The Monmouth inquirer., 1897-08-05
HIS FIRST APPEARANCE.

was barely twenty-one when was
left a widow. My brief married life
had not been very happy one; my
poor young husband-the light come
dian of the dramatic company in which
I was engaged-had dazzled my girlish
fancy by his bright manner and good
looks; but soon after our marriage he
complained that he had mot yet had
his fling" by which he meant that
cards, billiards, and the small hours OF
the night spent in convival society had
still more charm for him than the COM
panionship of young and unsophisti.
Gated girl.
1t was but natural, perhaps, that this
should be so, for he was very popular
among his fellow actors; but many and
many night have / lain awake, quiet
ly weeping over my inability to keep
him more often in his home, while,
when he did return ga little elevated"
as he expressed it, have feigned sleep,
knowing that nothing angred him SO
much as to find me awake, or with wet
eyes. Whether l might have learned
to understand and to please him better
as years went on, had | gained expert
ence of the world and its ways, I can
never know, for at the end of eighteen
months the poor boy died, cut off by
what the old wives call "a galloping
consumption.
AS l have told you, l was then only
twenty-one, and being very slender
pale and fair, I think scarcely looked
my age. People used to say of me,
pityiDgly: Poor thing! Alone in the
world!" Alonei thousand times no!
Had / not whole world of love be-
yond measure in my arms when they
held my baby?. My love for that little
morsel of life was overwhelming; when
held him to my heart, or felt his little
pink fingers clinging round my own,
experienced rapture of thankfulness
to God, Who had thought me worthy
of trust so great, of a gift so precious.
AS he grew older and could toddle by
my side and lisp out a few words, / am
afraid I must have been rather trial
to my companions in the dressing
room, for was ever relating to them
some new tale of baby's cleyerness;
but they were good, kind, creatures
they knew that it was the subject near
est my heart, and forgaye its being ever
on my lips.
When he was about six years old,
many were the requests made to me for
him to play child's part on the stage
-he was so intelligent, they said, and
his golden curls and big blue eyes were
so attractive. But no; could not bear
the idea of my one pet lamb being ex-
posed to the heat and glare of the foot
lights, to the close air of the theatre
and the late hours so unnatural for a
child of tender years, so / always stead
lily declined such offers, although the
money to be gained by such plan was
no little temptation, as my salary was
small, and our wants were many.
| was not very brilliant actress, be-
ing too timid and having too little self
confidence to make great way in my
profession; but at last grand chance
of proving the real extent of my abil-
ity occurred. The company Of which
/ was a member was a small one, and
the towns we visited unimportant;
therefore, when our manageress was
suddenly taken i'll, the leading parts
were entrusted to me. The work was
terribly heavy, for the small provincial
audiences who patronized us demanded
a constant change of programme, SO
that I had barely time to cram into my
brain the mere words of each part as
it fell to me. l fancy | must have prov
ed myself the tamest Juliet, the mildest
Lady Macbeth, and the most imperfect
Ophelia on record. In vain the mana
ger nightly implored me to speak up"
mot to be afraid, to let them have it,
and so on. Alas / knew and felt that
/ should never make "a leading lady"
At last the ever-popular East
Lynne" was announced for the last Sat
urday night in k. Our kind-heart-
ed manager patted me on the shoulder.
and said encouragingly, Now Miss
Dougless" (that was my nom de thea
tre), you'll have two rehearsals. and
plenty of time to swallow the words.
Lady Isabel will just suit your style;
now let's see what you can dol"
To those of my readers who may not
be acquainted with the plot of East
Lynne" let me explain that Lady Isa-
bel, in groundless fit of jealousy.
runs away from her husband, home,
and children, is supposed to have been
killed in railway accident, but some
years after returns to her old home.
disguised, to act as governess to her
own children; endures the torture OF
watching the lingering death of her
own boy Willie, and eventually dies
in her husbands arms.
On the Friday morning, upon pre-
senting myself at rehearsal, | was in
formed that there was a serious hitch
in the arrangements
The little town had been secured to
find suitable child to represent Willie
but the result was dire failure. The
two candidates for the part were ut
terly impossible specimens of delicate
childhood, one being red-haired,
squirting lad who stood almost as high
as my shoulder; the other a poor
frightened little urchin who refused to
be conciliated or to leave his mothers
side for one instant. What was to be
done?
Presently | saw the manager and the
stage manager anxiously comforting to-
gether in a corner. ! noticed also that
every now and then they glanced to-
wards me, as though formed the sub
iect of their conversation. 1t was quite