Mary Anderson

ars on t

Table of

producing "Romeo and Juliet," with the untried young novice in the role of Juliet for poor Levick's benefit. It was on a Thursday that the proposition was made to her by the manager at the theater, and the performance was to take place on the following Saturday. Mary, almost wild with delight, gave an eager acceptance if she could but obtain her parents' consent. The passers-by turned many of them that day to look at the beautiful girl, who flew almost panting through the streets t

y a Louisvil

ppearance on

and this is what the Louisville Couri

urier, Novemb

poses is her lover's death. The quick gasp, the terrified stricken face, the tottering step, the passionate and heart-rending accents were nature's own marks of affecting overwhelming grief. Miss Anderson has great power over the lower tones of her rich voice. Her whisper electrifies and penetrates; her hurried words in the passion of the scene, where she drinks the sleeping potion, and afterward in the catastrophe at the end, although very far below conversational pitch, came to the ear with distinctness and with wonderful effect. In the final scene she reached the climax of her acting, which, from the time of Tybalt's death to the end, was full of tragic power that we have never seen excelled. It will be observed that we have placed the merit of this actress (in our opinion) for the most p

ding stranger than that which falls as a shadow to all ecstatic youthful hope and joy. Other faults-as evident, undoubtedly, to her and to her advisers, as to us-are

mon-place words, generally of commendation unaccompanied by censure. But when w

we it to the truth and to ourselves in Miss Anderson's case, to state the existence of faults and crudities in her acting, but we owe it to her, for it is the greatest kindness, and yet we do not speak hars

e further training and experience she will stand among the foremost actresses on the stage. We are

she played, with success, Bianca in "Phasio," studied by the advice of the manager, who though

th the beauty and talent of the young actress, they sallied forth between the acts and bought up all the bouquets in the quarter. The final act of "Evadne" was played almost knee-deep in flowers, and that night Mary Anderson was compelled to hire a wagon to carry home to her hotel the floral offerings of her martial admirers. General and Mrs. Tom Thumb occupied the stage box on one of the early nights of the engagement, and the fame of the beautiful young star soon reached the fashionable quarter of New Orleans, and Upper Tendom flocked to the despised St. Charles. On the following Saturday night there was a house packed from floor to ceiling, the takings, meanwhile, having risen from 48 to 500 dollars. An offer of an engagement at the Varietes, the Lyceum of New Orleans, quickly followed, and the daring feat of appearing as Meg Merrilies was attempted on its boards. The press predicted failure, and warned the young aspirant against essaying a part almost identified with Cushman, then but lately deceased, who had been a great favorite with the New Orleans public, and one of whose best impersonations it was. The actors too, with whom Mary Anderson rehearsed, looked forward to anything but a success. Nothing daunted, however, and confident in her own powers, she spent two hours in perfecting a make-up so successful, that even her mother failed to recognize her in the strange, weird disguise; and then, darkening her dressing-room,

ial success. The criticisms of this period all admit her histrionic power, though some describe her efforts as at times raw and crude

lity of improvement. One, more gallant than his fellows, was gracious enough to remark that, in spite of her mean capacity as an artist, she possessed a neck like a column of marble. It was only when she appeared as Meg Merrilies that the Californians thawed a little, and the press relented somewhat. Edwin Booth happened to be in San Francisco at the time, and it was on the stage of California that Mary Anderson first met the distinguished actor who had been her early stage ideal. He told her that for ten years he had never sat through a performance till hers; and the praises of the great tragedian we

d by, embosomed in its trees and flowers. The offer was thankfully accepted, and soon after their arrival the wife's sister, a "school mar'm," came in, and seemed to warm at once to her beautiful young visitor. She proposed a walk, and the two girls sallied forth into the fields. The stranger turned the subject to Shakespeare and the stage, with which Mary Anderson was fain to confess but a very slight acquaintance, fearing the announcement of her profession woul

as a Western girl, who had yet to encounter the judgment of the more critical audiences of the South and East, as years later, with a reputation second to none all over the States as well as i