The strong point of his acting was in the expression of intense emotion—particularly grief or frenzied rage. He was utterly lacking in dignity, courtliness, or subtlety. He was best as a rustic, and he was the only creature I ever saw who could "snuffle" without being absurd or offensive.
Generally, if anything went wrong, Mr. Couldock's rage broke forth on the instant, but he had been known to keep a rod in pickle for a day or more, as in the case of a friend of mine—at least it was the husband of my friend Mollie. He had played Salanio in "The Merchant of Venice," and in some way had offended the star, who cursed him sotto voce at the moment of the offence, and then seemed to forget all about the matter. Next morning, at rehearsal, nothing was said till its close, when Mr. Couldock quite quietly asked my friend to look in at his dressing-room that evening before the play began.
Poor John was uneasy all the afternoon, still he drew some comfort from the calmness of Mr. Couldock's manner. Evening came, John was before the bar. The star seemed particularly gentle—he removed his coat leisurely and said:
"You played Salanio last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"And your name is—er?"
"Ogden, sir," replied John.
"Ah, yes, Ogden. Well, how long have you been at it, Ogden?"
"About three years," answered the now confident and composed prisoner at the bar.
"Three years? huh! Well, will you let me give you a bit of advice, Ogden?"