Soon after this success Macklin received an invitation to dine with Bolingbroke and Pope at Battersea. The latter's couplet on his performance-- "This is the Jew That Shakespeare drew," is well known, and the nineteenth night of the run being his benefit, Bolingbroke sent him a purse containing twenty guineas, such a present being then considered a compliment. On April 17, 1875, poor Charles Coghlan was anything but Charles the Great. Always careful in the details of his make-up, he was a picturesque figure, but his expectant audience waited in vain for the effect that should have been made by the "pull" in the third act--for the fire that was never thrown out--and for the forcible impression of the trial scene. The "nobility and critics" were in front, but they could not compliment the new Shylock, and had sadly to admit that he was anything but the Jew that Shakespeare drew. Charles Coghlan seemed for the moment to have forgotten that Shakespeare meant his matchless text to be illuminated by the actor. He ought to have borne in mind Mrs. Micawber's adage: "Things cannot turn up of themselves. We must in a measure assist them to turn up." No doubt his grave and unaccountable mistake killed the production, and from it the Bancrofts must have suffered not only bitter disappointment, but heavy pecuniary loss. It is pleasant to remember how in their published records they very lightly touch upon the shortcomings of their stage comrade. But the Bancrofts were ever kindly and generous, and in every way merit the honours that have been conferred upon them. Were they not the pioneers of a new, tasteful, and pure departure in English dramatic art? Is it not to them that we owe the evergreen comedies of Robertson and the refined theatrical school that he founded? It is wonderful that thus heavily handicapped with an insipid Shylock the Portia of the evening made a never-to-be-forgotten triumph. But triumph she did, and all along the line. It at once became apparent that we had amongst us an actress who could play the heroines of Shakespeare in a manner that would vie with her great predecessors in the parts, and that she would endow them with new graces and sweet fancies of her own. Such an actress was sorely needed, and we were grateful for her timely advent. Well did Joseph Knight say of Ellen Terry and that famous night at the pleasant little theatre in Tottenham Street, "She had revealed the gifts which are the rarest on the English stage."