In rendering this, “I am smiling!” there was the misery of pent-up mental woe and physical agony in Russell’s voice and face.  There was something ludicrously hopeless about the attempt, as Russell’s face mingled the lines of mirth and despair in a querulous grin that seemed to say, “For heaven’s sake, man, don’t you see that I am laughing myself to death?” Field’s “I am smiling!” was almost demoniacal in its mixture of wrath, vindictiveness, and impatience.  There was the snarl of a big animal about the grin with which he exposed his teeth in the mockery of mirth.  His whole countenance glowered at the invisible artist in lines of suppressed rage, that seemed to bid him cut short the exposure or forfeit his life.

All Field’s most successful bits of mimicry and stories were learned from Sol Smith Russell, and very many of the latter’s most successful recitations were written for him by Field.  They talked them over together, compared their versions and methods, and stimulated each other to fresh feats of mimicry and eccentric character delineation.  Many a night, and oft after midnight, in the rotunda of the Tremont House, when John A. Rice of bibliomaniac fame, was its lessee, I was the sole paying auditor of these seances, the balance of the audience consisting of the head night clerk, night watchman, and “scrub ladies.”

[Illustration:  SOL SMITH RUSSELL.]

It may be recalled that Field’s “Our Two Opinions” written in imitation of James Whitcomb Riley’s most successful manner, was dedicated to Sol Smith Russell, and he for his part put into its recitation a subdued dramatic force and pathos that won from Henry Irving the comment that it was the greatest piece of American characterization he had ever witnessed.

Whenever Russell came to town Field spent all the time he could spare, when Russell was not acting or asleep, in his company.  They exchanged all sorts of stories, but delighted chiefly in relating anecdotes of New England life and character.  As Russell had for years travelled the circuit of small eastern towns, he had an exhaustless repertory of these, that smacked of salt codfish and chewing-gum, checkerberry lozenges, and that shrewd, dry Yankee wit that is equal to any situation.  Between the two of them they perfected two stories that have been heard in every town in the Union where Russell has played or Field read, “The Teacher of Ettyket” and “The Old Deacon and the New Skule House.”  These were originally Russell’s property, and he was inimitable in telling them.  But having once caught Field’s fancy, he proceeded to elaborate them in a way to establish at least a joint ownership in them.