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Mr. Macklin's genealogy is of little consequence to English readers: but his biographer and relation thinks otherwise, and bestows many pages on his birth and parentage.-As to educacation, he had none: which was not more owing to the misfortunes of his family, (by adhering to the Stuart party at the revolution,) than to his own wild disposition and bad conduct. His family name was M'Laughlin, which he afterward changed, to get rid not only of its Paddy appearance but of its harshness. The history of his childhood and adolescence reflects little credit on his memory. He was froward, obstinate, wild, and even ferocious, beyond the bounds of a common Pickle, or unlucky boy. His juvenile tricks are neither amiable nor ingenious, but such as spring from an untutored and vulgar mind.

We are told that he was born two months before the battle of the Boyne, 1690: but Macklin himself always gave a different account, and asserted that he was born in the last year of the last century (1699). A chronological confusion thus pervades the work.

Macklin's father died in 1704; and in 1707, his mother married a second husband, named O'Meally. Charles was now, according to his biographer, 17 years old: but no profession appears to have been in contemplation for him. He lived in a perpetual warfare with a tyrannical school-master; and he seems to have learnt nothing but how to plague Him, and how to merit and receive punishment with heroic perseverance. Though Mr. K. softens, as much as possible, the juvenile ferocity of his hero, he owns that this hopeful youth at last obtained the nick-name of Charles a Molluchth; or, in English, Wicked Charley?

Macklin's first attempt at dramatic representation was at school, in the 18th year of his age, in the character of Monimia, in the Orphan. After this, he ran away from school with two other boys, and went to England: stealing from his mother (who doated on him, and of whom he was very fond) nine pounds to bear his expences; which almost ruined her, and nearly broke her heart. One of his compagnons de voyage was hanged soon after their arrival in England. Macklin now becomes a buffoon in an alc-house in the Borough-marries the Jandlady-is forcibly taken from her-is carried back to Ireland becomes a Badgman in Trinity College till 21 years oldgoes again to England-forms an intimacy with a company of strollers-acts drolls with them at Hockley in the Hole-is a bruiser, a cudgel-player, and a gambler.

His mother applies to Counsellor Malone to bring him back to Ireland-he is found at the Cat and Bagpipes, at Hockley in

the

the Hole-goes back, and is again received as Badgman in Trinity College-at 26 leaves his mother once more, and goes to England first arriving at Bristol, he enters a strolling company there, and begins his career by acting the part of Richmond, in Richard the III.-Strolls in the west of Englandacts three or four parts in a night, for 5d. or 6.—goes to Wales-is taught English by the wife of a clergyman, who tries to divest him of his country's brogue-is a great fives player is not received on the London stage till the year 1733The biographer now presents a sketch of the history of the stage, from the time of Queen Elizabeth (or rather the pen of Cibber), for 30 pages; during which, Macklin's name is never mentioned. The writer here inserts the beautiful verses of Mr. Sheridan on Garrick; we know not why: as he never allows Garrick half the merit which the poet has assigned to him in these lines. We shall speak more on this subject hereafter.

Here the history proceeds slowly. We have Betterton's character, from Cibber and from tradition, at full length;-and Reflections on the London Cuckolds, a most indecent play, but generally acted on a Lord Mayor's day, in our own memory.To return to the hero, after having lost sight of him for nearly 60 pages-" Lo! where he comes again!" and again we are told that he first distinguished himself on the London stage in 1733.

There is a confusion in both the style and the arrangement of this work. The author often repeats what has been said in the preceding page; vide 130, 131, and 132. At the first of these pages, though we had twice before arrived at the year 1733, we are now told, for the first time, that M. played the part of Sir John Brute's servant in the Provoked Wife, in 1725, when it first appeared.' The Provoked Wife first appeared in 1697, and was revived in 1725. What a jumble has the biographer made in relating this story! Not only mistaking one year for another, but one play for another! He tells us that the Provoked Wife being conjectured to be the production in part of Colley Cibber, jointly with Sir John Vanbrugh, a violent party, who were determined to damn the scenes which they supposed to be Cibber's, unluckily mistook Sir John Vanbrugh's part for that of the Laureat, and hissed it most furiously, applauding with equal violence that which was Cibber's.' It was not in the first performance of the Provoked Wife, but of the Provoked Husband, or Journey to London, that this mistake, so disgraceful to the taste and candour of the public, happened.

In 1734, though the hero of the tale had only been a year on the London stage, he was elevated by Mr. Fleetwood, the Pa

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tentee of Drury-Lane Theatre, into the important office of assistant manager: in which character, he was likely to enforce that obedience by the violence of his temper, which his principal was unable to attain by the mildness and reasoning of a gentleman. The author informs us that Macklin went by the name of the Wild Irishman;' and in the comic parts which he obtained, Mr. Kirkman says, we may conclude that he, at first, a little overstept the modesty of nature; and was deficient in that chasteness in acting, which he afterward acquired for we find that Quin, who was very despotic and scurrilous to the inferior actors, was in the habit of censuring him severely, and complaining that there was no such thing as having a chaste scene performed, where Macklin had a part.' As this anecdote, related by Mr. K. in Macklin's own words, will furnish our readers with a better specimen of the coarse language, brutality, and ferocity of the latter, than can be gathered from tradition, or from the delineation of his biographer, we shall here insert it from the book before us :

There is an anecdote (says Mr. K.) which Macklin has often related with that luxuriant force of description, which characterised his story telling. As it happened about the period of the history of the stage at which we are now arrived; and as it may serve to throw some light on the disposition of Quin, and his unprovoked rudeness to the actors, we present it to our readers, nearly in the words of the old gentleman, as he told it, in the year 1787, at the Rainbow Coffee-house, in King-strect, Covent-Garden, to an acquaintance, who asked bim-if Quis and be had ever quarreled? Many persons, in the adjoining boxes, attended to the veteran, who spoke, as usual, in a very audible voice; but exhibited, in the course of the narration (as the reader will perceive), strong proofs of the rapid decay of his memory:-"Yes, Sir; I was very low in the theatre, as an actor, when the surly foliow was the despot of the place. But, Sir, I had

had a lift, Sir. Yes, I was to play-the-the-the Boy with the red Breeches; -- you know who I mean, Sir-he whose mother is always going to law;-you know who I mean!"- Jerry Blackacre, I suppose, Sir—" Aye, Sir,-Jerry.-Well, Sir, I began to be a little known to the public, and, egad, I began to make them laugh; I was called the Wild Irishman, Sir; and was thought to have some fun in me: and I made them laugh heartily at the Boy, Sir- in Jerry.

"When I came off the stage, the surly fellow, who played the scolding Captain in the play; Captain-Captain-you know who I mean"- Manly, I believe, Sir?" Aye, Sir-the sameManly. Well, Sir, the surly fellow began to scold me, told me I was at my damned tricks; and that there was no having a chaste cene for me.-Every body, nay, egad, the manager himself, was afraid of him.—I was afraid of the fellow, too; but not much.-Well, Sir, I told him, that I did not mean to disturb him by my acting; but to show off a little myself. Well, Sir, in the other scenes I did the

same,

same, and made the audience laugh incontinently-and he scolded me again, Sir.-I made the same apology; but the surly fellow would not be appeased. Again, Sir, however, I did the same; and when I returned to the green-room, he abused me like a pickpocket, and said, I must leave off my damned tricks-I told him I could not play otherwise. He said, I could, and I should. Upon which, Sir, egad, I said to him flatly-" you lie." He was chewing an apple at this moment; and spitting the contents into his hand, he threw them in my face." Indeed!" It is fact, Sir!-Well, Sir, I weut up to him directly (for I was a great boxing cull in those days), and pushed him down into a chair, and pummelled his face damnably."

"You did right, Sir."

"He strove to resist; but he was no match for me;-and I made his face swell so with the blows, that he could hardly speak. When he attempted to go on with his part, Sir, he mumbled so, that the audience began to hiss. Upon which he went forward, and told them, Sir, that something unpleasant had happened, and that he was really very ill. But, Sir, the moment I went to strike him, there were many noblemen in the green room, full dressed, with their swords, and large wigs: (for the green room was a sort of state-room, then, Sir,)-Well, they were all alarmed, and jumped upon the benches, waiting, in silent amazement, till the affair was over.

"At the end of the play, Sir, he told me I must give him satisfaction; and that, when he changed his dress, he would wait for me at the Obelisk, in Covent garden. I told him I would be with him :but, Sir, when he was gone, I recollected that I was to play in the pantomime (for I was a great pantomime boy in those days): so, Sir, I said to myself" damn the fellow, let him wait; I wont go to him till my business is all over; let him fume, and fret, and be damned." Well, Sir, Mr. Fleetwood, the manager, who was one of the best men in the world--all kindness, all mildness, and graciousness, and affability-had heard of the affair; and as Quin was his great actor, and in favour with the town, he told me I had had revenge enough; that I should not meet the surly fellow that night; but that he would make the matter up somehow or other.

"Well, Sir, Mr. Fleetwood ordered me a good supper, and some wine, and made me sleep at his house all night, to prevent any meeting. Well, Sir, in the morning, he told me, that I must, for his sake, make a little apology to Quin, for what I had done.—And so, Sir, having given him a belly full, I, to oblige Mr. Fleetwood (for I loved the man), did, Sir, make some apology to him, and the matter dropped."

It is impossible to imagine any thing more humiliating and mortifying than this circumstance must have been to Quin, whose pride was great, and temper overbearing; who was not only the tyrant of the theatre, but a great favourite with the town:-more especially, as his assailant was then a low actor, and a man characterised by a ludicrous name-" The Wild Irishman." It is well known that Quin, who was the first promoter of the quarrel, never, to the end of his days, forgave Macklin; but used to say, in his usual language, made up of humour and profaneness, "if God writes a legible hand,

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that fellow is a villain." Quin went once so far as to address Macklin in the following manner, without any provocation whatsoever: "Mr. Macklin, by the lines-I beg your pardon, Sir-the cordage of your face, you should be hanged."

This anecdote can reflect no honour on 'Macklin's memory, though related by himself. The Wild Irishman was manifest, both in giving Quin the lie direct, and in beating him, as pugilism had been one of Macklin's studies at Hockley in the Hole. Quin had a right to censure severely this under actor's flippancy, in altering the original text of his parts. and adding his own jokes, an impertinence which is always perplexing and inconvenient to a chaste and good actor: because it changes the cues, and often renders the subsequent speech absurd.

After this portrait of our hero, painted by himself, we have a Da Capo, and are carried back to his birth; which indeed had never been settled clearly and chronologically. It appears that M., though latterly proud of his longevity, sunk ten years of his age, previously to his last marriage, in order to facilitate his nuptials with a young bride, and persisted in the fraud to the end of his life-but, says Mr. K. the maxim, de mortuis nil nisi bonum, will hold good upon this occasion.' Will it hold good on no other? It should seem so, by the manner in which this biographer speaks of Garrick, Colman, Sheridan, Quin, Barry, and almost every deceased individual with whom his hero transacted business, or had any professional conflict.

Many subsequent pages are spent in recapitulation,-in a heavy account of M.'s changing his name, and in another story of his going into his landlady's bed in female disguise: still more dull; though it is said to have convulsed cousin Mac, and every one present, with laughter.

We are now dragged back to 1731, after having attained 1733 several times. Mr. M. is first noticed on the Drury-Lane stage in Captain Brazen, Teague, and the drunken Colonel in the Intriguing Chambermaid.

The account of Hallam's death, for which Macklin was tried at the Old Bailey, is here softened with care and tenderness by his relation, friend, and biographer: but he has not satisfactorily exculpated the accused. Mr. Kirkman gives an account of the trial, and the deposition of several of the witnesses. What infamous language did Macklin use to his fellow-comedian, previously to the fatal blow! and how mild were the answers! The whole account and evidence prove him to be vindictive, abusive, and brutal. Great pains were taken by Mr. Fleetwood, the manager, to save his life. The subject of this trial was long discussed in the capital, and not much to the honour of Mr. M.

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