The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1881-01-19

itAifllti h4eA - Pulfsi,ul rOptlh; ldSseri
made UP the patts They an booked
ION very intsntls though they did
nHs say much about it, The bald
gentleman was Dick Willoughby,
ilEYell- known stheatrieal critic oi
the Daily Haflsqdin. He had
!Asonght bis tis and beF beautiful
I3I!s xter and his litfle
niece sse ths TRAGEDY played.sirs
" ilIspshby whose profession, some
persons may envy, and who was
.esna paid for going 70 the theatre,
looked wilIs lsind, grim sort Of sym
Isll Al ilis 4itne niece, who saf,
ssathlsss, ,switb hafsaark curly head
ainst tiie red curtain wondering
I'D sbsorbedlby this apkaoMn spec
tasie. ttis seas6f passion tossing bes
fore her. toward some vast horizon
uadreamed of by little girls of four.
teen nowadays. She might have
made pretty study for a painter,
had there been one present, and able
to withdraw his eyes from the won
derful, the melodious, hcart-rending
history enacted that night.
The play begins. Gay Mercutio,
in his glittering doubtlet, has said
his say; the fiery Tybalt has brsathed
vengeance against the Montagues;
old Capulet, in his satin doublet, has
tried in vain to calm his furious
kinsman, and then, 10! the scene
changes.
The moonlight is streaming on the
woods and gardens of Verora, on the
terraces and heavy-scented flowers,
on the balcony, where Juliet-dear,
rebellious, tenderly generous Juliet
stands in her white robes. The light
falls on the sweet face with its wist-
full story. Then comes Romeo very
quickly; he stands at the foot of the
balcony; the lady bends from above;
the scene seems touched with some
mystic rapture. my bounty is as
boundless as the sea, my love as deep;
the more I give to thee, the more l
have, for both are infinite" says Ju-
lets tender voice; and then she van
ishes, with soft white flash, return
ing, lingering, dying away, like sum,
mer lightning. "sleop dwell upon
thine eyes, peace in thy breast, "says
Romeo, with all a true lovers tender.
ness. -. ..,4-..4.,
Uncle Dickls said little Mar
garet, clasping her hands in speech
less sympathy.
"You are not the first to say oh! to
all that, Peggy" answered Uncle
Dick, kindly.
The scene in the friar's cell soon
followed.
"Friar Lawrence is a first-rate con-
jurer to pull all those beautiful things
out of that basket" said Willoughby
to his wife. "Have you done with
the glasses, Bell?" and he began look
ing in the direction of the opposite
box, which had been empty till then.
Some one had just come in, and sat
down in a seat behind the curtain.
ut seems all so real; Aunt Bell,"
said little, Margaret, in a whisper;
''only more real than real things"
"His wonderful wealth oflanguagc
must have something to do with it,"
said Willoughby, gently shutting up
his glasses. "He calls in all nature
and all English to his aid-eh, Mrs.
Baxter, don't strike you so2"
He was looking at her with an odd
expression, as if he wanted to hear
her voice, to guess what she was
thinking of from what she said.
81 am like Margaret: | can only
sympathize," said Mrs. Baxter. ~
think it was very happy for Juliet
that she died with her faith in Romeo
Unchanged" this she added, not bit
terly, but with heavy sigh. Mrs.
Willoughby hastily interposed with
"Hushl hush! Juliet is coming"
She did not want her friend Felicia
to dwell upon her troubles.
This is the fag-end of a story which
all happened years ago, only little
got broken of, so to speak, and was
fastened on again by chance on this
particular night. The hero and her
oine of my little history loved each
other long ago, tenderly, passionate