Forrest kept up the semblance of imbecility, the shambling gait, the dull eyes and vacant face, the sloppy, irresolute gestures, the apparent forgetfulness, with the closest truth. He had for years studied the traits and phases of these poor beings in visits to lunatic-asylums. But in the depicting of the fool there was some obvious unfitness of his heavy bearing, noble voice, and native majesty to the shallow and broken qualities of such a character. It did not appear quite spontaneous or natural. He clearly had to act it by will and effort. Yet there was a sort of propriety even in this, as the part was professedly an assumed and pretended one. But when he cast off the vile cloud of idiocy and broke forth in his own patrician person, the effect of the foregone foil was manifest, and the new and perfect picture stood in luminous relief. When Claudius and Aruns had been badgering him, and had received some such pointed repartees as a fool will seem now and then to hit on by chance, as they went out he followed them with a look of superb contempt, and said, in an intonation of intense scorn wonderfully effective,-- "Yet, 'tis not that which ruffles me,--the gibes And scornful mockeries of ill-governed youth,-- Or flouts of dastard sycophants and jesters,-- Reptiles, who lay their bellies on the dust Before the frown of majesty!" And the house was always electrified by the sudden transformation with which then, passing from the words, "All this I but expect, nor grudge to bear; the face I carry, courts it!" he towered into prouder dimensions, and, as one inspired, delivered himself in an outbreak of declamatory grandeur: "Son of Marcus Junius! When will the tedious gods permit thy soul To walk abroad in her own majesty, And throw this visor of thy madness from thee, To avenge my father's and my brother's murder? Had this been all, a thousand opportunities I've had to strike the blow--and my own life I had not valued at a rush.--But still-- There's something nobler to be done!--My soul, Enjoy the strong conception! Oh! 'tis glorious To free a groaning country,-- To see Revenge Spring like a lion from the den, and tear These hunters of mankind! Grant but the time, Grant but the moment, gods! If I am wanting, May I drag out this idiot-feignéd life To late old age, and may posterity Ne'er hear of Junius but as Tarquin's fool!"