en thee 'every inch a king.'"

Darrel spoke to the second period in that passage of Lear, the
majesty and despair of the old king in voice and gesture. The
words were afire with feeling as they came off his tongue, and all
looked at him with surprise.

"Ah, you have seen me play it," said the stranger. "There's no
other Lear that declares himself with that gesture."

"It is Edwin Forrest," said Darrel, as the stranger offered his
hand.

"The same, and at your service," the great actor replied. "And may
I ask who are you?"

"Roderick Darrel, son of a wheelwright on the river Bann, once a
fellow of infinite jest, believe me, but now, alas! like the skull
o' Yorick in the churchyard."

"The churchyard'" said Forrest, thoughtfully. "That to me is the
saddest of all scenes. When it's over and I leave the stage, it is
to carry with me an awe-inspiring thought of the end which is
coming to all."

He crumbled a lump of clay in his palm.

"Dust!" he whispered, scattering it in the air.

"Think ye the dust is dead? Nay, man; a mighty power is in it,"
said Darrel. "Let us imagine thee dead an' turned to clay. Leave
the clay to its own law, sor, an' it begins to cleanse an' purge
itself. Its aim is purity, an' it never wearies. Could I live
long enough, an' it were under me eye, I'd see the clay bleaching
white with a wonderful purity. Then, slowly, it would begin to
come clear, an' by an' by it would be clearer an' lovelier than a
drop o' dew at sunrise. Lo and behold! the clay has become a
sapphire. So, sor, in the waters o' time God washes the great
world. In every grain o' dust the law is written, an' I may read
the destiny o' the nobler part in the fate o' the meaner.

"'Imperious Forrest, dead an' turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep despair away.'"

"Delightful and happy man! I must know you better," said the great
tragedian. "May I ask, sir, what is your calling?"

"I, sor, am a tinker o' clocks."

"A tinker of clocks!" said the other, looking at him thoughtfully.
"I should think it poorly suited to your talents."

"Not so. I've only a talent for happiness an' good company."

"And you find good company here?"

"Yes; bards, prophets, an' honest men. They're everywhere."

"Tell me," said Forrest, "were you not some time a player?"

"Player of many parts, but all in God's drama--fool, servant of a
rich man, cobbler, clock tinker, all in the coat of a poor man. Me
health faile