appeared.

The burning of the Park Theatre in 1848 left Burton without a rival. The Olympic was of the past; Forrest thundered at the Broadway; Wallack's and Daly's were yet to be. It was not long before the public discovered the genius that presided in Chambers Street, and recognized the unusual excellence which characterized the performances. The location was favorable for Brooklyn people, and from first to last the theatre enjoyed a monopoly of their patronage. "For several years," says Ireland, "Burton's Theatre was the resort of the most intelligent class of pleasure-seekers, and there beauty, wit, and fashion, loved to congregate, without the formality or etiquette of attire once deemed necessary at the Park." Its fame was really phenomenal. Leaping metropolitan bounds, it spread to distant states and neighborhoods, and became, one might almost say, a familiar and welcome contribution to the social and intellectual communion of the time. For a stranger to come to New York in those days and omit to visit Burton's, would imply an obtuseness so forlorn, or an indifference so stolid, that in the one case he would be an object of compassion, and in the other a grave offender of public sentiment. But in all probability he looked forward during his journey city-ward to his evening in those halls of Momus; and we may be certain that the