"The evening arrived, the house was fair only, and his reception was not as warm as his merits deserved. The soliloquy over, then came the scenes with _King Henry_, and breaking loose from all the old orthodox, tie-wig business of the Richards since the days of Garrick down to Joannes, he gave such a rendition of the crook-back tyrant as was never seen before, and perhaps never will be again. Whether it was in the gentle wooing of the _Lady Anne_, the hypocrisy of the king, or the malignant joy at _Buckingham's_ capture down to the fight and death of the tyrant, originality was stamped all over and through the performance. It was a terrible picture, but it had a humorous side one night. At the commencement of the combat, when _Richard_, covered with blood and the dust of the battle-field, crosses swords with _Richmond_, Collier looked defiant and almost seemed to say: 'Now, Mr. Wilkes Booth, you have been frightening everybody to-night, try it on me?' And at the lines where _Richard_ says, 'A dreadful lay; here's to decide it,' the shower of blows came furious from _Richard's_ sword upon the devoted earl's head. Now was Collier's turn, and bravely did he return them; with renewed strength _Richard_ rained blows upon blows so fast that the athletic Jim began to wince--as much as to say, 'How long is this going to last?' Nothing daunted, Collier with both hands clenched his powerful weapon, but it was only a feather upon Booth's sword. Jim was the first to show evidence of exhaustion, and no wonder, nothing could withstand the trip-hammer blows of that _Richard_. Watching for his head's protection, he was too unmindful of his heels, and before he was aware of it, the doughty Jim for once was discomfited--beaten; and lay upon his back in the orchestra, where the maddened Booth had driven him. "The fight over, the curtain descended, but Booth could not rise. Many believed him dead, but no! there was the hard breathing and the glazed, open eye. Could it be possible this was the man who only a few moments before nobody could withstand in his fury; now a limp mass of exhausted nature, his nerves all unstrung, and whom a child might conquer?