had been long in his mind, and careful directions were drawn
up for its practical working; but the trustees found themselves
powerless to realize fully the hopes and wishes of the testator. A
settlement had to be made to the divorced wife, who acted liberally
toward the estate; but the amount withdrawn seriously crippled it, as
it was deprived at once of a large sum of ready money. Other legal
difficulties arose. And thus the great ambition of the tragedian to be
a benefactor to his profession was destined to come almost to naught.
Of this happily little he recks now. He has parted with all the cares
of life, and has at last found rest.

Forrest's greatest Shakespearean parts were Lear, Othello, and
Coriolanus. The first grew mellow and rich as the actor grew in years,
while it still retained much of its earlier force. His Othello
suffered with the decline of his faculties, although his clear
conception of all he did was apparent to the end in the acting of
every one of his parts. Coriolanus died with him, the last of all the
Romans. He was greatest, however, in such parts as Virginius, William
Tell, and Spartacus. Here his mannerisms of gait and utterance were
less noticeable than in his Shakespearean characters, or were
overlooked in the rugged massiveness of the creation. Hamlet, Richard,
and Macbeth were out of his temperament, and added nothing to his
fame; but Richelieu is said to have been one of his noblest and most
impressive performances. He was in all things marked and distinctive.
His obtrusive personality often destroyed the harmony of the portrait
he was painting; but in his inspired moments, which were many, his
touches were sublime. He passed over quiet scenes with little
elaboration, and dwelt strongly upon the grand features of the
characters he represented. His Lear, in the great scenes, rose to a
majestic height, but fell in places almost to mediocrity. His art was
unequal to his natural gifts. He was totally unlike his great
contemporary and rival, Macready, whose attention to detail gave to
every performance the harmony of perfect work.

This memoir may fitly close with an illustrative anecdote of the great
actor. Toward the end of his professional career he was playing an
engagement at St. Louis. He was very feeble in health, and his
lameness was a source of great anxiety to him. Sitting at a late
supper in his hotel one evening, after a performance of "King Lear,"
with his friend J. B. McCullo