X.   ACTORS.

CHAPTER XXXV.

EDWIN BOOTH.

There are many persons who remember the elder Booth, the "Great Booth," as he was called, in his palmy days, when the bare announcement of his name was sufficient to cram our old-fashioned theaters from pit to dome. He was sublime in the stormy passions which he delineated, and never failed to draw down from the gods of the gallery the uproarious yells with which they testify their approval; even the more dignified occupants of the boxes found themselves breaking into outbursts of applause which they were powerless to restrain. He was a favorite with all classes, and a deserved one, and the lovers of the drama looked forward with genuine regret to the period when he should be no longer with them. They felt that the glories of the stage would pass away with him. It was in vain that they were told that he had sons destined to the same profession. They shook their heads, and said it was impossible that the mantle of the great tragedian should rest upon any of his sons, for it was then, as now, a popular belief that great men never have great children. How very much these good people were mistaken we will see in the progress of this chapter.

One of these sons was destined in the course of time to eclipse the fame won by his father, and to endear himself to the American people as a more finished, if less stormy, actor. This was Edwin Booth. He was born on his father's farm near Baltimore, Maryland, In 1833, and after receiving a good common-school education, began his training for the stage. The elder Booth was quick to see that his boy had inherited his genius, and he took great pains to develop the growing powers of the lad, and to incline them toward those paths which his experience had taught him were the surest roads to success. He took him with him on his starring engagements, and kept him about him so constantly that the boy may be said to have grown up on the stage from his infancy. He was enthusiastically devoted to his father, and it was his delight to stand at the wings and watch the great tragedian in his personations, and the thunders of applause which proclaimed some fresh triumph were sweeter to the boy, perhaps, than to the man.

In 1849, at the age of sixteen, he made his first appearance on the stage as Tyrrell, in "Richard III.," and gave great satisfaction by his rendition of the character. From this time he continued to appear at various places with his father, and in 1851 won his first great success in the city of New York. His father was playing an engagement at the Chatham Theater at the time, and was announced for Richard III., which was his masterpiece. When the hour for performance came, he was too ill to appear. The manager was in despair, for the house was filled with a large audience, who were impatient for the appearance of the humpbacked king. In this emergency Edwin Booth offered to take his father's place, and the manager, pleased with the novelty of the proposal, accepted it. Young Booth was but eighteen years old, and had not even studied the part, and it was a perilous thing to venture before an audience in a role in which one of his name had won such great fame. But he was confident of his own powers, and he had so often hung with delight upon his father's rendition of the part, that he needed but a hasty reference to the book to perfect him in the text. He won a decided triumph, and the public promptly acknowledged that he gave promise of being an unusually fine actor.

In 1852 Mr. Booth went to California, and engaged for the "utility business." He spent two years in careful and patient study in the humbler walks of his profession, learning its details, and doing much of the drudgery essential to a thorough knowledge of his art. In 1854, he went to Australia, and played a successful engagement there, stopping on his way at several of the Pacific islands. On his return, he played an engagement, with marked success, at the Sandwich Islands, and then went back to California.

In 1857 he returned to New York, and, on the 4th of May, appeared at Burton's Theater, in the character of Richard III. A writer who witnessed his performance on that occasion thus speaks of him: "The company was not strong in tragedy; the young actor came without reputation; the season was late. But he conquered his place. His Richard was intellectual, brilliant, rapid, handsome, picturesque, villainous. But the villainy was servant to the ambition—not master of it, as a coarse player makes it. The action was original; the dress was perfect—the smirched gauntlets and flung-on mantle of the scheming, busy duke, the splendid vestments of the anointed king, the glittering armor of the monarch in the field. His clear beauty, his wonderful voice—which he had not learned to use—his grace, his fine artistic sense, made all triumphs seem possible to this young man. Evidently there was great power in the new actor—power untrained, vigor ill directed. But what was plainest to be seen, was the nervous, impulsive temperament, which would leave him no rest save in achievement. He might come back to us a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, the delight and wonder of the galleries. He might come back the thorough artist, great in repose as in action. But it was clear enough that what he was then in Richard, in Richelieu, in Sir Edward Mortimer, he would never be again."

He followed this appearance by a general tour through the country, and returned to New York in 1858, where he won fresh laurels. In 1860 he reappeared at Burton's Theater, then called the Winter Garden, and added Hamlet to his role. He had improved greatly during the time that had elapsed since his last appearance at this theater, and had gained very much in power and artistic finish. The most critical audiences in the country received him with delight, crowded his houses, and hailed his efforts with thunders of applause. This season silenced all the critics, and placed him among the great actors of the American stage. He bore his honors modestly, and though he was proud of the triumphs he had won, they did not satisfy him. There were still greater successes to be achieved before the highest honors of his profession could be his, and it was upon these that his eye was fixed from the first. The applause which greeted him in every city in which he appeared only served to stimulate him to fresh exertions.

In the summer of 1861, he visited England, and played an engagement at the Haymarket Theater in London, where he was favorably received by the British playgoers. At the close of this engagement, he spent a year on the continent, in travel and in the study of his profession. He also made careful studies of the scenes of the great historic dramas of the English stage, both in England and on the continent, and of the dresses and other appointments needed for them. By thoroughly familiarizing himself with these details, he has been able to produce his plays with entire fidelity to history.

Returning once more to New York, he appeared at the Winter Garden, in the winter of 1863-64, in a series of Shakespearean revivals. He played Hamlet for over one hundred nights, and followed it during that season and the next with "Merchant of Venice" and "Othello" (in the latter playing the parts of Othello and Iago on alternate nights). During the same seasons he appeared also in "Richelieu," "Ruy Blas," "The Fool's Revenge," and "Don Cæsar de Bazan." These performances were extended into the season of 1866-67, when they were suddenly cut short by the total destruction of the Winter Garden Theater by fire on the night of the 23d of March, 1867. In this fire Mr. Booth lost his entire wardrobe, including many relics of his father, Kemble, and Mrs. Siddons.

The destruction of a theater has seldom drawn forth a more universal expression of regret than that which poured in upon Mr. Booth from all parts of the country. It was feared that the loss of his valuable wardrobe would be irremediable, as indeed it was in a certain sense. All over the Union a general wish was expressed that the great actor should have a new theater in some of our large cities, and one which should be worthy of his genius. Mr. Booth had chosen the city of New York for his permanent home, and after the destruction of the Winter Garden Theater began to arrange his plans for the erection of a new building of his own, which he was resolved should be the most magnificent and the best appointed theater in the world. The site chosen was the south-eastern corner of the Sixth Avenue and Twenty-third Street in New York, and in the summer of 1867 the work of clearing away the old buildings and digging the foundations of the new theater was begun. It was carried forward steadily, and the building was completed and opened to the public in January, 1869.

It is in the Rennaissance style of architecture, and stands seventy feet high from the sidewalk to the main cornice, crowning which is a Mansard roof of twenty-four feet. "The theater proper fronts one hundred and forty-nine feet on Twenty-third Street, and is divided into three parts, so combined as to form an almost perfect whole, with arched entrances at either extremity on the side, for the admission of the public, and on the other for another entrance, and the use of the actors and those employed in the house. On either side of these main entrances are broad and lofty windows; and above them, forming a part of the second story, are niches for statues, surrounded by coupled columns resting on finely sculptured pedestals. The central or main niche is flanked on either side by quaintly contrived blank windows; and between the columns, at the depth of the recesses, are simple pilasters sustaining the elliptic arches, which serve to top and span the niches, the latter to be occupied by statues of the great creators and interpreters of the drama in every age and country. The finest Concord granite, from the best quarries in New Hampshire, is the material used in the entire façade, as well as in the Sixth Avenue side.... The glittering granite mass, exquisitely poised, adorned with rich and appropriate carving, statuary, columns, pilasters, and arches, and capped by the springing French roof, fringed with its shapely balustrades, offers an imposing and majestic aspect, and forms one of the architectural jewels of the city."

In its internal arrangements the theater is in keeping with its external magnificence. Entering through a sumptuous vestibule, the visitor passes into the magnificent auditorium, which is in itself a rare piece of decorative art. The seats are admirably arranged, each one commanding a view of the stage. The floor is richly carpeted, and the seats are luxuriously upholstered. Three elegant light galleries rise above the parquet. The walls and ceiling are exquisitely frescoed, and ornamented with bas reliefs in plaster. The proscenium is beautifully frescoed and carved, and is adorned with busts of the elder Booth and the proprietor of the theater; and in the sides before the curtain are arranged six sumptuous private boxes. The curtain is a beautiful landscape. The decoration of the house is not done in the rough scenic style so common in the most of the theaters of the country, but is the perfection of frescoe painting, and is capable of bearing the closest examination. The stage is very large, and slopes gradually from the rear to the footlights. The orchestra pen is sunk below the level of the stage, so that the heads of the musicians do not cut off the view of the audience. The dressing of the stage is novel. The side scenes or wings, instead of being placed at right angles to the spectator as in most theaters, are so arranged that the scene appears to extend to the right and left as well as to the rear. In this way the spectator is saved the annoyance of often looking through the wings, a defect which in most theaters completely dispels the illusion of the play. The scenery here is not set by hand, but is moved by machinery, and with such regularity and precision that these changes have very much the effect of "dissolving views." The scenes themselves are the works of highly educated artists, and never degenerate into the rough daubs with which most playgoers are familiar. The building is fire-proof, and is warmed and ventilated in a peculiar manner. The great central chandelier and the lights around the cornice of the auditorium are lighted by electricity.

The plays presented here are superbly put on the stage. The scenery is strictly accurate when meant to represent some historic locality, and is the finest to be found in America. Perhaps the grandest stage picture ever given to an audience was the grave-yard scene in "Hamlet," which "held the boards" for over one hundred nights last winter. The dresses, equipments, and general "make up" of the actors are in keeping with the scenery. Even the minutest detail is carefully attended to. Nothing is so unimportant as to be overlooked in this establishment.

It is Mr. Booth's custom to open the season with engagements of other distinguished actors, and to follow them himself about the beginning of the winter, and to continue his performances until the approach of spring, when he again gives way to others. When he is performing, it is impossible to procure a seat after the rising of the curtain. Every available place is filled, and thousands come from all parts of the country to see him. Sometimes it is necessary to secure seats a week in advance.

Mr. Booth is still a young man, being now thirty-seven years old. In person he is over the medium height, and is well built. His hair is black and is worn long, and his dark eyes are large and dreamy. His face is that of a poet, strikingly handsome, with an expression of mingled sweetness and sadness playing over it. He wears neither beard nor moustache. He dresses simply and without ornament, and is grave and retiring in his demeanor. He is exceedingly amiable in disposition, and is the center of a large circle of devoted friends. He has been married twice, and has one child, a daughter, by his first wife. He is a man of irreproachable life, and in every thing a high-toned gentleman, and it is the high character he bears not less than his genius that has enabled him to do such honor to his profession. He is very wealthy, and is in a fair way to become a millionaire.

As an actor Mr. Booth is without an equal. His impersonations are marked by rare genius and by the most careful study. His Hamlet is perhaps his most finished part, as his Richelieu is the most popular with the masses. It has been said that his Hamlet is not Shakespeare's Hamlet, and this may be true: but it is so exquisite, so perfect, that whether it be the conception of Shakespeare or Edwin Booth, it is the most powerful, the most life-like counterfeit of "the melancholy Dane" ever seen on any stage, and leaves nothing to be desired. His personation of the grim old cardinal, whose decrepit body is alone sustained by his indomitable will, is masterly, and we see before us, not Edwin Booth, the actor of to-day, but the crafty, unscrupulous, witty, determined prime minister of France, who bends kings and princes to his will. It is absolutely life-like, and to those who have seen the portraits of the old cardinal in the museums of France, the accuracy with which Booth has counterfeited the personal appearance of Richelieu is positively startling. The plays are so superbly set upon the stage that we lose sight of the little space they occupy, and seem to be gazing upon a real world. His Richard has such a strong humanity in it, that it more than half vindicates the humpbacked tyrant's memory, and the death scene of this play, as given by Booth, is simply appalling.

It is in vain, however, that we select special characters or attempt descriptions of them. No one can truly understand Edwin Booth's acting without seeing it. He has studied his heroes so profoundly, analyzed their characters so subtly, and entered so heartily into sympathy with them, that he has, become able, by the aid of his wonderful genius, to entirely discard his own personality, and assume theirs at will.

Mr. Booth has steadily risen in power and finish as an actor, for his labors have been unceasing. Great as his triumphs have been, he does not regard himself as freed from the necessity of study. His studies have become more intelligent than in former years, but not the less faithful. He has the true artist's aspiration after the rarest perfection in his art, though to those of us without the charmed circle it is difficult to see how he can excel his present excellence. Yet that he does so we have undoubted proof, for we see him rising higher in the admiration and esteem of the world every year, and each year we gather fresh laurels to twine around his brows.

He has steadily educated his audiences, and has elevated the standard of his art among his countrymen. He has shown them what fine acting really is, and has taught them to enjoy it. He has kept them true to the legitimate drama, and has done more than any other man to rescue the American stage from the insignificance with which it was threatened. It speaks volumes for him as an actor and a manager, that when New York seemed wholly given up to ballet, burlesque, and opera bouffe, he was able to make the almost forgotten masterpieces of Shakespeare the most popular and most profitable dramatic ventures of the year.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

JOSEPH JEFFERSON.

The subject of this sketch is one of a race of actors. His great-grandfather was a contemporary of some of the brightest ornaments of the English stage, and was himself a famous actor and the intimate friend of Garrick, Sam Foote, and Barr. He was a man of amiable and winning disposition, and was strikingly handsome in person. He occupies a prominent place in the history of the English stage, and is said to have been, socially, one of the most brilliant men of his day. He died in 1807. In 1795 his son came to America. Of him, Dunlap, in his "History of the American Stage," says, referring to him, in February, 1797: "He was then a youth, but even then an artist. Of a small and light figure, well formed, with a singular physiognomy, a nose perfectly Grecian, and blue eyes full of laughter, he had the faculty of exciting mirth to as great a degree by power of feature, although handsome, as any ugly-featured low comedian ever seen." F.C. Wemyss has said of him at a later day: "Mr. Joseph Jefferson was an actor formed in Nature's merriest mood—a genuine son of Momus. There was a vein of rich humor running through all he did, which forced you to laugh despite of yourself. He discarded grimace as unworthy of him, although no actor ever possessed a greater command over the muscles of his own face, or the faces of his audience, compelling you to laugh or cry at his pleasure. His excellent personation of old men acquired for him, before he had reached the meridian of life, the title of 'Old Jefferson.' The astonishment of strangers at seeing a good-looking young man pointed out on the street as Old Jefferson, whom they had seen the night previous at the theater tottering apparently on the verge of existence, was the greatest compliment that could be paid to the talent of the actor. His versatility was astonishing—light comedy, old men, pantomime, low comedy, and occasionally juvenile tragedy. Educated in the very best school for acquiring knowledge in his profession, ... Jefferson was an adept in all the trickery of the stage, which, when it suited his purpose, he could turn to excellent account.... In his social relations, he was what a gentleman should be—a kind husband, an affectionate father, a warm friend, and a truly honest man." The second Jefferson enjoyed a brilliant career of thirty-six years in this country, and died in 1832, during an engagement at the theater at Harrisburg, which was then managed by his son. This son, named Joseph, after his father, was born in Philadelphia in 1804, and died at the age of thirty-eight. He was not so famous as an actor as his father or grandfather, but like them passed his life on the stage. He had a decided talent for painting, and was partially educated as an artist, but he never accomplished any thing with his pencil. He was a man of most amiable disposition, and was possessed of scores of warm and devoted friends; but he was a poor business manager, and was always more or less involved in pecuniary troubles. He married Mrs. Burke, the famous vocalist, and mother of Burke, the comedian.

To this couple, in the city of Philadelphia, was born the Joseph Jefferson of to-day, on the 20th of February, 1829.

This boy was literally brought up on the stage, as he made his first appearance upon the boards in a combat scene at the Park Theater in New York, when he was but three years old. He soon after went with his parents to the West. Olive Logan says of him, at this period of his life, "While they were both still children, he and my sister Eliza used to sing little comic duets together on the stage of various western towns."

He received as good a common-school education as the rapid manner in which he was moved about from place to place would permit, and was carefully trained in the profession of an actor, to which he was destined by his parents, and to which he was drawn by the bent of his genius. He appeared in public frequently during his boyhood, but his first appearance as a man was at Chanfrau's National Theater, in 1849. He met with fair success, and from that time devoted himself entirely and carefully to his profession. He began at the bottom of the ladder of fame, and gradually worked his way up to his present high position. Playing engagements in various minor theaters of the United States, he at length secured a position as low comedian at Niblo's Garden in New York, where he won golden opinions from the critical audiences of the metropolis. In 1857, he closed a most successful engagement as low comedian at the theater in Richmond, Virginia, and with that engagement ended his career as a stock actor. He had by careful and patient study rendered himself capable of assuming the highest place in his profession, and these studies, joined to his native genius, had made him famous throughout the country as the best low comedian of the day.

Feeling that he had now a right to the honors of a "star" in his profession, and urged by the public to assume the position to which his genius entitled him, he began a series of engagements throughout the Union, in which he more than fulfilled the expectations of his friends. He was received with delight wherever he went, and at once became the most popular of American comedians.

About a year or two later, he left the United States and made a voyage to Australia, through which country he traveled, playing at the principal towns. He was extremely successful. His genial, sunny character won him hosts of friends among the people of that far-off land, and his great genius as an actor made him as famous there as he had been in his own country. Australia was then a sort of theatrical El Dorado. The prices paid for admission to the theaters were very high, and the sums offered to distinguished stars in order to attract them thither were immense. Mr. Jefferson reaped a fair share of this golden harvest, and at the close of his Australian engagements found himself the possessor of a handsome sum. It was this which formed the basis of his large fortune; for, unlike his father, he is a man of excellent business capacity, and understands how to care for the rewards of his labors, so that they shall be a certain protection to him in his old age, and an assistance to those whom he shall leave behind him.

Returning to the United States, Mr. Jefferson appeared with increased success in the leading cities of the Northern and Western States. His principal success at this time was won in the character of Asa Trenchard, in the play of "Our American Cousin." His personation of the rough, eccentric, but true-hearted Yankee was regarded as one of the finest pieces of acting ever witnessed on the American stage, and drew crowded houses wherever he went. His range of characters included the most refined comedy and the broadest farce, but each delineation bore evidence of close and careful study, and was marked by great originality and delicacy. There was in his performances a freshness, a distinctiveness, and, above all, an entire freedom from any thing coarse or offensive, which charmed his audiences from the first. One of his critics has well said of him: "As Caleb Plummer he unites in another way the full appreciation of mingled humor and pathos—the greatest delicacy and affection with rags and homely speech. As Old Phil Stapleton he is the patriarch of the village and the incarnation of content. As Asa Trenchard he is the diamond in the rough, combining shrewdness with simplicity, and elevating instead of degrading the Yankee character. As Dr. Ollapod, and Dr. Pangloss, and Tobias Shortcut, he has won laurels that would make him a comedian of the first rank. His Bob Acres is a picture. There is almost as much to look at as in his Rip Van Winkle. There is nearly the same amount of genius, art, experience, and intelligence in its personation. Hazlitt says that the author has overdone the part, and adds that 'it calls for a great effort of animal spirits and a peculiar aptitude of genius to go through with it;' Mr. Jefferson has so much of the latter that he can—and to a great extent does—dispense with the former requisite. His quiet undercurrent of humor subserves the same purpose in the role of Bob Acres that it does in other characters. It is full of points, so judiciously chosen, so thoroughly apt, so naturally made and so characteristically preserved, that the part with Jefferson is a great one. The man of the 'oath referential, or sentimental swearing,' makes the entire scope of the part an 'echo to the sense.' Even in so poor a farce as that of 'A Regular Fix,' Mr. Jefferson makes the eccentricities of Hugh de Brass immensely funny. The same style is preserved in every character, but with an application that gives to each a separate being."

After a season of great success in this country Mr. Jefferson decided to visit England. He appeared at the Adelphi Theater, in London, and at once became as popular as he had been at home. His Asa Trenchard, in "Our American Cousin," was received by the English with delight; but his greatest triumphs were won in Boucicault's version of "Rip Van Winkle," which he has since immortalized. This play was first produced at the Adelphi, where it enjoyed an uninterrupted run of nearly two hundred nights.

Returning to the United States in the autumn of 1867, Mr. Jefferson appeared at the Olympic Theater, in New York, in the play of "Rip Van Winkle." Since then he has traveled extensively throughout the United States, and has devoted himself exclusively to the character of Rip Van Winkle; so exclusively, indeed, that many persons are ignorant of his great merits in other roles. By adopting this as his specialty, he has rendered himself so perfect in it that he has almost made the improvident, light-hearted Rip a living creature. A writer in a popular periodical draws the following graphic sketch of his performance of this character:

Mr. Jefferson is a thoroughly American actor. Abandoning all sensational shams, he devotes himself to pure art. His highest triumphs have been won in the legitimate branches of his profession, and won by the force of his genius, aided only by the most careful study and an intelligent analysis of the parts assumed by him. He has the happy faculty of entering into perfect sympathy with his characters, and for the time being he is less the actor than the individual he personates. It is this that gives the sparkle to his eye, the ring to his laughter, and the exquisite feeling to his pathos; and feeling thus, he is quick to establish a sympathy between himself and his audience, so that he moves them at will, convulsing them with laughter at the sallies of the light-hearted Rip, or dissolving them in tears at the desolations of the lonely old man, so soon forgot after he has gone.

Mr. Jefferson has inherited from his father the genial, sunny disposition for which the latter was famous. He is an essentially cheerful man, and trouble glances lightly off from him. He is generous to a fault, and carries his purse in his hand. Misfortune never appeals to him in vain, and many are the good works he has done in the humbler walks of his own calling. He is enthusiastically devoted to his profession, and enjoys his acting quite as much as his auditors. In putting his pieces on the stage, he is lavish of expense, and whenever he can control this part of the performance, it leaves nothing to be desired. Some years ago he brought out "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at a Philadelphia theater, in a style of magnificence rarely witnessed on any stage. The scenery was exquisite, and was a collection of artistic gems. The success of the piece was very decided in Philadelphia, but when it was reproduced, with the same scenery and appointments, in a Western city, the public would scarcely go to see it, and the theater incurred a heavy loss in consequence. Jefferson's remark to the manager, when the failure became apparent, was characteristic: "It is all right," said he. "We have done our duty, and have made an artistic success of the piece. If the people will not come to see it, it is more their misfortune than ours."

He has inherited also from his father considerable talent as an artist, and sketches with decided merit, though he makes no pretensions to artistic skill. In his vacations, which he passes in the country, his sketch-book is his constant companion. He is a famous sportsman and fisherman, and in the summer is rarely to be found without his gun and rod. It is his delight to tramp over miles of country in search of game, or to sit quietly in some cozy nook, and, dropping his line into the water, pass the hours in reveries broken only by the exertion necessary to secure a finny prize.

Not long since his love of art led him to buy a panorama merely because he admired it. He put it in charge of an agent in whom he knew he could confide, and started it on a tour throughout the country. In a month or two he received a gloomy letter from the agent, telling him that the exhibition had failed to draw spectators, and that he despaired of its ever paying expenses. "Never mind," wrote Jefferson in reply, "it will be a gratification for those who do go to see it, and you may draw on me for what money you need." The losses on the panorama, however, were so great that Jefferson was compelled to abandon it.

Several years before the death of John Sefton, Jefferson paid him a visit at his home in Paradise Valley, during one of his summer rambles. Upon reaching Sefton's farm, he found the owner "with his breeches and coat sleeves both rolled up, and standing in the middle of a clear and shallow stream, where one could scarcely step without spoiling the sports of the brook trout, which sparkled through the crystal waters. Sefton stood in a crouching attitude, watching, with mingled disappointment and good humor, a little pig which the stream was carrying down its current, and which, pig-like, had slipped from the hands of its owner in its natural aversion to being washed. Jefferson, with the true instinct of an artist, dropped his fishing tackle and took his sketch-book to transfer the ludicrous scene to paper. Sefton appreciated the humor of the situation, and only objected when Jefferson began to fill in the background with a dilapidated old barn, at which the old gentleman demurred on account of its wretched appearance. The artist insisted that it was picturesque, however, and proceeded to put it down. Sefton had to submit; but he had his revenge, by writing back to New York that 'Jefferson is here, drawing the worst "houses" I ever saw.'"

In private life, Mr. Jefferson is a cultivated gentleman, and is possessed of numbers of warm and devoted friends. He has been married twice. The first Mrs. Jefferson was a Miss Lockyer, of New York, and by her he had two children, a son and a daughter. The former is about eighteen years of age, and is destined to his father's profession, in which he has already shown unusual promise. The present Mrs. Jefferson was a Miss Warren, and is a niece of the veteran actor, William Warren, of Boston. She was married to her husband early in 1868, and has never been an actress.

Mr. Jefferson is the possessor of a large fortune, acquired in the exercise of his profession, and being thus comfortably situated, is enabled to enjoy more rest from his labors than falls to the lot of most American actors. He resides in Orange County, New Jersey, about an hour's ride from New York, where he has a handsome country seat, which he has adorned with all the attractions that wealth and taste can command.

XI.   PHYSICIANS.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

BENJAMIN RUSH.

It is not often that a man, however gifted, is capable of rising to eminence in two distinct branches of public life, especially in two so widely separated from each other as medicine and politics. The subject of this sketch was one of the few who have achieved such distinction.

Benjamin Rush was born on Poquestion Creek, near Philadelphia, on the 24th of December, 1745. He was carefully educated at the best common schools of his native county, and then entered Princeton College, where he graduated in 1760, at the age of fifteen. He decided, upon leaving Princeton, to adopt medicine as his vocation, and began his studies in Philadelphia. He gave nine years to preparing himself for his profession, and after completing his course in Philadelphia, sailed for Europe, where he continued his studies in Edinburgh, London, and Paris. He returned home in 1769, and began the practice of medicine in Philadelphia, and was at once elected Professor of Chemistry in the medical college of that city. He was successful in rapidly acquiring a large and lucrative practice, and experienced very few of the difficulties and trials which lie in the way of a young physician.

In 1770 he began his career as an author, and for many years his writings were numerous. He devoted himself chiefly to medical subjects, but history, philosophy, and politics, and even romance, frequently claimed his attention. He adopted the patriot cause at the outset of his career, and with his pen and voice constantly advocated resistance to the injustice of Great Britain. This drew upon him the attention of his fellow-citizens, and he was chosen to a seat in the Provincial Conference of Pennsylvania. In that body he introduced a resolution setting forth the necessity of a declaration of independence of the mother country. His resolution was referred to a committee, of which he was made the chairman, and this committee having reported affirmatively, the resolution was unanimously adopted by the Conference, and was communicated to the Continental Congress, then in session in Philadelphia, about the last of June, 1776. When it became evident that the Congress would declare the independence of the colonies, five members of the Pennsylvania delegation withdrew from that body. Their places were at once supplied by Rush and four others, and when the Declaration was finally adopted Benjamin Rush affixed his signature to it as a delegate from Pennsylvania.

In 1776 Dr. Rush was married to Miss Julia Stockton, daughter of Richard Stockton, of New Jersey, also a signer of the Declaration. In April, 1777, he was made Surgeon-General of the Continental army for the Middle Department, and in July, 1777, was made Physician-General. He devoted himself to his duties with energy and intelligence, and succeeded in placing the affairs of his department in as satisfactory a condition as the means at the command of the Congress would permit. He was not able, however, to arrange every thing as his judgment assured him was best, and was subjected to many annoyances and great inconvenience by the incompetence and mismanagement of other officials, whom he could not control. The management of the hospital supplies of the army was especially defective, and was the cause of much suffering to the troops. He made repeated efforts to effect a reform in this particular, but failing to accomplish any thing, and indignant at the wrongs inflicted upon the soldiers, he resigned his commission and retired to private life.

During his connection with the army, he had watched the course of affairs in his native State with the keenest interest, and in a series of four letters to the people of Pennsylvania, called their attention to the serious defects of their Constitution of 1776, the chief of which he declared to be the giving of the legislative power to one house only. His appeals had the effect of bringing about an entire change in the form of State government, which was subsequently accomplished by a general convention of the people. After the close of the war Dr. Rush was elected a member of the State Convention which ratified the Constitution of the United States, and distinguished himself in that body by his earnest and brilliant advocacy of that instrument. He was also a member of the convention which adopted a new State Constitution, embodying the reforms he had advised in the letters referred to, and labored hard to have incorporated in it his views respecting a penal code and a public school system, both of which features he ably advocated through the public press.

With this closed his public career, which, though brief, was brilliant, and raised him to a proud place among the fathers of the Republic.

Returning to Philadelphia after resigning his position in the army, he resumed the practice of medicine, and with increased success. His personal popularity and his great skill as a physician brought him all the employment he could desire, and he soon took his place at the head of the medical faculty of the country.

In 1785 he planned the Philadelphia Dispensary, the first institution of the kind in the United States, and to the close of his life remained its warm and energetic supporter. In 1789 he was made Professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine in the Philadelphia Medical College, and when that institution was merged in the University, in 1791, he was elected to the chair of the Institute and Clinical Medicine. In 1797 he took the professorship of Clinical Practice also, as it was vacant, and was formally elected to it in 1805. These three professorships he held until the day of his death, discharging the duties of each with characteristic brilliancy and fidelity.

The great professional triumph of his life occurred in the year 1793. In that year the yellow fever broke out with great malignancy in Philadelphia, and raged violently for about one hundred days, from about the last of July until the first of November. Nothing seemed capable of checking it. The people fled in dismay from their homes, and the city seemed given over to desolation. In the terrible "hundred days," during which the fever prevailed, four thousand persons died, and the deaths occurred so rapidly that it was frequently impossible to bury the bodies for several days. The physicians of the city, though they remained heroically at their posts, and labored indefatigably in their exertions to stay the plague, were powerless against it, and several of them were taken sick and died. Few had any hope of checking the fever, and every one looked forward with eagerness to the approach of the season of frosts, as the only means of saving those that remained in the stricken city.

At the outset of the disease, Dr. Rush had treated it in the same manner as that adopted by the medical faculty of the city; but the ill success which attended this course soon satisfied him that the treatment was wrong. He therefore undertook to subdue it by purging and bleeding the patient, and succeeded. The new practice met with the fiercest opposition from the other physicians, but Rush could triumphantly point to the fact that while their patients were dying his were getting well; and he continued to carry out his treatment with firmness and success. Dr. Ramsey, of South Carolina, estimates that Rush, by this treatment, saved not less than six thousand of his patients from death in the "hundred days." Nevertheless, the medical war went on with great bitterness, and the opposition to Rush became furious when he boldly declared that the fever was not an importation from abroad, as was popularly believed, but had been generated by the filthy condition of the city during the early part of the summer. Some time after the fever had subsided, a paper called "Peter Porcupine's Gazette," edited by William Cobbett, made a series of outrageous attacks upon Dr. Rush and his treatment of the fever. This exhausted the forbearance of the doctor, and he instituted a suit against Cobbett, in which he was successful, and secured a verdict of $5,000 damages against his defamer.

During the prevalence of the fever, Dr. Rush's labors were unceasing. He was constantly going his rounds, visiting the sick, attending sometimes over one hundred patients in a single day. He was called on at all hours of the day and night, and it may be said that he scarcely slept or enjoyed two hours, uninterrupted rest during the "hundred days."