. Fifty years of an actor's life. ll the companygroped their way both in the words and the didnt do either. I rehearsed letter perfect, whichstaggered the old stagers, who, when we started fair,didnt have so much the advantage; in fact, while theywere mumbling and stumbling over the words at night,I spoke mine. As to acting—ah ! that is an art whichisnt learnt in a week, or a year ! Anyhow, finding meobliging and attentive, Mr. and Mrs. Robertson mag-nanimously condoned the scene in the green-room. Tomand I fraternised and became sworn chums. We had thesame tastes and the same aspir
. Fifty years of an actor's life. ll the companygroped their way both in the words and the didnt do either. I rehearsed letter perfect, whichstaggered the old stagers, who, when we started fair,didnt have so much the advantage; in fact, while theywere mumbling and stumbling over the words at night,I spoke mine. As to acting—ah ! that is an art whichisnt learnt in a week, or a year ! Anyhow, finding meobliging and attentive, Mr. and Mrs. Robertson mag-nanimously condoned the scene in the green-room. Tomand I fraternised and became sworn chums. We had thesame tastes and the same aspirations : he wrote poetry,so did I, though, mind you, we were both prettybad—I scarce know even now which was the were to have written a play together upon a famouslocal murder ; but the embryonic apostle of realism in-sisted upon having the murderer turned oflf by JackKetch on the George Barnwell scaffold with the new drop, while I proposed a cup of cold—poison for his quietus. We couldnt agree as to the treatment,. From n draiving by Mr. IV. H. Kendal.^ T. \V. ROBERTSON. My Second Engagement 153 so our collaboration fell through. Notwithstandnig, weboth resolved to be great authors and great he never became a great actor, he left hismark upon the form and body of the time as anadmirable author. Mrs. Robertson was a remarkably fine woman and anaccomplished actress. Her Portia, Constance, and HelenMacgregor were about as good as anything that wasdone in those days. In Fitzballs drama of JonathanBradford the heroine goes mad. In this scene, whenMrs. Robertsons rich, reddish-golden hair streamed overher ample and majestic neck and shoulders, she remindedone of Carlo Dolces famous Magdalen, while her actingwas of the very highest order of excellence. Although exacting enough with the members of hiscompany about their costume, our worthy manager per-mitted himself any amount of license in that depart-ment. When enacting King John, the light comedianof th
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