guests, and they communicated with each other while in the room only by signs. "From whom do you think I picked up these signs?" he inquired of Foote one day. "Can't say, I'm sure," was the reply. "From no less a person than James, Duke of York, who, you know, sir, first invented signs for the Fleet." "And it will be very good poetical justice," responded the wit, "as from the fleet they were taken, so to the Fleet [prison] both master and signals are likely to return!"

Both the ordinary and "The British Inquisition turning out failures, Macklin sought about for a new idea. It appeared in the form of a scheme to build a new theatre in Dublin, in which he induced Barry, the actor, to join. He went over to Ireland to overlook the workmen, and, full of his recent studies, pestered them so much about the way in which the ancient Greek theatres were constructed as to impede the work. But ere it could be opened, he had quarreled with Barry about parts: he desired to alternate the leading characters of tragedy, the Macbeths and Hamlets, with him. Barry, perfectly aware that he would fail in them, objected; the other insisted, and the end of the matter was that the partnership was dissolved, and Barry engaged him only as an actor. Macklin has been praised for his correct judgment, but it certainly did not extend to a just estimate of his own capabilities, or he would never have played Mercutio, as he did once, or have desired to appear in "Macbeth" or "Hamlet." The New Crow Street Theatre was opened in October, 1758, but by December, 1759, we find him entering into an engagement with the opposition house. It was never fulfilled, however, and he went back to Drury Lane at a large salary.

He now appears in a new character-that of dramatic author. As early as 1745 he had written a piece entitled "Henry VII., or the Popish Impostor," upon the subject of Perkin Warbeck. It was an extraordinary production, in which Henry was represented as a Protestant champion, and Warbeck as the representative of the papacy. The production had as great a success as it deserved. But in December, 1759, he produced in Dublin his farcical comedy of "Love à la Mode," and soon afterward a very similar work, entitled "The True Born Irishman," intended to ridicule the absurd affectations of Irish ladies upon their return from England. Both pieces were very successful. With his usual restlessness he soon migrated from the Crow Street Theatre to that in Smock Alley, where, in 1764, he brought out a two-act farce entitled "The True Born Scotchman," afterward elaborated into the famous comedy of "The Man of the World." There is a curious story told of the first run of this piece. "One morning a young Scotch nobleman, who stood high in favor at the castle, sent Macklin a handsome suit of laced - dress clothes, with a letter, in which he begged his acceptance of that present as a small mark of the pleasure he had received from the exhibition of so fine a picture of his grandfather!" The next season he returned to Crow Street-and to England in 1767. Then back again to Ireland, alternating between Crow Street and Smock Alley, as he quarreled with one and made friends with the other manager.

In 1772 he opened a correspondence with Colman, preparatory to commencing an engagement at Covent Garden, one of the principal stipulations of which was that he should perform Richard, Macbeth, and Lear,

parts which he had never yet played in London, but in which, being now eighty-three, he was ambitious of appearing. The treaty was concluded. But soon afterward, Smith, who had been disappointed of an engagement elsewhere, joined the company. He was in possession of the leading tragedy-parts, and Colman found some difficulty in adjusting the claims of the rival tragedians. At length it was arranged that they should alternate the parts, as Garrick and Barry had done in previous seasons. But as soon as Smith heard that Macklin was to open in Richard, he claimed that privilege. This was the beginning of a quarrel that led to serious consequences. Macklin was certainly unfitted for such parts, and the only one of the three he obtained was Macbeth, which, under his directions, was produced with an approach to correctness in scenery, costume, and adjuncts, never before attempted. Garrick's scarlet coat was discarded, and for the first time the Thane appeared in the dress of a Highland chieftain, which costume was retained until Charles Kean's great revival of the tragedy.

Macklin's figure was never calculated to represent the dignity of a warrior, and in his first scene, when the audience saw a clumsy old man, who looked more like a Scotch piper than a great general, stumping down the stage at the head of a supposed conquering army, it impressed them only with a sense of the ridiculous and absurd. His address to the witches and his first scene with Lady Macbeth are said to have been very fine; but he totally failed in the dagger-scene as well as in the banquet-scene. There were some notable points in the last act, especially his speech to the messenger who brings him the news that Birnam Wood is moving—“If

thou speak'st false," etc.--the terrible menace of which is said to have thrilled the audience. But, on the whole, the performance seems to have been rather a lecture upon the part than a theatrical representation. Arthur Murphy, praising its correctness, judgment, and energy, happily styled it "A black-letter copy of Macbeth."

In the mean time the quarrel between the rivals was daily assuming greater proportions, and others were soon involved in it. Macklin accused Reddish and Sparks, two members of the company, of hissing him from the gallery; then followed summonses before magistrates, affidavits published in the newspapers, which were full of squibs and paragraphs. He made speeches from the stage, and acted with such violence in the matter that the public took up the cudgels against him and resolved to drive him from the stage. The night fixed upon for this enterprise was that on which he was to appear in his great part of Shylock.

The house was crowded to the ceiling, and when the curtain drew up there was a cry for Colman to appear; Bensley, one of the actors, came forward, but the audience would not listen to him. As Macklin, dressed for Shylock, advanced from the side-scenes, and humbly supplicated to be heard, the riot became so furious that he was obliged to retire. After this he came on in his own clothes, but they would not allow him to speakthe cry was still for Colman. Macklin was on and off every two minutes; and when he was told that it was the desire of the audience he should never play there again, he treated it with so much contempt that they declared they would tear up the benches if the manager did not come forward. Then Bensley appeared carrying a board, on which was chalked, “At the command

of the public, Mr. Macklin is discharged." This was greeted with a roar of applause. But the attempt to substitute "She Stoops to Conquer" for the play announced brought forth more cries for Colman, who was at length compelled to appear to save his theatre from being wrecked. He asked the audience if it was their pleasure that Mr. Macklin should be discharged. There was a tremendous shout of "Yes!" "Then he is discharged," said Colman. They would accept of no entertainments proposed, and at length the money taken at the doors was returned, and the proceedings of the evening were brought to a close.

Such was the irrepressible power wielded by the audience in the palmy days of the drama, and such was the intense interest they took in all things theatrical. But Macklin must have rendered himself very obnoxious both on and off the stage to have brought such an uncompromising combination against him. We can very well understand it, however, after reading Holcroft's description of his character; which, if drawn with a harsh pencil, is no doubt strikingly accurate.

"Macklin's body," he says, "like his mind, was cast in a mould as rough as it was durable; his aspect and address confounded his inferiors; and the delight he took in making others fear and admire him gave him an aversion from the society of those whose knowledge exceeded his own. Nor was he ever heard to allow superiority in any man. He had no respect for the modesty of youth or sex, but would say the most discouraging as well as the grossest things; and felt pleasure in proportion to the pain he gave. It was common for him to ask his pupils why they did not rather think of becoming bricklayers than players. He was impatient of contradiction to an extreme; and, when he found fault, if the person attempted to answer,