"Ladies and gentlemen, for this warm peal of hands and hearts I have only strength in my present exhausted state to say, I thank you. It convinces me that neither time nor distance has been able to alienate from me your kind regards. I am unable to speak what I wish; but I can sincerely say that you make me proud this evening. And the remembrance of the cordial greeting, after no common absence, given me here in this city of my birth and my affection, will go down with me to my latest hour as one of the happiest scenes of my professional life."
A similar reception, only, if possible, still more flattering in the vastness of the throng and the fervor of the tributes, awaited him in New York. Box tickets were sold at auction for twenty-five dollars each,—a fact to which there had not at that time been anything like a parallel known in this country. For his six performances he received three thousand dollars, and the profit of the manager was estimated at six thousand dollars. The public greeted his strong points with a warmth which seemed to show that their admiration had grown during his absence, and the critics spoke of an evident improvement in his acting,—that it was less boisterous and more thoughtful than formerly. Called out at the conclusion of the play, Othello, on the occasion of his farewell, he alluded with deep emotions to the night, some ten years before, when he had made his first appearance before a New York audience. Then, a mere youth, just emerging from severe hardships, and still oppressed by poverty and a dark prospect, with scarcely a friend, he had tremblingly ventured to enact the part of Othello for the benefit of a distressed brother-actor. The generous approbation then given him had lent a new zeal to his ambition and a new strength to his motives. From that hour his course had been one of unbroken prosperity, for which he desired to return his most heartfelt thanks to his countrymen, and to assure them that he would do his best not to dishonor them in the mother-country, to which he was then bound. "I shall carry with me," he added, "an indelible remembrance of your kindness; and I hope that the recollection will be mutual, so that I may say, with the divine Shakspeare,—
'Our separation so abides and flies
That yon, remaining here, yet go with me,
And I, hence fleeting, still remain with you.'"
The audience responded to his speech with tempestuous huzzas, and he withdrew, carrying this flattering scene fresh in his memory as he set sail for his courageous enterprise on the other side of the sea.
It was a courageous and somewhat ominous adventure. For it is to be remembered that the relationships of England and the United States were very different in 1836 from what they are in our day. The memories of the Revolutionary war and of the war of 1812 were still keen and bitter; and the feelings of intellectual inferiority and literary vassalage to the mother-country among the Americans engendered a sense of wounded pride or irritable jealousy excessively sensitive to British criticism, which, on the other hand, was generally marked by a tone of complacent arrogance or condescending patronage. No American actor, at least none of any note, had yet appeared on the boards in England. All such international favors were on the other side,—and they had been most numerous and long-continued. The illustrious Cooper, an Englishman by birth and education, though so long domesticated in this country both as citizen and actor as to be almost considered an American, had been ignominiously hooted down on the most famous stage in London amidst opprobrious cries of "Away with the Yankee! Send him back!" What reception now would be vouchsafed to an American tragedian, fresh from nature and the woods of the West, and all untrained in the methods of the schools, who should dare essay to rival the glorious traditions of old Drury Lane within her own walls?—this was a question which caused many wise heads to shake with misgivings, and might well have deterred any less fearless spirit than that of Forrest from putting it to the test. But he believed, obvious as the antipathies and jealousies between the two countries were, that the fellow-feeling and the love of fair play were far stronger. In a speech delivered in his native city the evening before his departure, he expressed himself thus:
"The engagement which I am about to fulfil in London was not of my seeking. While I was in England I was repeatedly importuned with solicitations, and the most liberal offers were made to me. I finally consented, not for my own sake, for my ambition is satisfied with the applauses of my own countrymen, but partly in compliance with the wishes of a number of American friends, and partly to solve a doubt which is entertained by many of our citizens, whether Englishmen would receive an American actor with the same favor which is here extended to them. This doubt, so far as I have had an opportunity of judging, is, I think, without foundation. During my residence in England, I found among the English people the most unbounded hospitality, and the warmest affection for my beloved country and her institutions. With this impression, I have resolved to present to them an American tragedy, supported by the humble efforts of the individual who stands before you. If I fail—I fail. But, whatever may be the result, the approbation of that public which first stamped the native dramatist and actor will ever be my proudest recollection."
Of all the friends to whom Forrest bade adieu, not one beside was so dear to him as Leggett. The heart-ties between them had been multiplied, enriched, and tightened by unwearied mutual acts of kindness and service, and a thousand congenial interchanges of soul in intimate hours when the world was shut out and their bosoms were opened to each other without disguise or reserve. The letter here added speaks for itself: