nobles and the weak King had assembled to defy the power of the Cardinal; and Richelieu launches (as Booth always did with thrilling effect) the terrifying curse of Rome--a superb bit of oratorical eloquence. At the conclusion, the house shouted its wild and demonstrative approval, and when the curtain dropped on this uproar for the last time, Booth approached Hutton at the prompter's entrance saying, in his usual quiet voice: "Is the pipe still going, Larry?" No actor we have ever known has inspired so much genuine affection--I may say almost idolatry--as the simple Edwin Booth aroused in the hearts of his friends and his fellow-workers. In the beautiful Players' Club House, which he bequeathed to the dramatic profession, he presented also his own valuable theatrical library, numbering several thousand memorable works on the stage; and no one event greater than this gift to his fellow-players has ever occurred in the dramatic profession. [signed]Daniel Frohman God of My Faith A Play for Pacifists in One Act "If the God of my faith be a liar Who is it that I shall trust?" The People in the Play Nelson Dartrey Dermod Gilruth The action passes in Dartrey's Chambers in the late Spring of Nineteen Hundred and Fifteen. (The lowering of the Curtain momentarily will denote the passing of several days.) God of My Faith The curtain discloses a dark oak room NELSON DARTREY is seated at a writing table studying maps. He is a man in the early thirties, prematurely worn and old. His face is burned a deep brick color and is sharpened by fatigue and loss of blood. His hair is sparse, dry and turning gray. Around the upper part of his head is a bandage covered largely by a black skull-cap. Of over average height the man is spare and muscular. The eye is keen and penetrating: his voice abrupt and authoritative. An occasional flash of humor brings an old-time twinkle to the one and heartiness to the other. He is wearing the undress uniform of a major in the British army. The door bell rings. With an impatient ejaculation he goes into the passage and opens the outer door. Standing outside cheerfully humming a tune is a large, forceful, breezy young man of twenty-eight. He is DERMOD GILRUTH. Splendid in physique, charming of manner, his slightly-marked Dublin accent lends a piquancy to his conversation. He has all the ease and poise of a traveled, polished young man of breeding. Dartrey's face brightens as he holds out a welcoming hand. DARTREY Hello, Gil. GILRUTH (Saluting him as he laughs genially) May I come into officers' quarters? DARTREY I'm glad to have you. I'm quite alone with yours on my hands. (He brings Gilruth into the room and wheels a comfortable leather arm chair in front of him) Sit down. GILRUTH Indeed I will not. Look at your desk there. I'll not interrupt your geography for more than a minute. DARTREY