. The life and art of Edwin Booth and his contemporaries . d nearer, the musketry rattles all around, thescurrying Sepoys swarm in before the hurrying High-land bayonets flashing all about, all is tumult, triumph,thanksgiving ; in the midst, rapt and radiant, standsJessie Brown, fixed fast forever in our fancy so. Benjamin Ellis Martin. Among the reminiscences of the past twenty yearsfew figures present themselves as more lovely, delicateand gifted than that of Agnes Robertson—Mrs. Bouci-cault. She was a genre picture, so small, gentil, prettyand acceptable. I first remember her in Effie Deans
. The life and art of Edwin Booth and his contemporaries . d nearer, the musketry rattles all around, thescurrying Sepoys swarm in before the hurrying High-land bayonets flashing all about, all is tumult, triumph,thanksgiving ; in the midst, rapt and radiant, standsJessie Brown, fixed fast forever in our fancy so. Benjamin Ellis Martin. Among the reminiscences of the past twenty yearsfew figures present themselves as more lovely, delicateand gifted than that of Agnes Robertson—Mrs. Bouci-cault. She was a genre picture, so small, gentil, prettyand acceptable. I first remember her in Effie Deans, Ithink, a profoundly affecting and impressive bit ofacting. Then in many pieces where she danced, sang,and performed variety parts. She had the prettiestof ballad voices, was always unaffected in the use ofit. She never condescended to the trill or cadenza,but sang her song through serenely, and according tothe text. A bird would not give his native wood-notes wild more charmingly than she did. HerSmike was a terribly tearful thing ; I never liked to. AGNES R. BOUCICAULT. MR. AND MRS. DION BOUCICAULT. 87 see it; it haunted me; but her Jessie Brown, in the* Siege of Lucknow (I am not sure about my names,but I remember the thing), was most beautiful. I seenow the pretty little figure, the big foot and ankle, thedelicate little head with a plaid shawl thrown over it,as weakened by starvation, the Scotch girl, with hersecond sight, and her preternaturally sharpened senses,hears the sound of the pibroch. Then comes up avery pretty piece in which she and Mr. Boucicaultplayed beautifully, called Pauvrette. The scene laidin Switzerland, the scenery beautiful. The ava-lanche— that thunderbolt of snow, was admirablymanaged. The young couple are snowed up for thewinter, and the wild storm that raged was not greaterthan the excitement which prevailed in the hearts ofthe audience as to their probable fate. I believe itwas supposed that they finally escaped. M. E. W. Sherwood, in the N
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidlifeartofedw, bookyear1906
