Two Rival Queens of the Stage.-Woffington's Childhood and Brilliant Rise. Her Amour with "Davy" Garrick.-The Culmination of her Star in London.-The Dramatic Setting of her Stage-Life.-Bellamy's Introduction to Rich.-She becomes a Great Star.--Her Romantic Career. Her Last Appearance before an Audience.

"FRAILTY, thy name is woman!" would be an appropriate motto for this article. How many of you straightlaced ladies who so savagely condemn the actress, without recommendation to mercy, would pass scathless through the ordeal to which she is subjected, the temptations by which she is surrounded? To be homely in mind and face, without beauty or wit, to be born and reared and coddled in all the respectabilities and conventionalities, to be watched so carefully that you could never find the opportunity of going astray, even if you desired it, to never attract the attention of any inan who was not the very opposite of a Lothario-in short, who was not as dull and as ordinary as yourself—and to develop into an immaculate matron, is not such a marvelous matter to congratulate yourself upon. But to be born altogether out of the orthodoxies, left to your own wild will; to be poor and beautiful and brilliant, to see the noblest and handsomest men in the land sighing at your feet, begging your acceptance of silks and satins and diamonds, doing homage to your talents as well as to your face; to be warm, impulsive, passionate by nature; and then to come out of the fire scathless, as many an actress has done and will do—well, then, madam, you have earned the right to toss your head and curl your lip, and look down upon

one who has not been blessed with your power of resistance.

It was said of her whose name heads this chapter: Forgive her one female error, and it might fairly be said of her that she was adorned with every virtue; honor, truth, benevolence, charity were her distinguishing qualities." Such might have been written of many another actress upon whom untempted Prudery, who can boast no other virtue, looks down with scorn. "Truth, honor, benevolence, charity "-surely they ought to weigh something against the one female error. Poor Margaret must indeed have been a veritable angel-or a petrifaction-if she had been one of the unscathed ones. Her origin was of the meanest. She was born in Dublin in 1718; her father, a poor bricklayer, died when she was only a few years old; her mother took in washing as the only means of supporting her two little girls. "I have met with more than one in Dublin," says Lee Lewes in his Memoirs, "who assured me that they remembered the lovely Peggy, with a little dish upon her hand and without shoes to cover her delicate feet, crying through College Green and Dame Street, 'All this fine young salad for a halfpenny, all for a halfpenny, here.'

The wit, beauty, and grace of the little girl made her a favorite with the college students, but these were not alone in detecting Margaret's attractions. Madame Violante, who had a rope-dancer's booth in George's Lane, observed her, and persuaded her mother to let her go as an apprentice. The little Woffington soon appeared in a children's performance of "The Beggar's Opera," as Polly, and though only twelve years old was so enchanting, both in singing and acting, as to soon become

the talk of the town, and drew immense throngs to the little booth. Elrington, the manager of the Theatre Royal, finally engaged her, and at thirteen she appeared as Polly Peachum on the legitimate boards. The little street waif soon became transformed into the beautiful, elegantly-dressed, bewitching actress, who turned all the male heads in Dublin. Here she played the round of leading tragic and comic characters with ever-growing popularity till she was twenty-two. Being desirous of a greater field, she went to London, and sought an interview with Rich, the Covent Garden manager. After some trouble she succeeded, and Rich engaged her at nine pounds a week.

She made her début at Covent Garden in the October of 1740, as Sylvia in "The Recruiting Officer," and a little later in that part with which her name is inextricably associated, Sir Harry Wildair, in Farquhar's "Constant Couple." In this she took the town by storm. The author had said that the part had died with Wilks; it was a pity he did not live to see its glorious resurrection in Woffington. Such fire, such dash, such deviltry, some people could not believe it was a woman. One young lady fell in love with her, and sent her a proposal for marriage. Night after night all London rushed to applaud and to worship.

It was at this time that Garrick was dangling about the side-scenes of the patent theatres, dying to act, and eagerly seeking the acquaintance of every actor and actress of celebrity. Enraptured with lovely Peggy, he was quickly added to the list of her adorers, but was distinguished from all others, perhaps, in that his addresses were honorable.

And he did not plead in vain. In the first year of his

engagement at Drury Lane, he and Woffington kept house
together in Bow Street. But, as we have seen in a
previous chapter, the lady was too lavish in her habits to
please her careful lover. Such a venial fault, however,
might have been pardoned, had there not been the graver
one of infidelity behind. But all the rakes, wits, and
fine gentlemen of the town were besieging the weak for-
tress. At length one morning, at breakfast, Garrick told
her it would be better for both that they should part.
"I have been wearing the shirt of Deïanira," he said.
"Then throw it off at once," retorted the lady, in that
shrill, harsh voice which was her great defect. "From
this moment I have done with you." She returned all his
presents, and required him to make a like restitution.
He, however, kept back a pair of diamond shoe-buckles
as a souvenir-his enemies said on account of their value
and wrote another copy of verses to her, in quite a dif-
ferent strain to previous effusions:

"I know your sophistry, I know your art,
Which all your dupes and fools controul;
Yourself you give without your heart,

All may share that, but not your soul," etc.

It has been said that Garrick seriously entertained an idea of reforming this fair frailty and marrying her; indeed, that he had gone so far as to buy the ring and try it on. It was, perhaps, fortunate for both parties the amour ended as it did.

After her great London success, Woffington returned to Dublin, where she was received with all the old enthusiasm. Connected with the theatre was a Beefsteak Club, which, like its English namesake, was composed of some of the most distinguished personages of the capital.

Ladies, of course, were not admitted; but the rule was now broken in favor of the bewitching Peggy, who was unanimously elected president for the season. It may be safely averred that the Beefsteaks had never had so delightful a chairman-that such wit, and mirth, and sparkling retort had never circulated their table before. But it must not be supposed that it was only by rakes and fine gentlemen her society was relished. The poor little Irish street girl had cultivated her natural abilities by reading and accomplishments, and men of the most eminent learning and of the gravest habits sought her conversation, and were charmed by it.

But all the adulation by which she was surrounded never turned Margaret Woffington's head; her love of pleasure never made her forgetful of her duties to the public as an actress. She, unlike too many other spoiled darlings, never wantonly disappointed her audience, and would rise from a sick-bed to keep faith with them. Her good-nature was frequently made the victim of others' caprices; and when Quin and Barry, or Mrs. Cibber, took a fit of jealous sulks, and pleaded indisposition, Woffington was invariably called upon to come to the rescue of the manager in one of her popular parts. At length she grew tired of being made a stop-gap, and declared she would no longer respond to these sudden announcements; and she kept her word. One night Mrs. Cibber declined to act on the old plea; Woffington was announced, and refused to appear. The next night the audience greeted her with a shower of hisses. Darting lightning upon them from her magnificent eyes she retired, and was only after great persuasion induced to go on again. Calmly advancing to the front, but with a look of defiant scorn, she said that she was quite willing to perform her