Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1876-06-29
A Disgusted Gr1maldi.
John LOWlOw, the Clown, has an
InSeparabIe "A KOrick
with a Shadow.

with a Shadow.
Danville Qll.) Cor. Chicago Times.
With his feet in the window,
his chair tilted back, and his face
in his hands, he was a most for
| lorn looking individual. An hour
before, bedaubed and bespangled,
he had held 1000 people by the
eyebrows as be crammed joke af
ter joke into their ears. 1t was
John LOwlow, the clown, and his
sad and detected air as he sat in
the Office Of the fremont house
plainly indicated atgrlef, trouble,
or disappointment of some kind
was gnawing at his heart.strings.
When trouble comes upon man,
did it ever occur to you that a
newspaper man was very like d
minister or an undertaken In
my quarter of q century's expert
ence | often found myself more
heartily welcomed by the side of q
stricken one than the minister,
and for arranging the last sad de
tails the surviving relative and
friends have never forgotten cor
dial vote of thanks which DO un-
dertaker ever, to my knowledge,
received). Newspaper ink, well
laid on, is a salve that will heal
the sorest wound. A short para
graph to the effect that the widow
was charming in her sorrow and
that her hat and her dress were in
the latest European styles will go
further to heal her lacerated heart
than the actual knowledge that
the late partner had left no other
partner to contest with her posses
sion of the homestead, pictures,
plate, &c.
81 am a press man." | gently
whispered in the ear of the defect
ed clown, "and in all confidence
you can lean your wearied head
upon my sympathetic shoulder,
and if your trouble is not fnan-
cial one l will promise relief"
John Frightened up at once,
reached out his hand and gave n
gentle grasp, "It isn't money!
he began ''It's the devil, l sup
pose, that has brought this sor-
rowful fit Of abstraction upon me.
If l was drinking man | would
think I had an attack Of the jim
jams. Ii you will listen, | will
tell you a sad tale. | was born
in Savannah, Ga, in l84l, and at
an early age entered the arena
and grew up to be a knight ot the
sawdust, as you pressnen say,
which pursuit or calling | have,
with brief intervals, followed ever
since. My father was a lawyer.
When l was boy he was retain
ed in a murder case -a a murder
committed under most aggrava-
ting and mysterious circumstan-
ces. 1t was one of the old stories
= disappointed love, a faithless
woman and broken hearted low
er. One day, in the cool of the
evening, as my father and family
were seated on the veranda at our
home, a tall, dark compleXioned,
well dressed, handsome gentleman
came leisureIy up the walk, salu-
ted my mother with graceful lift
of the hat, smiled YEARLY at the
children, handed bis cane to my
father, and bespoke private in
terview. They remained in the
library till late hour, and when
the stranger withdrew and my ia
ther came into the family room it
was plainly seen on his counte,
nance that he had listened to a
sad story Of some nature. After
ward learned somewhat of the
particulars. My fathers client
was O Cuban planter. He and a
college mate loved a Creole seno-
rita with an unpronounceable
name, and he had captured the
fair prize. For year they had
lived in oil the enjoyment OF con-
tented welded life, passing most
of their time in travelling through
out the United States. The day
before calling upon my father they
had arrivd in Savannah. In the
gloam of the evening q carriage
had stopped at the hotel, his wife
had gone away in it, and at mid
night her dead body had been
found by negroes in the outskirts
Of Savannah. She had been abb
ducted and assessinated, and but
one man in the world could be
the ahductor and assassin. The
man, he knew, was his former
friend and rival. His business
with my father was to arrange his
affairs so that from that time on
till his revenge was complete he
would have no ether care or aim
in life. Detectives were employ