in their mental pabulum.

At all events, as I watched and listened in the old days, it seemed to me
they were never weary of discussing readings, expressions, emphasis, and
action. One would remark, say at a rehearsal of "Hamlet," that Macready
gave a certain line in this manner, and another would instantly express a
preference for a Forrest--or a Davenport--rendering, and then the
argument would be on, and only a call to the stage would end the weighing
of words, the placing of commas, etc.

I well remember my first step into theatrical controversy. "Macbeth" was
being rehearsed, and the star had just exclaimed: "Hang out our banners
on the outward walls!" That was enough--argument was on. It grew
animated. Some were for: "Hang out our banners! on the outward walls the
cry is still: they come!" while one or two were with the star's reading.

I stood listening and looking on and fairly sizzling with hot desire to
speak, but dared not take the liberty, I stood in such awe of my elders.
Presently the "old-man" turned and, noticing my eagerness, laughingly
said: "Well, what is it, Clara? you'll have a fit if you don't ease your
mind with speech."

"Oh, Uncle Dick," I answered, my words fairly tripping over each other
in my haste. "I have a picture home, I cut it out of a paper, it's a
picture of a great castle, with towers and moats and things, and on the
outer walls there are men with spears and shields, and they seem to be
looking for the enemy, and, Uncle Dick, the _banner_ is floating over the
high tower!"

"Where it ought to be," interpolated the old gentleman, who was English.

"So," I went on, "don't you think it ought to be read: 'Hang out our
banners! on the outward walls'--the outward walls, you know, is where the
lookout are standing--'the cry--is still, they come!'"

A general laugh followed my excited explanation, but Uncle Dick patted me
very kindly on the shoulder, and said: "Good girl! you stick to your
picture--it's right and so are you. Many people read the line that way,
but you have worked it out for yourself, and that's a good plan to
follow."

And I swelled and swelled, it seemed to me, I was so proud of the gentle
old man's approval. But that same night I came quite wofully to grief. I
had been one of the crowd of "witches"; I had also had my place at that
shameless _papier-mache_ banquet given by _Macbeth_ to his tantalized
guests, and then, being off duty, was, as usual, planted in the ent