The Caucasian. (Clinton, N.C.) 188?-1913, 1912-11-14
THE MAN WITHOUT A HOME.

THE MAN WITHOUT A HOME.
Wild with joy and mad with excite
ment, the people OF Paris surged
around the palace of their old King
Louis.
1t was a dark and stormy evening
in October. but the great city was
gay with lights and full of merri-'
ment. No one in the crowd stopped
TO look at the pale, worn, foreign
young man sitting lonely and sad
among the statues in the garden of
the Royal Palace. France was going
to war with Spain, and the French
people had recovered their insolence
and vainglory.
Il was only seven years since We'll
hngton had hurled Napoleon into the
dust at Waterloo. and set the old
King Louis on the French throne.
And already France was busy collect
ing hundred thousand troops to in
wade and conquer Spain.
Look at that skulling English
mani" some of the crowd said.
What scarecrow! Ha! King Louis
is better man than Napoleon. He
won't be beaten by the perfidious
English
At the sound Of their wild insults
the young man looked up, moodily
and savagely. The poor fellow had
not the heart to make any reply. He
was foot-sore with tramping about
the city, and faint for want of food.
An actor from Drury Lane Theatre
and a friend OF Charles Lamb and
Lord Byron. he had spent all his
money in travelling to Paris in the
hope OF finding employment there.
But the feeling against the English
had grown so bitter that no French
man would have anything to do with
the young actor from London.
I'VE don't want any more Eng
lishmen in Paris" they said to him.
But I am not an Englishman, 4"
the actor used to reply. II am an
American"
American or English, it Is all the
same. You speak French with the
same bad accent, and we don't want
you"
The young foreigner spoke the
truth when he said he was an Amer
lean. Born In a little cottage on the
outskirts OF New York in 1871, he
had come to London at the age of
twenty-one and made great success
as an actor at Drury Lane. Some
Of the best English poets OF the day
Lord Byron, Coleridge and Charles
Lamb-had befriended him, and
tried to make him settle In London.
But the young American had q
restless and wandering spirit He
wanted to roam about the world,
from city to city, continually looking
at fresh faces and strange scenes
and regarding life as q passing show.
But now. as he sat homeless and
fTieidless and starving amid the pal
aces and pleasures Of the gayest and
most brilliant city on the earth, his
thoughts sadly turned to the little
humble cottage where he had lived fn
quiet happiness.
Tt began to rain, and q cold wind
swept through the now deserted
roads. The homeless wanderer rose
up YEARLY to try and find a nights
lodging. He walked aimlessly and
sadly through the streets. In the
lower windows of the houses the
blinds were drawn, so that no one
could look in. But, in passing by q
humble dwelling, the outcast saw on
q blind the shadows of a father and
mother and their children. The light
of lamp threw the outlines of their
figures clear on the yelled window
"Ah," said the poor actor, with
tears in his eyes. There's no place
like home.''
He suddenly remembered that al
the end of the town there was an
English theatre manager who had
come to Paris to seek new plays.
81 viii look him up and see If ]
can borrow little money from him, u
said the vanderer.
And he at once turned and, retrac-
ing his steps passed the place of the
French king, and began to walk
quickly towards the street In which
the manager lived.
Suddenly his pace slackened. He
looked back at the Tuileries and the
Louvre. the two great palaces of the
kings Of France. which rose M great