iscrowning of an actress, and if I could
forget the anguish of her eyes, the pallor beneath her rouge, I would be
a most grateful woman.

She had been handsome in her prime, handsome in the regular-featured,
statuesque fashion so desirable for an actress of tragic parts; but Mrs.
P---- (for I shall call her only by that initial, as it seems to me that
naming her fully would be unkind) had reached, yes, had passed, middle
age and had wandered far into distant places, had known much sorrow, and,
alas, for her, had not noticed that her profession, like everything
alive, like the great God-made world itself, moved, moved, moved! So not
noticing, she, poor thing, stood still in her method of work, loyally
doing her best in the style of acting that had been so intensely admired
in her triumphant youth.

She had most successfully starred in Cleveland years before, but at the
time I speak of she was returning from distant parts, widowed and poor,
yet quite, quite confident of her ability to please the public, and with
plans all made to star two, possibly three, years, long enough to secure
a little home and tiny income, when she would retire gracefully from the
sight of the regretful public. Meantime she entreated Mr. Ellsler, if
possible, to give her an engagement, that she might earn money enough to
carry her to New York and see the great agents there.

By some unlooked-for chance the very next week was open, and rather
tremulously as manager, but kind-heartedly as man, Mr. Ellsler engaged
her for that week.

The city was billed accordingly: "Mrs. P----, the Queen of
Tragedy!"--"The celebrated Mrs. P----, Cleveland's great
favorite!"--"Especial engagement of Mrs. P----!" etc., etc.

I had a tiny part in the old Grecian tragedy she opened in. I came early,
as was my wont, and when dressed went out to look at the house--good
heavens! I gasped. Poor? it was worse than poor. Bad? it was worse than
bad. My heart sank for her as I recalled how, that morning, she had
asked, with a little nonchalant air of: "It doesn't really matter, of
course, but do the people here throw their flowers still, or do they send
them up over the footlights?" Flowers? Oh, poor Mrs. P----!

The overture had ended before she came out of her dressing-room, so she
had no warning of what the house was like. She was all alight with
pleasant anticipation. At a little distance she looked remarkably well;
her Grecian robes hung gracefully, her hair was arra