ried in my eyes by the sight of a familiar light-gray suit
slipping along close to the houses on the other side of the way.
Petulant, irritable, loyal-hearted boy! he had safe-guarded me both those
nights when I thought I was alone! My heart was warm with gratitude
toward him, and when I reached my gate, and passed inside, I called
across the street: "Thank you, Frank! Good-night!"

And he laughed and answered: "Good-night, Mignonne!"

And so it came about that Frank's wooing, being of the strict and stately
order, I gradually came to be Miss Morris to others beside himself. I saw
my advance in dignity, and if I did not love him I gave him profound
gratitude, and we were true friends his short and honorable life
through.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

Mr. Wilkes Booth comes to us, the whole Sex Loves him--Mr. Ellsler
Compares him to his Great Father--Our Grief and Horror over the Awful
Tragedy at Washington.

In glancing back over those two crowded and busy seasons one figure
stands out with such clearness and beauty that I cannot resist the
impulse to speak of him, rather than of my own inconsequential self. In
his case only (so far as my personal knowledge goes) there was nothing
derogatory to dignity or to manhood in being called beautiful, for he was
that bud of splendid promise, blasted to the core before its full
triumphant blooming--known to the world as a madman and an assassin--but
to the profession as "that unhappy boy," John Wilkes Booth.

He was so young, so bright, so gay, so kind. I could not have known him
well. Of course, too, there are two or three different people in every
man's skin, yet when we remember that stars are not generally in the
habit of showing their brightest, their best side to the company at
rehearsal, we cannot help feeling both respect and liking for the one who
does.

There are not many men who can receive a gash over the eye in a scene at
night without at least a momentary outburst of temper, but when the
combat between _Richard_ and _Richmond_ was being rehearsed, Mr. Booth
had again and again urged Mr. McCollom (that six-foot tall and handsome
leading man, who entrusted me with the care of his watch during such
encounters) to "Come on hard! Come on hot! Hot, old fellow!
Harder--faster!" He'd take the chance of a blow, if only they could make
a hot fight of it.

And Mr. McCollom, who was a cold man, at night became nervous in his
effort to act like a fiery one. He forgot he