Richard (at last!). But he now commenced an action against the managers of Covent Garden for the breach of engagement caused by his sudden dismissal, and claimed all arrears of salary from that time.

The suit was continued several years, and believing he understood every matter better than any one else, he undertook himself to answer all his bills in Chancery. On these occasions he gave notice to his family to have a fire kept up in his study, and that he was not to be interrupted, on any account whatever, till he chose to be visible. When he commenced business he locked himself up in this room, where his food and everything he required was brought, but in dumb show, no person being permitted to speak to him. Here also he slept, and whenever a thought struck him in the night he was up at his desk, writing. This suit also ended in a victory for him; which he used with even greater generosity than his previous one, for upon the damages-five hundred pounds-being paid over, he handed the sum back to Mr. Harris, one of the managers, saying he was quite content with having established his legal rights, and that he trusted there would be no more ill-blood between them.

When he was about eighty-five he conceived the extraordinary whim of turning farmer, and actually used his best endeavors to procure a farm of three or four hundred acres in the neighborhood of Cork. "I have read books on agriculture," he remarked to a friend, "and know the theory of farming better than half the bailiffs in England. I would act in Dublin in the winter, make engagements in England for the spring, be on my farm in the summer, and appear occasionally in Cork." Luckily for himself he could not obtain a farm, and so

could sing a good

the project, like so many others, fell through. Verily he must have thought he was going to rival the longevity of the patriarchs. And not without cause, for at nearly ninety he was as vigorous and full of spirits as ever, song, tell a good story, and take his bottle better than half the young men he associated with. He used in company to give some extraordinary illustrations of his great age. "Oh lord, sir!" he said one evening to a party who were questioning him upon his reminiscences, "I remember so many changes in human affairs that in some families I have almost lost the power of tracing their descent. An odd circumstance happened to me a few years ago upon this subject. A party of Irish gentlemen, who had come over here in the parliamentary vacation, asked me to sup with them. I did so, sir, and we all got very jolly together, insomuch that one of them was so drunk that I made a point of taking him on my back and carrying him down-stairs to his chair. The next day the gentleman waited on me, and expressing his civilities, said he was sorry I should take so much unnecessary trouble. Here, sir, I stopped him short by telling him that one reason I had for carrying him on my back was that I carried either his father or his grandfather the same way, fifty years ago, when he was a student at the Middle Temple. 'Very true, sir,' he answered: 'I remember my father often telling it as a family story; but you are mistaken a little in point of genealogy; it was my great-grandfather that you did that kindness for.'"

In 1781 he returned to England for the purpose of producing his "True Born Scotchman," which had never yet been played out of Ireland, and which he had long since elaborated into a five-act comedy. The manuscript

had lain in the Lord Chamberlain's office nearly ten years, and Macklin despaired of having it returned to him, when one day, dining with Sir Fletcher Norton and Mr. Dunning, he begged their opinions as to what a man should do to recover property when he knew by whom it was detained. They advised an action of trover. "Well," said Macklin, "the case is my own. Will you two undertake my cause?" They agreed. He explained the case, and by personal application they got back the play, but with a refusal to license it under its then title, it being considered as a reflection upon the Scottish nation. Upon which Macklin changed the title to "The Man of the World." The comedy was highly successful, and Macklin's performance of Sir Pertinax was a masterpiece, being peculiarly suited to his style. When he first appeared in this character in England he was over ninety years old.

It was not until 1785 that he finally gave over his wandering life and settled down permanently in London. But even then he arranged to act occasionally at Covent Garden. His first wife was dead, and he had married again; his daughter was dead, so was his son, yet still he remained green and vigorous. In 1788 his memory began to fail him for the first time.

Yet he still acted.

His last appearance upon the stage was on May 7, 1789, in the character of Shylock, and for his own benefit. The manager from the first feared a collapse, yet knowing the old man's necessities did not like to prohibit his appearance; as a precaution, however, he had another actor, Ryder, ready dressed for the part. When Macklin entered the green-room, attired with all his usual neatness and precision, he gazed about until his eyes fell upon Mrs. Pope. "My dear, are you to play to-night?"

he asked. "To be sure I am, sir. Don't you see I am dressed for Portia? "True, but who is to play Shylock?" he inquired with a vacant look. "Why, you, to be sure," she answered. Then he recollected himself, and, putting his hand to his forehead, exclaimed pathetically: "God help me, I'm afraid my memory has left me!" He went on the stage, however, and delivered the first two or three speeches of Shylock, but in such a manner that it was evident he did not understand what he was saying. After a while he recovered a little and seemed to make an effort to rouse himself; but in vain --there was a pause-then he came forward and addressed the audience, telling them he found himself unable to proceed, and hoped they would accept his substitute.

Such was Charles Macklin's farewell to the stage he had so long adorned at the amazing age of ninety-nine years. He still continued the tenor of his life without much change, his walks, his visits to the clubs and theatres. He was very poor in his old age, and his two best comedies, "Love à La Mode," and "The Man of the World," were published by subscription to assist him. His dedication to Lord 'Camden, long and lucid, showed little sign of a failing brain. He lived till 1797, reaching the age of one hundred and eight, and was buried in St. Paul's churchyard, the resting-place of many another distinguished actor.

CHAPTER V.

"PEG" WOFFINGTON AND GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY.

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 man 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