ofoundly shocked by this melancholy occurrence, and it is said
that he never fully recovered from its effects upon him. His melancholy
seemed to deepen, and though his friends exerted themselves to cheer
him, he seemed to feel that his end was near. Ex-President Pierce,
hoping to rouse him from his sad thoughts, induced him to accompany him
on an excursion to the White Mountains. Upon reaching Plymouth, which
they took on their route, they stopped at the Pemigewasset House for the
night. Mr. Pierce was so full of anxiety concerning his friend, who had
been quieter and sadder than usual that day, that he went softly into
his room in the middle of the night to look after him. Hawthorne was
lying very still, and seemed to be sleeping sweetly. Mr. Pierce stole
softly away, fearing to disturb him. In the morning he went back to
rouse his friend, and found him lying lifeless in the position he had
noticed in the night. He had been dead some hours.

The announcement of Hawthorne's death caused a feeling of deep sadness
in all parts of the Union. His body was taken to Concord for burial, and
was accompanied to the grave by the best and most gifted of the land, to
each of whom he had endeared himself in life.

X.

ACTORS.

CHAPTER XXXV.

EDWIN BOOTH.

There are many persons who remember the elder Booth, the "Great Booth,"
as he was called, in his palmy days, when the bare announcement of his
name was sufficient to cram our old-fashioned theaters from pit to dome.
He was sublime in the stormy passions which he delineated, and never
failed to draw down from the gods of the gallery the uproarious yells
with which they testify their approval; even the more dignified
occupants of the boxes found themselves breaking into outbursts of
applause which they were powerless to restrain. He was a favorite with
all classes, and a deserved one, and the lovers of the drama looked
forward with genuine regret to the period when he should be no longer
with them. They felt that the glories of the stage would pass away with
him. It was in vain that they were told that he had sons destined to the
same profession. They shook their heads, and said it was impossible that
the mantle of the great tragedian should rest upon any of his sons, for
it was then, as now, a popular belief that great men never have great
children. How very much these good people were mistaken we will see in
the progress of this chapter.

One of these sons wa