LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2268, 9 July 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE TALK OF A TRAMP. ‘ P. airia Farmer.’ Ecrrsp. was over, and. seated before an open ■wood tire, or.r small family bade defiance to the chill cf late autumn, when my wife, lifting bar head from the sawing in her lap said in a low tone — ‘ Surely I hoard a rap.’ ‘Ora rat,’ suggested Charlie, fresh from College, and scrn ical on any subject that might be broached. ‘ Really, mother, if your hea ing is so acute, please count the steps of that ha'f frozen fly on the ceiling.’ ‘Nonsense, harlie.’ replied his mother, with a smile * But lam euro I heard some one rap. There it is again! You must Lava heard th*t. .Nettie, dear, run to the door. ’ The knock this time, though modest and apologetic in tone, was not to be disputed. Nettie reached out her hand to take the candle, but was anticipated by her incorrigible brother, who rudely blew out the taper, exclaiming—- ‘ Now, then, mother, for a teat of your ingenuity ; who is this caller, and what is his or her errand ? Listen ! Can you analyse that knock ?’ ‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed his mother again. * Some tramp, I suppose, who has seen the light from the window, and ’ , But she was interrupted by Charlie’s burst of merriment. ‘A tramp! And at this season of the year ! No, no. mother ; try again. A tramp’s knock would reverberate through the house like thunder.’ ‘Come, Charlie,’ interposed I, “this Is idle You may be keeping a neighbor waiting, or a child.’ •A little child!’ cried Nettie, ‘and on a night like this ! No, brother, yon shall not detain me another moment,’ and after a alight souffle Nettie emerged in triumph, bearing the disputed oand!e. As she pauses on the threshold to relight the candle, I may as well make public my secret conviction that a being nearer akin to the angels than our Nettle did notexiat. Nettie opens the outer door, her friendly face beaming a welcome to whoever might be standing in the darkness, while her gentle voica inquires : " Who is there?' We all listened intently for the reply, that, quite in keeping with the rap, was delivered in a low, strained voice : ‘I am hungry, cold and sick. I saw the light from your window, and —’ ‘ You are welcome, sir, ’ interrupted Nattie, gravely * And 1 she added glancing an arch lock nt her mother—' and ex pected.’ The stranger, as he entered, 'directed an inquiring glance towards Nettie, as it not comprehending the import of her last words, nor the smile that passed from lip to lip of the family circle.

Hungry, cold, and sick ! There are many such in the world, but few who bear such genuine marks of distress. His clothing, worn and torn by long service, hung in limp folds about his shrinking, shivering form ; while his face, pale and contracted by physical tor was it mental ?) suffering, might have been taken for that of a corpse, were it not for the dark, brilliant eyes that burned deep in their sockets. Nettle hud conducted him into the kitchen joining, and by a clever stratagem beguiled her brother out of hia easy chair, which, before he could intercept her, she had dragged into the next room and placed at the disposal of her visitor. ‘ Yon are too good,’ mnrmnred the young man thankfully, as he sank wearily into the inviting chair. * A model tramp 1’ sneered Charlie, the loss of whose easy chair might have tempted him into whispering in a loud key. The stranger probably overheard him, as he shielded his face with his white, bloodless bands, and spoke no more, Netty flitted busily from room to room, from pantry to cellar, on hospitable thought intent, apparently unconscious of her mother’s slight coughs and other efforts to attract her attention whoa the stock of preserves was invaded, although a close observer would have noticed by the tell-tale dimples in her cheek and the sparkle in her eye that she was quite cognizant of her mother’s uneafineoa.

O these children! how they do wheedle and ct jole their parents ! Nettie now resumed her place with ns, and the stranger was left to his repast Charlie pro.lao-.’d a highly-ooiored meerschaum, and, without regirding his mother's entreating looks, proceeded to fill and light it ‘Come, Charlie, she could not forbear saying at last, 'it la not often that I ask you to aacriGce anything for me, but I do wish you would give up smoking. ’ ‘No use, mother; I should think you would know better than to make such a demand.’ ‘ Obey I’ thundered a voioo from the open door. ‘ Let her lightest wish be law, or beware ! My fate may be yonra !’ * The man must be mad, or a strolling actor playing a part !’ cried Charlie, who was the first to reoever from the general amazement. Thu efibot t.f this remark on the man was magical; the extended hand dropped ; hia figure shrank and drooped into its former listless attitude ; the fire died ont in hia eyes, and hia coat once more revealed its rents, while hia voice, low and hoarse, muttered »n apology : ‘ Forgive ma, I forget where I was and who I am. No, I can never forget that, I cannot escape myself.’ Nettia’a sympathetic sou! was touched, ‘ Perhaps you would like to tell ns about yourself. That is, you might like to feel that there were those who pitied your misfortunes. My brother is sometimes hasty, but always kind-hearted. Ve would all be glad to assist you if we can.’ ‘ Sly tale is one of horror, and could gain ma only your detestation ; yet why should I shrink from the recital when the pain I thereby inflict on myself is the only penalty I can pay for my crime ?’ ‘I am,’he continued, ‘or rather was, an actor, and so was my father before me. As a child I mimicked the act phrases and gestures of the actors about me, and early learned to look upon the playhouse as my home and the field wherein I should develop whatever talents I might possess. My father occi.pied the position of leading man at the B theatre, and was the moat popular actor in town. My mother naturally looked upon the theatre as a rival, and a successful one, to the home. Yet, for all that, she never relaxed her efforts to make that homo a pleasant and attractive one. "Whatever her sufferings and despair might have been, she never voiced them. Only I remember on ore occasion she had playfully asked me what I intended to be when I grew up to manhood, and I replied, “ An actor, mamma, an actor, by all means.” Fho pressed mo closer In her arms, and I felt her warm tears on my face as she cried out, “Oh, not that, my son! Anything bat that. Choose again, just to please your mother.” But I obdurately insisted that I would bo an actor and nothing else. From that moment my mother seemed to regard me with great apprehension, and I am afraid would have secretly rejciced if my first appearance had been such ao utter failure as to deter me from taking any farther steps in that direction. But my father aided and encouraged me. Hitn»elf a conscientious student, he would quench my too ardent enthusiasm by an immersion in the ocean of work that lion between every artist and hia goal: and anon, lifting me up to his own lookout, he would point out some new and undiscovered enunty where fresh glory awaited the first comer. Alternately stimulated and held in check, I rapidly grew in popular favor, and divided almost equally with my father the smiles and tears of the town. Oh !ho alone who has commanded them can testify to tho sweetness cf the power.

‘ About this time there appeared on the scene one whom my father nervously feared as a possible rival. He played parts that my father considered peculiarly his own by right of repeated representation, and being young, handsome, and of good address, sooared a large following of friends. The misunderstanding between this stranger and my father was of so serious a character that they only spoke to each other when the demands of their profession forced some courtesy from one or the other, and it required all the firmness of the stage manager to keep them to their duties. One night, lata in the season, when all the new plays had been worn threadbare, an old melo drama was revived, and to my father and tha new comer the principal parts were asigcod. Each now started ont in the race 0 enlist the applause of the audience. My

father watched the house nervously, both off and on the stage, to see to which side it* favor might incline. Ho teemed to feel the laurels plucked from his own and bound or. a younger brow. Near the close o£ the play my father was to shoot his opponent, who was to fall dead at hia feet. You havealready apprehended the sequel. The gun an old, unused one, supposed to be loaded only with a small charge of powde.r, wont off in ray father’s hands, and the rival, whom ho had so lately feared and hated, lay dean before him

‘ I have related this incident to show yon the cloud of misfortune that hung over our family, and shortly afterwards enveloped me in Its folds. ‘ Although probably no one actually bei’eved that this tragedy was Other than a aad accident, yet some there were who, recalling the enmity between the two men, were malicious enough to whisper that the shooting was premeditated under cover of the play. Those tumors coming to my father’s ears out short his stage career. He secluded himself closely at home and would see no one. One night, I recollect, he called me into his room, and said: ‘My son, it would be far better for mo if I had purposely killed that man, for in that ca*o my puniihment would be deserved and sure. This distrust, the averted eyes of those who were ones proud to call themselves my friends, is killing me. * He must have spoken in a spirit of prophecy, for on the following morning he died. • Soon after this event I was the recipient of several flattering offers from theatrical managers, and I determined to return to the stage, although my mother bitterly op posed it. , ~ , , * My return to the stage was followed, by almost immediate promotion, and the people flocked to see me in parts my father had rendered famous. Many of my friends were anxious to see me attempt the higher walks of my art, and partly to please them, as well as to air certain theories and innovations of my own, I gave out that I would shortly essay the rolo of “Othello.” For weeks and months I studied this creation of the great dramatist, and succeeded in thoroughly identifying myself with thepart. Onthe night before my debut as a'tragodian was to take place I retired early, but my sleep was dis turbed by dreams. By turns I was the fond tender lover, the proud and powerful general, the crazad, relentless murderer. ‘ The morning dawned and developed in my own home a more horrible tragedy than was ever conceived by dramatist, for while I slept and dreamed a dastardly assassin had crept into my mother’s chamber and strangled the lifef om her sweet body. Upon her fair white throat was the cruel imprint of the murderous hand, and, Oh God I while I slept, unconscious of her agony, she was struggling with her slayer. 1 Weeks and months passed, but no clue to the murderer could be discovered, nor the object of the crime imagined My life, robbed of its truest friend, seemed dull and melancholy. There was but one thing left for me to do, and that was to recall and act upon her admonitions, so that, if haply her spirit looked down on me, she might biers my efforts. I left the stage, and sought in a Western State to give a new direction to my life But even here my reputation as an actor had preceded me, and I was waited upon one evening by the manager of the looal theatre with the request that I would take the place of his leading man on the following evening, he being incapacitated by sickness from appearing. The piece was to bo *‘ O thello." I accepted the proposal, pleased that my name had not been entirely forgotten by the public. The hotel at which I stopped was overcrowded, and the landlord informed me that I would have to share my room with a stranger. But the ‘ stranger,’ when he came in, proved to be an old friend, and talked far into the night about old tlmas, mutual acquaintance, but especially of my forthcoming appearance as ‘ Othello’ on the next night, I slept, and dreamed once again that I was the veritable Moor of Venice, breathing into Deademona's oar my vengeful, cruel purpose. I was suddenly awakened by a terrific pull at my hair, and found myself standing out in the middle of the floor engaged in a struggle with nay friend. My bands were fastened in a vicelike grip on bis throat, and, even as I waked, hia hold on my hair loosed, and he sank helpless to the floor. There are moments in life when, like an electric flash, all that has been and much that is to be stands out clearly revealed, and, awe-struck, we gaze at the fearful prospect. The mystery of my mother’s taking-off was no longer a mystery; it was these accursed hands that had done the deed, and condemned me, like Ahasnerus, to wander over the world, seeking relief and finding none.’ With these words the young man coneluded hia tragic story, and, seizing his hat, opened the outer door and disappeared in the darkness. Nettie, with white face, but moistened eyes, hastened to the door with her purpose so clearly expressed in her manner that Charles cried out :

4 Have a care what yon are doing ! You sarely can’t mean to offer that sleepwalker a bed here ! Ugh! I choke at the thought of it!’ Kottio shuddered, hesitated for a moment only then, leaving the door ajar, stepped out. We could not distinguish the words, but his reply was distinctly audible—--4V ou are right. To me it seams as if my mother’s voice spoke through you, bidding me cast off this burden of remorse and return to my art, with the resolve to win the name the future surely had in asora for me.’ ***** Several years later our family were surprised by the receipt of a note, inclosing passes from the manager of the B theatre, inviting us to be present on the following evening, when America’s greatest tragedian would open a week’s engagement. The play was to be 44 Othello,” We were punctually on hand, and were politely conducted to a side box, whence shortly afterwards we had no difficulty In recognising in the swarthy Moor who strode the stage Nettie’s quondam acquaintance. Between the acta the actor entered our box and claimed the privilege of renewing an arquamtance so inauspicioualy begun. 4 1 shall invite myself once more to your home,’ said he, 4 nor will you find mo the objectionable guest that I formerly was. before fame and fortune the dark spectres that haunted my brain have dissolved like the mists of morning, and left me light hearted and clear visioned.’ Since then the actor has often been our honored guest; and idle rumor has it—is the rumor idle ? What, then, do Nettie’s blushes mean, as, bending over my shoulder as I write, she asks the question—--4 Father, don’t you think it would sound better if you were to christen your story 44 The Tale of a Tragedian ?” ’