Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1899-11-25
AN IMPRESSIVE FUNERAL

I'm telling you about died there was a Pc
culiar maybe a somewhat pathetic, scene
| in the poor room around his bier" said an
| old theatrical man who lives in his memo
ries of the palmy days. Never mind about
| lis name. He had been notable in the sup
port Of the best of the American tragedians
for a great many years. He was never q
big figure in the eyes of the public, for he
never had the luck TO get anybody to star
him, but by such mer Edwin Forrest,
first of ali, then John Mccullough, Edwin
Booth, Lawrence Barrett and others, he
was regarded as a valuable in the in
| depreciation of second heavies in the
Shakespearean plays.
We'll, along in the early eighties, when
he was stIll aDie to command nigh salaries
and attach himself the support of the
highest men IN the profession, drink col
Jared him. 1t got him terribly. / never saw
man get clutched by it with such sudden
ness and violence. He had not begun to
drink until late IN life, but men of that sort
the worst when they do get going. This
notable actor and scholarly, dignitied man
went square to the dogs inside of two years
At the end of that time he could not only
get an engaSenlent-thsre was good reason
for surprising that if employed, he might
at any time reel and fan drunkenly the
stage-but he had lost most of his friends.
He had spent all of his savings, which
amounted to several thousand dollars, and
he had lost his home over in one of the Or
ahSeS of New Jersey. His wife left him
and went to her people in England. He
found himself in the streets, without an
overcoat, without a place to sleep, in the
middle of winter. Time and again his old
friends picked him out of the ditch, got him
into hospitals and sinitariums, clothed him,
took an interest in him, carried him off to
their own homes to be surrounded by cheer
ing influences-only to have HIM break out
worse than ever. He aged very rapidly. He
got to be bad and hopeless job, in very
fact. His friends rpluptant1y him
one by one Then he landed on Blackwells
Island
Il suppose we all turned more or less of
a handspring to get him out of that,
and he was tried over again. He
landed on BiackwelPs again just three
week later. This time it was decided to
allow him to remain there for a couple of
weeks, anyhow. AT the termination of that
period, the poor old chap was taken off the
island again, clothed, fed. housed, treated
nice as pie-and after a week it got around
that he was once more on the island.
After chat he was quite given up. 1t
got to be an old story-hs trips to the re-
formatory institution in the East river 1t
was concluded by all hands that Black
wells, after all, was about the safest and
TEST ace for him. In a general kind of
way 1 always knew that after the old man
mad got way down he had gone to live
with poor but extremely kindly Irish
family in tenement house down Cherry
Hill way. In fact, l had happened along
that way once or twice, just by way of
curiosity, You understand, to see how the
poor old fellow lived. 1t was a very clean
set OF four roOms-but poverty everywhere
where the Irish family lived. and the d
actor had little back room when he
wasn't over on the island.
"One morning along toward 10 o'clock in
the middle of winter, the news got to me
somehow that the old actor had died in
his tenement room the night before imme-
diately upon his release from a thirty-day
term on the island He had been pretty
kind to me when he was up in the world
and, while 1 wasn't particularly rich,
didn't purpose that he should be buried in
Potter,s fe d. So 1 took cab and went
down Cherry Hill way.
i walked up the stairs and knocked on
the front door of the Irish family's set of
rooms. Fanny Davenport opened the door
and let me in.
Why / began with some SURPRISE
how did you know
was with him when he died last
evening and remained until l had to rush
Off to the theater,' replied the big-hearted
woman quietly L had the undertaken here
last night Our poor friend is already pre-
pared for burial. He was good to me- We
shall take him to Greenwood
She couldn' say any more. and it wasn't
necessary anyhow. l had hardly taken off
my hat and gloves before there was
quiet rap on the door. l opened it. Augustin
Da stood revealed. Beside him was Father
Ducey. We We're all pretty much surprised
to see each other. We had all really come
from different directions under initiatives
We talked quietly for a bit. when there was
another gentle tap on the door I opened
1t and let Emma Abbott in. There have
been few sweeter-souled women in the
world than Emma Abbott.
He was good to me- she said quietly
After had learned something about sing
ing he taught me what I know about act
ing. He was very patient with me. 1 Just
heard
We'll, we were complete as a party then
We went into the room where the cd man
he who had been a prince In generosity,
a KING IN courtesy-lay sleeping, and Father
Ducey-the still amiable. benevolent, bril-
liant Ducey-read the service of the Roman
Catholic Church. He said a few words He
too, had known our friend in his better as
well as in his fallen days
DAILY stepped forward then, and with
bowed head he told of what a good man
he had known this poor old man who lay
dead before us to be. Daily felt pretty bad
as ne spoke and he couldn't go on
Then Emma Abbott. who had been sit
ting over in a dark corner of the little old
bare room advanced to the foot of the
casket. She sang Angels Ever Bright and
Fair No accompaniment. of conrsa 1 1aI,
recall the sweetness of her voice? Now &C
matter Of fact, neither DAILY. Ducev nor
myself was an emotional man-far from
II; Butthe tenderness and the Inspiration
OF that song as the pure-souled UttIa We
man or the stage sang 1t We're almost nm
bearable. 'Niiiost I'LL
men we took our poor old friends hod,,
aWay-out to Greenwood. I've aI,,o uS
tHought that was a queer meeting we al
had. coming from different directions ~,
thdt poor bare tenement room"