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land until the ensuing summer, as the change of climate would inevitably prove injurious to my health. Other wishes referred to the care and education of the little Greys, now wholly left under my charge. Other requests are not of a nature to be mentioned here; every one was dictated with a view to promote my welfare. If any desire has remained uncomplied with, it is because the fulfilment was not possible.

The third letter was a farewell, written with deep emotion; the outpouring of a loving and exalted spirit; a letter full of thankfulness, full of tenderness; gratefully reviewing the past, and assuring me of his preparation for the future. The rocks of doubt, upon which he had once been stranded, had melted in the broad and living waters of Truth, whose waves dance upon the shores of a glorious eternity. That farewell letter belongs, perhaps, to these memoirs, which are written at his request. I have read the valued document again and again before I could come to a decision on this point. Although I have allowed it to be perused by many friends, I feel its language too sacred to be recorded where cold and worldly eyes have the right to read. I may be wrong in this conclusion; but I yield to an instinct which I have not strength to overcome.

I passed six weeks at the residences of various friends, and then prepared to resume my profession. Compliance with Mr. Mowatt's last wishes compelled me to remain in England until summer commenced. London was now full of distressing associations; I therefore made engagements for a tour in the provinces, to occupy the months which must pass before I could return to my own country, my own family. I travelled from city to city, accompanied only by Mrs. Renshaw,

remaining a few weeks in each town, and acting every night; if that could be called acting which was but a soulless imitation of my former stage imbodiments. I could only coldly copy what I had done spontaneously in more inspired moments. I lost, for the time being, all power of original personation.

We visited Newcastle, Leeds, Hull, Sheffield, Manchester, Liverpool. The gentlemanlike conduct of Mr. Davis caused me to return to Newcastle and fulfil the engagement which had been so painfully broken in upon. I would gladly have avoided that city; but I felt bound to secure him against loss. Newcastle was, consequently, the first town in which I reappeared.

In Manchester I acted in the very theatre where I had made my first English début but under what different circumstances! As I sat alone at the manager's table, through the long dreary rehearsals, the incidents of the past four years, many and many a time, passed in visionary review before me.

My intercourse with the Rev. Mr. Smithson and his wife was renewed. Highly prized their friendship had been years before; but it was at this period an inestimable boon.

During my engagement in Liverpool I was supported by Mr. Barry Sullivan, one of the most gifted performers on the English stage. Armand was produced in every city, and always with success. In Liverpool Mr. Davenport enacted his original part on my benefit night. The managers of the Haymarket Theatre accorded him this privilege for one evening only. He arrived in Liverpool where he is a great favorite —in time for the performance, and left the next morning to act in London at night.

MEMOIR BY BAYLE BERNARD.

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It is somewhat strange, that, in spite of the sad events related in this and the several previous chapters, I left England with the reputation of a comic rather than a tragic actress; so little may the public and private history of an actor be in accordance. Just before my departure, a memoir of me was written by Bayle Bernard, author of the Broken Heart, the Passing Cloud, &c., which concludes with the following paragraph:

"While Mrs. Mowatt has a tenderness and pathos that render her Imogen and Viola scarcely equalled in our memory, there is such an entire adaptation of her whole person, look, and spirit to the blander sphere of comedy, that we cannot but feel it is her true one. It is marked by an enjoyment that shows at once it is most natural to her, however her tears and gentleness may charm us to the contrary. But her comedy has its distinction we think it peculiarly Shakspearian, owing to that thrill of poetic feeling which winds through all its passages. That mixed exposition of the ideal and the true, which stamps all Shakspeare's writings as the profoundest insight into man, receives the happiest illustration in the genius of Mrs. Mowatt. Sensibility and mirth are ever neighbors to each other; and our fair artist well interprets what our best poet has so well divined. In the comedy of modern life she has unquestionable merits; but if it impress us the less forcibly, it is on account of its lower grade, which limits expression. It is in Beatrice and Rosalind that she must be witnessed to be esteemed; equalled by some in art, and surpassed in force by many, she alone has that poetic fervor which imparts to them their truth, and makes our laughter ever ready to tremble into tears."

During my engagement in Liverpool I was joined by Mr. Sh, a valued brother-in-law, who had just arrived from America. I passed a few weeks in London, bidding adieu to cherished friends, and, under my brother-in-law's protection, set sail for America, accompanied by Mrs. Renshaw. We embarked on the 9th July, 1851, in the steamship Pacific, commanded by Captain Nye.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Accident on board of the Steamship Pacific.— Midnight Scene in the Cabin. — Arrival in New York. - Adventurous Night Journey to Ravenswood. Rousing the Slumberers. -- Meetings in the dark. Our second Mother. The general Home. - Reunion of the ten Sisters. -A Christening. - Engagement at Niblo's Theatre. -Acting and its Necessities. - Anecdote of Mr. Macready. — Mademoiselle Mars.-Conversation with Planché, the Dramatist.— His Advice. Professor Hows. Dramatic Studies. - Engagement at Boston, Providence, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cincinnati, and St. Louis. - Letter from His Honor the Mayor of St. Louis, J. M. Kenneth. Complimentary Benefit declined. - Proposed Christmas Festivities in Philadelphia. — A Family Gathering.

OUR voyage, of thirteen days' duration, was not accomplished entirely without accident. About two o'clock, one morning, a terrible crash suddenly dispelled the dreams of every slumberer. The sound was three times repeated, and the ship quivered and groaned as though her timbers were being rent asunder. Immediately afterwards all motion ceased she had been arrested in her course. Then came the noise of hurrying feet and indistinct ejaculations of horror, and a general rushing of the ladies into the cabin, and of the gentlemen to the deck. Mrs. Renshaw opened our state-room door to inquire what had happened. A terrified stewardess answered, as she flew by, "O, dear! I don't know. But the ladies had better dress - I am afraid we are going down!"

Silently and rapidly we made our toilets and joined

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the group in the cabin. It was a strange sight that crowd of bewildered faces just startled from sleep, and stranger the odd toilets, the bonnets hurried on over nightcaps, the half-dishevelled hair, the not-to-be-described mingling of night and day costumes. In spite of the white terror that spread itself over many a countenance, every lady present maintained a quiet bearing; while some of the braver sex (so it was reported) rushing frantically to the deck, attempted to cut loose the lifeboats, in the hope of saving themselves. The captain was forced to station several of the crew where they could prevent this act of madness.

It was full half an hour before intelligence was brought below of the precise nature of the accident. During this period the steamer lay perfectly still. We then learned that in backing suddenly from a dangerous approach to certain rocks, upon which she would inevitably have been wrecked, one of the engines had been shivered to pieces. Its instantaneous dismemberment had occasioned the convulsive quivering of the vessel and the thunder-like reports. There was no longer any danger. The larger portion of the passengers returned quietly to their berths. Some few could not recover from the excitement, and remained watch ing. We were amongst the former. After a few hours the Pacific proceeded on her course with but one engine. We had already made (if I remember rightly) two thirds of the voyage.

On the thirteenth night, at about eleven o'clock, we reached New York. It would have been wise, perhaps, to have remained on board until daylight; but my brother-in-law and I could not make up our minds to the delay. We were too impatient to behold the be