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

ward spoke of him with the most bitter malice. For years they never spoke to one another; but one day, after attending the funeral of a brother actor, Quin, Macklin, and some others, retired to a tavern in Covent Garden, to spend the evening. One by one their companions went away, until at six o'clock the next morning they were left alone over their cups. There was a long pause of embarrassment on both sides, until at length Quin broke the ice and drank Macklin's health; Macklin returned the compliment. Then, after another pause, Quin said: "There has been a foolish quarrel, sir, between you and me, which, though accommodated, I must confess, I have not been able to entirely forget till If you can forget it, give me your hand, and let us in future live together like brother actors." The reconciliation was sealed by a fresh bottle, to which another and another succeeded, until Quin became so drunk he was not able to speak or move. A chair was sent for, but could not be got. Upon which Macklin, with the assistance of a couple of waiters, raised the ponderous burden upon his back and carried it fast asleep to its lodgings under the Covent Garden piazza.

now.

Macklin had been some years a member of the Drury Lane company, and, although esteemed as a sound and useful actor, had made no mark. Casting about in his thoughts for some character especially adapted to his powers, he bethought him of Shylock. Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice" had not been acted since 1701, a spurious version by Lord Lansdowne, called "The Jew of Venice," having usurped its place, in which Shylock was degraded to a kind of low-comedy part. Macklin, resolving to restore the original text, imparted his ideas to Fleetwood, who at length, in 1741, gave a reluctant

consent to the revival. When it was known that he intended to play the Jew as a serious character, the actors laughed in their sleeves, and gleefully prophesied a dead failure.

His keen observation and suspicious temper could read their thoughts, and he determined to encourage their belief and render their discomfiture the greater. At a rehearsal, while requesting the others to do their best, he himself went through the part tamely and ineffectively. The plot succeeded, and the performers went about saying: "This hot-headed, conceited Irishman, having got some little reputation in a few parts, is going to take advantage of the manager's favor to bring himself and the theatre into disgrace." Fleetwood was appealed to, and begged him to give up the part. Upon which Macklin was obliged to confess the game he was playing. "I am only deceiving a set of men who envy me," he said; "but I'll pledge my life on the success of the play." There had been so much talk and so many predictions and arguments over this revival, that it caused considerable sensation among play-goers; and on the night of the first representation, the house was crowded, and with people of fashion. From the first he could perceive that he had a firm hold upon the audience, and from the critics in the pit he could hear: "Very well, very well indeed!” "This man seems to know what he is about."

"These encomiums," he said, "warned but did not overset me. I knew where I should have the pull, which was in the third act, and reserved myself accordingly. At this period I threw out all my fire; and as the contrasting passions of joy for the merchant's losses and grief for the elopement of Jessica open a fine field for an actor's powers, I had the good fortune

to please beyond my wildest expectation. The whole house was in an uproar of applause. When I went behind the scenes the manager complimented me very highly on my performance, and significantly added, 'Macklin, you were right at last.' My brethren in the green-room joined in his eulogium, but with different views. He was thinking of the increase of his treasury, they only of saving appearances-wishing at the same time I had broken my neck in the attempt. The trial scene wound up the fullness of my reputation: here I was well listened to; and here I made such a silent yet forcible impression upon the audience that I retired from this great attempt well satisfied. On my return to the green-room after the play was over, it was crowded with nobility and critics, who all complimented me in the warmest and most unbounded manner; and the situation I felt myself in, I must confess, was one of the most flattering and intoxicating of my whole life. No money, no title, could purchase what I felt. And let no man tell me after this what fame will not inspire a man to do, and how far the attainment of it will not remunerate his greatest labors. By G-, sir, though I was not worth fifty pounds in the world at the time, yet, let me tell you, I was Charles the Great for that night."

The success was enormous, and, alternated with other pieces, the "Merchant of Venice" ran through the entire season, drawing crowded houses. Macklin received an invitation to dine with Bolingbroke, Pope, and other celebrities, at Battersea. The latter's couplet on his performance

"This is the Jew

That Shakespeare drew "

is well known; and upon his taking a benefit, on the nineteenth night of the run, Bolingbroke sent him a purse containing twenty guineas-such a present being then considered a compliment.

He was undoubtedly the