Norwich bulletin., 1909-07-03
THE LONG AGO AND THE LATER 0N.
An Experience of Eighty Years ot Life.
CBY GEORGE TIsDALE BRoMLEY9

| DV to IIlY OlQ anu lliChi W C sailed away for LarchmOnt, where l
 took the train for New York. and aft CT few days's stay, started for my boyhood's home in dear old Norwich. After a delightful visit 1 again visit ed Boston, and the first man l met upon entering the Parker house was ISny dear friend Captain Mack of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery The | meeting was very cordial one and resulted in mutual assurances of our | distinguished consideration for each | other, after W hich we were given seats | on the hotel veranda, where we had | an excellent view of the Boston police | force as the parade marched by the | hotel. and I am free to say that l have never seen a finer looking body
 of men than that composing the Bos- | ton police. When the procession had | passed we started to return the way we came. when we found the room
 we had passed through an hour before, which was then only furnished with | the usual furniture, had been trans l formed into a banquet room, and seat
 ed at a table bountifIIlly supplied with the solids and liquids that make life | worth living were twelve members or | the Ancient and Honorable Artillery company, and there were two vacant | chairs awaiting the captain and my self Well, this was one of the sur | prises that we sometimes read about | but seldom experience. However, we
 were equal to the emergency, and for about three hours we had one of the times that were a credit to Boston | After dinner and a refreshing nap, l 1 looked over the evening paper. and was more than pleased to find that
 Sir Henry Irving was playing an en- | gagement at the Fremont theater.
 lost no time in getting there, and at the box office, af ter pudchasing my ticket, I left not to this effect: sir Henry:
 T am here in the audience, and would be plea ;ed' to say How do you do to you at the close of the per formance. Uncle George" I had been seated but short time when a gentleman came to me, and said he: 'Is this MT. Bromley?" said it was.
 Then" said he "Mr. Irving wishes you to come behind the scenes at the
 close of the second act"
 "All right" said I, but how am
 to get there?"
 "Oh." said he. q will come for you"
 and he did, and seated me in the prop
 erty room. When Sir Henry came
 in, his appearance rather startled me.
 He was playing in Faust" and in his
 costume of glaring red, with his head
 surmounted by a pair of splendid
 horns, he was wonder to look upon,
 and as rose to greet him, "Oh, Uncle
 George, I am so glad to see you,' he exclaimed, and opened his arms and
 gave me a warm embrace. Now"
 said he, 'I have only a few moments,
 but want you to come to our hotel on Sunday and dine with Miss Terry and myself, and I will send you tick cts for the Saturday night perform ance." With an overwhelming sense of the honor conferred and just as I was getting myself together to express my grateful thanks, Sir Henry was called to the front In a powdered sort of way, I wandered back to my seat with the audience, but from that time on, though I was with them I was not of them, for my thoughts were of the wonderful experience that fallen to my lot.
 Upon arriving at the hotel I was met by four Knights Templar whose eplasant acquaintance I had made during the triennial conclave. and they informed me that, seeing my name on the hotel register, they had come to invite me to banquet to be given by past commanders of the commandery of Boston and the adjacent towns. I accepted joyfully and then they pushed the button. All the foregoing happen ed on Thursray after leaving my na- tive town.
 On Friday I went to the Art club to see the manager Joe Tippet, one of the early secretaries of the Bohe- milan club. We were mighty glad to see each other, and while there his wife and daughter came in, and as had known them intimately in San Francisco, the unexpected meeting was joyful one, and the conversa- t1on went on at a rattling pace, they telling how heartily they had enjoyed Sir Henry Irving at the Fremont theater. But the character in which he was to appear on Saturday night was one they were most anxious to see. Well" said I, ''are you not go- ing?" "No," they said they couldn't afford it. Why" said I, you can go with me"
 With you!" they said, with un- feigned surprise, "and how are you going"
 Why, I have box" said I, bring ing forth the little envelope that had | taining five tickets, I gave them four, | telling them that one was sufficient l for me. A warm, sweet kiss from | mother and daughter was far more | expressive of the perfect rapture with | which they received the proffered | tickets than any language at my com 1 mand.
 Upon my return to the hotel found | my friend, David Marr, waiting for | his good-natured face heightened out | and he started in as follows:
 Now Uncle George, you have been | going at a high rate of speed for | three monthk, and it is time for you | to slow down. What you need now | is rest, and you go to the office set | tie your bill, and then go with me to | Hyde Park and remain there until | you have been thoroughly rested"
 But it is impossible" said I. flor I | have engagements that must be lived | up to."
 "Oh, damn the engagements! Your health is of more consequence than all your engagements" And the ear nestness with which he gave express sion to his feelings convinced me that | he meant just what he said, and I | really began to realize that I ought | to take much-needed rest I ex- piained to MT. Marr just what my engagements were, and he immediate | " visited the parties, explained the situation to them, which proved en- tirely satisfactory to them. and I was excused.
 Upon the return of Mir. Marr to the hotel l paid my bill, took my belong ings and proceeded with him to | Hyde Park, where right royal well come awaited me and where for four | days and nights I gave myself up to the enjoyment of the most perfect rest l have ever known, and with one of the loveliest families in all New England and an exceedingly interest," Ing correspondence between the fam | ly and myself has been kept up from | that day to this
 After leaving Hyde Park I went di- rectlY to Providence. R. L. where