have stood in
the presence of this superb and magnetic actor without being indelibly
impressed with the scene. His son, Edwin, was then just born. We first
met when he was a handsome youth of sixteen. A lithe and graceful
figure, buoyant in spirits, and with the loveliest eyes I ever looked
upon. We were friends from the first, and it is a comfort to me to know
that our friendship lasted nearly half a century, unbroken by a single
act or word. His early performances upon the stage did not give much
promise, and there were grave fears that he had not inherited the genius
of his father. But after the death of that father young Booth's friends
and the public were suddenly startled by the news from across the
Continent that a new star had arisen, not in the East, but in the West,
and was wending its way homeward.

In 1854 I became the stage manager for Henry C. Jarrett in Baltimore.
That gentleman is a member of our Club and now stands before me. He one
day brought a young girl who had been given to his care and placed her
in mine--a beautiful child, but fifteen years of age. Her family, a most
estimable one, had met with some reverse, and she had decided to go upon
the stage to relieve them from the burden of her support, and possibly
to contribute to the comfort of her father. This loving duty she
faithfully performed. She lived in my family as the companion of my wife
for three years, and during that time became one of the leading
actresses of the stage. One morning I said to her: "To-morrow you are to
rehearse Juliet to the Romeo of our new and rising young tragedian." At
this distance I can scarcely say whether I had or had not a premonition
of the future, but I knew at the conclusion of that rehearsal that Edwin
Booth and Mary Devlin would soon be man and wife; and so it came about,
for at the end of the week he came to me in the green-room, with his
affianced bride by the hand, and with a quaint smile they fell upon
their knees in a mock-heroic manner, as though acting a scene in the
play, and said: "Father, your blessing," to which I replied in the same
mock-heroic vein, extending my hands like the old Friar: "Bless you, my
children!" Shortly they were married. We know that his life was filled
with histrionic triumphs and domestic bereavements.

May I not speak here of this gift of the Players? It is comparatively
easy for those who are rocked in a golden cradle, and who at their birth
are endowed with great wealth