The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-03-07


| of friend of mine.
A. Ha, ha. That friend! That old stage
friend! We all know him. lend my ear.
Proceed.
B. My friend has a somewhat exalted
position in the world; in fact he is digni-
tary of the-the bench, or rather Ito be
more strictly accurately of the church.
A. Nothing is proved against him so far.
b, My friend had but one relative in the
World-a sister whom he loved very dearly.
When mere boy he was ordained, and
went away to distant part of the country
he was absorbed by his new work. and ca
| ger-yes, as must truly believe-eager to
DO good he was perhaps forgetful-yes, too
| forgetful, of his home. Thus it happened
| that his sister-left alone-formed an unfor
| tunate attachment. She went away with a
| man who taught-a man her inferior in ev-
cry way. My friend strove hard to find her,
| but he failed, She kept her secret all these
| years; l only found out lately that her 81
lence was the silence of the grave. Poor
Susan!
A. Poor friend of yours
b. Yes; it was terrible for my friend.
She was dead, but she had left children
two children. My friend heard that these
children had grown up in great freedom !;
had, in fact, led rowing life; quite harmless
and-even worthy, but life which had I'M
fitted them, or presumably untitled them, to
share the sober and decorous life of my
friend. They were both, in some way or
other, connected with the stage. That is
why am moved to ask your advice. Ad-
wise me, and W ill advise my friend.
A. What is your difficulty-that is, the
difficulty of your friend?
B. Is he bound to make himself known
to these people? to take them to his home?
A. His near kin?
B. His nearest kin.
A. Should these strollers sit at Bishops
b. Is it not imposs ible? Ought he to ask
them?
A. Would they come?
b. OF course. What change for the mi
From poverty to comfort-from precarious
to settled and dignifed life.
A. From porter to claret . doubtful o ort-
er to certain claret! Are you honest with
me, Lord Bishop?
B. What would you have me say?
A. l would have bishop speak the
truth.
B, am your uncle-your mothers BROTH
er. Now?
A. knew it.
b. You knew it?
A. We know that friend, we of the Dusk
in. Bishops and all, you borrow that old
trick from the boards. think half knew
you when saw you first
B. What shall do?
A. Nothing
B. Nothing?
A. shall think better of bis hops for
your sake. But will not live with you, eat
with you, or drink with you. Like our coats,
we are cut differently. l should make your
friends jump; you would stife mine Go
home, good mine uncle, and say that you
have met fool i the forest; and, prithee,
think better of fools, as will think better
OF bishops. And so give me your hand, good
| unc'e, and good-by; and by the powers of
t. air, v III never call you nunky again!
&. B. your sister?
A. My sister shall know nothing. She
would be dull as modern tragedy were she
tied to bishops apron-strings; yet for the
weakness OF woman, and for her itching for
| pantries and kitchens and good order dare
| not tell her. linen-closet might tempt
| her to her damnation.
B. Hush!
A. She shall know nothing, and be happy
with her darling and smiling.
B. But can do nothing for her?
A. Aye, that you can. You shall settle
means AYE, and on your loving nephew,
too, pardye!
B. That can, and will. My lawyer shall
| arrange the matter with yours.
A. With mine! keep lawyer! I'd as
| lief keep polecat.
B. Well, we'll; a not unnatural prejudice
However, will speak to my lawyer, in
| whom have perfect confidence; he will ar
range everything without unnecessary pub
licity; he shall write to you at the theatre at
Winbeach, and, if necessary, arrange
| meeting.
A. If necessary will risk it. And now
am already man with an income, with so
much year! Pray heaven it do no ,iolence
to my art-that my wit grow not lean as my
waist wakes. Yet I'll risk it. And now,
for the last time, mine uncle-your blessing,
uncle
B. give it you with full heart.
A. Aye, and with full purse, like ma
bob uncle in play; if 1 did not laugh
should weep-and so no more, but thank
you.
B. And thank you.
A. What for?
B. For lesson.
A. Goodbye. Let me hold your stirrup
so. And now, your road lies eastward,
mine to the setting sun, See how the grass
road lies golden under my feet. Chink,
chink, two shillings to ring together. Clink,
clink, and away in the golden weather!
Goodbye.
B. Good bye, my dear boy, goodbye.