To his beloved Athenaeum, then, We almost reeled, and in a trice were seated, So close that we could scent the footlights heated. We laughed indeed, again, again, again, As clownish Mummers ancient songs and quips repeated. Then came into the light a slender boy, And Bradford yelled with lusty acclamation: "That's NAT, God bless him!" Then, without cessation, The stripling held each hearer like a toy, And thrilled him now with song, then wondrous imitation. First Farce, then Opera, now broad Burlesque, Then e'en in tragic realms majestic soaring, And each attempt success prodigious soaring; (Be it pathetic, tuneful, or grotesque,) Till every palm was bruised with ravenous encoring. The youth had scarce outgrown his spelling book, And yet tho' oft some honored name defaming, By matchless ridicule, his pure declaiming Came easily as ripples to a brook, Or thrills to lover's souls when latest sweethearts naming. "Who is this boy?" I cried. "He's clever, quite; Whence came he? Where began his gentle schooling? 'Tis pity there's no art in such tomfooling, And much I fear this youth I've seen, tonight, Is but a clever clown! Alas! Such kindless ruling!" "Then thou'rt a weakling Judge to so decide!" Cried JOSEPH, redd'ning in his indignation. "A clown? No art? Why 'tis no imitation That we have heard; nor can it be denied This callow boy is that one genius of a nation!" "You smile; you purse your lips; and even doubt. E'er I have drunk myself into perdition, NAT GOODWIN will have filled with inanition The fame of every actor hereabout:-- For Nature gave him the Creator's tireless mission!" He reproduced no song, no speech, no jest, But it was lustered by some hidden power That comes to Genius born with Fortune's dower. Youth in his veins, ambition in his breast, This boy will be one day the hero of his hour. More than a decade passed. Unlike to me, Joe lived not to fulfill that night's foretelling; Yet oft adown the years there comes a welling From that Somewhere, to green prophecy Which in my doubting soul that night usurped a dwelling. Today, I saw an eager, jostling throng, Like some greed-laden human panorama, Surround a playhouse door with vulgar clamour, To honor Bradford's star. "Seats! Seats!" their song:-- To witness his, NATHANIEL'S, show of laurelled glamour. Oh, gentle friend of mine, thou art no more; But lend thy spirit ear while I am spinning My admiration's tale of endless winning NAT ever made. He never failed to score Since we together saw his modest first beginning.