The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-01-18

very poor. Then 1, little child, became the
strong prop Of the faDil I could think;
had read; / knew that my dear mother
never reflected, and had never worked.
I did both. Ny brother, ten years
old, took TO newspaper Office and obtained
for him position. found sewing for my
self and my mother. / taught my little
sister to read and write. Oh, what days those
were / think thcy hordsned and chilled
me- You know what a dark side Of life the
poor have to see. My heart got cramped and
smothered did not see anything worth
loving in the whole world but my mother
She never reproved-in her eyes l was all
that was good and lovely. Knowing but
little about actual labor and nothing OF
economy, we became poorer and poorer.
saw my mother cry because we had no bread.
About these days l saw, by some chance,
theatrical performance. / asked for an en-
gagement fer myself and sister. l had no
idea of what we we're TO do; but saw chill
dren upon the stage, and this gave me
courage The manager offered us seven
dollars per week; my mother would not
listen to it. But times became harder with
us; we should have been turned into the
streets. Sister and went to the
theatre, and our salary saved us. Even then
1 attracted attention and was praised
dancer taught me his art. / was apt, and
soon did we'll for my family. Although still
but child l obtained the position
of second dancer to Madame Monplaisir,
and went to Cuba. My brother
went to college; my sister learned music. My
mother was never SO happy as when ] was ap-
plauded and praised. Iloved my books oil tho
time; but saw only bad side Of life. grew
up absorbed in my professional labors, be-
cause hated poverty. 1t made my mother
cry. wanted to work for her, and save her
from care. l did it brayely. / don't regret
what did; my motives we're honorable. After
some time my grandfather came from France.
l left the stage, and studied He died, and
became restless and returned to my profess
sion. Went to Mexico and Cuba. When l
returned, after two years, to my native city,
caused to be published little volume of
poems, called Memories, signed Indigena.'
This little event brought new set of people
around our house. / was again praised and
petted; wrote for the papers and magazines
/ here became acquainted with Mr.. -, who
as my literary instructor, had bad influence
over my scarcely developed nature. He was
a spiritualist-- cynical, and morose. 1
was ambitious, and he was a help to me. /
had but few social advantages and but little
education. | married very unhappily. Do
nestle troubles and the needs of my family
sent me to the stage again. Mr.. - was
again my adviser. | studied, and was sue
cessful Through the influence of my friends,
more than by actual talent, L became an ac-
tress of position. All that l could gain was
squandered at the 'green table," lost faith
in men, and relied more than ever on my
weak self And so things went on. I
believed, and I do yet, that my whole past
life was a mistake But who can say that l,
weak, vain, unguided child, was all in
fault p
Early in the autumn of 1862 this victim of
misdirected childhood was again welded,
and to gentleman of New York; the event
being hastened by her circumstances of sud
denly critical i'll health, and lack of any
living relative Oh intimate friend in the world
upon whom she might call for help in time of
dangerous suffering. 1t was one of the posi-
tive provisions and assured probabilities Of
this union that, after fulfilling the two or
three professional engagements already bind
ing her by contract, she should retire forever
from the stage; but the inscrutable provi-
dence of Almighty God overruled scheme
which had seemed, upon its face, to subserve
the holiest cause. Months of the tenderest
care and most varied devices, her own unaf-
fected longing for the tranquility of COM
Portable home, and the blessings of ire
proachable opportunities in life, were
Intellectual to avert new visitation
of that terrible hereditary disease which
ever awaited the first cessation of an unloved
of death. No resources that a guardian af-
lection could conceive, or the most liberal effort
exhaust, were spared to save her from worse
than death-zthis compulsjon to a remaining
lifetime of falsehood. ALI was in vain! An
incessant lung fever, banishing sleep and
giving no rest from the ghastliest fancies and
presentiments; frequent arterial hemorrhages,
and days of complete prostration, defed the
best physicians of two cities, and caused them
H. hiatt he <,f +hoi,
patient could be prolonged only by her return
to the counter-irritating fever and delirium oi
the theatre! God disposes. The sick woman
| returned to the stage--because, as she said
! il was her s'doom." 1--WE both know if we
choose to acknowledge it." she afterwards
wrote to her husband, that the cruel and
relentless fend, consumption, is still
feeding on my frail life. am battling
| it off by this toll and Excitement Shall &C
far away to living misery, or shall 1 come tC
you and die 7" A sea voyage being recon-
mended for her further help, she went tS
California in the summer of 1868, and there
entered upon series of dramatic engage
ments which, for financial success, wer,
almost unparalleled in the theatrical history o
that State. She threw herself into the wildes
spirit of the unblest calling with a seeningl,
reckless wish to dare or die; and, by the ven,
energy of this incipient despair, gained
popular following as unprecedented as it wa
unexpected For Que hundred Performances
chiefly of '.Mazeppa,p she recsivad the sl N
Of eighteen Thousand dollars in gold, ever
cent of which was devoted to her own excl
siye use. - ,y
From San Francisco the Inflated one wed
to London, where, in .Astlsy's, October
1868, she gave her.Arst .Enropesnpe perfornanc
of ,.Mazeppa." Again, as al the world know
her popular SUCCESS was such as TO not onl
L IL .nrI.