One Sunday forenoon at Sothern’s London _pied-à-terre_ in Vere Street, John Maclean, of the Gaiety Theatre, was present. Maclean was what was called in those days a “useful actor.” He was a wonderfully fine mimic, and was particularly good at reproducing the different shades of Irish and Scotch dialects in all their varying enormity. He used to tell a story about George Cordery, the property-master at the Theatre Royal, Dublin, and Barry Sullivan, the tragedian, which introduced admirable imitations of both those worthies. The story itself would lose most of its point by translation into cold print. It described an altercation between the tragedian and the property-master as to the correct cue for the lowering of the cauldron in “Macbeth,” Cordery insisting that “filthy ’ags” was the cue, because he had been so taught by his “old mawster, Mister Phellups—an’ ’e was a man as knew ’ow to play Macbeth.” Sullivan insisted on the cue being, “May eternal curses light upon you!” At the last rehearsal of the Witch scene, Barry Sullivan stalked over to the trap through which the cauldron was to disappear, and called down to the property-master: “Do you know the cue _now_, Mr. Cordery?” “S’wulp me, Goad!” came back the voice of the exasperated George, “I shall never forgit it. It’s ‘May etarnal cusses light upon you!’—_meanin’ nothing personal to you_, _Mr. Barry Soolivan_!” The breakfast at an end and cigars lighted, there was always experienced a feeling of suspense and expectancy. Sothern requested Maclean to give his famous imitation of the tragedian and the property-master. After the usual amount of demur, Johnny rose to do as he had been bidden. Sothern placed his victim on the hearthrug, where, with his back to the fire, he could command the entire company, and where he was at the farthest point from the entrance to the room. The gifted imitator launched into his narrative, and soon had the assembly in a roar. But just when he had come to the height of the colloquy between the tragedian and his subordinate, the door of the room was suddenly opened, and Sothern’s man announced: “Mr. Barry Sullivan!” The tragedian entered, bowing right and left, and shaking hands with his host. “Go on with your recitation, Johnny!” cried Sothern. But Maclean had collapsed and taken refuge behind the chair of a friend. Nor was he greatly reconciled to the situation when it was discovered that the new-comer was not Sullivan at all, but a brother comedian made up for the part.