in one part only, that of Romeo, there is little doubt that Barry surpassed his greater rival, but he challenged comparison in several other Shakespearian characters, especially King Lear, at Covent Garden Theatre, where he acted with Mrs. Cibber, while Garrick played at Drury Lane. that day, and it was only after nine years' careful training from Barry himself that she took her place in the foremost rank of the theatrical profession. With the fascinating, silver-tongued actor the young débutante fell passionately in love, and married him after the death of Dancer. The exact date is uncertain, but her name does not appear as Mrs. Barry on the playbills till she acted with her husband at Drury Lane. She first appeared in London at Foote's theatre, the Haymarket. Garrick witnessed her début there and much applauded her. The following year, 1778, he engaged both husband and wife at Drury Lane, and here Ann's reputation reached its greatest height. She was for long the acknowledged queen of comedy, and rivalled Mrs. Cibber and Mrs. Woffington in tragic parts; while, like Ann Oldfield preferring comedy, she used to say she only acted tragedy "to please the town." When she was nearly forty a spectator wrote of her Cordelia, "It is the grandest thing of the kind I have ever seen an actress do. My fancy still feeds upon it, and the recollection will go with me to my grave." During her whole life she is said to have had no worthy competitor in her part of Desdemona, and in Lady Randolph, her greatest rôle, in which she appeared on the stage for the last time in her farewell performance (about 1798), she is said to have even excelled Mrs. Sid Barry had many advantages, not only in his fine figure and beautiful face and voice, but he was also very well connected, and intimate with the greatest people, supping one night with the prime minister, another with some leader of fashion; he won the name of Mark Anthony for his magnificent style of living. His triumph, however, was short. A venture as manager of the Dublin theatre failed; he became a martyr to gout early, losing his looks, figure, and fortune, and at last, in 1768, was glad to accept an engagement in company with his wife, the actress "Ann Crawford," at Drury Lane from his former rival. Garrick behaved most generously to his fallen foe. He gave the couple a salary of 1,500l., and when Barry's health quite gave way added 2001., with a free choice of parts, and liberty to appear only when he felt able. Yet all was of little avail. The hand of death was now on Barry, and it is sad to read of one who had fascinated all hearts as Romeo in his youth appearing old and infirm at fifty as Othello "in a full suit of gold-laced scarlet, a small cocked hat, kneebreeches, and silk stockings conspicu- dons. ously displaying a pair of gouty legs,' and playing to the Desdemona of his lovely wife. In 1774 he returned again to Covent Garden. He died three years later, and was privately buried in the Cloisters. After twenty-five years had passed, his grave was again opened to receive the coffin of his wife. Though Ann Crawford was now old, coarse, and ugly, Mrs. Siddons feared her rivalry and was not ashamed to own it, but when the aged actress was foolish enough to challenge comparison with her younger rival's famous part of "Isabella" for her benefit, no seats were taken, and she fell seriously ill Mrs. Spranger Barry, the daughter with annoyance. Throughout her life of a rich apothecary at Bath, took to she was subjected to various changes. acting to console herself for a disap- of fortune; a small weekly pension pointment in love, and married an bequeathed her by her mother on coninferior actor, one Dancer, who died dition that she left the stage was paid young. Ann's first recorded appear- by a relative, who refused to accept ance was on November 8, 1758; she the forfeit. Barry left her all he had played Cordelia to Barry's Lear, but to leave, and she amassed a good forher acting made no special impression tune by her own exertions, but was foolish enough to marry a third hus- | in Falstaff, and brought down the house under the protection of the Countess of Burlington and taken up by other great ladies, was for three seasons all the rage in London. She and Garrick fell deeply in love with each other, but it is said that Lady Burlington, jealous for the career of her young favorite, entreated Garrick to suppress his own passion and cure the lady of hers. On this is founded the incident of the play when Garrick feigns drunkenness in order to disgust his lady-love, but as a fact the actor seems not to have taken the countess's hint - rather loved and won the beautiful dancer for his bride. band, a Mr. Crawford, described by when he played sentimental comedy or some authorities as a scampish barris- rolled about the stage as the drunken ter, by others as a bad actor; all agree Sir John Brute. The romance of Garthat he was much younger than herself, rick's life will be found in his marriage, and proved an unprofitable husband, and, as with Betterton, no shadow of who spent her money and broke her ill fame darkened his domestic happiheart. She died in Queen Street, West-ness. The well-known play of “David minster, November 29, 1801, and was Garrick," in which Sotheran in past buried close by in the Abbey Cloisters. years and now Charles Wyndham in Of Garrick it is impossible here to his turn delight audiences, is supposed speak at length. He was a pupil of to be founded on an incident of GarDr. Johnson's, at Edial, near Lichfield, | rick's life. Eva Maria Violette, a young and travelled up to London in company dancer who was brought to England with his master at the age of twenty in order to start a wine business. But wine was soon deserted for the stage, and four years later, on October 19, 1741, Garrick, announced as a “gentleman who had never appeared on any stage (which was not strictly accurate), took the town by storm in his famous impersonation of Richard III. Henceforth Garrick's success was assured, and for thirty-eight years he held the foremost place on the English stage. To him we owe much; no more was Shakespeare's fame insulted by plays which bore no resemblance to the original text; no more did the tradi- Garrick's farewell appearance was on tional sing-song described by Cumber- June 10, 1776, as Don Felix, the hero land offend the ear; but while these in a forgotten comedy called "The and other improvements were made by Wonder," and he was so affected that the actor-manager at Drury Lane, one he omitted the usual country dance at innovation found no favor in his eyes. the end of the piece, and, instead of I allude to the attempt made by Macklin, | one of his favorite and somewhat bomat Covent Garden, to introduce cos-bastic epilogues, could only utter a few tumes contemporary with the period of sentences when he appeared before the the play, instead of the usual practice curtain amidst the sobs of the spectaof wearing modern dress for every tors. The night before he had taken epoch. Macklin, instead of wearing, leave of the stage in tragedy as Lear to like Garrick, the uniform of a military officer in the eighteenth century as Macbeth, tried the experiment of dressing himself and the other characters in Scotch kilts, but the attempt failed, and on his third appearance he was hissed off the stage (October, 1773). John Henderson (who was buried 1785 in Poet's Corner) is said to have been the first to successfully wear Scottish costume as Macbeth. Garrick won his noblest fame in tragic parts, especially in Shakespearian characters, but so versatile was his talent that he rivalled Quin Miss Younge's Cordelia, and parted from his companions in the green room with a solemn "May God bless you all." Scarcely three years were to pass before he took his leave of life, dying on January 20, 1779, in retirement, at Adelphi Terrace, Strand. Never had such signal honors been paid to an actor before; even the popular Betterton had been buried obscurely by candlelight. Now, from the Strand to the Abbey, a string of carriages blocked the way; a guard of soldiers had to keep back the dense crowds; at the great west door, which was thrown open to | brought forward as an infant prodigy at receive the procession, stood John her mother's benefit, but the audience Thomas, Dean of Westminster and were not properly impressed, and only Bishop of Rochester, in his episcopal laughed and made noises, till Mrs. robes as if some royal cortège were ap- Kemble came forward and reproved proaching. Peers carried the pall; the them by reciting the fable of the boys coffin was followed by the whole Liter- and the frog. At thirteen the child ary Club, old Samuel Johnson standing was playing Ariel in a barn at Worcesbathed in tears by the open grave at ter, and four years later we find her the foot of Shakespeare's monument; sustaining the principal female parts at beside him Sir Joshua Reynolds, Burke, Wolverhampton. Her début as Portia and Gibbon; around them were the on December 29, 1775, proved a failure; players from Covent Garden and Drury her dress was old and shabby, her voice Lane. Five years later Garrick's widow weak with nervousness, and, in fact, was again to be seen here when the during her first engagement at Drury coffin of her husband's old master, Lane she excited little interest. She Johnson, was laid close to the spot had the honor of acting twice with where he himself had stood at Gar- Garrick, the second time as Anne to rick's funeral. Forty-three years were his Richard III. five nights before he to pass after the actor's death before left the stage. Garrick did not appreMrs. Garrick, aged ninety-eight, was ciate the latent powers in the nervous laid in her husband's grave. Those girl of twenty-three, and though he who knew her in her old age describe was generous enough to recommend her the once beautiful dancer as a little to Sheridan after his retirement from bowed-down old woman, who went the management, and always behaved about leaning on a gold-headed cane, to her with great courtesy, she bore a dressed in deep mourning, and always grudge against him all her life. Sheritalking of her dear Davy." Upon the dan shared Garrick's opinion and remonument to Garrick at Lichfield is jected her, so she was driven to go into inscribed Johnson's characteristic re- the provinces again, and acted at Bath mark: “I am disappointed by that with Garrick's successor, John Henderstroke of death, which has eclipsed the son, achieving some success; here she gaiety of nations and impoverished the perfected herself in her art, and prepublic stock of harmless pleasure."pared for another appearance in LonHere, beneath the statue in Poet's Cor- don. Six years later she made the first ner, is an inscription by Pratt (substituted for one prepared by Burke), justly condemned by Charles Lamb as a farrago of false thoughts and non เ seuse." 66 of her long succession of triumphs at Drury Lane in Sotherne's tragedy of "Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage," her father and husband both tremblingly awaiting the result. So lifelike was her acting of the dying scene that night that her little boy of eight, who acted Isabella's son, and must often have seen his mother do the part, burst into real tears, and never had such shouts of acclamation been heard since the days of Garrick. Henceforth each new part created a veritable furore, and with Reynolds's magnificent picture of the Tragic Muse to give us a faint idea of her noble presence, it is not difficult to credit the rapturous enthusiasm she In Lady Macbeth she Mrs. Siddons and her brother John Kemble are links between the old generation of players and the modern; for five generations some members of the Kemble family were attached to the theatrical profession, beginning with the grandfather of Sarah and John, who acted under Betterton and Booth, and continuing to our own day in Fanny Kemble, whose début Mrs. Siddons actually witnessed. Sarah Siddons's parents were strolling players, and all their children were put on the aroused. stage as soon as they could walk. achieved her greatest triumph, and Sarah, when a toddling baby, was with this part her name is connected for all succeeding generations. She her uncharitableness and meanness, actually hissed her off the stage, when she fell fainting into her brother John's arms. She was much lionized by the fashionable world, and gave readings at private houses and at the palace; nearly all day carriages would be drawn up outside her lodgings, and, in spite of her incivility to her visitors, her receptions were thronged by rank and fashion, even the Iron Duke of Wellington uncomplainingly enduring the rudeness of the haughty actress. She died June 8, 1831, eight years after her elder brother John, and the statues of brother and sister stand together in the little chapel of St. Andrew. John is represented as Cato, and his statue, designed by Flaxman and executed by Hinchcliffe, stood till 1865 in the North Transept, where it was appropriately placed by the sister to whom he owed so much. Through her influence he played the part for the first time on February 2, 1784, and caused Sheridan much anguish as she deviated from Mrs. Pritchard's reading of the part in the sleep-walking scene by putting down the caudle, which the older actress had carried all the time, and going through the pantomime of washing her hands. So great was the conservatism of the stage that the manager expected an uproar from Mrs. Pritchard's old admirers, but to his delight and surprise the audience were too spellbound by Mrs. Siddons's acting to notice the innovation. Her provincial tours were equally triumphant; only once did she meet with successful rivalry, when in Dublin the Irish rallied round their old favorite, Ann Crawford. Edinburgh went mad over her. Her theatrical career was appropriately begun and ended as one of Shakespeare's heroines, her real farewell of the stage being first appeared in London, in 1783, as taken in June, 1812, as Lady Macbeth, Hamlet, and, though cold and somethough she appeared once or twice what unsympathetic, had for long no afterwards at family benefits; for the rival except Henderson in tragedy. last time as Lady Randolph, in June, He once, and once only, played Mac1819, at the benefit of Charles Kemble. beth to his sister's famous Lady MacIn her old age she became so stout and beth. He became manager of Covent unwieldy that, when kneeling in a part, Garden in 1803, and revived Shakeshe had to be helped to rise. Yet spearian plays at that theatre. Wolsey, Washington Irving, who did not see Lear, Brutus, and Coriolanus her till she was old, says she penetrated amongst his best parts. Sarah Sidin a moment to his heart, froze and dons's statue by Chantrey was suggested melted it by turns, and that he hardly by the great picture of the Tragic Muse. breathed while she was on the stage. Macready paid for it, and Lord LansHer effect on her fellow-actors was also downe and the poet Rogers composed extraordinary; as Queen Catherine on the inscription. With Mrs. Siddons. one occasion, her fiery glance at the the last of the great tragic actresses of surveyor drove the unfortunate man the eighteenth century, the muster-roll who acted the part off the stage, vowing of theatrical names connected with that he would not encounter that awful Westminster Abbey may fitly close. were From Chambers' Journal. THE LAND OF THE SETTING SUN. look again for the world. In Rowe's "Tamurlane " she once worked herself up to such a pitch of agony at the sight of her strangled lover that she fell apparently lifeless before the murderer, and the audience clamored for the CHILDHOOD has many charms; but curtain, believing her dead. Behind perhaps the most potent, to one who the scenes and in private life her has long battled with the world, is its haughty manner, her parsimony, and perfect innocence, and its implicit beinsolence made her many enemies; lief in those marvellous stories that the and once in Dublin the audience, adult pours into its listening ear. Yet having heard exaggerated reports of the child never marvels, nothing is too improbable, everything seems quite ra- The The nightingale sang to us as we passed up a winding lane that led into the open country and the moorlands. By the roadside grew clumps of fir-trees, and through their branches streamed the rays of the sun, casting a strange light into the depths of the stilly copses. The sinking sun from behind the hilltops lit up the whole country-side beIt is many years ago now, that my yond the meadows and across the little sister and I set out together for slopes. Never since have I seen such the Land of the Setting Sun. The beau- a sunset. It was one of those quiet tiful golden clouds had gathered in evenings in June when the whole sky the west; in the glorious perspective, grows lurid at sundown, when the day waves were rolling in upon a glittering is slow to die, and when twilight lingers blue lake, girt with trees of burning long before fading into night. silver and gold. Fairy palaces arose, scene had changed somewhat; the blue whose amber-colored turrets shone with lake was no longer visible, it was hida wonderful and alluring brilliancy. I den by tall, grey mountains, at the foot longed to tread those paths and to wan- of which stretched beautiful fields of der adown those sunny slopes by the emerald green. The palaces had vanblue and shimmering lake. It was to ished, and in their place grim castles this beautiful country that my mother frowned from the tops of craggy heights. had gone so nurse had told me and Across the western sky stretched a red I longed to see her whom I had never chain of clouds; but in the east, black known. So I secretly determined to and threatening was the aspect, and journey thither. My little sister I loved dark" messengers scudded across to dearly, and could not think of parting the west. The wind began to grow from her, so, putting her hat on and cool, and there was an ominous rustle wrapping her cloak around her, we in the leaves upon the trees. The birds were ready to start. How surprised would our mother be when she saw us coming in at those gates that nurse told us of; she would know us at once, of But how should we know her course. were now silent. Darkness was fast overtaking the daylight; and travelling with it, under its shadow, seemed to be a small tempest, such as often succeeds a more than usually brilliant sunset. |