The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-11-21
THE STROLLkR'S TALE
BY CHARLES DICKENS.

what am going to relate" said the dis
 nal man there is nothing even un- common in it. Want and sickness are too common in many stations of life, to deserve more notice than is usually be. slowed on the mos. ordinary vicissitudes
 of human nature. l have thrown these few notes together, because the subject of them was we'll known to me for many years. traced his progress downwards, step by step, until at last he reached that excess Of Restitution from which he never rose again.
 "The man of whom speak was low pantomime actor; and, like many people
 of his class, an habitual drunkard. In
 his better days, before he had become en-
 feebled by dissipation and emaciated by disease, he had been in the receipt of a good salary, which, if he had been care ful and prudent, he might have continued to receive for some yeaTs-not many be- cause these men either die early, or, by
 unnaturally taxing their bodily energies, lose, prema,urely, those physical powers on which alone they can depend for sub- sistence. His besetting sin gained so fas, upon him, however, that 1t was found inn possible to employ him in the situations in which he really was useful to the thea tre. The public house had fascination for him which he could not resis, Neg
 lec,ed disease and hopeless poverty were as certain to be his portion as death it. self, if he persevered Tn the same course :; yet he did persevere, and the result may be guessed. He could obtain no engage ment, and he wanted bread.
 Every body who is at all acquainted with theatrical matters kaows what hosi of shabby, poverty-strcken men hang about the stage of large establishment not regularly engaged actors, but bal let people, procession men, tumblers and so forth, who are taken on during the run of pantomime, or an eastern piece and are then discharged, until the production of some heavy spectacle occasions a new demaI for their services. To this mode of life the man was compelled 10 resort and taking the chair every night, at some low theatrical house, at once put hum in possession of few more shillings weekly. and enabled him to gratIfy hls old pro pensity. Even this resource shortly failed him his irree ularities were too great to admit of his earning the wretched pit. tance he might thus have procured, and he was actually reduced 10 state border. ing on starvation, only procuring a trihe occasionally by borrowing il of some old companion, or by obtaining an appear apce at ne or another of the commonest of the minor theatres; and when he did earn anything, 1t was spent in the old way.
 About this time, and when he had been existing for upwards of year no one knew how, had short engagement at one of the theatres on the Surrey side of the water, and here l saw this man whom l had lost sight of for some time for ] had been travelirg in the provinces and he had been skulking in the lanes and alleys ot London. was dressed to leave the house, and was crossing the stage on my way out when he tapped me on the shoulder. Never shall 1 forget the repuislve sight that me; my eye when l turned round. He was dressed for the in all the absurdity of clowns costume. The spectral figures iu the Dance of Death the most friehtful shapes that the ablest painter ever DO. uayed on canvass, never presented an sp Pearance half so ghastly. Hts bl ,ated booy and shrunken legs-theu def,rmity enhanced hundred fold by the fantastic diess-the slAssy eyes, contrasting fear fully with the thick while paint with which the face was besmeared the gro tesquely ornamented head, trem bling with paralysis and the long skinny hands, rubbed with white chalk-all gave him a hideoas and unp atural appearance, oi which no description could convey an ad equate idea, and which, to this day. l shudder to think of His voice was hol- low and tremulous, as he took me aside, and in broken words recounted a long of sickness and pvivatioEs, ter. l minating as usual with an urgent reQue., tor the loan of tnflipg sum of money. l put a few shillings m his hand, and as 1 turned away heard the roar ot laughter which followed his first tumble on to the stage.
 A few nights afterwards, boy put dirty scrap of paper in my hand, on which were scrawied few words in pencil, in- timating that the man was dangerously Ill, and begging me, sfser the perform ance to see him at his lodgings in some street. forget the name of 1t now at no great distance from the theatre. l prom tseo 10 Compiy, as soon as could get away and ater the curtain fell, sailed forth on my melancholy errand
 It was late, for had been playing in the last piece and as it was a bene t, night the performance, had been pro tracted to an unusual length. It was a dark, cold night with a ch,ll, damp ~,nd, which blew the rain heavily against the windows and house fronts. Pools of water had collected in the narrow and
 little frequented streets, and as many of the thinly scattered oil.lamps had been blown out by the violence of the wind, the walk was not only ccmicz.!Sss, but most uncertain one. had fortunately taken the right course, however. and sac ceeded, afser little difficulty, in finding the house to which had been directed . coal-shed, with one story above it. in