St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-07-18

new STUN IS TO be prepared Tor the coming
attractions 1t is necessary to work at nights.
which do while the play proceeds below
me.
But that is not of what I wished to
write. l am bachelor believe Young
men unmarried at SO are so considered
and l board. l don't reside, or keep house.
or have home. l just board. The con-
dition is but grade better than that of a
travelling man who stops"
Realizing that and with desire to make
my room as home-llke as l might, it has
been my habit to place about the mantel and
on the hanging-shelves such little things as
have no value in themselves, yet are dear
from long association.
| never knew how many there were of
them till to- night, when 1 am about to pack
them preparatory to their being stored while
l go down to New York for little sum-
mering and some new ideas. They occupy
different positions in my affections. Some
are trifles that would part with for the
asking, others l would let go more reluc-
family and some there are that believe it
would almost take my life TO have to say
adieu to.
There are pipes and sketches, photo
graphs and programs of initial perform
ances. pln-cushlons, paper flowers, fancy
calendars. etc. But among the rubbish
there are four bits most treasured.
In the center of the mantel space is a
painters palette, with the colOrs as he left
them at the end of busy day. They are
dry and hard and blended in an harinoni-
Gus union by the dust of twelve long years.
The owner of the little oval board had
given it to me on the afternoon on which
said goodbye to him and stood upon the
dock while the great ship took him out to
sea. Before he went abroad to study in
the schools of France we had been boys to-
gether and young men. Such happy days!
We had drawn and gone sketching in the
woods and Wed with each other in our
water-color bits. Our first efforts when we
took up ''oil' had been together also. We
built our castles in the light of a common
ambition. We said that we would go to
Paris and Munich and be great artists.
Then came my disappointment. He had a
little money left him by an aunt. 1t was
enough to keep him four years with the
masters and to pay his way. Grim want
kept me back. would not mar his happi-
ness by letting him see my grief, but in the
darkness of my room 1 wept like child at
the failure of my hopes the night before he
sailed.
His letters for time were bright with
promise and then they ceased to come. He
worked four years, but his energy went
out under the cruel knowledge of his medi-
ocrity. He had mistaken his talent for a
genius.
He found the level of his ability and
never came back home. Disappointment
made him old before ~
his time. and some-(
where now in London, On N
l believe, he is doing Ml\,l SN\M\
the designing for a\ l1UV((\\\\\\\
wood engraver. \lG \A\\\\\\\l
Did you ever lose one \kNl lNAS\' |
that had been your pAIH/
companion for years? NNO
Do you know whatit is
to wander through the empty house search
ing for presence that has gone? l was so
lost without my friend and comrade that it
was days before could resume the daily
routine of my duties.
But there was another that felt his abb
sence quite as much as L; meek-eyed, ,
pretty, blue-eyed girl, that had promised to
be his wife. He had said that when his
education in art was done he would come
back, and she had promised to wait for him.
L don't think she cared whether he was
When he failed he wrote that her young
life was a sacrifice he could not accept he
would not hold her to her promise longer
Poor thingi That copy of Lucille, with
the little water-color fly leaf. was gift to
her from him. 1t is one of my collection
now. [ always fancied that the history of
the heroine had furnished the suggestion to
her. Like Lucille, the girl sought consola-
ton in the church. They welcomed her
and she became nun.
That was eight years ago. I have no
doubt that she has regretted her course often
enough since then. but too late to retrace
her steps. Meredth's poem l keep as a
souvenir. Next to her lover l always
thought she considered me her nearest
friend.
Above the book and hanging by the
palette is pistol, an old-time horse pistol,
like the dragons carried in the war of '12.
Immediately beside the book is a lady's
slipper. The two are closely related in my
stock of "reminiscences, and with them and
my possession of them is connected little
story.
In my first year at paint frame, back in
the old stock days, was working in an
Eastern theater. In the company was a
young fellow named Ned, doing the comedy,
and a man by the name of Clark
playing heayies. Clark had a pretty
wife, of whom he was insanely jealous, and
not without cause. Ned was dasher and
IL was pretty generally understood in the
company and about the stage that Mrs.
Clark encouraged his attentions. Clark
used to bring his wife to the theater. She
didn't play, but there was always a seat for
her i'll the prompt entrance, where she
could see the show if she wanted to. When
the bill was not attractive she would often
sit i'll the green room and read.
1t was there that Ned was in the habit of
conducting his flirtations. He would time
his visits so as to have them occur when
Clark was on the stage.
Ned grew to think too much of the lady
and some one told Clark of their green
room trysting. Clark took his wife to task
about it and the meetings were discon-
tinued. At least they were no longer so
open.
One week we were doing ''Everybody's
Friend" Ned was the De Boots and Clark
was cast out of his line in Featherly. That
.@,old pistol there was one
h; vol two that Ned used in
WIN the part. We were to
sND put on THE Seven Sis
sNI II terS," spectacle, the
1EMI ID next week, and I was
tx a working night and day.
.,FV The bridge and paint
EG frame, on which latter
I'D the new scenery was
stretched, were reached by going round the
fly gallery and through little room where
l kept my stock of paint One night-a
Thursday. believe-whie at work, L noticed
ceased and the call-boy was crying through
the green-room and up the stairway for
Featherly. Twice I heard his cry. and
then there was scufle in the paint-room,
from which moment later Ned came hur-
riedly in his DeBoots makeup. AS he
passed me on the bridge he whispered
hoarsely CLARK" and rushed on. At the
end of the bridge was pulley-rope
weighted to exactly balance the large paint
frame that worked up and down behind the
bridge. When the frame was well-dOWn