Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1900-08-23

sorrow. He burned the candle at bot
ends. dreading the dark. In the dark
he saw always his young wife in her
coffin, with the dead baby on her
breast. Rather than be alone he
walked the streets or sat in the corri-
doris of hotels. From sheer exhaustion
he was often found sleeping in some
public room. He lived restlessly. ac-
ticely, incesantly. He grieved NOR
bidly, deeply, unremittingly.
For years he had been accustomed
to make annual productions. He an
nounced that the year following his
wife's death should make no exception.
Il will write farce" he cried, with
break in his voice. In the hours when
others slept he wrote; in the hours
when they were awake he was their
companion. He rested neither by
night nor by day. In scenes for his
new farce Charley Hoyt sought to OBJ
literate the picture of his dead wife in
her coffin.
To Washington he went year after
her death to attend the final rehearsals
for A Dog in the Manger. There Char
ley Hoyt encountered his first failure.
The heart broken husband had lost his
power to make the world laugh. The
farce was in minor key. 1t sang
Girge that only ceased when the cur
tain fell
Immediately after the play" said
Mr.. Frank Mckee, Charley Hoyts part
ner and closest friend. 81 went to the
telegraph Office and Cancelled all dates
for the piece"
Charley Hoyt's last attempt at play
writing was followed by a trip to Flor
ida. The entreaties of his friends
forced him away. They knew then tnat
the shadow of his heart had affected
his brain
The curtain is drawn now. The lights
are out. Charley Hoyt, the man who
made millions laugh with his innocent
fun, has dismissed his last audience
in tears.
1t is an added pathos to recall his
last song, his lines to the memory of
Sadie Mcdonald, the actress who died
while with one of Hoyts companies on
an Australian tour. They are:
When the scene is lighted brightly and
we watch the players nightly,
The peasant, the prince and the page,
Lo, there comes an apparition, tbs a
little fair-haired vision
In the middle of the crowding stage.
And across the footlights stealing, 70
the ist'ning heart appealing,
Floats the echo of the song that we
knew
Il want you, ma honey, yes l want you,
want you, want you:
want you, ma honey, yes do!"
Then she passes. AYonder, lonely, she
has one true comrade only.
Who comes to her with whisperings
of hope.
Speeding fast across the ocean, with
unfaltering devotion
'Tis the wind from her own Pacific
Slope.
And it presses toward her pillow, print
ing footsteps on the billow.
Lightly, like one who comes to WOO,
And it murmurs low above her, with
the soft sigh of lover
want you, ma honey, yes dos
Ah the worktime and the playtime!
All, the hot and garish daytime!
She rests undisturbed through it all i,
While the sultry hours are creeping, in
her darkened room she's sleeping,
And she heeds not the loudest call.
But when the lights are glist ming and
the silent stars are list'ning
From their places in the steadfast
blue.
Ii we come. our sad hearts bringing,
we may hear her softly singing,
l want you, ma honey, yes 1 dol"
And when the years have vanished and
more stately songs are banished
This simple strain that time cannot
kill
VIII recall the figure slender and the
accents clear and tender.
And the tresses that are golden still
You will listen, little lady, and perhaps
you'll hear us, Sadie.
/ Singing-across the years-to you
The song you taught so sweetly, ere
you passed from us completely,
Il want you, ma honey, yes 1 dol"