Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 28, Number 48, Indianapolis, Marion County, 26 November 1879 — Page 10

SENTIK E Li SUPPLEMENT.

THE PATTER OF THAT SHINGLE.

When the angry passion gathering In my mother's face I see, And she toads me In the bedroom gently lays me on her knee; Then I know Uist I will catch It, and my flesh in fancy Itches, As I listen for the patter of the shingle on my breeches. Every tinkle of the shingle has an echo and a sting. And a thousand burning fancies Into active being spring; And a thousand bees and hornets 'neath my eoet-taila seem to swarm, AS I listen to the patter of the shingle Oh ! so warm. Id a splutter comes my father whom I sapposed had gone - To survey the situation and tell her to lay It on; To see her bending o'er me as I listen to the strain - Played by her and by the shingle In a wild - and weird refrain. In a sudden intermission, which appears my only chance, I say: "Striae gently, mother, or you'll split my Sunday pants." She atone a moment, draws her breath, the shingle holds aloft. And says: "I had not thoughtof that my son, lust take them on." r Holy Hoses! and the angels, east thy pitying dances down : And thou, oh, lamlly doctor, put a good soft poultice on. And may I with fools and dances everlastingly commingle. If T amp anv ftnntlinr wftrft whoti mv mnthAr wields the smngie. Burlington Hawkeye. WHAT WOMEM CAN DO. SCIOTHA. "What a terrible thin? poverty must be!' exclaimed a young girl whovwas standing at the window of a luxuriously furnished room, impervious to the cold, piercing wind that was raging without. The soft Wilton car pets yielded to the foot, the heavy velvet curtains shielded the large dee) vnrAnipa linn irlla anrl n i li i .t-i ... i chairs with open arms Invited the weary and a bright coal fire burned merrily in the gratt. The table was set with beiiutiful porcelain and richly chased silver; and well mifht the fair sneaker look with nitv on the many that passed before her, exposed to all the horrors of cold and hunger the hundreds that were homeless by night as well aby day. "What a terrible thing poverty must be! "It is indeed," said Mrs. Hadley in a low voice. " Alice turned round; her mother's eyes were full of tears. "Dear mother," said she, going up to her. what attects you thus? "You little know, my child, how deeply I can feel for the poor,'" said Mis. Hadley, returning her fond caress; "for, although I have not suffered from that actual poverty of which you were thinking I have been suthcientiy near it in my lite to understand its terrors." i "You, mother, you!" and her children crowded around her. They were five in number Wallace, a fine spirited youth of 18; Alice, two years younger; Mary, Bertie and Lee, a little rogue of eight summers. ' 'When was that, best of mothers? said Wallace, seating himself at her side. "Tell us about this sad time of which we never dreamed." "Be silent, children Ie you may sit on my knee and Bertie will stand here." The mother smiled fondly on the little group, and passed an arm over Mary's shoulder. "You all look so full of interest my . dear children, that I am afraid you will be disappointed; but my own experience may benefit you, should such trials ever be your share: 1 "Your father and myself were verv young at the time of our .marriage too -young in fact, and I would- not like to see my daughters leave their home at the age that I left mine. But lovers are ever sanguine, and we thought it impossible that anything but an unclouded future could be in store for us. - Your grandmother was in favor of our early union; she could urge her own happiness as a powerful argument, and your grandfather yielded to her entreaties and ours. ' A few months previous to this there ' came on the commercial horizon a dark spot which, when we deemed ourselves settled for life, burst over our heads in spite of your - father's struggles to avert it. He had been lately taken as a partner in the house to which he 'belonged, and all therein were crushed and ruined by 'the failure of thousands. Our happy home had to be given up, and I returned with one child, Wallace, to my old homestead, where I was received . with open arms. My poor husband never ,'lost his spirits or his energy, and to work he went again with a small capital ad vane ,.ed him by my own lather, for, like many others, his relatives now talked -about the imprudence of our marriage, and left him to his own exertions. I never missed my comforts, for I could not feel their absence where I was, and cheerfully gave up my accustomed style of dress to wear plain ''bonnets and shawls. I am sure neither of . us ever breathed a sigh of regret to our lost 'fortune, and with our dear boy to love and care for, kindness from those around us, and a competence, we began life anew. Alas I how little human hearts foretell the storm that roll over them! - i ' My father, too, was a victim to the pre. "ailing times. He had indorsed largely for ' others, and invested part of his fortune in 1 stocks that proved worthless. His failure was to him a terrible blow. He had no youth ' to spur him on he had no strength to recommence, and he sunk under his misfor - tunes. -Mother was very delicate; she had 7 long been an invalid, and era long I was left an orphan and penniless again. Wn were then dependent on the prosperity of your : grandparents for a salary; and 'never, never- shall I forget my agony as I left my childhood's home to - strangers. All was given up, and I must have died but for my husband's firmness under 1 . l -wt . I A . , AWA v: ,1 i Lin,, -KiM w iu i in ii i nL ui i.iiiiiiiii ii nun iiiu me smile again. He still hoped on, busied . himself with providing us a shelter in the ' storm. It was a small, poor place, my chil- ' dren, and boasted of three rooms. We fur- - nished it as we could and never dreamed of comfort, when it was so hard to get food and raiment. ' ' This was about two months " before Alice was born," I thoughtof my mother's tender- - nets and the constant care with which she had surrounded me at Wallace's birth. I had not even clothes now for my little one, and set about cutting up my worn oat dresses ,: to convert them into a wardrobe for the coming stranger. It was neatly made and I tried hard to think it pretty, but the faded calico seemed shabby enough by the side of one or two embroidered robes that bad belonged to Wallace.""

It was bitter cold, my Alice, when your I

sweet eyes Dm opened to the light, and as 1 pressed you close to my heart X wondered if God would spare you amid so much exposure. We hired a woman to work and attend to my wants, but I knew full well how unable we were to indulge in the luxury of a nurse. So in spite of your father's entreaties that I would not over-task myself, I soon dismissed her and resumed my household duties. - Alfred brought me water and coal for the day, before he set off to his business, and you can not imagine how happy 1 was to sit down by my two little ones after the house was in order and the baby dressed. At night I had a bright fire in the diningroom, supper prepared for my husband, and his gown and slippers already for his coining. Then we met so gladly and chatted so cheerfully together that no one would have imagined wo had been otherwise than poor; but we knew the folly of repining, the sinfulness of murmuring and thus kept light hearts as long as there was enough for the morrow. We never despaired of making a way in the world and having comforts once more, and you should have seen our pleasure when your father brought home some little present for Wallace or Alice. Xow it was a new toy, a pretty cup or mug that served to ornament the chimney-piece and hold the fresh flowers I gathered each day from our little parterre Sometimes a dress for baby whose making was as interesting to Alfred as to me. We thought her such a beauty after it was on, and Wally's corals fastened on her neck and arms." "And where were my father's sisters?" asked Alice, whose deep-blue eyes were filled with tears, while Wallace covered his face with his hands. "Could they not help him, mother?" "They were worldly women, my love, and seemed to look upon our reverses as the effect of an imprudent union. They came occasionally to see us, but I learned to dread their visits and rude questions, as they glanced around our humble home and wondered how I managed to make it so comfortable. They neverallowed me to suppose tout they knew we were in want of anything, though Dctaria once or twice sent you and Wallace a small gift tl.at I longed to refuse, but accepted for your father's sake. They were of that fashionab'e set to w'lom poverty is a disgrace; and brought up as they were, 1 could not blame them that they avoided us." "Oh, mother! mother! do, not say that!'' cried Alice, kissing her. "How could they let these poor hands toil so unceasingly and never offer to lighten your labors?" "It was as well that we could feel independent, and we were jlad when we left our native place to setlld here, where there seemed an opening for beginners." "And did they bid you farewell?" said the same indignant questioner. "Did they let you leave without coining forward to your assistance?" We did not see them, my love why should they have affected to care whether we left or not? It would have mortified them to contemplate our forlorn state, and the day wc bade adieu to the scenes of our prosperity and adversity, they were preparing for a magnificent ball. They could not regret our leaving, and they did not pretend to do so. We arrived here in. good spirits and left all regret behind us. Your father had secured us board and lodging in a very pleasant family, reduced like ourselves. Here I had nothing to do but to see to my children, of whom 1 was very proud, tor wherever they went people stopped to admire them. I began to long for the means to dress them handsomely, and often have re-darned one of my old dresses so that I might wear it longer and purchase some bright stuff' for Wally. But you willsmile, my dear ones, when I tell you of one cause of sorrow to ine at that time. It was an old coat of Alfred's that was entirely thread-bare, his Sun day suit, as he calledit laugingly. How industriously. I brushed that coat every Monday for two years, folding it carefully and laying it away in a drawer with the vest and scarf, I could not tell you. But now it seemed so old and shabby, so foxy and worn, that I could not help crying bitterly every time I put it away. Often have my tears helped to clean it, as I rubbed the spots on it, or sought for the thin places to darn before it commenced to split. As you may imagine, we never went to places' of amusement, but when I saw my handsome, elegant looking Alfred sally forth once a week in this mucn-cared-for suit, I regularly burst out into a flood of tears -that I took good care he should never see. But there came a ray of sunshine, and we held up our heads. ' The day I saw Alfred dressed like himself again, 1 nearly shrieked for joy, and when 1 found myself housekeeping again, with something of the old comfort around' us, I thanked Heaven for the trials through which we had passed, for they had taught us how to live. In my new home my little Alfred was born, andl . thought .myself the happiest of mothers. ' We did not improve much in wealth, but we became no poorer, and to us our way of uvitig was quite a luxurious one com pared to the past. - ' I spent my time alone until your father returned to uis meals, tor we made no ac quaintances, and I rejoiced at it. I preferred centering my happiness in my loved ones at home. 1 was too secure of it, my darlings, for the year after I lost my little boy, my "summer child." Alas! I then found that I had never known sorrow before none but a mother who has parted with her treasures can tell what 1 sutlered Mrs Hadley paused and the 'tears rolled over her face. Alice pressed her band fondly, and presently she resumed her story. I no longer looked upon my comforts as things to gladden me, and poverty was a blessing compared to this. It is said that trials never come singly, and we were an example. Your father's health gave way , under his terrible fatigues, and he was very ill for time. - His depression of mind increased his malady, and for three months he was an - invalid, unable to leave the house. - All that we had in the world was a small sum he had laid by in case of emergency, and day by day I saw it lessen, concealing from Alfred, as well as I could, 4he privation I underwent to make it last. As ne retired early, I put out the light as soon as he was in bed, and in the delightful spring-like evenings of our Southern winter, sat at the door in the moonlight. When the moon rose too late to be my lamp, I would light a candle, and sew on some piece of work laid by for the next day. - I eat a piece of dry bread as I gave you your supper at night, but dispensed with my own tea that the sugar might last longer. 1 often wept when you have begged for something better than dry bread and tea, but we could not afford more, and I had to comfort

my three little ones with caresses that they loved.

My great care was to keep all this from mv husband. How much I had to invent! My imagination was well nigh exhausted but 1 borrowed a book of fairy tales.and read thein as I nursed Marv to keep her quiet while her father slept.. Without his knowing it, I had dismissed my servant. 1 here was little enough to cook, and as 1 always attended to our own room, be did not miss her. One day he turned to me with a mournful look. "Alice," said he, vour funds must be exhausted my dear wife. Send Janet to me. I must make the trial at least." "What trial, my dear?" said I, trying to smile, "I am not as poor as you think. There is enought to last Tor some time yet. Kat your toast, and don't wait until it is cold." "Alice," said he looking at me fixedly, "you are trying to conceal it from rue. I know you have no more money in the house." I went to the drawer and brought him what still remainedin the box I used to call my bank. , "But you must pay Janet, my love, she can not afford to work for nothing. And then what will be left?" 'Janet is paid, dear," replied I, trembling, lest he agitate himself too much. ""Then, to whom do you owe this?" asked he. " 'Neither butcher, baker, nor candlestickmaker,' can say I am in debt to him. This is fairly ours, and it will last until you are stronger again so look cheerful, and take me for the fairy Good Will." "Alice," he cried, "then you and my children have been starving!" He burst into tears, and sobbed bitterly. He once more called for Janet. I asked him what lie wanted with her. "I want to write a letter to Preston he will lend me money. ' That small sum can not support us for any time. Let me do it, Alice 1 must. Tell Janet to get ready to go down to the office with my letter." "Put it off until I tell you I have no more; will you, Alfred? You might grant me this. I conquered. The assurance that we were not starving, and his conviction ut length that I could mete out my little sum yet awhile, strengthened him greatly. I wish you could have seen him, dear children, the day he was able to go out, how proudly he walked into the yard and called Janet; but no Janet came, and not wishing to disturb me, he went as far as the kitchen door. Then he found out my secret, and then he scolded and laughed by turns." Mrs. nadlpy had not seen her husband enter. lie stole softly behind the little group, and looked fondly on . the sharer of nig eariv vh.ibsii.uuw. an ud muom ,uw part of her narrative, he threw his arm around her. She turned her head to smile fondly upon hiin, and he sat down with her hand in his. "Your mother has not told you all my children," said he with glistening eyes. "How often she went to the door and called Janet long after she discharged her. It is singular how long I was deceived, but illness had made me inattentive, and I fear selfish, with regard to my Alice." "Hush, dear, hush!" cried she, putting her hand before his mouth. "You were never selfish." "Ah, dear one, you were ever a merciful judge, but you must be blinded by love. She did not tell you, Wallace, how her scanty stock of rings were sold to buy shoes for you and Alice, while wj were so poor." Do not sob so, my dear child, my good Alice. We would not now give up that time of trial, when our love was so severely tested, our hearts so oppressed. We look back with nisititnilii r. i u 1 1 ii,Hd now that wn I) -i ?fr been permitted to fulfil our marriage vow to the letter. I succeeaea alter a iew years in es tablishing myself in a position of much ad vantage. I grew wealthy and gained many friends in consequence. But through all we found one who stood by us fast and firm. He is vet our beloved and esteemed guest: as often as the week comes round, do you, my children, welcome him as we do. "Mr. Eldon," they cried. "Is it not Mr. Eldon?" It is. indeed, mv dears, and to this day he can not recall without emotion his absence from the city at the. time of my illness. When he left us wo were doing tolerably well, and he expected to return after a few weeks, but he was detained and your parents were in actual want before this best of - i , , I Tl . trienos reaeneu our poor iiitie uonie. xie took up his residence with us, enabling us i - i ... i: - D y nis generous uuuutj w nc wmfortably once more. He would never allow that we were under any obligations to him, insisting that he had merely paid his board and lodging. "I thought, dear mother, that I could not love you better than I have, hitherto," said Wallace, kissing her; "but my affection must be two fold after to-day. "I honor you for such sentiments, my fine fellow, said Mr. i.ldon, entering, and hold insr out his hand. "I am sure that we must all be proud of mv friend Hadley s wife and children.' ' "We did not know until to-day bow much we owed you, dearly as we love and respect you. Mother has been telling us " "Pshaw! pshaw, my dears, interrupted he with glistening eyes and smiling merrily, "do not believe her. She makes it bigger every time she tells it, and I am going to i. 1. : 1 . 1 - knlnn 4nA amlitl " "Ah! but you could not forbid our gratitude, Mr. Eldon," said little Mary, nestling ud to him. he stopped her mouth with kisses, and seating herbn his knee, took a letter from his Docket and handed it to Mr. Hadley. "I took this out of the office for you, as Calvert told me vou were not down yet. A visible change passed over Mr. Hadley's face as he read it. He looked up at his wife as he finished reading it, and placed it before her. "Read that aloud, my love, it concerns us all. The offer is a singular one, and the con decension rather equivocal. It is a letter from my sister. Mrs. Burns. ' An exclamation of astonishment escarted each ones but Mrs. Hadley was allowed to read it uninterrupted. . Dear Brother It must be seven or eight years since we have heard anything of i , . : l i you, ana i urn almost airaiu . tint you nave left the place you preferred to this one. As vour circumstances were very poor, and you nave now a large family of children, I write to lay that you can send one of them to me one of the girls and I will adopt her as my own, for I have none. If your wife is still living, you will remember . me to her. She must be looking very old after working so bard. Your other sisters are well

and advantageously married. I expect an

Immediate reply. l ours atlectionately, Octavia css. The indignation with which this tender epistle was received was indescribable, and Alice was chosen to answer it. So on the following morning she presented her father with her reply. Dear Aunt twice vou last heard ot my father he has been assailed by ill health and extreme poverty. From these two evils ho was rescued by theaffectionate care and wise economy ot the best of wives, who, I thank God, is not only well but looking as youthful as a woman ot 25. Within my recollection we have always lived in the most comfortable manner. We now manage to get on as decently as people can who have only $8,000 a year, and beg to decline your very obliging offer to adopt any of us. Very respectfully, A lick Hadley. "This will do, dear," said her father, plac ing it in its envelope. "In a few days we shall have an answer, and I predict a very different style frcm the first, as Burns has altered greatly since 1 knew him. lie wor ships the almighty dollar devotedly." A few days after Mr. Hadley brought homo the following letter, over which Alice's beau, tiful lip curled involuntarily: Sir Dear uadley Octavia was mucn affected by your letter. We were all so glad to bear from you at last for we had often thought of, and feared you might be in distress. I can not tell you how glad we are to find how successful you have been. It has relieved our hearts of a load indeed. Here Mr. Eldon gave a kind groan. Mr. Hadley smiled sadly, but continued to read. Your sisters are very anxious to see you and your lovely family, so you mav look lor uctavia and myself about the beginning of next month." With kindest love to Mrs. Hadley and children, I bid you adieu. Very sincerely yours. Macduff Burns. "They shan't come, shull they mother?" cried Alice. "For your father's sake, they mus the kindly received, my daughter," was the mother's reply. And so when Mr. and Mrs. Burns arrived, they were agreeably surprised with the reception they met. Mrs. Burns was delighted with her brother's wife and family; and when, two years after, she was invited to . Alice's wedding, shu presented the brido with a beautiful silver pitcherTto which Mr. Burns added a set of crystal for young Mrs. Eldon. to begin housekeeping withl Alice sighed as she looked at the splendid gifts. But with the bright tears in her eyes, she wound her arms around her mother's neck, saying: "Best of mothers, I can not equal you in goodness, but I will do my best not to waste the groat blessings God has given me." HIS LAST WILL. A Millionaire Gets Hi for Twenty-five Dollars. Cincinnati Gurtte A millionaire, who lived and died in the vicinity of this city, as he felt his last days drawing nigh, summoned a distinguished neighbor and lawyer, who since has occupied one of the highest positions in the gift of representatives or the people, to prepare a last will and testament. When the will was drawn, the dying man said: "I propose to make you my executor, and I shall require no bond from you. Write that, also." The ex-iudze complied, after thanking his client. and promised to execute the will to the best ot nis sonny. "What is your bill for drawing up my will? aked the millionaire. "Oh, under the circumstances, of course I shall charge you nothing, was the answer. "But," said the other, "that is not my way of doing business. Make out and receipt a bill for your services and I will pay you now. "Well since you insist. 1 will make out a bill for a nominal sum say $25." And this member of the bar, who seldom draws breath without charging some one for the respiration made out and receipted for $25 a bill which under other circumstances would have been $500. Th good man died and was buried. When the will was read it was found that the name of his son had been inserted in place of that of the distinguished lawyer. The ruling passion was strong in death. The man who knew how to accumulate wealth understood the value of a tightly drawn will and the difference between fXo and $oUU. tie had merely copied the words in the order they were written by his legal triena ana mus bad obtained an irrefragable will at small cost, and an executor of his own choosing. Filial Love. Amethyst. There is not on earth a more lovely sight than the unwearied care and attention of children to their parent. Where filial love is found in the heart, we will answer tor an the other virtues. No young man or woman will turn out basely, we sincerely believe, who has parents respected and beloved. A child, afiectionate and dutiful, will never bring the gray hairs of its parents to the grave. The wretch who breaks forth from wholesome restraint, and disregards the laws of his country, must have1 first disobeyed bis parents, showing neither love nor respect for them. It is seldom the case tnat a duti ful son is found in the ranks of vice, among the wretched and degraded, i ilia! love will keep men from sin and crime. There never will come a time while vour parents live, when you will not be under obligations to them. The older they grow tne more need will there be for your assidious care and at tention to their wants. The venerablo brow and frosty hair speak loudly to the love and compassion of the child. If sickness and infirmity make them at times fretful, bear with them patiently, not forgetting that time, 'ere long, may bring vou to need the same care and attention. filial love never goes unrewarded. Seeking. I search for violets far and near; The tall tree whiaper to deride me. I reach mjr lowly path, and here ' The dainty darlings drop beside me. I seek through all the world and ask That fame and fortune may elate nio; I lurn me to my lowly talk, A ad there doe t-.appineee await me. Kudora May Stone. They were meandering arm in arm up the street, and short distance ahead of them walked a young lady very handsomely attired. , The sun was about setting and its light was throwing a beautiful crimson glow all over the earth. He said, in a rather subdued tone of voice: "How beautiful, perfectly grand!" etc "Well, I don't know,"' was the response from tbo fair one by his side, f don't admire her style, and the dress is a mighty poor fit" tie weakened, and toe sunset in teres ted him no more Yonkers Gazette.

FIFTY TEARS AN ACTOR.

Man Who in Hit Time Em Played Mry Part. unloch'a Karly Career on the fttage and His Later Tears as a Reader. Philadelphia Time.. ii a fine late summer afternoon, in the year 18Gl,two gentlemen were walking back to Boston from Cambridge over the long bri Jge which crosses the river Charles. One was rather above the medium height, dignified and refined in every movement and ges ture, with an evident reserve force and a de meanor which was impressive. The other was slight, thin and nervous, a man born for excitements and not at all the one to restrain them. Both of these nieui were wearing already the guerdon of success in intellectual fields of cllort, and both bad already fixed an indelible impress upon the literary 'annals of their period. James E. .Murdoch, tne dramatist, and Thomas Buchanan Read, the painter-poet, bad been paying a visittbateveningto Henry 11- T .-,.11 . Vi t - l ..... rf . iuMgieiiuw, hi ainonuge. vn in is return trip Bead suddenly broke the silence with: "You have not yet heard of my new poem." "What poem!'' asked Murdoch. 'Listen i" and Read began: "My soul tu-day It Tar away. Balling the Venetian bay f . " My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims ronnd the purple peak, remote. Read proceeded, rattling off the delightful lines in his usual impetuous fashion, when the great elocutionist stopped him. "Let me show you my idea of that,"Jand the grand voice gave with inimitable expression, the rise and fall, the dreamy swell of the undu lating tide, and heightened with his caaences tne viviu picture ot tne poets dream. ouch were the opening in cidents of Buchanan Read's famous poem, "Drifting." unquestionably the happiest of his efforts; and such was the first essay of .Murdoch on a piece ot elocutionary work which has ever since ranked among the most admired in his repertoire as a public render, and which is, to this day, one of the first in request by every audience. James E. Murdoch is new among the old est of living American tragedians. His stage record began at so early an age, however, that the full weight of h4s years is not, after all, a very formidable load. to carry; and the splendidly preserved mental and intellectual health of the man serves to make him even younger in action than be is in years. Fifty years had elapsed on Monday night. Out. M, since Jir. .Murdoch first appeared on any stage. That was at the Arch street theater, and the play was "Lovers' Vows,'' by the Kussian dramatist, ivotzebue, whose life was so busy and whose end so tragic. Murdoch's part was that of Frederick, and he was almost immediately successful enough to docide him in choosing his subsequent career. His previous knowledge of the stage had been exceedingly slight, i he actual sight ot two plays and an amateur attempt in one, before a "spouting club" on Callowhill street, had comprised all of bis experiences in this direction. His later essays at this time were Young Xorval. Ootavian and oelnn, in "Uarbarossa. ' . . EARLY LIFE OX TB E STAGE. Not long after Mr. Murdoch's first appear ances in nis native city neaccepiea a position as "general utility' in a stock company at Uali'ax, Nova tScotia. Here the leading man fell ill at the beginning of the season, and voung Murdoch was called upon to -fill the exigency by appearing always at short notice, in celebrated leading parts, a few of which he had never seen perlorroed. It was under these circumstances that be first produced the rles of Iago and The Stranger in Doth of wluuh he made favorable impressions. After a round of prominent parts at Halifax, Lady Adelaide Fox, a leader of society there at the time was instrumental in offering him a benefit, owing partly, as she said, to his re. markable likeness to Charles Kemble. At this benefit Murdoch appeared with marked success in bis earliest role. "Frederick, in "Lovers Vows." Afterward he went South and studied under De Camp, an English rec tor or large experience and ability, the uncle of fanny Kemble. In 183C Mr. Murdoch was invited to a prominent position in the ranks of the stock company of the Tremont theater, Boston He continued upon the stage more o less actively, and chiefly in Boston, until the year 1842. His formal withdrawal from the boards at that time was partly owing to his ambition for greater kuowledge; partly also from his comsuinmg desire to teach his favorite 'ideas of elocution; but chiefly, no doubt, from tbe precarious condition of his health. It might be stated here that a singular accident in this early portion or his professional career bad exercised and continued to oxercise for many years a baneful influence over his prospects Being greatly prostrated at one time from overwork and loss of sleep he had recourse to a simple nervine. On a certain evening, after the play, in his haste to take this remedy, he, by mistake in a physician's prescription, swallowed some portion of a preparation which contained arsenic. The results of this dangerous potion have never been entirely overcome and at times they have developed alarming tendencies. From 1812 to 1845 Mr. Murdoch's studies and lectures on his favorite theme of elocution occupied the chief portion of bis public life. A series of lectures on Shakspearean subjects were received with great appreciation, being repeated in New York and Boston as well as in Philadephia. In 1845, however, Mr. Murdoch returned to the stage, and here the most brilliant portion of his life begins. He appeared at the Park theater in New York for the first time in his life as "Hamlet," prt in which be has since been pronounced by many able critics to have excelled all of his many famous contemporaries; also in "Othello," "Macbeth" and a full list of standard tragedies. A grand tourof the Southern and Western States followed, and Mr. Murdoch now shortly took his place among the foremost of living actors. . AN EXGAOKMEKT IN 'LONDON. ; . While traveling for recreation in Great Britain, during the year 1857, an invitation came from Manager Buckstdne of the Haymarket theater, London, to .play an engagement in the great capital. This was accepted and continued for 1 10 nights, on 50 of Which he repeated Charles Surface with great acceptance. It might be observed that this was about the time when the change in

comedy construction was taking pla; which threw fine language overboard and replaced

it oy one situations, jut. jiuraoig, in adhering, as he still religiously does to the elder method, won great praise fom the admirers of that school of acting, iL for a time, at least; effectually stemmed tie popu lar current, -nr. Jiuruocn s devotha to the very soul of his text has always heta something remarkable and quite 'different from the mere slavish attention to the fines merelv as lines. "I have always insisted,'' be savs. -iDsi tne actor is tne. pedestal and the poet is the statue, instead of vice versa, as so many people seem to believe." Sir Edwsud Bulwer Lvtton, bearing of Murdoch's success in his own play, "Money." came down to London expressly to witness it. Bulwer was the most artificial as well as the most versatile of mankind. Among his many claims to immortality must be ranked the present popular style ofbanging the hair, an invention which he exemplified on his own forehead. But Bulwer was a man of tastx. knew when his play went off well and did not scruple to praise Murdoch's acting of it. ' About this time .Murdoch was proposed by Buckstoao to tbe E&ex club, founded bv Samuel Jobnttoi., and by Thackeray for the Garrick club, the latter an honor never before conferred upon an American actor. ... ,.g..u.ca.a a ... ....... v u u, . u b.iivba at this juncture and he was compelled to give up all pmfesssonal effort, retiring to a water cure at Malvern, at Worcestershire. I in'I ll 1. fMmMll.n't I 1 1 liOAlth .mill, , n 4 .aA..v4 proving in due time, he traveled through Switzerland, Germany, France and Italy on ijjroionguu pleasure vour. xmn tour wai rudely broken in upon by tidings ofthe financial disasters which made 1857 a fair pro totype ot tbe more recent financial revulsions of 1873. Murdoch hastily returned, to Am- ' erica to save the remnant of a large fortune, and now found further professional work a necessity as well as a pleasure. The closing of the war left Mr. Murdoch's health much depleted by bis exhaustive labors. Since then he has virtually retired from the stage, passing the chief portion of the years since then in agricultural pursuits and grape culture in a retired village, which bears his name, three miles from a railroad ', and 15 miles from Cincinnati. So absolute has this retirement been that many of his old fnends in Cincinnati, while knowing of his proximity, could not direct inquirers to his residence. Much of his leisure was pissed in study, a portion of it in giving lectures illustrating his favorite theories of elocution and in teaching those theories to such as- applied for tbe instruction. Mr. Murdoch's special interest lies in advocating the ideas of a work on the "Philosophy of the Human Voice," written and published more than a generation ago by the late Dr. Rush, of this city. Dr. Rush was the benefactor of the Philadelphia library, and lived so many years in retirement in the old mansion where the Aldine Hotel now stands that few of the modern generation knew of him until his death. Rush was entire by theoretical, and never taught elocution, but Mr. Murdneh contends that ia ia tliA most practical work on the subject which has ever appeared. If so, this is a paralled instance with that of Hector Berlioz, who wrote a very masterly and standard work on orchestration without being able to play any instrument . in the orchestra. Several other prominent authorities have accepted these opinions regarding Rush's work, but Murdoch has been chiefly instrumental in advocating and introducing it, which he has done with more or less assiduity for nearly 40 years. . A TE0P0SKD HETCHX TO THE STAGE. It has been extensively rumored within several hionths past that Mr. Murdoch would return to the. stage in his native city for a snort penoo, to commemorate, as one of his old friends expressed it, "his golden wedding with the stage." Up to tbis time the hope has not been realized. Tbe immediate obstacle in the' way is the present craze for combinations, which has broken up every stock company but one in tbis city. The following extract from a letter recently written by Mr. Murdoch to a very old friend, bears on this subject. The friend in question, by the way, who is older than Murdoch, . and a member of tbe Society of Friends, gave the great actor his first lessons in elocution, fencing and boxing. "With regard to the contemplated testimonial,'' writes Murdoch, " so generously tended by my old friends in Philadelphia, upon tbe occasion of what they were pleased to term the anniversary of the'fiflieth year of my public life (which began at the Arch Street theater, October 13, 1829), I regret to say that applications to the various . managers of Philadelphia proved unavailing from the fact that the theaters in Philadelphia were engaged by special combination companies, which tbe management depended on to fill tip their nights, they having no regular -companies or taeir own,"- - So, among many otherbaneful effects which both the ' profession and the more judicious portion of tbe public forsee in the present theatrical system, it seems must be added the disappointment of our desire, to -eee again on bis old stage one ofthe greatest American actors in a round of his favorite'parts. Every lover of the stage will trust, however, that this disappointment is but temporary. Mr. Murdoch's friends in Chicago and Cincinnati have already offered him testimonial engagements of the moftwOattering charcter, and, he expects to play tunder Haverly'a management shortly after .Christmas, ft is under- . . . i . :..:..;. 'i .. 1. . i .1 bujuu buafc in v iiubtuii are auuub to w mjiulivu him to give a few of his celebrated lectures on elecution and kindred subjects. It is impossible to believe, in seeing and conversingwith Mr. Murdoch, that' his work is dobe.: tt:. i vik r ki. .J asm w 1 1. w as 1 1 1 s iit-i v inra.u ti inai .mill mind are very great, and bis matchless Voice - remains unimpaired in the slightest degree.' His friends here and throughout the nation will hope and believe that there are years of usefulness and many opportunities for pleasure-giving still before nun. When Is my walk I meet come ra-ldy led Or ewarthy maa with tray-beladea head. Whose smile entreats me, or hie vieace d. To buy the images he monldt for iresd.I think Uiat, though hie poor Greek glare la chain Hie Venus and her Boy with plaster dart. Be, like the oigas grinder's quavering strains. But farthingi in tbe carrency ot art. . Suck colna a kinclr efllcr still we - Let metals base or spurious in them mix; -r .The paluted tellam hallows mot tbe prayer, ' Nor iiry nor gold-lbs crucinz. Sam Wsr. . Governess: "Now. Jack." if 1 were to crive 12 rtears to Mmid. 10 to Edith, andthree to you, what would k foV . Jack (aged six): "It wouldn't be fair." A schoolmistress asked a child what i spelt. The child hesitated," Said the teacher-.-"What do 1 do when 1 look at Mr. Smith? ' "Thquint," replied the pupil. .