fered. He was, in fact, being crowded out of the "dress suit" and the drawing-room drama by the suaver alien to whom evening clothes were not a costume.
In addition, the British actor, playing much of his season in London and never more than a few hundred miles distant from the metropolis, was permitted a home life known to few American players. Thirty years and more ago the native actor spent so large a part of his time on the road, as many as three thousand miles from Broadway, that he could not maintain a home. The Players was to be such.
Parenthetically, our stage to-day is recruited quite as much as the British theater from the schools and the best homes, yet, curiously, the drama has not benefited as largely as might have been expected. Hand these young men and women a side of Shakespeare and they are dumb, but ask them to sing, dance or stand on their head and they oblige instantly and with professional skill.
Booth had reserved a suite on the third floor of the club as a residence, and there he passed the last four years of his life and died June eighth, 1893. Numbers of notable actors continue to be members of The Players, but Booth's
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