The other instance is impressive in its teaching. On a cold winter morning he was trundling along the sidewalk a wheelbarrow loaded with articles from the store. A Quaker, very tall and portly, dressed in the richest primness of the costume of his sect, meeting him, ordered him, in a very authoritative tone, to move off into the street. He apologized, expostulating that he was weary, the load was hard for him to carry, the sidewalk was much easier for him, and was amply wide enough for the few people then out. Without another word the sanctimonious old tyrant seized hold of the wheelbarrow, tipped it over into the street, and, pushing the boy aside, walked on. The blood of young Forrest boiled with indignation so that his brain seemed ready to burst. The ground was covered slightly with snow. He sank on his knees on it and tried in vain to pull up a paving-stone, to hurl at his tormentor. Weeping bitterly with baffled rage, he gathered his scattered load together and started on, cursing the cruel injustice to which he had been forced to submit. For years and years after, he said, the association of this outrage was so envenomed in his memory that whenever he saw a Quaker he had to make an effort not instinctively to hate him. Such wrongs as this, inflicted on a sensitive child, often leave scars which rankle through life, permanently embittering and deforming the character. No generous nature but will take the warning, and considerately try to be ever just and kind to the young. In the bearing and effect of early experiences on subsequent character, it is profoundly and even wonderfully true that as the twig is bent the tree is inclined.

The kind friend and patron young Forrest had won by his exhibition at the Tivoli Garden did not forget him, but continued to give him good advice and encouragement. About a year afterwards he introduced him to the managers of the Walnut Street Theatre, Messrs. Wood and Warren. In consequence of this friendly intercession, and of his own promise, he was enabled to make his formal début, on the stage of the Walnut Street Theatre, on the evening of November 27th, 1820, in the character of Norval. His success was decisive. The leading Philadelphia newspaper said, "Of the part of Norval, we must say that it was as uncommon in the performance as it was extraordinary in just conception and exemption from the idea of artifice. We mean that the sentiment of the character obtained such full possession of the youth as to take away in appearance every consideration of an audience or a drama, and to give, as it were, the natural speaking of the shepherd boy suddenly revealed by instinct to be the son of Douglas. We were much surprised at the excellence of his elocution, his self-possession in speech and gesture, and a voice that, without straining, was of such volume and fine tenor as to carry every tone and articulation to the remotest corner of the theatre. We trust that this young gentleman will find the patronage to which his extraordinary ripeness of faculty and his modest deportment entitle him."

It is certainly interesting to find in this, the first criticism of the first regular appearance of Forrest, in the fifteenth year of his age, a distinct indication of his most prominent characteristics throughout his whole histrionic career, namely, his earnest realism, his noble voice, his accurate elocution, and his steady poise. The notice was from the pen of William Duane, of the "Aurora," then one of the ablest and most experienced editors in the country, and afterwards Secretary of the Treasury under General Jackson.

The play was repeated December 2d. December 29th he sustained the part of Frederick, in Lovers' Vows; and January 6th, 1821, he assumed the rôle of Octavian, in The Mountaineers. On the last occasion, which was his benefit, the following notice was published in one of the morning papers: "The very promising youth, Master Forrest, who has appeared twice as Young Norval, and once as Frederick, is to perform Octavian this evening, and the profits of the house are for his benefit. We trust that this modest and promising youth will obtain the notice to which he is certainly well entitled from the lovers of the drama and of native genius."

Though the receipts from these his first four performances were not unusually large, the popular applause and the critical verdict were flattering. The results of the experiment confirmed his bent and fixed his resolution for life.

During this year, that is, before he was fifteen years old, he made another appearance on the stage, under circumstances which show the native boldness and resolution of his character. Without advice or assistance of any kind, he went alone to the proprietors of the Prune Street Theatre and asked them to let it to him on his own account for a single night. The proposition surprised them, but they admired the pluck of the boy so much that they granted his request. He engaged the company to support him, got his brother William to print the bills announcing him in the character of Richard the Third, drew a good house, and came off with a liberal quantity of applause and a small pecuniary gain.

It was at this date, when Forrest was in his fifteenth year, that he, who was destined to inspire so many poems, drew from the prophetic muse of an admirer the first verses ever composed on him. They were written by the Hon. Joseph R. Chandler, one of the most distinguished citizens of Philadelphia, and then editor of the "United States Gazette."

"Turn we from State to view the mimic Stage,

Which gives the form and pressure of the age.

Each season brings its wonders, and each year