dition bribed the attendants to admit them by a private door to avoid the terrible crush at the public entrance.

As the years passed on, he played less frequently, much of his time being spent in visits to the seats of many noblemen and gentlemen who were proud to call him friend, until the advance of age, failing health, and above all the carpings of malicious critics, who began to tell him that he was too old for Ranger and Hamlet, warned him it was time to quit forever the scene of his brilliant triumphs. The announcement of his farewell performances created a great sensation; people came up to town from all parts of the country-no. small feat in those days-and even foreigners came over to England to witness them; the highest persons in the land fought at the thronged doors for admittance and very frequently failed. He played a round of all his great parts. "Last night," he writes in one place, "I played Abel Drugger for the last time. I thought the audience were cracked, they almost turned my brain." Hannah More, who came up from Bristol for these representations, says:

"I pity those who have not seen him. Posterity will never be able to form the slightest idea of his perfection. The more I see him the more I admire. I have seen him within these three weeks take leave of Benedick, Sir John Brute, Kitely, Abel Drugger, Archer, and Leon. It seems to me as if I was assisting at the obsequies of the different poets. I feel almost as much pain as pleasure."

It was on the 10th of June, 1776, that he made his last appearance, as Don Felix in "The Wonder," and never, it was said, did he play with more fire and energy, more lightness and animation. Then in a short speech broken by tears he wished the audience farewell, and, with a

long and lingering gaze on the vast concourse before him, scarcely a face of which but was bedewed with sympathetic tears, slowly retired. "Farewell-farewell! " echoed a hundred voices choked with emotion, as he passed behind the curtain which was never again to rise upon him.

Not long did he enjoy his retirement. Within three years afterward there was a magnificent funeral procession to Westminster Abbey; the line of carriages reached from the Strand to the Sacred Building; the streets were crowded with spectators; the Bishop of Rochester received the coffin; the Duke of Devonshire, the Earls Camden, Ossory, Spencer, and Lord Palmerston were pall-bearers; Burke, Fox, and other celebrities stood beside the grave that was ready to receive the mortal remains of the great actor. His brother George survived him but a few days. He had always been David's factotum, and his first inquiry on entering the theatre at night was: "Has David wanted me?" Some one was remarking upon the singularity of his dying so soon after his brother. 66 Oh," answered Bannister, who was by, "David wanted him." Of the respect in which Garrick was held, a proof was given not long before his death. One night he was the sole occupant of the gallery of the House of Commons during a fierce discussion between two members, one of whom moved that he should be ordered to withdraw. Burke sprang up indignantly and opposed the motion to expel the man who, he said, had taught them all they knew; Fox and Townshend followed in the same strain, calling him their preceptor.

A Centenarian Actor, the Author of "Love à la Mode," and "The Man of the World," and the First Great Representative of Shylock.-Sketch of a Long and Striking Career.-The Original of Sir Archy McSarcasm and Sir Pertinax McSycophant.-Farewell to the Stage at Ninetynine Years of Age.

A MAN who played with the contemporaries of the actors of the Restoration, and yet who might have heard Braham sing; who lived upon the confines of two centuries and nearly saw a third, must be remarkable, if only as an instance of abnormal longevity, and as a link uniting far-sundered generations. Charles Macklin's birth is believed to have been in 1690, about two months before the battle of the Boyne, in which his father was engaged, on the side of King James. His real name was McLaughlin, afterward abbreviated to suit Saxon tongues and prejudices. As a child he ran wild on a small farm in Ulster, but was afterward taken to be educated by his uncle, a Catholic priest, who soon gave him up in despair. At fourteen he was apprenticed to a saddler in Dublin, but neglected his business sadly for the low pot-houses, where he became notorious for his wit, songs, and powers of mimicry. He finally became a strolling player at twenty, playing in barns in England and Ireland. He showed from the first daring and originality, and shared those ideas of acting which Garrick so splendidly illustrated for the reform of the English stage.

After years of vagabondage, Rich engaged him to appear in London in 1725, as Alcander in "Edipus." The manager did not approve of the aforesaid ideas. "I spoke

so familiar," Macklin used to say, when relating the story, "and so little in the hoity-toity tone of the tragedy of that day, that he told me I had better go to grass for a year or two." So he went back to strolling, played tragedy at Southwark fair, and harlequin at Sadler's Wells. He made himself distinguished as a boon companion and three-bottle man, a great athlete and boxer, and a gallant. Still, when he returned to London in 1730, he had no reputation; to compensate, however, he had plenty of experience, self-reliance, and daring.

In 1733 he joined Fleetwood's company at Drury Lane, where he appeared with considerable success, and finally became chief adviser and stage-manager of the theatre. Fleetwood, though a gentleman by birth, was a spendthrift, and not particular whom he victimized. So Macklin paid dearly for his friendship, and was at last induced to go his bond for three thousand pounds. This the actor finally succeeded in relieving himself of by a cunning ruse.

On one very momentous occasion, however, Fleetwood had stood his friend; it was when he was arrested on a charge of murder. The fatal affair rose out of a practical joke. An actor named Hallam had taken away a wig which Macklin wore in the farce; a quarrel ensued, and violent language on both sides; finally, Macklin thrust at the other with his cane, intending to push him out of the green-room, but the point, glancing upward, entered the unfortunate man's eye, penetrated to the brain, and killed him upon the spot. Macklin was tried for murder at the Old Bailey. Fleetwood used all his influence for him, and the jury brought it in manslaughter, but without malice aforethought, and the actor was released.

He was known at this time by the nickname of the "Wild Irishman," and his violent temper frequently got him into quarrels. He had one with Quin, in which, however, the latter was the aggressor, that might have had as fatal a termination as that just related. They were playing together in Wycherly's "Plain Dealer; " Quin was Manly; Macklin, Jerry Blackacres. The latter, introducing some comic business in one of Manly's scenes, raised a laugh, much to the disgust of the arrogant tragedian, who, upon coming off, told him insolently not to come any of his tricks with him. Macklin replied that he had no idea of disturbing him, and only desired to show himself off a bit. In the next scene they had together, the laugh was repeated, and Quin again abused him. Macklin, growing a little warm, replied he could not play differently. Quin said he must and should, and the other gave him the lie direct. Upon which Quin, who was eating an apple, spit a mouthful into his hand, and threw it in the actor's face. The Irish blood was boiling in a moment. Seizing hold of him, Macklin thrust him into a chair, and pummeled his face until it was so swollen he could scarcely speak. Quin demanded satisfaction, and said he would wait for him at the Obelisk in Covent Garden, after the performance. Macklin, however, had to play in the pantomime, during which Fleetwood came to him, told him he should not keep the appointment, and to prevent the meeting took him home to supper and made him sleep at his house. In the morning he advised him to end the matter by making some sort of an apology to the tragedian. Quin was the bully of the theatre, feared both by manager and actors, and Macklin won great renown by his spirited conduct. But Quin never forgave him, and ever after