0 0 D STOMES RETOLD. Thittilr,l Fartntlli. Oarrick nail Klddoul. I. DAVID OAKRICK. At the beginning of 177(5, theatrical Lomlon was both startled and distressed to hear rnmors clear and contident in the clubs and in the park, louder and more certain In the green-rooms, of Uarriek's intention to leave the stage, where he had so long reignid the delight and wonder of the age, and the em peror of all hearts. It bad long been known that Harry's rivalry (Harry was the most ardent and tender of Konieos") had compelled the great actor to exertions far beyond his strength. The death of his energetic coadjutor, Mr. Lacy, the joint patentee of Drury Lane, had also thrown upon Garriok a burden too great for biui to'bear. From. 1773 (the date of Mr. Lacy'a death),' he had almost aban doned liosworth Field, Dover cliff, and the gloomy fortress at Dunsiuaue, for his even more congenial haunts in the wainscoted drawing-rooms and palace ante-chambers of onedy, where, aided by charming Mrs. Abington, the bet would-be liue ladyeer seen on the boards, he still bantered as "Bene dict," mounted the ladder as "Ranger," blus tered as "Don Felix," or became a moan aud exquisite gull as "Abel Drugger." In January, 3 77(5, appeared a poor fareo of Colnian's, called The tipleai; or, Islington fyn, meant to ridicule the allocations of would-be fashionable citizens, who, discontented with their own snog independence, had vainly tried to turn a Fentonville chalybeate into the centre of a second city of Bath. The piece ran for a fortnight only. In the prologue, written by Oarrick with his usual neatness and vivacity, public allusion was first ma le to the inteuded retirement of the author. After describing the restless cit, who, envious f "Lord Flimsy" and "Maccaronis," retires to his villa at Islington, and, among his leaden gods and box-tree peacocks, sighs for the merry bustle of Batcherow, the writer says: 'The roaster of this shop, too, seeks repose, Bells of tils slock-in trade his verse aud prose, Ills dagger, busklus, thunder, lightning, and old clothes." Oarrick was already preparing for that solemn last Bcene of all That ends this strange, eventful history." A few days after the appearance of The JSjpa, Garriok produced the farce of Bon Ton. lie had written this satire of the follie3 imported from France, as a present for his favorite actor, King, who appeared in it, to gether with arch Mrs. Abington and sensible Miss Pope. The versatile genius who had first appeared en the stage at Ipswich, in 1741, as "Aboan" (in Southern's Gronoko), "Sir Harry Wildair," and "Harlequin," was about to close his triumphs, and leave his mimic world. lie was rioh, he was famous; the w ise, the learned, and the beautiful crowded to his almost royal levees still. ' Superfluous lagged the veteran on the stage." The call-boy now spoke with a hollow and warning voice, and the prompter was old age. It had been a lorg phantasmagoilc life of pleasure and success sirce', as a trim lad of eighteen, he and his strauge, clever, unsuc cessful schoolmaster had set out from Lioh field to try their fortunes in London. A long procession of years had p.is3ed before him sinoe, in Goodman's Fields, he first defied the rivalry of Macklin, Quin, and Cibber, and set Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Fritchard, and Mrs. Woffington talking ' of the clever young - man with the large dark eyes, who had been p -pised by Lord Orrery, and who had even diawn the great Mr. Pope from Twickenham. Hogarth, too, was full of admiration. The string of the "qual'ty" car riages had reached from Temple Bar to the little theatre. The mad king, the generous Iiero, the butterfly rake, the honest farmer, the maddened tvrant. had all m,q Into the one final character of the ' out old . i .inn ii 1 1 r " p0aMr TKrrje great classic eyeorows lost their spring; the subtle mouth its magio power; those supernatural eyes their bidden fire and Bunshine; ago, cruel age, had disenchanted that giited fece, which had so well mimicked all tne passions of our species; the voice, once cjear as a clarion, melodious as a flute, varied as the note of a mocking-bird, was fast sinking to childish treble. All Lon don felt keenly what a source of pleasure wes lienceforth to be closed to them. Garriok's parsimony and nervous vanity were now for gotten, his virtues and genius better rernem fcercd. Ilia "Brute" and "Bayes," his "Lear" W "Richard," his "Kilely" and "Drugger," liad been the frevda of the town for yeais, and the most intellectual men had spent their most innocent and happiest hours in their society."-. . That Garrick felt Intense pain at the thought of this impending parting there can be no doubt. He was like the sleeping knight in Taeso's enchanted garden of Arnfida, now at last to be roughly awoke and expelled from the golden world of dreams. The stage crown Was to be laid down, the stage sceptre to be Riven to other hands. The painted forests of Arden were, to be quitted, the dim magio light cf the darkened stage, the pasteboard for tresses, and Richard's royal couch, were to be Been no more; red Are was no longer to glare upon him; stage jewels were to be laid aside, lie was to go forth in hi3 old fge into the cold, garish, prosaio outer woi Id, and to leave his oartiers and armies, his conspirators and peasants, to be governed by another. Like 'Caliban," he must also have wept to "dream again." Shakespeare himself had a deep sense of the perishable mature of an actor's fame. It is easier to describe a spao'd rainbow, or the swift vision of a momentary sunbeam, than to convey an impression to those who have not seen him what even Robson was lil-e in his limaxes of nervojs irritation alternating With gayety Who can describe justly Ma Ws ti S"'' r "Vis," the7elder perishes with to VtTi a fitful and varying tradition. It soon be comes disputed whether Roscius or Garriok were or were not better than- the Boanercas of this or that theatre, he who acts "Othello" like the ma i butcher that he is, and croaks through 'Hamlet" like the raven on "Mac JUeth's" battlements, l'a vita I such is the lame of the actor. It really ceans when the footlights are put out after the last appear ance. . The poem and novel may be eternal, the picture has its own moid precarious but Btill long existence, the conquest is remem lered by the future misery it entails; but the actor, the actor is . "Surhiiturr As dreams are made of, and hid lUUe life Is rounded by a sleep." - His painted world of laughter and of tear3 is tut the baseless fabric of a vision; his cloud capped towers, are but as the evening shadows, and melt into air into thin air. ' Garrack had already felt some bitter fore tastes of death. The worst kick the dying lion receives is from the hoof of the ass. The detractors, who often appear like bats in the twilicht of a creat man's life, tmiran in tmv that as "Ranger" he had got old in the legs; i THE DAILY EVENING IKLKGltAMl I'lIlLADttLrillA, JlUISIUY, that his fnce was too wrinkled and his eye too lustieless for "Romeo;" that his voiot) was too hoarse and hollow for "Hamlet." His dimples had become pits, said they; his neck was sinewy; his upper lip was iike a turgid piece of leather. Cibber had boon belter as "Hayes," Quin as "Sir John Brute'.' and "Macbeth;" the town had dis liked his "Hotspur." O'Brien had been a smarter coxcomb and man of fashion. Mrs. Clive had surpassed him in low comedy, Quin in "Lear," Johnson 1b nature, Mrs. Porter in passionate tragedy. These foolish haters hated as strongly as if they could derive pe cuniary benelit from a great man's downfall, and Garrick, all nerve and vanity, Garrick, the man who wrote his own critiques, quivered as every gnat-bite as if he had been Crunched by the teeth of a tiger. Thrre ncis are done, ihe Jest grows stnle, 'J he I Minns ure growing dim iid pule, Aud reason asks cui bono t" The night before he quitted the stage for ever Gariick bade farewell to tragedy. He played "Lear" to the "Cordelia" of Miss Younge. His biographer, Murphy, tells us where Garrick got his model for the mad king. He says: "When he began to study this great and diffi cult part, he was acquainted with a worthy man who lived in Lemau straet, Goodman's Fields; this friend had an ouly daughter, about two years old; he Btood at Iih dining-room window fondling the child, and dangling it in his arms, when it was his misfortune to drop the infant into a flagged area, and killed it on the spot. He remained at his window scream ing in agonies of grief. The neighbors flocked to thehouie, took up the child, and delivered it dead to the unhappy father, who wept bit terly, and filled the street with lamentations. He lost bis senses, and from that moment never recovered his understanding. As he had suflicient fortune, his friends chose to let him remain in his house under two keepers appointed by Dr. Monro. Garrick frequently went to see his distracted friend, who passed the remainder of his life in going to the win dow, and there rlaying in fancy with his child; After some dalliance he dropped it, and, burst ing into a flood of tears, filled the house with shrieks of grief and bitter anguish. He then sat down in a pensive mood, his eyes fixed on one object, at times looking slowly round him as if to implore compassion. Garrick was often present at this scene of misery, and was ever after used to say that it gave him the first idea of 'King Lear's' madness." As the curtain fell on the dead king and his dead daughter, "Lear" aud "Cordelia" lay on the stage side by side and hand in hand. They rose together, and hand in hand still went in silence to the dressing-room, followed by many of the company. They stood there, "Lear" and "Cordelia," still bound by the strong sympathy of the play, hand in hand, and without speaking. At last Garrick said, mournfully, and with a sigh: "Ah ! Bessie, this is the last time I shall ever be your father the last time 1" Then their hands fell asunder. Miss Yoimge replied with an affectionate hope that, before they finally parted, he would kindly give her a father's blessing. Garrick raised his hands solemnly; Miss Younge bent her kuee, and bowed her fair head, as the old man fervently prayed God to bless her. Then slowly turning, he said, "May God bless you all !" and retired to take Off his "King Lear" drees for the last time. When Quin was dying at Bath, he said: "I could wish that the last tragic scene were over, and I hope I may be enabled to meet and pass through it with dignity." On Garrick, that actor who had played a hundred character, and had originated thirty, that last seene had now opened. Regret, sorrow, and gratitude were struggling in his heart. On the 10th of June, 177G, Garrick appeared for the last time as "Don Felix" in the comedy of the Winder. He had wished to cloan with "Richard the Third," his first great trinnipli;. jat he had considered that after trie nervous tumult of the tent-scone, and the rage and passion of the battle, he should be worth nothing, and might be too fatigued to utter his farewell. He braced himself up to be once more dazzling, vivacious, airy, gallant, and witty. He resolved to show himself as if passed through Medea's caldron, again young.and vigorous. Garrick's thrift had been cruelly ridiculed by Foote and other heartless wits as the basest stinginess. His last public act, however, was a work of charity. He had always been a generous rival and a kind manager, lie now wished to en force on a thoughtless and somewhat reckless race the necessity of providing for the poor stragglers from the ranks, and for the de feated and beaten down in life's long and tough battle. A fund for old and infirm actors had been incorporated at Drury Lane by his exertions; he had also provided an annual benefit to help forward the charity. He now announced that the profits of his last night were to go to this admirable fund. His prologue on this occasion was admirably neat, full of humor, and contained many happy allusions to the motley contrasts of theatrical life: "A vet'ran see! whose last act on the stage Intreats your smiles lor sickness and for age; Their cause I plead; pleud It in heart and mind; A fellow-feeling mukes one wond'rous kind ! Might we but hope your zeal would not be less, When 1 am pone, to patronize distress, That hop obtaiu'd the wish'd-for end seoures, Totioothe their cures, who oft have lighten'! jours. Shall the great heroes of celestial line, Who drank full bowls of Greek and Roman. wine, . Ctesar and Brutus, Agamemnon, Hector, Nay, Jove himself, who here has quafTd his nectar! Shall they, who govtrn'd fortune, cringe and coort her, Thirfct in their age, and call in vain for porter? Jjike Beiisarlus, tax the pitying street, with "flute obolum,' to all they meet ? Shan't I, who oil have drench'd my hands in' core, Stabb'd many, poison'd some, beheaded more, Who number slew In buttle on this plain, (shan't J, the slayer, try to foed the slain ? Brother to all, with equal love I view The men who Blew me, and the men I slew: I must, I will, this happy project sclae, That those, too old uhd weak, may live with ease. Buppoiie the babes I smother'd In the low'r, By chunce or sicfcnebN, lose their acting power; bhull they, once princes, worse thun, all be served T In childhood murdcr'd, and when inurder'd starved? Matrons half ravish'd, for your recreation, lu age Khoukl never waul some consolation: Can 1. young 'Hatnlei' once, to nature lost, KeLolu, O horrible ! my father's ghost, Wilh crliteiy beard, pale cheek, stulK up and ilowo, And he the royiil Pane, want half-a-crown? il;1l it, ludies; fcem lemeu, forbid It; uiyejoy tonne, mid le t 'ein say you did it. v.Vf ou' 'e H'hIk! I matte my last appeal; You have u rlht to JiuIko, as well as feel. ThulW h'Btl v 'H,l,"i tooursoheins incline, iubi ttuBH, queni, heroes, gods, and Knouts, M !uk l-t hat omen all secures; May ry Joy y ctve b(J teufoU yours.1' Tuning himself by this playful and happily written prologue to his painful task, Garrick delivered it gaily, and with the true point and sparkle and then went through his part of Don with great humo, and assumed vivac ty. how came the awful moment that was to extinguish at once the sunshine of . thirty years of pubho faj-or. ne nad no to oaa down over his own head the lid 1 his own coilin. The pleaBure, pride, and hope of his rife had been Lis success upon that stage upon which he was now about to turn his reluctant back, lie had had the good seu.s.j to feel that ver.-e would be too restricting a vehiulo for hU feelings of sorrow, and with his fiuu sensi tive countenance quivering with ' unfeigned emotion, he advanced and addressed the audience in these simple but touchin" words: "Ladies and Gentlemen: It has been custo mary with persons under my circumstances to address you in a farewell epilogue, I had th same intention, and turned my thoughts that way; but I found myself then as incapable of writing such an epilogue, as I should be now of speaking it. The jingle of rhyme and the language of fiction would but ill suit my pre sent feelings. This is to me a very awful moment; it is no less than parting forever with those from whom I have received the greatest kindness, and upon the spot where that kindness and your favors were enjoyed. (Here his voice failed him; he paused till a gufh of tears relieved him.) Whatever may bo the changes of my future life, the deepest impression of your kindness will always re main here here in my heart, fixed and unal terable. I will very readily agree to my suc cessors having more skill and ability for their station than 1 have had, but I doty them all to take more uninterrupted pains for your favor, or to be more truly sensible of it than is your grateful humble servant." Having uttered these sentiments, he bowed respectfully to all parts of the house, and at a slow pace, and with much hesitation, withdrew forever from the presence of the town. The audience felt what it was losing, and was reluctant to part parting is such sweet sorrow. They felt, as Dr. Browne had written, that this great genius had dignified the stage, had "re stored it to the iulness of its ancient splendor, and with a variety of powers beyond example established nature Shakespeare and himself." The gayety of the nation, as Mr.Johnson said; was eclipsed by his exit. Men were seeing and hearing, for the last time, what Smollett had praised: "The sweetness and variety of tones, the irresistible magio of his eye, the fire and vivacity of his action, the elegance of atti tudes, and the whole pathos of expression." livery face in the theatre was clouded with grief, tears were bursting from many eyes, and rolling down many cheeks. The sorrow was electric, and spread from heart to heart. The cry of "farewell" resounded from box to box, and seat to seat, till it became a mighty agitated clamor like the moan cf a troubled crean. A sun had gone down after a day ot changeless lustre; the end of the theatrical world seemed come. Garrick soon after signed the deeds for the sale of half his patent to Sheridan, Ford, and Lindley, and retired to his pretty and tran quil villa at Hampton. He died on January 20, 1779, at his house, No. 5 Adelphi-terrace. He was buried grandly in the Abbey a fit ting place for the grave of so wonderful a man. Years afterwards, Dr. Johnson and Boswell were one evening, in the summer evening stillness, looking over the rails of Adelphi-terrace at the Thames flowing below them. dark. Silent, and mvHtnrinna as T tla After an interval of thoughtful silence, Bos- wen taiu: "I was thinking just then of two friends We have ' lost. Who oncn liver) in tha VmiM- iDgs behind us. Tophara Beauclerk, and Gar net." "Ay, sir," said the great man, tenderly, "and two such friends AS pan TittVflr lm aim. plied." It is hard, almost impossible, to deoide now whetherXlarriok was the greatest actor that had annealed ud to his own time, o n in tuna too heavy and deliberate to be compared with VI T1..1 nn i . . mm. dui iietterion must nave been a great genius to have fascinated Steele, and to have won the highest eulogies of a clever and saga cious observer of such experience as Cibber. I lis agony as "Othello," his graooful energy in the sneech to the Senate. li love with which aa "HamlAt" h the "Ghost," seem to have almost transcended any euon oi urarncK's; but then Betterton was probably as much too oratorical and con ventional as Kemble seemed to be beside Edmund Kean, or as Quin himself beside Gar rick. The man, too, who used to play "Mac beth" In a brown velvet court-dress must have had a different ideal to our own more naturalistic school, or he would have felt the ouirageousness or sucu a convention. Perhaps, after all, it Is by a rtsumt of Oar rick auecdotes that we get the best idea of the great actor. One of his most extraordinary powers seemed to have been the instantaneous quickness with which he could assume any character, or pass from tears to laughter. Better ton.when dressed for "Lear' remained "Lear," and took his wine at the side-soenes with the gravity of a monarch. Garrick would rise from the side of dead "Cordelia," skip into the greenroom, and gobble like a turkey-cock to amuse 'Teg Woffington" or Mrs.. Clive. He played the dagger-scene in ordinary dress to please Grimm, and the room, full of Ger man critics, burst into involuntary shonts of applause. The next moment he was giving them a pastrycook's boy who has let a tray of tartlets fall in the gutter; and ia at first stupe fied, then noisy in his blubbering. We all know the story of the Garrick fever, a fresh epidemio that he caused by his crowded houses. The proverb still extant, of "clever as Garrick," speaks loudly, too, for his genius and his fame. He astonished Hogarth by as suming the face of Fielding, of whom no por trait existed. In Paris once, he nearly fright ened the driver of a fiacre into fits by getting in at one door in the dusk, getting out at the other, and returning to get in each time with a new face and walk. When he and Fre ville, the French actor, both competed which could feign drunkenness the better while riding, Garriok carried off the bell, in the opinion of every one. by showing that Preville was fairly drunk everywhere except his legs, but that they remained stolidly sober. When her sent to Carmontelle for the picture of the comio Gariick watching the tragio Garrick, he kept up an incessant facial change from wild joy to sadness, terror, rage, anguish, and de spair. Like his friend Hogarth, he was a great student of street faces. One night during a fierce parliamentary debate in the year 177, an angry member, catching sight of Garrick's drollwatohful faoe, moved that the gallery Bhould be cleared. . Burk iustautly sprang up like a rocket, and pleaded for the great master of eloquence, from whom he him self had derived many of the graces of oratory. Black-browed Fox and dexterous Towu shend followed, and also claimed Garrick as their preceptor. He was instantly excepted from the general order, and remained in the gallery, pleased.'aud triumphant, to the infinite vexation of the honorable gentleman who had moved his expulsion. These stories, and such as these, prove how deep an impression Gar rick's genius made in the minds of even the greatest men of his era. II. MES. SIDDONS. That great tragio actress, Mrs. Biddons, the daughter of a strolling manager who had origi nally bem hairdresser to the company, made her first appearance on the stage almost as soon as she could speak. Lord Ailwsbury and Lad Boyle patronized her at Cheltenham soou aftor her marriage, and mentioned her to Garrick, who gave her an engagement at live pounds per week. She was young, frngilo, and timid then, and Garrick never cared much about her. He told her her arms moved awkwardly, and she declared "that he was afraid she would over shadow his nose." Mrs. Abington, however, as serted her genius, aud she soon afterwards went to Bath. Henderson praised her there, and her triumph began. In 1782 she came to London, and astonished the town as "Isabella" in Southern's play. From that moment her fame began. When she played "Jane Shore," the ladies sobbed and shrieked; the men wept, and fainting lits were of momentary occurrence in the boxes. Her "Calista" and "lielvidera" touched every heart. When she played "'Mr9 Beverley," in the UametU-r, the pit used to curse and threaten arid yell at the wicked "Stukeley," and people, afraid of the excite ment, have been known to stay in the lobby and lOOk in nt milMrn nlnua nf ttio Imv doors, so as not to hear the words, but only see me woucteriui lace. Onco, when she played "Agnes," in The. Fatal Gurionitiu a ceutleman in the pit went into hysterics. In the fainting scene in lumtrlane, bIio was so deeply moved it..i .1 n - . . . .. 1 ... mat tsne reany swooned. Whether as "Lady iuacuetii," "Cordelia, " "Volnmnia," or "Queen Katharine," she was always classical, majestic, graceful, sublime, inspired. In 1812 this great actress took her farewell of the Btnge. She had for some time been withing to realize ten thousand pounds, aud escaDO the fatiirnes of her -nrnfjai.m Lat terly her enunciation had grown too slow, her Buaimiig mr euect too visible. let there were regrets that she whispered to herself and boFom friends. To Mr3. l'iozzi she said: "This last season of my acting I feel a3 if I were mounting the first step of a ladder con ducting me to flirt ntliur wni-M ' She did her best, however, to make her sun- - L - A 1 ' - . - - - . on. t tropical one; ior sue pertormed lilty seven times in her last season, and In fourteen favorite characters: "Lady Macbeth," "Mrs. Beverley," "Lady Constance," "Elvira," "Euphrasia," "Queen Katharine," "Isabella" (Fatal Mairiare), "Isabella" (Measure for Measure), "Belv'idera," "Hermione," "Vo lumnia,"and "Mrs. Ualler." She chose for her final nl.iv .!,,-.,. ia 1 J ' "' J UlU Thane's dark and dangerous wife being one of ner greatest inumpns, aitnough playeoers asserted that Mrs. Pritcliard hn,) and more compass, strength, and melody of '"' ma creeping otuuij me oiuer critics claimed for Mrs. Fritchard sighs of deeper agony, and a voice more sleepy and more arti culate. Yet was her acting divine. She moved like a prophetess; her beautiful face was the interpreter of a noble mind. She moved like a queen, and spoke like a Pythoness. As Haz litt says finely: "The enthusiasm she ex cited had something idolatrous about it. We can conceive nothing grander. She embodied, to our imagination, the fable3 of mythology of the heroio and deified mortals of elder time. She was not less than a goddess or than a prophetess inspired by the gods. Power was seated on her brow; passion radiated from her breast as from a shrine. Sim sonified." The publio was gazing for the last time on ner wno, as uampneu said, had "in creased the heart's canacitv for tnruW liifunon and lofty feelings." ' un tne larewell night her old Inspiration seemed to have -returned, film nroa mm.. natural from the moment she instilled into the chieftain's ear the first poisonous thought of evil till the time when, a mere wreck of re morse and disappointed ambiti queen, she moved like a phantom of the night, muttering fragments of her dreams all per vaded bv the one racking thnrnrht liar were open, but they were consciousless and l.tnl. fPl... 1 1 . ... uinun.. . iub BuuiwBs aosent, and in torture. When she rubbed her thin white hands in horrible remembrance of the blood that had once bathed them, the house shuddered with an ague fit of horror and of pity. At the close Of this scene tlia irnilinii frantic and ungovernable. Many persons stood upon the benches, and. rlroa.linr on ; max, shouted requests that the performance might close when Mrs. Siddona left the stage. An aotor then came forward, and at once pro mised that this wish 6hould be complied with. The curtain was dropped for twenty minutes, then rose, and discovered Mrs. Siddons, dressed simply in white, sitting at a table. She came forward through a tornado of applause, which prevented her speaking for some time. When the lull spread, she moved forward in her own queenly way, and delivered the following ad dress, written for her by her nephew, Mr. Horace Twiss: 'Who has not felt how crowing use endears The fond remembrance of our former years ? Who has not sigh'd when doom'd to leave at last The hopes of youth, the habits of the past, Ten thousand ties and Interests, that Impart A second nature to the human heart, And, wreathing round It close, like tendrils, climb, Blooming in age, and sanctified by time? "Yes ! at this moment crowd upon my mind ' Scenes of bright days for ever left behind, Bewildering visions of enraptured youth, When hope and fancy wore the garb of truth. And long-forgotten yenrp, that almost seem The faded traces of a morning dream I Sweet are those mournful thoughts: for they renew The pleablng sense of all I owe to you, For each Inspiring smile and toothing tear For those full honors of my long career, That cheer'd my earliest hope, and chased my lutest fear! "And though, for me, those tears shall flow no more, And the warm sunshine of your smile Is o'er , Though the bright beams are fading fust away That khoue unclouded through my summer day Yet grateful Memory shall reflect their light O'er the dim shadows of the oomiug night, And lend to later life a softer tone, A moonlight tint a lustre of her own. "Judges and friends! to whom the magio - strain Of Nature's feeling never spoke in vain, Teihapsyour hearts, when years have glided . by. And past emotions wake a fleeting sigh, Muy think on her, whoso Hps have pour'd so lomc The churmed sorrows of your Shakespeare's song: On her, who parting to return no more, js now the mourner she but teem'd before, Herself subdued, renins the melting spell, And breathe, with swelling heart, her long, her last Furewell 1" Towards the close of the address Mrs. Sid dons became much agitated, and when, after some pauses, it ended, Kemble, in his grand Roman way, camo and led his sister from the stage amid whirlwinds of applause. l'oor Mrs. Siddons t Sho had had a grand career of almost unalloyed triumph; but still calumny had often stung her. The misdoings of a bad sister, who had read lectures at Dr. Graham's quack Temple of Health, and afterwards tried to poison herself in Westmin ster Abbey, were all laid at her door. She was also accused of mean thrift, and of allowing her old father to become a petitioner for alms. These slanders were, we have every reason to believe, utterly untrue. Mrs. Siddons, to judge from her letters, and the accounts of her intimate friends, seems to have been a high-minded, pru dent, self-respecting woman, uninflated by har extraordinary fame and the high society into which it had led her. After gala days at countesses', where lords and ladies elbowed each other, and stood on chairs in their KlrlLIt!Ln 9, 1867. anxiety to see her, she returned, calm, dignl fled, and contented, to her quiet home in Oower street. It might have turned even the wisest woman's head to have lieynolds paint ing his name ou the hem of her garment as the Tragic Muse, and Dr. Johnson calling her "a glorious woman" a jirodiiiiously fine woman, who on the stage was adorned by natnre and glorified by art. As even the sun has spots, so there are cer tain deductions, however, to bo made from even such a Tame as that of the Siddons. Mrs. Crawford equalled her as "Lady Randolph." Mrs. Libber rivalled her in "Zara." She did little as "Juliet." She spoiled "Rosalind" by prndinh scruples about the pretty fantastic male dress necessary to the part. MrsJor dan was far more charming in that charming w.mov.iri. mis. uuuer surpassed tne siddons as "Ophelia." In love she was too solemn, in comedy too heavy. Her "Lad v Townlev" wanted airness; her "Lady in Comns," her "Katharine," i'Portia," and "Cleone," were by no means successes. The Siddons' face, though grandly grave and Grecian, was rather too Jewish and pro nonce'e in the nose and chiu; the action of her arms dissatisfied even to the last hvnercritical men with a difficult taste, like Horace Wal- poie. in domestic Jite she retained a certain still', tragic manner, which had become habitual with her, as with her brother, John Philip. She stabbed the potatoes at dinner, and said regany ana metrically to the servants: "I nskel for wafer, and you gave me beer." But a great genius left the stage when the dark green curtain fell, for the last time, on the majestic figure and face of Sarah Siddons. Jill the iear Mound. FINANCIAL. J O T I C E TO THE HOLDliltS of Tub LOAKS OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF PENNSYLVANIA, Duo Aitei July 1800, Holders of the following LOANS OF THJB COMMONWEALTH OP PENNSYLVANIA are requested to present -them for payment (Principal and Interest) at The Farmers' and Mechanics' JfaUeisal Bank of Philadelphia, Loan of March 1, 1833, due April 10, 1803. " April 5, 1834, due July 1, 1862. " April 13, 1835, due July 1, 1805. " February 9, 1880, due July 1, 1801. " March 16, 1839, due July 1, 1861. " June 27, 1839, dne June 27, 1864. " January 23. 1&10, due January 1, 1805. All of the above LOANS will cease to druw Interest after September 30, 1807. JOHN W. (IEABT, - . GOVERNOR. JOIIIV F. niBTBAHFT, AUDITOR-GENERAL, WILUASI II. KEMULE, 8TATB TREASURER 816fmwts30 DE UNDERSIGNED HAVE PURCHASED THJt NEW SIX PER CENT. BEGISTEEED LOAN OF THJB LEHIQn COAL AND NAVIGA TION COMPANY, DtB IK 1S97. INTXBEST PAYABLE VUtTEBLT, ritEE OF VN1TF.JD STATES AND STATE TAXES, ANI OFFEU IT FOB SALE AT THE LOH PRICE OF NINETY-TWO, AND At't'BTJED INTEBEST FBOH AVOVMT 1, Tii la IX) AN is secured by a first mortgage on tbe Company's Rallrgad, constructed and to ba con structed, extending from the soutbern boundary of tlie borough of Mauch Chunk to the Delaware War at Easton, Including their bridge across the saldrivei now In process ot conntructlon, together with all the Company's rights, llbenless, and franchises appertain ing u tbe said Railroad and Bridge. Copies of the mortgage may be had on application at the omoe of the Company, or to either of the under- slKned, DBEXEL A CO. E. W. CLARK fc CO, J AT COOKE A CO, L8 11U WI II. NEW BOLD, SON AEBTMEN U, O. 8ECURITIE0 A SPECIALTY. SMITH, RANDOLPH & CO.. HANKERS AND B110ICEHS, NO.ieS TBIBD IT9IO. NASSAU ST HUXJtDXXPBIA, I H rOBK Ordert for Stocks and Gold executed in rhila dtlyhia and 2im York. 11 FINANCIAL. BANKING UOUSK On1 JayCooee&Q). U2 and ll Ho. THIRD ST. PHILatv a . 4 A OLD C-SOsj WANTED IN EXCHANGE FOR NEW. A I.II1EKAI. DIFFERENCE AEEoWEdJ Compound Interest Notes WantorT INTEREST ALLOWED ON DErOSITS.i Collections made. Blocks bought and sold oa CommlfaBon. Bpeclai btuilne88 accommodations reeerved fox ad'es- f 34 am I0UTH MISSOCEI RAILK0AD PIBBT MORTGAGE " SEVEN PER CENT. BOND3. Having purchased 9600,000 ot the FIRST MORT GAGE COUPON BONDS OF THI NORTH MIS SOURI RAILROAD COMPANY, BEARING SEVEN PER CENT INTEREST, having go years to run, we are now prepared to seU the same at the low late o And the accrued Interent from this date, thus paying the Investor over 8 per cent. Interest, which la paya ble teml-annnally. This Loan ts secured by a First Mortgage upon the Company's Railroad, lh miles already cofiHtructed and Id runnlDg rder, and 62 miles additional to b2 completed by thebratofOctobexnext.eitelnirrrom ibemy oi fet. Louie Into Northern and I Centr5 mS lull particulars win be given oa application ta either ol the uuderslgLed. application to E. W. CLABK A CO. JAY COOKE A CO. DBEXEL A CO. P. & Parties holding other securities, and wishing to change them lor this Loan, can do so at the market rate, . 8161m 7 3-10s, ALL SERIES, CONVERTED INTO FIVE-TWE is ti es. BONDS DELIVERED IMMEDIATELY. DE HAYEST & BROTHER 10 2 rp NO. 0 S. iniBD STREET, N ATIONAL BANK OF THE REPUBLIC, 809 and 811 CIIESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. CAPITAL.., ..i,oo,ooe DIRECTORS. Joseph T. Bailey, Nathan Hllles, Ben). Rowland, Jr., bamuel A. litsphom, Jidwardtt. Orne, -William Ervlen. Osgood WelHb, Frederick A, Hoyt. Wm.H.Rhawn. WU, H. RHAWN, President, LaU Cathiar of tM Central National Bank JOS. P. MUMFORD Cashier, 6 1U . LaU of II rhiladelphia National Sank GOVERNMENT SALES. gALK OF HOItSES, MULES, WAGONS, ETC. Dbpot Quartermaster's Office, I r.M u Washington, D. C, Sep:. 7. 1887. Will be Sold bv nublla minLlnn hv (irnMnn of the Quartermaster. Geoeral.at Lincoln Depot, on WEDNESDAY, September 2o, commencing: at 10 o'clock A. M: 100 Horses. 200 Mules. 250 Kprlng Wagons or Ambulances, worn. 100 biz-mule Wagons, worn. 100 Wagon Saddles, worn. 600 W agon Bows, worn. lOOi'iitu CbalnB. worn. 100 Spreader Chains, worn. lOOWagon Covers, worn. i!C0 Curry Combs, worn, luoiiead Llnee. worn. 60 sets Ambulance or Two-horse Har ness, worn. COO seta Male Harness, worn. 100 Saddle Blankets;, worn. 100 Mule - Collar), worn, 100 Double Trees, worn. 4U0 Single Trees, worn. AiO Horse Brushes, wora 100 Wagon Whips, worn. 100 Feed Troughs, worn. 110 Tar Buckets, worn too jaclt cretvs, worn. Tbe Horses. Mules. Waeons. and Ambulitnoaa will be sold singly. Waeons, harness, ete. , though worn , are serviceable. Particular alteution Is culled to tbls lot of Mules.bblng verysuperloraulmals, well broken to harness. Terms Cash In Government funds. J. C. MoFEKHAN, Deputy Quartermaster-General, 9 012t iivt. Hi i -General, U.S. A. - GO V E. H N M E N T 8 A AT HILTON HEAD. S. O. 'J he following Ordnance Propertv will be sold at Public Auction, at Ordnance Depot, Hilton Head, S. C, on TUESDAY, September 21, 1S07. commencing at 10 A. Al.: About 4,r0 net tons of Shot and Shell. ' -' " " Loaded Shell. " 184 " " Canister, lllled. ! " rap Cast Iron. - " "rP Wrought Iron. " 1 " " Scrap Brass. 3 Artillery Carriages (Iron), 03 Wooden Avtll Hry Carriages (Ironed), 63 Wooden Chasxh) and Slides liru.ed) tCJO Saddles (McClellau), 81 Kid dles (artillery), 60 sets of Artillery Harness 13!0 Bridles, Wi2 Cruppers, t00sddle Bag.B5oi Hvo- r i i i t. , . " ,1UKU uoxes, iih)7 cur- I be following d.menfiionW-42 fee front Ty feet depth, containing 8 spacious rooms. leiuis Caob, on tbe day of sale, lu United oiuies cuireucv. rwPi?!!lmr"U?wed 'wtne removal of pro perlj at lhetxplrHtion of which that uot T re moved will revert to Hie Government u w By author t.v m r'l.ur : 0 615t fl ic 1 "iSll, Captain and M. S. It.,' in cuarge of Ordnance Depot. UNITKD STATES REVEXUK STAMl'3.- Central Depot, No. lag Moiuli VI K I'll Htreet, oue door ur.iiiir. fUHiaiiiiuiteu inns, II PV An 11 a klu a... .. ! . . . bund In any amount. . uruwrs ty ur fcjpseus promptly attended to. Belts, So9 Bullet Moulds,aud ti I qtfaViy of property, consisting principally of Hags, 1 topes, implement, and Mis.-eliuneons Tools, e o etc. ' Al'O. a tWO-Ktorv l.'rumo 1 i i ' it.;.. . '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers