Weekly Trinity journal., 1876-09-23
THE PHANTOM PACK.

anything puJ Jule, except on tho pllls'
Some of his pals called him "the old
man," although he was only thirty five,
he said. No doubt that in his youth he
had been a remarkably handsome man,
for, Notwithstanding his dissipation,
traces of great manly beauty were still
visible. He was tall and splendidly built,
and on few occasions when he was sober
and freshened himself up, as he would
only when we were entering new town,
the company laughingly said he looked
more like an English lord than clown
That he was English, we knew from his
accent, but we never could inveigle him
into talking of himself except when he
was maudln drunk-he was never mer-
ry in his cups-he would say, with
streaming eyes, that he was "alone in
the world" When he came to the stage
of intoxication indicated by this remark
the boys usually left him to indulge
whatever private grief he had alone.
lie had been with us a good many
seasons, going from bad to worse, when
one Summer it became plain that if he
didn't pull up he would be discharged as
incapable OF attending to business, and
so Bowling and l undertook to remon-
strate with him. 1t was a lovely, mel
low night in June, that, after the per-
formance, we persuaded him to go up to
the room which Bowling and | occupied
together.
OF course we had little liquor, but to
our surprise julie drank very sparingly,
and seemed plunged in melancholy. Yet
he laughed wild and hysterickly, like
woman when she's troubled and nervous.
Thinking him in just the mood TO listen
to few friendly words, Bowling broach
ed the painful subject, telling him that
he was not only running his health but
that he was on the verge of discharge.
Well" he replied doggedly, 81
don t care if do die in a gutter-since
she's gone, memory is a curse and life a
horror"
"She |" we echoed. 1t was the first
time we had suspected the existence of
any "she" in the drunken clowns histo-
ry. Bowling, older than |, constituted
himself spokesman, saying
"Jule, if there's anything weighing on
your mind, it might make you feel easier
to get it otf-to talk it over with good
friends like Dick and me-"
81 don't know" he answered medita-
lively.
Remember" continued Bowling,
''that Shakespeare says Give sorrow
words the grief that does not speak,
whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids 1t
break"
1t was an apt quotation and seemed to
strike home, for the clown, pushing the
the glasses and bottles away from him,
leaned his elbows on the table and said
If tell you my story, boys, you
will think my head is as confused and
soggy as ever, whereas it has not been
for years so clear as to night. Yes, Dow
ling, / will give sorrow words-I will tell
you the romance of my youth and the
misery Of my middle age, even at the
risk of your disbeieving me from begin
ming to end"
saw that Dowling's astonishment
was as great as mine at the manner in
which julie expressed himself, for usual
ly his language was interlarded with
oaths and slang. He went on
"My name is Richard Campton, and
| was the son Of n small farmer in War
wickshire, England. Earl Bennington
was lord of the manor, and at nineteen
years of age | became the Earl's hunts
man. The Earl lived in what had been
an abbey, and was stilled called THE
Prory.' Like most old families, this one
had its ghost story, which, although it
was connected with the pack of hounds,
gave me little concern"
He paused.
WELL" said Bowling, ego on"
"The tale was that, when danger or
death threatened any of the noble house
phantom pack was seen f; that whoever
was to be the victim, wherever he or she
might me, in foreign lands, in the bed
room even, he would hear few low
notes of a huntsman's horn, wierd and
distinct. He would fancy himself in
merry England, in his childhood's home.
The gates of the stable-yard would be
flung open, pack of hounds would come
painting in, followed by men on horse
back, in scarlet coats. The stable doors
would open, men and grooms would dis
mount, dogs would be driven into their
kennels, and then, in gathering dusk and
the glimmer Of lanterns, all would van
ish without the slightest human sound or
stroke of horses hoof or yelp of hound.
And he who looked upon that unreal
scene knew he was dead man.
But that throughout all time love
has strange freaks, you could not credit
that the Lady Georgna, the daughter
OF inc EhTli ucslgneu W CusI hoi Dch"ti-
ful eyes on me, the humble keeper of her
fathers hounds. You, friends, know
me only as the poor butfoon, the besotted
clown but, though | was among the
lowliest on all that vast estate, it was
said that was in point of appearance
well calculated to catch even a high
born ladys eye. Your poet says, Love
knoweth every form of air. No matter
what grand gentleman rode with the
young noblewoman after the hounds, at
me we're all her endearing glances direct
ed. At last rumor began to make busy
with her name, coupling it with that Of
her fathers servant-myself. The proud