dy gait, the proud tread of the herculean actor was
forever gone; for he never regained complete control of his limb, a
perceptible hobble being the legacy of the dreadful visitation. His
right hand was almost powerless, and he could not hold his sword.

In 1866 he went to California, urged by the manager in San Francisco.
His last engagement in New York took place in February, 1871. He
played Lear and Richelieu, his two greatest parts. On the night of
March 25, 1872, Forrest opened in "Lear" at the Globe Theatre, Boston.
"Lear" was played six nights. During the second week he was announced
for Richelieu and Virginius; but he caught a violent cold on Sunday,
and labored sorely on Monday evening through the part of Richelieu. On
Tuesday he repeated the performance, against the advice of friends and
physicians. Rare bursts of his old power lighted up the play, but he
labored piteously on against his illness and threatened pneumonia.
When stimulants were offered he rejected them, declaring "that if he
died to-night, he should still be his old royal self."

Announced for Virginius the following evening, he was unable to
appear. A severe attack of pneumonia developed itself. He was carried
to his hotel, and his last engagement was brought to an abrupt and
melancholy end. As soon as he was able to move, he left Boston for his
home in Philadelphia, resting on his way only a day in New York. As
the summer passed away, the desire for work grew stronger and
stronger, and he decided to re-enter public life, but simply as a
reader of the great plays in which he had as an actor been so
successful. The result was a disappointment. On December 11, 1872, he
wrote to Oakes his last letter, saying sadly, but fondly: "God bless
you ever, my dear and much-beloved friend."

When the morning of December 12th came, his servant, hearing no sound
in his chamber at his general hour of rising, became alarmed, opened
his master's door, and found there, cold in death upon his bed, the
form of the great tragedian. His arms were crossed upon his bosom, and
he seemed to be at rest. The stroke had come suddenly. With little
warning, and without pain, he had passed away.

The dead man's will was found to contain several bequests to old
friends and servants, and an elaborate scheme by which his fortune, in
the hands of trustees, was to be applied to the erection and support
of a retreat for aged actors, to be called "The Edwin Forrest Home."
The idea