The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1881-07-15

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a the object of his attack. the flashing,
magnetic eye that compelled attention
and obedience-al invariably reminded
me Of an evening some forty years be-
fore when / had seen the elder kean
advance to the footlights. and. with
rapid, unexpected speech, electrify
the audience. So, too, / had seen q re-
hgious ~reviyalist single u some stiff
necked sinner in the crowd. and with
darling foreinger pour out the vials Of
,criptural vengeance on the nnbaptized
head.
J THE man must be mad. or a stroll
ing actor playing a parI?" cried Char
lie, who was the first TO recover from
the general amazement.
Tic effect of this remark OF the man
was magical; the extended hand
dropped; his figure shrank and dropped
into It's former listless attitude; the fire
died out in his eyes, and his coat once
more revealed its rents, while his voice,
low and hoarse, muttered an apology:
Forgive me. 1 forgot where l was
and who / am. No, l can never forget
that. cannot escape myself"
Nettie's sympathetic soul was
touched.
Perhaps you would like to tell us
about yourself. That Is. you might like
10 feel that there were those who pitied
your misfortunes. My brother is some
times hasty. but always k~ind-hearted.
We would all be glad to assist You il
we can"
''My tale is one of horror, and could
gain me only your detestation; yet why
should / shrink from the recital when
the pain / thereby infict on myself is
the only penalty l can pay for my
crime?
Il am" he continued, 'ior rather
was, an actor. and 81 was my father be-
fore me. AS a child / mimicked the
set phrases and gestures Of the actors
about me. and early learned to look
upon the playhouse as my home and
the field wherein | should develop what
ever talents ! might possess. My faith
err occupied the position Of leading man
at the B. theatre, and wa the most
popular actor in town. He basked in
the glare Of the theatre. exerted. nay,
exhausted. himself in the effort to please
a tickle public. and possibly looked up
on his home only as a retreat where he
might recuperate his exhausted ener-
giles and equip himself for fresh con-
quests. My mother naturally looked
upon the theatre as a rival, and n sue
cessful one, TO the home. Yet, for all
that, she never relaxed her efforts to
make that home q pleasant and at
tractive one. Whatever her sufferings
and despair might have been. she lev
voiced them. Only l remember on ono
occasion she had playfully asked me
what / intended TO be when / grew up
to manhood, and ! replied: AN actor,
mamma, an actor, by all means She
pressed me closer in her arms, and l
felt her warm tears or my face as she
cried out: ooh, not that. my sonl Any
thing but that. Choose again, Just to
please your mother But / o~bdurately
Insisted that l would be an actor and
nothing else. From that moment my
mother seemed to regard me with great
apprehension, and / nm afraid would
have secretly rejoiced II my first ap-
pearance had been such an utter failure
as TO deter me from taking any further
steps In that direction. But my father
aided and encouraged me. Himself n
careful, conscientious student, he would
quench my too ardent enthusiasm by
an immersion in the ocean of work that
AASo bSkWSCA WHY a1ti1t Nv AiS koait
and anon. lifting me up to his own
and undiscovered country where fresh
glory awaited the first conner. Alter
nately stimulated and held In check, /
rapidly grew in popular favor, and di-
vided almost equally with my father the
smiles and tears of the town. Oh! he
alone who has commanded them can
testify TO the sweetness Of the power.
About this time there appeared On
the scene n whom my father nervous
ly feared as q possible rival. He played
parts that my father considered pecul-
iarly his own by right of repeated rep
resentation, and, being young, hand
some, and Of good address, secured q
large following Of friends. The misun-
derstanding between this stranger and
my father was of SO serious q character
that they only spoke TO each other when
the demands Of their profession forced
some courtesy from one or the other,
and 1t required all the frmness Of the
stage manager TO keep them to their
duties. Ono night, late in the season.
when all the new plays had been worn
threadbare. an old melodrama was re-
vived, and TO my father and this new
conner tho principal parts were assigned.
Each % started out in the ACE to en-
list the applause Of the audience. MY
father watched the house ~nervously.
both of and on tho stage.to Q to which
side Its favor might incline. He seemed
to feel tho laurels plucked from his
W and bound ona younger brow.
Near the close Of the play my father was
to shoot his opponent, who was to fall
dead at his feet. You have already APP
pretended the sequel. The gun, an
old. unused one, supposed to be loaded
only with a small charge of powder,
went of in my fathers hands. and the
rival. whom he had so lately feared and
hated. lay dead before him.
II have related this incident to show
You the cloud of misfortune that hung
ovor our family. and shortly aftcrwara
enveloped me in its folds.
although probably no cne actually
believed that this tragedy was other
than a sad accident. yet some there
were who. recalling the enmity between
the two mon. were malicious enough to
whisper that the shooting wns premcd-
itated under cover Of the play. These
coming TO my fathers ears cut
short his stage career. He secluded
himself closely at home and would sec
no one. One night. l recollect. he
called me TO his room, and said: My
son. it would have been far better for
If had purposcly killed that man.
for in that ease my punishment would
be deserved and sure. This distrust,
the aycrtcd eyes Of those who were
once proud TO call themselves my
friends, is killing me- He must have
spoken In n spirit of prophecy, for or
the following morning lie died.
.'Soon after this event l was the re-
cipient of several ilaitering offers from
theatrical managers, and ] determined
to return to the stage, although my
mother bitterly opposed it: Oh! that