aws which created millionaires at the
expense of the poor.

These were days of security and tranquillity, and good friends
thickened. Each week I felt myself in less danger of being obliged to
shingle, though I still had difficulty in clothing myself properly.

Again I saw Booth play his wondrous round of parts and was able to
complete my monograph which I called _The Art of Edwin Booth_. I even
went so far as to send to the great actor the chapter on his _Macbeth_
and received from him grateful acknowledgments, in a charming letter.

A little later I had the great honor of meeting him for a moment and it
happened in this way. The veteran reader, James E. Murdock, was giving a
recital in a small hall on Park Street, and it was privately announced
that Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett would be present. This was enough
to justify me in giving up one of my precious dollars on the chance of
seeing the great tragedian enter the room.

He came in a little late, flushing, timid, apologetic! It seemed to me a
very curious and wonderful thing that this man who had spoken to
millions of people from behind the footlights should be timid as a maid
when confronted by less than two hundred of his worshipful fellow
citizens in a small hall. So gentle and kindly did he seem.

My courage grew, and after the lecture I approached the spot where he
stood, and Mr. Barrett introduced me to him as "the author of the
lecture on _Macbeth_."--Never had I looked into such eyes--deep and dark
and sad--and my tongue failed me miserably. I could not say a word.
Booth smiled with kindly interest and murmured his thanks for my
critique, and I went away, down across the Common in a glow of delight
and admiration.

In the midst of all my other duties I was preparing my brother Franklin
for the stage. Yes, through some mischance, this son of the prairie had
obtained the privilege of studying with a retired "leading lady" who
still occasionally made tours of the "Kerosene Circuit" and who had
agreed to take him out with her, provided he made sufficient progress to
warrant it. It was to prepare him for this trip that I met him three
nights in the week at his office (he was bookkeeper in a cutlery firm)
and there rehearsed _East Lynne_, _Leah the Forsaken_, and _The Lady of
Lyons_.

From seven o'clock until nine I held the book whilst he pranced and
shouted and gesticulated through his lines.

At last, emboldened by his star's praise, he cut loose