Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1880-03-06

and when among the audience looks to
learn new business and catch points where
ever thew appear. Her sister Mary, for
merly reckoned the better actress, has lost
all interest in her old profession, and when
she goes to the theater 1t Is for amusement.
inst as YOU or | would go. A neighbor of
mine, mother in the church, as generous
hearted, open handed, sweet-souled woman
as ever lived, had a short stage experience,
but it is one upon which she looks back
with pleasure. She was married at 10
and had one child, when she INDUCED her
self in Evolutionary training under an
actress who had retired from the stage,
and who was an intimate friend OF James
Stark. The young pupil evinced such
talent that Mr.. Stark was invited to hear
her one day, and was so pleased that he
read with her Pygmalion to Galatea.
Judge of her surprise to be called shortly
after to a position as support to
THE LEADING LADY
OF his company, position which she re-
fused, believing herself incapable, but was
finally persuaded to accept. She rose to
leading lady to her own utter astonish-
ment, and played Pauline to his Claude
Melnotte and like characters. Her name
was Isabel Hamlin perhaps some one may
remember her. 'And did you ever play
at Placerville ?" asked eagerly, thinking
that she might have been the Josephine,
possibly, that first night when l went to
the stheater. ''Ah, yes, indeed" she an
swe~ed. 81 always remember Placerville,
because l was there mistaken for Mrs.
Stark, her name having been billed and
sent on. My trunks at the hotel were
even sent at first to Mr.. Stark's room
under the misapprehension. She received
$40 per week, but she says it went as fast
as it came At the expiration of two
years and half she was under engagement
to appear in San Francisco with Charles
Wheateigh, and her career was thus as
sured, but the nurse ON whom she depend
ed was taken sick, and, as she had now
two little girls, she threw up her engage
ment and stayed at home. Once lost, the
place was never regained, and she often
looks back with regret to the day when
she left the stage. In the end, she says,
she could have done more much more for
her children she could have done justice
to herself and made them proud to be
daughters Of their mother She would not
lose her grip again if her hands were once
more on the rope. One day a chirping,
cricket-like little body came hopping into
my parlor. 1t was
ALICE KINGSBURY,
Just from the South, via Philadelphia. By
turns she has been wife, mother, actress,
authoress, artist, sculptures, and now she
chirps away as cheerily as she ever did in
the zenith of her fame. With a world of
faith in herself and belief in broad hui
manity, and with ever charitable. word
for sister woman and brother man, shelves
life of peacefulness and retirement scarce
block away from me. L once knew one
of the funny women of the stage-the old
maid, fishwoman, outlandlsh, rldlculously
dressed character that convulses one with
laughter whenever she appears. Twice
married she had never child, although it
was the one desire of her life, and for days
and days she would have with her the lit
tie girl of friend she would make her
pretty dresses, and delight to fondle and
caress her. And yet to hear that hard
twang Of hers echo through the Cali
fornia Theater one never would have
thought of little children. That
reminds of graceful and bright little girl
that died, the child of Kate Denim and
John Wilson | remember the day she
gave away her breath-what blot seemed
over the morning, what a hush seemed TO
lie outside around the house. Often as l
have seen John Wilson and Kate Denim in
the characters that crowd the stage, can
only think of them since then as father and
mother grieving for the little girl that died.
''She looked like little May Queen,
said the mother to me, speaking of the
beauty of death and the flowers touching
its check, and the small grave in Lone
Mountain, month in and month out, is
kept like a fower-laden throne for that lit
tie dead Queen of the May. Love never
let's the vines wither nor the blossoms
fade, and tender tears fall often upon Ma
mics headstone. Place US how you will,
assuredly the same joys and the same
griefs visit each, and we are sister and
brother every one. KATE HEATH.