To those who remembered how magnificently Betterton had played the part, the chill formalism of the new aspirant must have seemed presumptuous, and one night the contrast proved too much for a country gentleman possessed of more honesty than politeness.

After watching the progress of the tragedy with growing indignation his feelings became unbearable at a certain point in the fourth act, where George Powell came on as Lennox.

"For God's sake, George," shouted the squire, "give us a speech and let me go home!"[A] [Footnote A: "I recollect," says Bellchambers, "an incident of the same sort occurring at Bristol, where a very indifferent actor declaimed so long and to such little purpose that an honest farmer, who sat in the pit, started up with evident signs of disgust, and waving his hand, to motion the speaker off, cried out, 'Tak 'un away, tak 'un away, and let's have another.'"] Thus every one must have given a sigh of relief when industrious John objected to the age of Cato; every one, at least, excepting Wilks, who had taken this actor under his theatrical wing and sought to elevate him above one far greater than either of them--Barton Booth.

The fact was that Wilks hid within his breast the troublesome, green-eyed monster of jealousy; he feared the rising genius of Booth, and, now that he was part manager of Drury Lane, probably took pains to keep the rival as much as possible in the background.

Unfortunately for this plan of annihilation the screen provided in the commonplace person of Mills proved entirely too flimsy to hide the coming man.
Barton Booth was in many ways an ideal actor, in that he was blessed with the poetic imagination and scholarship to understand his roles and the tragic power to play them.