Nat Goodwin's Book

imitations of actors and pronounced upon them favorably, "not only for their accuracy," as he put it, but the methods I employed remi

Theatre, Philadelphia. Had he lived he would certainly have made dramatic history for himself. I have only a faint recollection of

geniuses that I have ever met-a master in all matters pertaining to the drama and literature of the theatre. Had he lived I feel ce

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spearean clown

s. His knowledge of painting, drama, music, sculpture, literature, poetry, in fact all the arts, seemed unlimited. As a critic he had a style peculiarly his own, equalled only by Hazlitt, Lamb, Lewes and a few others. He was a graduate of Annapolis and left there with many honors. Very often we would sit in his rooms and he would read me his prose and poetry, which he never a

l engagement and make the acquaintance of the best Shakespearean clown of mod

where I stood, transfixed, walked toward me and said, "My God, Brad! who is this young man?" Bradford answered, "A young friend of mine who wants to go on the stage. Of whom does he remind you, Rob?" Robson looked at me for a minute, and ejaculated, "Merciful powers, Bob Craig!" After being introduced we shoo

itations. I rendered sixteen and Rob, bless him, always pronounced the last one the best. I was about to leave the stage when Brad insisted that I should giv

following Monday I appeared in Bradford's play, "Law in New York," as Ned the newsboy, and

! Robson!" He was standing in the wings and as I came off I said, "What can I do, Mr. Robson? They are clamoring for me to give an imitation of you!" "Do?" said he in that falsetto voice so well known to theatregoers of that period, "Go back and give the villains hell!" On the impulse of the moment I went through an

tonight that I shall never forget-halted the performance of a very good pla

nerisms, was never able to detect his even when emphas

time in this same line and being rather conspicuous that evening I gave vent to my pleasure by applauding most vociferously all of his efforts. To my horror he approached the footlights and announced an imitation of me! As he finished the applause from all

y I arrived in time to save him from a pauper's grave, and he now sleeps tranquilly in beautiful Mt. Auburn with his poems and

he ethics of our art! Analytically he was master of more of the fundamental rules of acting than even Lawrence Barrett who was an authority. While Robson was never able to convey a sentimental thought by any facial express

. We gave the characters all the study and attention due to the great master and were firm in our resolution to play the respective r?les with proper reverence, to bestow upon them all the tragic

ely I came on with the mob and my few lines passed unnoticed, as none in front recognized me. To be s

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of an Irish Apol

true tragic dignity. Then a hush, as the audience settled back for the expected travesty. It needed only the familiar notes of Rob's voice to reassure them that they were right in their conjectures and a shout of laughter went up as he began the speech, "That I do love you, Brutus," etc. The shrieks of laughter interrupted his long thought-out delivery. He paused. His face became

ave them the necessary emphasis his voice, that most ready of organs, refused to obey the dictation of the brain and the gradual crescendo required for the delivery became a succession of Robsonian squeaks! The audience loyally tried to suppress its hilarity. At first it smiled, then giggled, then peals of laughter hurled themselves across the footlights

Troy upon his shoulder

udience was laughing a

ank, blankety-blank!", his added interpol

end had come. I prayed fervently that it had, but no such luck! It gradually quieted down and the play proceeded. When my turn came to end the act some of my friends said

liberality of a king. He absolutely refused to grow old and sought only the young. He tried to emulate the deeds of charity of the Good Samaritan and

the time at his summer place at Cohasset, Mass. The coachman went his way and Rob told me of his promise. I said, "Surely, you are not going to make good a promise made in jest?" He answered, "I am," went inside the house and in a few minutes came back on the veranda with the cheque for four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars in his hand. He called his daughter and se

hter if she had performed the duty as requested. She answered, "Yes, papa, I gave him the cheque." Rob asked, "How did he take it?" His daughter repl

tter man than Stuart Robson; a loving father, a dutiful husband, a great comedian, an honest actor and an upright American cit

leave a place for me! If it's hell, I'll invoke a blizzard; if Heaven, we shall need each

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