Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1897-05-01
HER LAST DANCE.

with numb, folded hands and dry, ter
ror filled eyes she sat in the darkest cor
her of her gay little drawing room, be-
meath the ehastly chamber whence We're
soon to be borne the earthly remains of
her husband.
What was she to do? How was she to
procure not the luxuries without which
she scarce imagined her child could ex-
list, but the bare necessities of life? Ev-
cry piece of furniture i'll the house was
mortgaged to it's full value and her last
jewel had gone to pay the rent. Thank
Heaven they could have this haven for
some time to come! She was i'll debt to
butcher and baker, and DE had not had
a new pair of gloves for months. Shil-
lings had become the basis of expendi-
ture as guineas had been hitherto.
In the morning sympathizing friends
came to support and assist her through
the trying ordeal. All passed like a
dream. "Tout passe, tout passe," she
said over and over, "but my heart is
strong"
When, month later, she sat with
Cousin Selma i'll the same room, in the
same chair, listening again to the gusty
rain as it beat against the windows, it
was to her as if no appreciable time had
intervened. Dreamily she took up the
thread of her thoughts where she had
dropped it that sad night, and the
strange conceit came back to her.
Women less brilliant, but stolid and
plodding, were ensconced in journals
where she had disdained even to allow
her verses to appear. With voices in no
way comparable to her, she saw others
succeed, while she, who sang like bird
but like a bird, too, only when in
spired-could make no impression. And
so, lowered as she was, she was poorer
and more helpless than the humblest
woman who could conscientiously knit
pair of stockings or embroider a tea
cloth.
The pretty face seemed pinched and
weary. Two deep lines began to inclose
the dropping mouth. 81 smile Ell paren-
these" she said to Cousin Selma as she
turned from the mirror, where she was
trying to change the expression of those
quivering lips, that even at the moment
curved upward, a Cupid's bow, at the
quaint conceit.
More surely than ever she knew she
could ask no favors, but must put her
own shoulder to the wheel. But what to
do when all else failed? To dance Oh the
stage! Why not? She could dance. All
her life she had loved to dance In her
greatest joy she had ever found fullest
expression i'll dancing to her own refiec-
tions before the long mirror in her bou
doir. A hundred times her darling had
been lulled to sleep, eased of her pain
by the dancing of her ''pretty mumsie. :"
Once, with her husband, she had seen a
famous actress--a woman chaste as her.
self-dance so gracefully, yet with an
abandon so perfect, as to captivate an au-
dience accustomed to exhibitions from
which she had turned in loathing-to
his annoyance, since his taste grew
yearly less refined. Even then, "the pity
of it," she had sighed. And how much
even then was implied that she should
say, turning to him:
ludG COulu uO, L dIu CeTtdlu.
May you never need," he had an
swered fervently, for he loved her
and was proud of her, though his paths
i'll life We're devious, though he would
not follow her. 1t all came back
to her vividly-the gay scene, the
eager faces, the murmur of delight,
the applause that rose again and again
b, to;l
fast. Yes, she would dance. 1t might
cost her the few friends she still pos
sessed, but as long as she helped herself
she could maintain her pride.
Next day became tiresome round of
interviews with impatient, incredulous
or impertinent managers, with heart
growing daily heavier and brain sharp
ened almost to viciousness. At last an
impresario, touched by her grace and
the expression of brave despair in her
hungry eyes, granted her trial, fixing
an hour at the theater Oh the following
day i'll the early forenoon. Amid con-
course OF women, some sympathetic,
some brazenly inquisitive, all SO differ
ent from herself that she scarce felt they
were her sisters, she made her first essay.
How unreal it seemed-a dream from
which she would waken in moment!
She has kept her glance straight BE-
fore her, trying to shut out the crudity
of her surroundings - the "sets" all
awry, the glimpses of busy carpenters
and scene shifters, the flashily dressed
men and women waiting for rehearsal
and familiarizing in a way that gave
her mental nausea. A row of raw girls
i'll soiled dancing shoes and fleshings,
their upper halves clothed in ordinary
bodices, went awkwardly through their
matutinal drill. The odor of dust and
oil and paint began to oyerpower her,
and she was on the verge of losing her
self possession when the kind voice of
the manager, close behind her, said:
"Your turn, madame. Will you tell
me what music you desire?" The Or
chestra, composed of one violin on the