It is to man what space is to the orbs,
The medium where he may revolve and shine,
Or, darkened by his vices, fall forever!"
Certainly such a dramatic rôle has ample moral justification in what it is from all fault-finding based on what it is not. The writer and the player might join hands and say, in the language of their own hero,—
"We cannot fail!
The right is with us, God is with the right,
And victory with God."
The performance was no mere strutting piece of empty histrionics, but the carefully-studied and conscientious condensation into three hours of a whole vigorous and effective life, devoted in a spirit of profound justice to the avenging of wrongs and the disinterested service of the needy. And in a world where the lives of most men are absorbed in the gratification of pecuniary greed, sensual desire, or social vanity, such a representation must be ennobling in its legitimate influence. If in any instance its exhibition fed class-hatred or personal ferocity, the blame lay with the spectator, not with the player any more than it is a fault in the sunshine that it makes vinegar sourer. The true moral result of the artistic portrayal of condign punishment is not to cultivate the spirit of vengeance, but to dissuade from that primary infliction of wrong which breeds punishment.
Leggett died in 1838, just as he had received an appointment to Guatemala, a late and reluctant tribute from the triumphant political party of which he was one of the noblest ornaments. He had been too true to the principles of democracy to be popular with the partisan leaders. They feared and disliked him for his incorruptible integrity and his uncompromising devotion to impartial humanity and justice. He perished before he was forty years old, in the midst of his chivalrous warfare against slavery, a sacrifice to his heroic toils and the over-generous fire of his enthusiasm. He had felt, as Forrest said in his Fourth of July Oration, "If in any respect the great experiment which America has been trying before the world has failed to accomplish the true end of government,—the greatest good of the greatest number,—it is only where she herself has proved recreant to the fundamental article of her creed." Accordingly, reckless of his selfish interests, he toiled to reform his party and bring its practice up to its theory. His stern earnestness made enemies and held him back from patronage. Forrest found in him a congenial spirit, and loved him better than a brother. He furnished him first and last in his two literary enterprises, the "Critic" and the "Plaindealer," about fifteen thousand dollars, all of which was lost. After this, when the unfortunate struggler was in extreme pecuniary and mental distress, the two friends one evening were supping together in a private compartment in a restaurant. The gloom, despondency, and haggard air of Leggett alarmed his friend. "Has anything dreadful happened? What is the meaning of this?" said Forrest. "Ah, my good friend," answered Leggett, "it means that I am in absolute despair, and I am going to end the miserable conflict now and here." He snatched the carving-knife from the table and was on the point of thrusting it into his heart, when Forrest seized his arm, exclaiming, "Good God, Leggett, be reasonable, be calm! This is not just to your family or to your friends." "But," replied the unhappy man, "I am overwhelmed with debts: in another week I shall have no roof over my head; and I see no prospect of better days." The actor was deeply moved, and his voice faltered a little. "Come, come," he said, "I have abundance, and am piling up more. Why should you not share in it? I will relieve you of your worst embarrassments with cash; and I have a nice house at New Rochelle, just vacated by its tenant. I will give it to you freely, gladly. You are still a young man; you have great talents and reputation; and there is glorious work for you in the world yet. Come, cheer up, my good fellow." And he took his friend by the arm, and did not leave him until he received from him at his own door a hearty "God bless you, my dear friend, and good-night!"
Forrest kept his word to the amount of about six thousand dollars more. It was an act of impulsive love and aid to a noble man who deserved it, and to whom the giver felt greatly indebted for his ever-faithful friendship and sound counsels and the inspiring example of his character. It was a secret which he never betrayed to the world at all. It is now told for the first time by the biographer, to whom it was reluctantly narrated in the course of those confidential communications which reserved nothing.