A few memories

30 A FEW MEMORIES
of my little room until morning. The ni passed like an hour. Before the dawn I mapped out a stage career for myself. Thus having had no fixed aim of my own making liking, I had frittered my time away. The realized that my idle life must end, and that in study and severe training would have to be un< taken; this in secret, however, for there was one to go to for sympathy, help, or advice in s a venture. Indignant that all my people 1 in times gone by, looked upon so noble an as harmful, if not sinful, I felt no prick of c science in determining to work out clandestir what seemed to me then my life's mission, was fourteen years of age, inexperienced and educated, but I had not a moment of doubt fear. Mr. Booth's * other performances inte fied my admiration for his art, and strengthei me in my resolution. Who can ever forget Hamlet? Where shall we find another si lago, Richard, Macbeth, Shylock? Surely,
*That charming woman and artist, Helen Faucit (Lady Ma] once told me that, since Macready, few actors had approached Booth in intellectuality, perfect elocution, grace, personal magne or the power of complete identification with his characters. It v great pride to me, an American, that this gifted and severely cr; Englishwoman appreciated so unstintedly our beloved actor.