if she's not getting hot about it, too!"
Then he came over to me, and in the gravest, gentlest tone said, "It _is_
like Byron, my girl, but it is not him--you found the picture of my
beloved and great father, Edmund Kean," and he kissed me gently on the
forehead, and said, "Thank you--thank you!" and as Mrs. Kean came over
and put her arm about me and repeated the kiss and thanks, Charles
snuffled most distinctly from the corner where he was folding his
precious miniature within a silk handkerchief.

They were both at their very best in the tragedy of "Henry VIII." Mr.
Kean's _Wolsey_ was an impressive piece of work, and to the eye he was as
true a Cardinal as ever shared in an Ecumenical Council in Catholic Rome,
or hastened to private audience at the Vatican with the Pope himself; and
his superb robes, his priestly splendor had nothing about them that was
imitation. Everything was real--the silks, the jewelled cross and ring,
and as to the lace, I gasped for breath with sheer astonishment. Never
had I seen, even in a picture, anything to suggest the exquisite beauty
of that ancient web. Full thirty inches deep, the yellowing wonder fell
over the glowing cardinal-red beneath it. I cannot remember how many
thousands of dollars they had gladly given for it to the sisters of the
tottering old convent in the hills, where it had been created long ago;
and though it seemed so fragily frail and useless a thing, yet had it
proved strong enough to prop up the leaning walls of its old home, and
spread a sound roof above the blessed altar there--so strong sometimes is
beauty's weakness.

And Mrs. Kean, what a _Catherine_ she was! Surely nothing could have been
taken from the part, nothing added to it, without marring its perfection.
In the earlier acts one seemed to catch a glimpse of that Ellen Tree who
had been a beauty as well as a popular actress when Charles Kean had come
a-wooing. Her clear, strong features, her stately bearing were
beautifully suited to the part of _Queen Catherine_. Her performance of
the court scene was a liberal education for any young actress. Her regal
dignity, her pride, her passion of hatred for _Wolsey_ held in strong
leash, yet now and again springing up fiercely. Her address to the _King_
was a delight to the ear, even while it moved one to the heart, and
through the deep humility of her speech one saw, as through a veil, the
stupendous pride of the Spanish princess, who knew herself the daughter