one day of her engagement the receipts at a matinee and an evening
performance amounted together to the large sum of $7000.

The visit to Boston was made memorable to Mary Anderson by her
introduction to Longfellow. About a week after she had opened, a friend of
the poet's came to her with a request that she would pay him a visit at
his pretty house in the suburbs of Boston, Longfellow being indisposed at
the time, and confined to his quaint old study, overlooking the waters of
the sluggish Charles, and the scenery made immortal in his verse. Here was
commenced a warm friendship between the beautiful young artist and the
aged poet, which continued unbroken to the day of his death. He was seated
when she entered, in a richly-carved chair, of which Longfellow told her
this charming story. The "spreading chestnut tree," immortalized in "The
Village Blacksmith," happened to stand in an outlying village near Boston,
somewhat inconveniently for the public traffic at some cross roads. It
became necessary to cut it down, and remove the forge beneath. But the
village fathers did not venture to proceed to an act which they regarded
as something like sacrilege, without consulting Longfellow. At their
request he paid a visit of farewell to the spot, and sanctioned what was
proposed. Not long after, a handsomely carved chair was forwarded to him,
made from the wood of the "spreading chestnut tree," and which bore an
inscription commemorative of the circumstances under which it was given.
Few of his possessions were dearer to Longfellow than this dumb memento
how deeply his poetry had sunk into the national heart of his countrymen.
It stood in the chimney corner of his study, and till the day of his death
was always his favorite seat.

The verdict of Longfellow upon Mary Anderson is worth that of a legion of
newspaper critics, and his judgment of her Juliet deserves to be recorded
in letters of gold. The morning after her benefit, he said to her, "I have