Morning journal and courier., 1889-08-16

DuseSs.t
1t was Christmas time in ST. Giles work.
house, and there was qsite large party of
us engaged in waiting on the old people and
| in mastering to their creature comforts. We
gave them q sort OF entertainment after
! wards-songs, recitations, some amateur
| coniurng snd instrumental music. After
| the d1nner came the entertainment; and just
| before the entertainment an ounce of tobac-
co or snuff, whichever they pleased, was pre-
sented to each inmate. As handed the
tray containing the little packet he stretched
out q shaking hand and thanked me in a
4 voice which seemed familiar.
'I think we must have met before, my
frienda" said.
"Lor' bless you, Mr.. Nibbsl" said he, 81
| used to see you most every night before my
misfortune-my misfortune as brought me
here" he added wearilY.
ri don't remember your face" answered;
and yet seemed to have seen it before.
"My face is about all that is left of me-"
he replied, and then he did a very extraordi-
| nary thing-he blew out his cheeks, he
screwed up his mouth, his eyes seemed near
ly to start from his head, and his scalp,
which was covered with scanty masses Of
gray hair, began to work up and down with
l q SOrG OIL Iu6CudulChk nOt0ucuG, duO tA0u ho
uttered the extraordinary words, ''Here we
, are againl" 1..
"Good graciousl" said L, "why it's Moli-
no.n
"Thats me, sir" he said, cor what's left
of me-"
got rid of my tray of tobacco and snuff,
and then came back to the old man. He
8 wasn't an old man in years, but he looked
3 seventy at the least. We had been rivals
r once, Molino and I. When I first began
writing for the stage-and began at twenty
II did good many things for the "Brd Of
} Prey" was glad TO write comic song for
8 guinea. knew what poverty was; but
an angel And so was Molino. I was a no
: body-an outsider, ''mug." He wa
8 somebody; for he was "the great little Moli
= no." the celebrated clown; and of US two
she certainly preferred Molino. There wa
no doubt about her preference, for she wa
n engaged to be married to him; and then
a knowing how the case stood, I, as an homes
o man, gave up my suit. And then I los
y sight Of her for some years. and Molin
r: dropped out of my memory altogether. Sh
/. | was certainly the most graceful dancer
, have ever seen. The school of dancing q
Il the "Bird of Prey" used to be quite an In
'r stitution, and it was a tradition there tina
Or the best dancer always played Columbine 9
u Christmas. Talk about the poetry Of me
ClOu-lhlh hUOuu dcIlnA S1noo oAN AhJsA
" movement. Never before OF since have
is seen such dancing as Linas, and don't b.
es lieve ever shall if live to be hundred
Other people thought 80 too, and they didn
keep Lima Fenton long at the "Bird {
he Prey" She came to the West End, st
"a played at the Peristyle, she got speakir
: part, she rose to be the stock chambermai
8. Of the establishment; then she made hit
ar melodrama then she married a millionair
ar then her millionaire smashed up, and Liz
In Fenton now plays aristocratie old wome
and honestly earns her five hundred dollars
Al IA year.
i'll But at the time I am speaking of Lii
be Fenton was not an old woman; she was,
~ repeat, an angel. I thought so, Moli,
az thought so and so did the British public.
AZ "You heard how I came to grief, air,
ng supposea" he said. 'sIt was along of beer
&C. "why, you were most sober man." +
,r marked.
d. "Aye." he replied, Charley water was n
to | drink in those days, sir. A clown don't
much good unless he is q sober man; but
wasn't the beer drank, sir, that settled N
les it was the beer had to give to other pc
me pie. Glowing was very different thing
or those days, sir, wasn't its Why, there wasl
~; house in London as didn't run its pant
mime; and it was the comic business tn
~: went to see, sir, then, and not the bale
his and the PROFESSIONS, and the gentlemen a
ke. ladies from the music halls. They used