nce at one of the regular
theatres in a female character, but with most disastrous results. He
soon outgrew the ignominy of his first failure, however, and again and
again sought to overcome its disgrace by a fresh appearance. To his
appeals the irate manager lent a deaf ear. The sacred portal that
leads to the enchanted ground of the stage was closed against young
Forrest, the warden being instructed not to let the importunate boy
pass the door. At last, in desperation, he resolved to storm the
citadel, to beat down the faithful guard and to carry war into the
enemy's camp. One night he dashed past the astonished guardian of the
stage entrance just as the curtain fell upon one of the acts of a
play. He emerged before the footlights, eluding all pursuit, dressed
as a harlequin, and, before the audience had recovered from its
astonishment at this scene not set down in the bills, the baffled, but
not subdued, aspirant had delivered the lines of an epilogue in rhyme
with so much effect that, before he could be seized by the astounded
stage-manager and hurled from the theatre, he had attracted public
notice, successfully won his surprised audience, and not only secured
immunity from punishment for his temerity, but actually gained that
respect in the manager's estimation which he had so long and so vainly
striven to acquire.

At last Forrest was promised an appearance at the Walnut Street house,
then one of the leading theatres of the country. He selected Young
Norval in Home's tragedy of "Douglas," and on November 27, 1820, the
future master of the American stage, then fourteen years of age--a boy
in years, a man in character--announced as "A Young Gentleman of this
City," surrounded by a group of veteran actors who had for many years
shared the favor of the public, began a career which was as auspicious
at its opening as it was splendid in its maturity. At his entrance he
won the vast audience at once by the grace of his figure and the
modest bearing that was natural to him. Something of that magnetism
which he exercised so effectively in late years now attracted all who
heard him, and made friends even before he spoke.

He was allowed to reappear as Frederick in "Lovers' Vows," repeating
his first success; and on January 8, 1821, he benefited as Octavian in
the "Mountaineers," a play associated with the early glories of Edmund
Kean. In this year, also, he made his first and only venture as a
manager, boldly taking the