Sometimes, as an artist is lifting the curtain to expose his picture to view, with the removal of the first corner of drapery the connoisseur catches a glimpse of an exquisite bit of drawing and color which convinces him that the entire work is a great and beautiful one. When Forrest made his entrance in Virginius, with an irritated and impetuous air, the earliest sound of his voice, so deep and resonant, coining and propelling its words in air with such easy and percussive precision, seized the attention of the auditory and gave assurance that something uncommon was to come. With a quick articulation and an expostulating tone he said, "Why did you make him Decemvir, and first Decemvir, too?" He refers to the shameless Appius Claudius, and the key-note of the play is struck by his inflection of the words. He is not displeased on seeing reason for suspecting that his daughter--an only and idolized child left him by his dead wife--is in love with the noble young Lucius Icilius, for whom he has an excellent liking. He sends for Virginia, who is still a schoolgirl, that he may question her. She comes in, and sits upon his knee, saying, "Well, father, what is your will?" At the sight of her his face lights as if a sunbeam had suddenly fallen on it, and his voice has a sweet, low, half-smothered tone, as if the words were spoken in his heart, and only their softened echoes came forth: "_Virginius._ I wished to see you, To ask you of your tasks,--how they go on,-- And what your masters say of you,--what last You did. I hope you never play The truant? _Virginia._ The truant! No, indeed, Virginius. _Virginius._ I am sure you do not. Kiss me! _Virginia._ Oh! my father, I am so happy when you are kind to me! _Virginius._ You are so happy when I'm kind to you! Am I not always kind? I never spoke An angry word to you in all my life, Virginia! You are happy when I'm kind! That's strange; and makes me think you have some reason To fear I may be otherwise than kind." The parental tenderness of his manner, his speech, his kiss, seemed to combine the love of a father and a mother in one. His hand meanwhile was playing with her tresses in a way suggestive of unpurposed instinctive fondness, exquisitely touching. The transition was perfect when, meeting Icilius, after scrutinizing him earnestly, as though to read his very soul, the rough soldier and honest man succeeds to the adoring father: "Icilius! Thou seest this hand? It is a Roman's, boy; 'Tis sworn to liberty,--it is the friend, Of honor. Dost thou think so? _Icilius._ Do I think Virginius owns that hand? _Virginius._ Then you'll believe It has an oath deadly to tyranny, And is the foe of falsehood! By the gods, Knew it the lurking-place of treason, though It were a brother's heart, 'twould drag the caitiff Forth. Dar'st thou take this hand?"