ary to secure seats a week in
advance.

Mr. Booth is still a young man, being now thirty-seven years old. In
person he is over the medium height, and is well built. His hair is
black and is worn long, and his dark eyes are large and dreamy. His face
is that of a poet, strikingly handsome, with an expression of mingled
sweetness and sadness playing over it. He wears neither beard nor
moustache. He dresses simply and without ornament, and is grave and
retiring in his demeanor. He is exceedingly amiable in disposition, and
is the center of a large circle of devoted friends. He has been married
twice, and has one child, a daughter, by his first wife. He is a man of
irreproachable life, and in every thing a high-toned gentleman, and it
is the high character he bears not less than his genius that has enabled
him to do such honor to his profession. He is very wealthy, and is in a
fair way to become a millionaire.

As an actor Mr. Booth is without an equal. His impersonations are
marked by rare genius and by the most careful study. His Hamlet is
perhaps his most finished part, as his Richelieu is the most popular
with the masses. It has been said that his Hamlet is not Shakespeare's
Hamlet, and this may be true: but it is so exquisite, so perfect, that
whether it be the conception of Shakespeare or Edwin Booth, it is the
most powerful, the most life-like counterfeit of "the melancholy Dane"
ever seen on any stage, and leaves nothing to be desired. His
personation of the grim old cardinal, whose decrepit body is alone
sustained by his indomitable will, is masterly, and we see before us,
not Edwin Booth, the actor of to-day, but the crafty, unscrupulous,
witty, determined prime minister of France, who bends kings and princes
to his will. It is absolutely life-like, and to those who have seen the
portraits of the old cardinal in the museums of France, the accuracy
with which Booth has counterfeited the personal appearance of Richelieu
is positively startling. The plays are so superbly set upon the stage
that we lose sight of the little space they occupy, and seem to be
gazing upon a real world. His Richard has such a strong humanity in it,
that it more than half vindicates the humpbacked tyrant's memory, and
the death scene of this play, as given by Booth, is simply appalling.

It is in vain, however, that we select special characters or attempt
descriptions of them. No one can truly understand Edwin Booth's acting
without seei