Los Angeles herald., 1892-05-09
WILL CARLETON AND WILL SON
BARRETT.

English artists have not been accus-
toned, in former years, to come to
America for their material. But things
have changed, and now the freshness of
the humor that turks in the "United
States language" when ably manipu-
lated, is recognized throughout the Brit
ish islands. The following from the
Boston Globe details chance meeting
between Carleton and Barrett:
"There was pleasant episode at the
Hotel Vendome on Wednesday evening
last. After the play of Hamlet little
party assembled in Mr.. Wilson Barrett's
apartments to partake of one of those
late suppers that humanity is always
being warned against, and which men
60 on eating and thriving on through
protracted lives. OF the company was
Will Carleton. whose writings carry with
them the breath OF the prairies, the
color OF wild flowers, the rhythm of the
farm and the pathetic philosophy of the
rural home. Barrett was there, his
kindly, wholesome face touched with
the lines OF weariness begotten of two
exacting dramatic performances, and
beside him the effervescent, genial
Dewey.
Then the sturdy Roscius, from far-off
Yorkshire, told little story. 1t was of
when he came, some three years ago, to
give recitation in the great Albert hall
of London, the mighty colosseum of
British art. 1t was at the instance of
Sir Julius Benedict. Chance had thrown
in his way poem entitled. Gone with
q Handsomer Man. He did not know
the name of the author, but his quick
instinct saw the silver thread of human
ity running through it. He committed
1t to memory, and on the appointed
day roared it at the legions in the
Albert hall. He promised it with the
remark that he did not know the author
ship of the poem. The recitation was a
bit, and next day score of letters came
saying "the writer of that poem is Will
Carleton, the American" From that
day Mr.. Barrett made Gone with a
Handsomer Man the feature of his reci-
tation repertoire. In fact, it consisted
of this one hit. So it came about that
on this night in the Vendome hotel
the author and the actor came face to
face.
II want to hear you recite my poem,
Mr.. Barrett" said Mr.. Carleton. With
becoming modesty Mr.. Barrett finally
consented. He gave to the recitation
the full measure of his artistic feeling.
His soul poured into the passionate
lines; his voice, 80 responsive to human
agony, played upon every chord. Then
came the sunburst of happiness, and the
actor, with radiant face, dropped into
the chair.
After this, the poet, whose eyes are as
soft and as boyish as when they first
looked upon the yellow dandelions in
the far western meadows, stood up and
repeated one of his poems of the frontier,
the story of a pioneer, so woven in with
rude heart interest and the tender
philosophy of love, that il deserves to
stand beside the Cotter's Saturday Night.
Perhaps he never gave such glow of
tongue, such light and shade OF warmth
and sentiment to recitation before.
Perhaps he gathered inspiration from
the modest actor there, and never felt
the poets crown sitting go serenely
upon his brow. And who shall say that
this chance meeting between author and
actor may not cause to be carried across
the ocean another of the threads with
which literature and art are silently
binding two nations of intellects?