Connecticut western news., 1892-06-30
HIS CHANGE AT LAST.

HIS CHANGE AT LAST.
 Clement and Henry Walford were twin brothers. How like and yet how | unlike! In appearance there was every thing to lead one to see that they could both lay claim to the same birthday their faces were identical, their figures the same. Fortune, however, had placed them in totally distinct channels. Theil mother in her day Qor she had been dead these twenty years) was an actress o1 rare ability, and people had crowded the theaters night after night to follow hel impressive acting.
 | Both her sons had inherited her tai ents in no sma'' measure, and. two years previous to her uaath they had launched out in their first struggle to win fresh laurels for the name around which all | that was gifted had gathered. Talents, alas! may live and shine, yet they may live and scarcely flicker Today these two men were brothers only in name. The gifts of the one had been recognized by fickle public, the abilities of the other never even had a thought. Clement Walford! His name was on everybody's lips. The critics gave him columns in the papers, theatrical man. agers almost knelt at his feet and paid eagerly the money he demanded to se- cure his services; society held open its | doors, and the great actor entered at his ease. And Henry? A struggler-noth- ing more; disappointed struggler. Clever, but unknown; gifted, but un- heard of. His brothers success may have cut him, but it never discouraged him. He labored on, still hopeful. While the popular man was rich in London, the other was lowering on the very edges of poverty. There were times when he had been forted to write to his brother a letter asking for help, but no reply ever came. The poor mans wife had even knocked at the great actors door, but the response from a servants lips was that "Mr. Walford was engaged"
 And so the brothers lived. The one utterly oblivious to the ties of relation ship, the otler hoping for recognition and reconciliation at last. Clement Wal lords triumph was at hand. Hitherto
 
 remained untouched, but paragraphs in the newspapers had just appeared an nouncing the fact that it was his inten- tion to appear at an early date as Hamlet. Everybody, from manager to public, was sanguine of a great success; it was the topic of the clubs, the conver- sation of the critics. Clement Walford himself felt inwardly comfortable and satisfied that failure with him could never be. Success! Success! Successl He harped on that word at night, saw the dream of his life realized as he walked the streets to rehearsal and heard the enthusiasm of the people, and watched them clamoring there, even in the empty theater, as scene by scene was gone through at rehearsal on the stage. In all this he was alone with himself. He thought of Clement Walford and of him alone. A brother! He had none. The other had had the same chances why did he not take them? If man, even his own flesh and blood, snapped his fingers at his opportunities, was 1t for him to put them ill his grasp?
 The night drew near. The day before the performance had arrived and the last rehearsal had been held. Clement Walford returned to his rooms. He stood before the gilded mantelpiece and looked into the glass. He started back! He felt giddy. Again he looked into the mirror with straining eye. He had never seen such a deathly pallof on his face before. He smiled at his foolish ness. He attempted to reach a chair, but found his feet would scarcely carry him. Make what effort he might his head was dropping on to his breast; he felt his hands trembling and looked at them to see if it was true.
 "Engagement-stra - ner- vousness-overdoing it," he cried; "a drink of water-brandy-will set me right. Where's the bellrope? An! there it is," and crawling toward the cord, across the room, he just managed to reach it when he fell to the ground. When he awoke he lay in bed, the doc tor standing by. He lifted his eyes to- ward those of the doctor.
 "Why-why am 1 here? How long have been here? Is this-is this the first night?" he asked.
 "You have been here for few hours, that is all, was the doctors reply. "Lie quite still-keep your hands in bed, now"
 "Thank God! Thank God" the man said. ''I was afraid it was the first night. Whats the matter with me? Whats the matter with me? Why don't you an swer? Don't look at me like that; an swer mer
 "You have been doing too much late ly; you are not strong"
 "Not strongp'
 And nothing but perfect rest will bring you around again." the doctor said. "You have"-
 "What? what? Tell me quicklyr "You have broken blood vesselp The man looked at the doctor for g moment. Then he rose in his bed. His | voice was scarcely discernible; it was | cold and harsh; it was not the voice oi | a man whose tone had fascinated all its hearers. He looked the medical man wildly in the face. He asked quietly al | first:
 Do you know what tomorrow night is? No; of course you don't. But do It is the first night of Hamlet and shall be there-there, with the house be- fore me, hanging on every word I utter Do you think this bed will hold me from my triumph, do you. think you, or the warning of any man, will prevent me from welcoming the hour of my success | Not strong! you don't know me. You are 8 stranger to my strength. Don't speak a word. shall only ridicule you1 warning. l tell you, you don't know me. Take your hand away-take il away. What do you say? Rest-res here, or 1 must-what! Die? Die! Yor | talk madlv No no | shall livai I ivf