ncient friends. We
think that modern acting is quite as true to nature as that of the
school which has passed away, while its accessories are infinitely
richer and more appropriate; and as to the popular judgment, how should
that be on the decline? In America,--where common wealth makes common
entrance, and the lines are not so clearly drawn between the unskilful
many and the judicious few,--managers will always make concessions to
the whim and folly of the hour. But we see no cause for discouragement,
so long as dramas are set forth with the conscientious accuracy that has
marked the latest productions of "Hamlet" and "Richelieu," and while
hushed and delighted audiences, drawn from every condition of society,
leave all meaner performances to hang upon the looks and accents of
Nature's sweet interpreter,--Edwin Booth.

FOOTNOTES:

[D] _Not_ Edwin _Forrest_ Booth, as often and erroneously written. Our
actor, born in November, 1833, derived his middle name from Thomas Flyn,
the English comedian, his father's contemporary and friend. Edwin was
the chosen companion of his father in the latter's tours throughout the
United States, and was regarded by the old actor with a strange mixture
of repulsion and sympathy,--the one evinced in lack of outward affection
and encouragement, the other in a silent but undoubted appreciation of
the son's promise. The boy, in turn, so fully understood the father's
temperament, that a bond existed between the two. Whether to keep Edwin
from the stage, or in caprice, the elder Booth at first rarely permitted
the younger to see him act; but the son, attending the father to the
theatre, would sit in the wings for hours, listening to the play, and
having all its parts so indelibly impressed on him memory as to astonish
his brother-actors in later years.

[E] "Critical Essays on the Performers of the London Theatres, including
General Observations on the Practice and Genius of the Stage. London,
1807." Some publisher would do well to give us a reprint of this noted
collection.

AMONG THE LAURELS.

"The sunset's gorgeous dyes
Paled slowly from the skies,
And the clear heaven was waiting for the stars,
As side by side we strayed
Adown a sylvan glade,
And found our pathway crossed by rustic bars.

Beyond the barrier lay
A green and tempting way,
Arched with fair laurel-trees, a-bloom and tall,--