invariably take us to a chop-house situated at the end of a
blind alley which lay concealed somewhere in the neighborhood
of Walnut and Third Streets, and where we ate a most wonderful
luncheon of English chops and apple pie. As the luncheon drew
to its close I remember how Richard and I used to fret and
fume while my father in a most leisurely manner used to finish
off his mug of musty ale. But at last the three of us, hand
in hand, my father between us, were walking briskly toward our
happy destination. At that time there were only a few
first-class theatres in Philadelphia--the Arch Street Theatre,
owned by Mrs. John Drew; the Chestnut Street, and the Walnut
Street--all of which had stock companies, but which on the
occasion of a visiting star acted as the supporting company.
These were the days of Booth, Jefferson, Adelaide Neilson,
Charles Fletcher, Lotta, John McCullough, John Sleeper Clark,
and the elder Sothern. And how Richard and I worshipped them
all--not only these but every small-bit actor in every stock
company in town. Indeed, so many favorites of the stage did my
brother and I admire that ordinary frames would not begin to hold
them all, and to overcome this defect we had our bedroom entirely
redecorated. The new scheme called for a gray wallpaper
supported by a maroon dado. At the top of the latter ran two
parallel black picture mouldings between which we could easily
insert cabinet photographs of the actors and actresses which
for the moment we thought most worthy of a place in our
collection. As the room was fairly large and as the mouldings
ran entirely around it, we had plenty of space for even our
very elastic love for the heroes and heroines of the footlights.

Edwin Forrest ended his stage career just before our time, but