THE LION TAMER.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3047, 1 April 1881, Page 4

THE LION TAMER.

Crops and harvests had failed in the past two years, and simple and homely us was Widow Thoralcy's homo, a mortgage was hanging over it, which in thven short months unless met, would leave her old age unprotected and homeless. But the cow moved off to fresh browsing places, and the chickens flow away, and a look of gladness drove the teai-3 from the mother's eyes, as a firm, manly tread sounded on the gravel walk outside, and a young stalwart form in another minute darkened the cottage door. ";Well, little mother, " said a frank, fresh Toice, " idle again ? Ah, I fear you have been thinking." " Too true, John. It is a strange time of life, when one waxes seventy, to begin to think, but you know dear, I'm not quite ■used to care," and the gentle voice trembled as though she would fain make excuse for her weakness. " And you are to have no more, mother. I can do nothing here, but I am sure you ■will be willing to spare your boy for a little ■while, that he may make enough money to free the old home." " What do you mean, son ?" " Only that I am going up to the great city, mother to work. You needn't fear for me —your boy will never forget the lesson lie has learned at your knee ; but I am going to pay off the mortgage—not only interest, but principal —and then I am coming home indeed. I shall have earned my right then, to mother-loving and mother-petting ; aye, and as dear a right to bring a daughter to the horne —to give you two children for the sparing one a little while. " So ib was decided. Again and the mother-heart failed, but John would silenco her lips with kisses ; and feeling his strong young clasp about her, some of his hope and energy stole into to her old, bowed frame. But thero came a time when she s.ifc alone by the desolate hoarth-stuno and need not strive to chock her sobs, for nono were by to hear. John had carried out his purpose —ho had lefL her ; and now that he was not by to cheer and comfort her, she wondered at herself that she had let him go. The old eyes grew dim with constant weeping; a dull, nameless, foreboding pressed upon her. Something of this lifted when John's first letter came, for in it was a crisp, new bank-note. He wrote : " i have found work, mother—and it is honest work, too—which will soon bring in enough to give you back your home, and ere long your boy. Cheer up, little mother ! I must do the working —you must do the waiting. I think yours is the harder of the two." The letter was badly spelled and badly written, but, oil, how precise to the old dim eyes, which knew not that it contained any fault! It rested on her heart by night and by day. Scarcely an hour passed of the waking time that the trembling hand did not adjust the silrer-rimrned spectacles on nose to read and re-read the dear tht, By-and-by another came, and ■words. " in each was the crisp, fresh another, ana '' ■* a pile, she carried them note, until, in quit*. . - according to John's to the county bank, on the note> directions, paid off the mtei'o*. Oh, how proud and glad she was! ,- n a A fuw weeks later came a letter *- haud, The stranger wrote : " John is not feeling very well. He has had a fall, which has injured his wrist, but fearing you" would be" troubled at hearing no news, he has asked that you be written 10, and assured that except for this trifling hurt all was well with him." s She read the letter through ; then rose and crossed the room to the spot where s'ood the old chest of drawers. From some hidden recess she drew forth the stocking where she concealed her hoard. She spread it out and counted it over. Yes, she had enough. What? did John think she could rest here at home, and leave her boy to the care nf strangers ? She knew well what meant this trifling hurt. He was ill—dying, perhaps—and he would never let her know until too late. Out from its linen wrappings she drew forth the plain merino dress, and with trembling angers piu it on ; then she fastened the quaint, old-fashioned bbhhet/v/hich had done*faithful duly for ten long year's, drew on her gloves, gathered up a few needful articles, and sallied forth locking the house door behind her, and slipping the key into the capacious pocket of her dress. A long stretch of road lay between her and the station. It was a hot and dusty way, but she toiled on. She had no time to feel fatigue or tire ; but spite of herself her voice was weak and quavering as she asked the agent; the price of her ticket; and the tears came into her eyes when she learned that she must wait two long hours before £he next firauf would arrive, and that it must be dark night when she reached the great terminus of the route. For the first time she had time to think. There was nothing to do' but sit with folded hands and wait, conjuring up'visions , of her boy, and how she should find Mm—-living or dead. At last the train thundred up. She WHS the only passenger from the little way station. Ifc seemed hardly possible that this groat, panting, almost human tiling should stop for her; but stop it did. She tool; her se:ii, the whistle blew, and again the wheels were in motion. Fast—faster they flew, but to her they seemed to creep. The sun sank, the twilight gathered, the night eamo on, but night as the old eyes had never before seen it, when the train at last drew up in the great station, and the glare of myriijd lamps burst upon her view. She was neariner John, however. He would make al' these crooked ways straight. Crooked way?, indeed, they seemed, when the policeman to whom she applied for assistance, perhaps remembering an old mother of his own, had found time to answer all her questions kindly, and finally put her himself in a cab, and gave directions to the man were to drive. Would they never stop rattling over the stones ? Suppose —suppose John was dead and all her dreadful journey had been made in vain ! But, no ! The cab stopped at last before v small, humble house. The landlady herself opened the door. The poor mother scarce could put the question as to how she might find her boy, when the woman, giving her withered hand a hearty grasp, led her into the lighted room. "So you be John's mother, and you feared he was dead. No, indeed ! You may well be proud of your boy. There's no pluckier lad in all the town." " But where is ho ? I must see him !" " He's up at the Gardens, and you ought to see him sure enough ! Let me see," glancing at the clock, " you'll be just in time. I'll take you to the door myself, and see you get a ticket all right. I won't have the time to go in, though I do never get tired of looking on him." What did it all mean ? Once more out in the streets, hurrying on to an unknown goal. Finally her companion paused before a large building, brilliantly lighted. Crowds of people were pressing in. She followed with the rest, until she found herself again alone, seated before a large ring, surrounded by a sea of strange and unfamiliar faces. Suddenly a cry—a shout, a cheer —burst from a myriad of throats, followed by a long, angry roar. She saw then what she had not before noticed—that to her left were three cages of wild beasts, while into the ring there sprang a man dressed in particoloured tights, and holding in his left hand a whip, which looked as though a child might havo broken ifc. His right hand was in a sling. " The lion broke his wrist last week with his piw. ife's a brave fellow to try it Bingi' funded," she heard one man explain to aiioU.er. Then she looked again, and then ahe sawthat ifc was John—her boy —bowing his thanks.

She had no powor to move or cry, as she watched him run forward, and, opening ene of the cages, spring among the beasts. They shrank, cowed, before him. In his hand, the toy whip was mightier than the sword. Buu suddenly a mighty hush fell on the assembled people. He had entered the cage whore the lion stood alone. It was this beast who only last week, with one stroke'of his paw, had snapped his wrist. Now he defied him single-handed. Ho raised his whip. The lion opened wide his formidable mouth. The people held their breath as he knelt before him and placed his head between the red, jawing jaws. One women there had pillowed a little yellow curly head upon her breast, and now she saw it afc the mercy of a savage beast. The lion Tittered a low, angry roar. He gave a sudden snap. Ib was part of the play. The tamer's head was withdrawn as the.brute's jaws met with a sound which echoed through the place. He was saved, but ifc was a miracle. The people rose, with a sigh of relief. It was the last part of the programme. It was to disperse the crowd, with their attention at the highest pitch, and since the accident last week, the feat had gained new stimuhis in the public mind. The building was almost emptied now, when some one noticed an old woman, sitting silent, motionless, on one of the deserted benches. They approached and touched her on the shoulder, then shook her, fancying her asleep ; but they could not wake her. Her mother's heart had broken in that moment of peril to her boy ! Poor soul! she had journeyed to her death.