Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-05-07
CHAT.

What fascinates the multitude, wrings
the public heart, or causes peals of laugh
ter, is ''business," and all in the mimetic
ranks, from the clown to the elegant light
comedian, belong to the profession"
Some of the persons ranging themselves
under this high-sounding designation,
would seem to have rather slender equip
ment. As a recent sample, there is the
fdlSetto note of Stuart Robson.
IT'S a note that has been good for thous
ands, and will contiuae to be negotiable
for any amount.
Robson goes about the country with that
one tone, conjoined with irrepressible
drolIery of action and an impossible face,
and his professional" outfit is complete
and his fortune is assured.
should have enjoyed hearing him crate
funereally at the bier of Actor Thorne |
awhile ago in New York.
His queer face, masked into solemn
consonance with the occasion, and the
abeyant .fdISetto, ready to voice the whole |
thing with ludicrous treason to the grave
business in hand, would have outranked,
for unique flavor, all the tributes
from Marc Antony's, to Choate's
over Webster, to BIaine's over Garfield,
and all the rest of the eloquent wakes
from time immemorial.
Stuart Robson as funeral spokesman
is an irresistible innovation.
Some one told me last summer about
meeting Robson at resort near Boston
where were congregated for the season
many of the profession and play
wright who was noted for adapting his
plays from the columns of the NeqV York
Weekly, Mercury and Ledger and, by ming
ling the plots of their most narrowing
stories, evolve a drama of wondrous ten
sion.
Robson found him one morning
with these various newspapers badly
scissored before him, and on
being asked later concerning
the enterprising dramatist said, 81 left
him while ago with his brains scattered
all over the table ~ giving the three last
words with the falsetto which puts audi
ences on the roar, and of which type can
never give the faintest impression or
echo.
The worlds understanding of the appli-
cation of the term profession is something
widely different from comlcal versatility,
and queer break in the voice.
But the other fellows get away with the
convincing final laugh, and, better yet,
with the lucre, leaving their respectable
brethren of the regular professions
to study, research, and the
slow, engrossing labor of the years with
hard won and comparatively insufficient
revenues to reward their lives.
From Stuart Robson up to Caleb Cush-
ing one of the most erudite of moderns is
a stretch - but they were both ''pro-
fessionar' and I'll wager you Robson
has made more money than Massachusetts,
great and only half appreciated
scholar ever imagined for his share of the
worlds requital.
. Why, if Cushing never did anything to
entitle him to American commemoration
except his translation into French of Sec
rotary Everts' brief for the government in
the case submitted to the Geneva board of
arbitration, it ought to be enough for ma
tional Immortality.
Just recall one of Evarts' sentences,
sinuous and involute, and then fancy the
task of Caleb Cushing in presenting that
argument in French speech!
What is fame, and what is name in the
face of some examples?
Why, in the reigning house of Great
Britain John Browns prerogative was
greater than any mobiles or prime minis =
ter's. It brought him nearer to his SOW
ereign than any blue blooded subject of
the realm, and it brought memorial
wreaths for his coffin from Victoria R and
I, and from Eugene, delicate diplomatist
that she is.
There is picture in one of Beeton's
London ANIMALS, representing her Eng
fish Majesty dancing with John Brown,
and intimating that in town she is all tears
for the lamented consort, while in Scotland
she can dance with John Brown, her at
tendant, and Donald Stewart, her game
keeper. This, too, at the time when the
empress of Russia was in London unno-
ticed by royalty which was off dancing
with Scotch gillies. Beeton's publication
was spicy and venturesome. There is a
characteristic story about Oscar WiIde's
refusing to allow some complimentary
American gentleman, lately, to toast the
queen for the reason that she was the most
untidy woman in the kingdom.
The name of John Brown is one that
seems entered for celebrity, albeit Henry
A. Wise deemed it best to choke one of.
But his soul is on the go, in meter that's
not very accurate nor commendable.
Do you believe in ghosts?
I haven't since 1 read that account of
Trelawney's viewing the nude body of By
ron after death to discover what caused his
lameness, and with malicious satisfac-
ton recording that the Adonis so loved
and admired had a withered limb from
trunk to heel.
Could there be ghosts after that?
And where are the retributive wraiths
that ought to pervade Massachusetts after
the Tewksbury revelations?
Yet the commonwealth seems to have