heard and ſeen the ſame, whether as the pleaſed, the grieved, the pitying, the reproachful, or the angry. One would be almoſt tempted to borrow the aid of a very bold figure, and to expreſs this excellence more ſignificantly, beg permiſſion to affirm, that the blind might have ſeen him in his voice, and the deaf have heard him in his viſage. His geſture, or as it is commonly called his action, was but the reſult, and neceſſary conſequcnce of his dominion over his voice and countenance; for having by a concurrence of two ſuch cauſes, impreſſed his imagination with ſuch a ſtamp, and ſpirit of paſſion, he ever obeyed the impulſe by a kind of natural dependency, and relaxed, or braced ſucceſſively into all that fine expreſſiveneſs with which he painted what he ſpoke, without reſtraint, or affectation.’
But it was not only as a player that Mr. Booth excelled; he was a man of letters alſo, and an author in more languages than one. He had a taſte for poetry which we have obſerved diſcovered itſelf when he was very young, in tranſlations of ſome Odes of Horace; and in his riper years he wrote ſeveral ſongs, and other original poems, which did him honour. He was alſo the author of a maſque, or dramatic entertainment, called Dido and Æneas, which was very well received upon the ſtage, but which however did not excite him to produce any thing of the ſame kind afterwards. His maſter-piece was a Latin inſcription to the memory of a celebrated actor, Mr.
