to leave Baltimore the following day. When the curtain rang up on the next night's play, the

Lady of Lyons," it was a pleasant surprise to see them again in the same box. They had returned unexpectedly, and were kind enough to say they had come back expressly to see me in another rôle. The second interview with them was longer and even more agreeable than the first. There was a nobility about Dom Pedro's head that reminded one of certain pictures of Charlemagne. His manner and that of his wife was exceedingly sweet and gentle, and I was deeply touched by his cordial wish that I should go to Brazil, where he promised me success, and his and the Empress's patronage. There was much said about their second visit to the theatre, and it was amusing afterwards to hear a newsboy shouting, "Years yur morning pa-pi-er, all about Dan Peter and Mary and her son."

From my first appearance my work had been difficult and uphill. Without any training I was gaining experience: not hidden in a small part under the shadow of some great "star," but in the bright light of leading characters, filled with memories of Charlotte Cushman, Julia Dean, and

Fanny Kemble, and with the critical eye of the public full upon me. Still I toiled on, hoped on, prayed on, and felt the work slowly growing in ease and finish. But it was painfully disheartening to find myself stranded for lack of technical knowledge whenever the usual enthusiasm in the great scenes refused through weariness or discouragement to glow. Indeed I would not wish my dearest enemy" to pass through the uncertainties and despondencies of those early years.

CHAPTER VI

FEW theatre goers of to-day realize the difference between the old travelling star and stationary-stock-company system, and the present one, when every star has his or her own support. Though one could cite numerous individuals who have soared high in the theatrical firmament in spite of it, the effect of the former system could not but be pernicious in its influence on dramatic art generally; principally, because of the lack of time on the part of the company to study and digest their work, and so give to it the respect and importance due to it as an art. Besides,

It

it seemed to me anything but conducive to intellectual or artistic growth, or to originality. fettered and cramped one, and its conventionalities frequently descended to mere tricks. One of these, much practised at the time, was for the actor to stand in the centre of the stage as far back as possible (in the lime-light if there was one) so as to force the other artists, in listening to

him, to turn their backs upon the audience, thus concentrating all the attention upon himself; then say his speech, whatever it might be, beginning pianissimo and ending fortissimo; after which he was to sweep grandly into the corner and wait for his applause; which usually came from "the unskilled" and made "the judicious grieve." Before learning the remedy for this trick, which had in it nothing resembling the manner of "Christian, pagan, or man," I often had an Ingomar, Colonna, Master Walter, take me by the hand, swing me below him, then spring back three or four steps, and keep me during all of his speeches with my back to the audience, literally forcing me down the stage until I was almost in the footlights. Dion Boucicault unfolded to me the antidote for this evil, which was simply turn your back upon the bellowing artist, and in ignoring him, cause the public to do likewise." It was amusing to see how humbly the old-stager came down from his central position, and turned his back to the public, even that, to get you to look at him. These practices often grew into conflicts between actors playing lovers' parts. Each player acted for himself and ignored the ensemble. From this and other equally per

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nicious traditions I soon learned that the training of those companies was worse than no training at all. Like the animals in Noah's Ark, they were composed of two and two "leads," "heavies," "juveniles," "walking," "utility," &c., and if the theatre was prosperous, a dozen or two thinkers," of both sexes. The vocation of these was, apparently, to listen, think, sympathise with the joys and sorrows of the hero and heroine, and gesticulate wildly and indiscriminately. They were accused by utility persons, who were a round higher on the ladder, and who occasionally made such remarks as Yes, my lady," or "The chariot waits, my lord!" of carrying their gestures in a box, and using the same on all occasions. Each week brought a different star, with a round of new plays, to these companies (long runs were almost unheard-of then), and they had frequently to memorize their parts while standing in the wings during the performance, awaiting their cues— 'winging a part," it was called. Rapid study, a hurried rehearsal daily, the re-arranging of their costumes for the ever-changing plays, left them no free time to reflect upon the characters they were to enact; and for this uncommon

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