peerless Faulconbridge, the gallant Orlando, the matchless Romeo, and the magnanimous Mark Antony?' Bulwer was the chairman, and made a speech which read famously in the papers next day, but sounded very badly that night. He was accredited with having based Sir Frederick Blount in Money' on his own peculiarities, and I can well believe it. One of his sentences still rings in my ears. Here it is: I think, gentlemen, you will all agwee with me that evewy gweat actah has'th his peculiar mannah, as well as evewy gweat w'iter has'th his'th peculiar style.' Thackeray, who

had to propose 'the health of the ladies,' would, I thought, have broken down every moment, not from the cause assigned by some 'd- -d good-natured friends' (of that I can speak with positive certainty), but from sheer nervousness. There had been bitter blood between the noble Bayornet and the author of the Yellow Plush Papers,' and it seemed to me as if the former noted the latter's discomfiture with an amused and languid disdain, which overlaid a somewhat deeper-rooted feeling. Charles Dickens (a capital after-dinner speaker) was at his best, and ranged from grave to gay with equal facility; indeed his

speech was as florid as his costume, which was striking enough in all conscience. He wore a blue dress-coat, faced with silk and aflame with gorgeous brass buttons, a vest of satin, with a white satin collar, and a wonderfully embroidered shirt. When he got up to speak, his long curly hair, his luxuriant whiskers, his handsome face, his bright eyes, his general aspect of geniality and bonhomie, presented a delightful picture. I made some ingenuous remark on the subject to Thackeray, who blandly rejoined, 'Yes, the beggar is as beautiful as a butterfly, especially about the shirtfront.' The speech of the night was, however, Macready's. He knew how to speak, and spoke in a clear voice. There was scarcely a dry eye when the closing salutes of God bless you, Mac,' etc., were heard from all sides."

Coleman adds the following personal observations: "His features appeared irregular and corrugated. He had a spacious brow and delicately penciled eyebrows, but his nose was of a most composite order, a mixture of Grecian, Milesian, and snub, with no power of dilation in the nostrils. His eyes were dull and lustreless by day, but at night, as I afterwards discovered, they were orbs of fire, His

mouth, though small, was well-cut and decided; the lower jaw, which was firm and massive, was very underhung. His closely shorn and blue-black beard imparted a grim and saturnine cast to his features. He wore his hair, which was beginning to show the marks of time, clubbed in huge masses over his ears."

CHAPTER XII.

IN RETIREMENT: THE LAST DAYS.

THE very next day after this sad but tri

umphant feast saw the family installed at Sherborne. The house was a large and handsome freestone mansion, in the town, but rural in its surroundings. There was a simple dignity in its architecture. The staircase had been painted by Sir James Thornhill, the dining-room was panelled in dark oak, and the rooms provided admirable quarters for comfort and studious ease. The library room was large enough to be the scene of gatherings to listen to the readings of the old master of his art. He devoted eager attention to the education of his children, who had also the advantage of the old-established grammar-school of the town. Pollock says, "he dedicated much time, more indeed than was good for them, or for himself, to the minute personal superintendence of the general education, and of the various lessons of his children." It is easy to see that the man

who had ruled the affairs of the playhouse with an iron hand was a martinet in the affairs of his family. He essayed to educate the poor of the neighborhood, by means of a night school, the efficiency of which was commended in the report of the official examiner. A part of his income was devoted to the maintenance of the school, at least £100 a year. He accepted the presidency of the Scientific and Literary Institute, giving it books, contributing occasional readings by himself, and frequently bringing his famous friends from London to entertain his charge.

Macready suffered repeated sorrows in his retirement. His wife died in 1852, and his two sons died in their youth, Walter Francis Sheil, aged 13, in 1853, Henry Frederick Bulwer, aged 19, in 1857. His daughter Lydia did not pass her sixteenth year, dying in 1858, while later in the same year was laid to rest his sister Letitia, upon whose stone Macready caused to be inscribed "The Sister and Friend of William Charles Macready."

In 1860 Macready found Sherborne too cheerless, and moved to Cheltenham, where he married a second time.

This companion of his daughter of Henry