The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-03-07
THE PRESS.
CONCLUDED FROM SATURDAY.
The Bishop Astray.
tRlackwood's Msgazine.l

IRlackwood's Magazine.l
B. Truly, sir, l did not look to be ad-
monished by a gentleman of your profess
sion.
A. Come to me for good counsel. lie
Sings
In the morning by the bright light,
When Gabriel sounds his trumpet in the morning.
B. GABRIEL
A. Pardon me; | have a weakness for
piety. Even you, though sadly given to
flesh may have some taste for religion. Have
you?
b. what? Have whatP trust-I de-
voutly-I humbly trust that am not with
out religion.
A. Enough of This mocking tone How
i'll gray hairs" You know the rest. (He
sings
Carve that possum, chillen,
Carve that possum, chillen,
Carve him to the heart!"
You, too, need carving to the heart, old pos
sum. 1t may be that you have heart, but
it beats family beneath that load of flesh.
Dig down to it; lay it open to sweet nature.
B. My friend, am not in the habit of
hearing sermons.
A. L would you were. Layer on layer of
worldliness, repelling jelly-like; and yet
deep down my love for you describes a scarce
perceptible human pulse, faint heartbeat.
am strangely moved by some conscious
ness eft divine spark smouldering under
this mountain: | would have you fan the
flame. My unknown uncle may be some
such feather-bed as you, and yet not wholly
feathers.
b. Your uncle!
A "a little more than kin and less than
kind" My mothers brother, but no more
like my mother than | TO Hercules. My
mother ''was a lady; last night she died p
or, to speak more accurately, she died in
giving me birth. My father, the fiddler, sold
me for drink; my sister. the ballet-girl,
taught me to dance; ''my name is Norval"
b. A fiddler! God bless my soul!
A. Amen to that! Forthe rest, was bap-
TIED in pint pot, and they called me Auri-
oil, after the carpenters cat, who was my
sponsor. Auriol, Auriolus, Auriolanus,
Coriolanus, or what you will, Such as I
am, am beloved by ali men, save only man.
ayers; have a good leg but a torn stocking
a defective shirt but cheerful heart beneath
it; nay. here, under this waist-coat-under
this place where once a waistcoat
was-there is spark, divine giimmer, a
prisoner freely, which would not exchange
yor dinner a day, for the savory meats
which you love.
B. Poor ladl
8 A. Nay, not so poor, neither. Listen?
Do you hear that chink? 1t takes two coins
to chink. Moreover, have royal mantle
item, blunted sword item, plume twice
dyed for my hat; item, pair of long stock
ings, of good silk, plum-colored and but lit
tie darned; item, an unfafin ing? stv.'5 of
health and of spirits, for whichJ .,ihst tasl
your pardon. You are probably ficher d1al
l. Indeed, observe that your. shoes are
but little worn, and that your cob 20 well
rounded in the barrel; yet who knows if you
are happier than l. Ii | am sometimes toe
hungry, you are always overfed.
zfB. You should avoid personalities. You
spoke of your father as a violinist?
"a. fiddler; a bad fiddler and a worse
man; poor thing, but mine own-my faith
er; in our society it is much to have had a
father.
b. What was your fathers name?
A. "Old Scratch was he called: me.
thinks the name became him well.
B. Can you tell me no more of him?
A. Perhaps you knew him9
b. No. ta
A. He was worth Anowing. He was a
merry man when sober; but he would cry in
his cups; he drank at the fountain of sen.
timental melancholy. And he was a regu-
lar man, too; you could tell the day of the
week by my fathers eye. Of Saturday
night it was dissolved in tears for he was
borne to bed weeping. On Sunday it was
red and dry as Sahara, and he would often
go to church with much groaning of the
spirit, but after church the desert eye would
slowly disappear like lurid sun in mist,
while my parent sought to forget the wick
edness of the world; ON the Monday it was
but half open; on the Tuesday it was kindly
sentimental, but by the Wednesday it was
merry eye, and my father went cheerfuily
to work. Yet cheerful himself, he caused
no cheerfulness; mothers rebuked him for
their infants pangs; only ours sang to his
fddling; and thus did he, who began life
with pointed toe and curl on his forehead.
teacher of the ancient art of dancing
b. He was dancing master?
A. Ay, sir; he taught the graceful art to
crisp and pig-tailed maidens in country
town; and from that height he fell! First,
he was extra fiddle, dresser, rouglst and oc-
casional crowd to company of strollers
and at last, as the curl grew thin and the
foot grew thick, he would even play at street
corners, and would reap the reward Of iniq-
uity, being paid the more readily in proper
ton to the harshness of his playing
B. And was he married when he taught
dancing?
A. he danced into matrimony. He was
young and comely bachelor when he
pointed the toe of example. Pupils
came and went-those of finer ear went
first. Among those who came was one, one
in whose heart Younglove had Lit his fame.
She marked and loved the curl upon his
brow. He marked and loved the pigtail at
her neck. They fled together, and-excuse
these tears; she was my mother.
&B. And her name? What was her
name?
A. The sacred name of wife, and in due
time the yet more sacred name of mother.
B. What was her maiden name?
y A. Her maiden name was Susan Tomlin-
son. Her father piled the trade of book
seller at dreamy Sandwich, by the eastern
sea.
asB. Good heavens!
n A. DO not swear, old man.
III The Bishop remains silent lost in thought,
staring at Auriol; Auriol achistles.)
b. And your sister? You spoke of a sis
ter? Is, she older than you?
A. We are twins-twin blossoms on one
stalk. sr-
B. And you said, 1 think, that she
danced?
A. Yes, SIR Our mother died and left
us. Our father melted away from us. But
ere he melted, he Taught my sturdy sister
some steps of the dance. Now she dances
much and well. She is famous, while l.
but no matter! A time will come
b. And your sister? dancers profess
sion is, 1 understand, beset by peculiar per-
ills. Has she-is She
A. She is. She goes straight. She is a
square girl. She is as good woman as
stands on one toe in England.
b. And her tastes? How would she be,
for instance-excuse my asking such ques-
tions, but you interest me, you and your
story-how would your sister fill a more Sc
cure, more domestic, position?
A. She can make an Irish stew with any
cook in England.
B. But-again pardon me-has she edu-
cation, refinement?
A. If | be poor, am honest. Josephine
lacks culture. She has not her brothers DO
lite education; the grosser baby, she is still
the grosser; she writes with much action of
the tongue; she knows not line of Shaks-
peare; but to her honor be it said that she
can remain on the blunted end of her right
foot longer time than any woman of her
weight in England.
1.-THE Bishop groans.)
A. Now, though our songs be yet I'M
sung, must away for Wnbeach, where
trust to find the salt fisherman more open
than the loamy yokel to the touch of genius.
Farewell, good father.
b. Stay moment Shall you be long at
Winbeach?
A. So long as the marine audience afford
meIpther victual than stale fish.
B. And your address is The Theatre?
A. Yes.
b. An actor has sometimes a collection