. r i 
 
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 BEHIND THE SCENES: 
 
 A STORY OF THE STAGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 VERITY VICTOR. r>$tu~4 
 
 BOSTON: 
 NEW ENGLAND NEWS COMPANY. 
 
 1870.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 NEW ENGLAND NEWS COMPANY, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 ELECTROTTPED AT THB 
 
 BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, 
 
 No. 19 Spring Lane.
 
 TO THE OPENER. 
 
 OCR little Verivic has written this small book, and it is a 
 great comfort to us all to see it in print. It is something 
 done a triumph. The wisest man, they tell us, says there 
 is no end of this vanity. We hope so. 
 
 The world keeps going over and over, and yet some of it 
 does not " see itself as others see it." This seems a pity. 
 Who is there that would not be the better by knowing how- 
 he looks in the eyes of others ? To put a strong case, pos- 
 sibly even the " righteous " might be benefited by knowing 
 exactly how they and their opinions appear to the " wicked." 
 
 Books are other people's eyes to see ourselves and our 
 pets with. Is it really wise for the bad to taboo the eyes of 
 the good, or the reverse? It is abundantly done, never- 
 theless, between different classes, both, of course, esteem- 
 ing themselves pretty good. 
 
 Almost every one has opinions, more or less settled, in 
 regard to our various social and religious institutions, in- 
 cluding the stage. Our Verivic has the peculiarity of 
 having seen the latter from many points of view, without 
 ever having been " behind the scenes " of any of the others, 
 and of proceeding, from first to last, on the very unpopu- 
 lar assumption, that if there is any salt on earth that 
 retains its savor, it cannot and will not shrink from famil- 
 iarity with anything that needs to be saved. 
 
 (3) 
 
 1703362
 
 4 TO THE OPENER. 
 
 The adult theatre seems to Verivic to have unfortunately 
 lost much of the pure and natural spirit of the child's, by 
 the tide of sanctimony setting upon it so strong as to drive 
 it even to doubt whether its result is innocent, while it is 
 conscious that its intention is. Hence, perhaps, out of 
 contempt for the uncharitableness of the onslaught, it in- 
 dulges in language and manners most shocking to the 
 nerves of sanctimony, but which, when carefully weighed, 
 will be found as unmeaning, if not as void of profanity and 
 wickedness, as some of the prayers and conventionalities 
 so highly valued outside. Unseemly excrescences were bet- 
 ter avoided on both sides. Granting the wickedness, if 
 charity can cover a multitude of sins, might it not, and had 
 it not better, prevent them ? Why not cherish and cultivate 
 the theatre, as so much preserved childhood, useful, like 
 occasional sleep, to reinvigorate the earnestness of later 
 life? This is Verivic's question. 
 
 If your own opinion of this peculiar institution, once 
 fondly nurtured but long since anathematized by the 
 church, is not stereotyped or copper-faced, possibly you 
 will become, by a decree of your own private judgment, 
 one of Verivic's readers. What a precious confidence ! 
 For there is not the slightest probability that any Sunday 
 school committee, or Young Men's Christian Association 
 committee, or any Dramatic Fund committee, or even any 
 Public Library committee, or the (Ecumenical Council will 
 authorize the reading of this little book at present. The 
 poor fledgeling will have to work its own way in the wide 
 world, or not go at all beyond being a blessing to the family 
 nest where it was hatched. 
 
 VERITY'S PET.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRV. . . . .7 
 
 Abigail's home. The children's theatre. The 
 real fairy. Her mother at home. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL 26 
 
 The little princess and her step-mother. Conver- 
 sation with a mouse. The " presiding elder." Fred 
 Somerby. Going to the theatre on the sly. The 
 "Bannock's den," and what came out of it. The 
 chastisement. Death and funeral of the mouse. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. . . . .55 
 
 The Meshers and their plot. An unlooked-for in- 
 terference. How it proved a failure. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 AT THE FOOT OP THE LADDER. . . . .73 
 
 Going on as a "lady." James Hallman. Tom 
 Lennox, the handsome manager. Drilling for the 
 dance. The ballet-mistress. The stage manager. 
 The paymaster. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 AN EPISODE. . . . . . . . 101 
 
 A favorable opening by the sickness of the "lead- 
 ing lady." How she closed it after a rehearsal. 
 
 (5)
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-ROOMS. . . . 149 
 
 Miss Fanny Ceeleius and her ways. Trouble in 
 the manager's office. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 161 
 
 How Gail took her disappointment. The roses 
 she should'haveworn, as Juliet, withered, but not lost. 
 The good Friar. Another glimmer of hope. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 STRAWS 184 
 
 The Friar's benefit. Good Mrs. Leamingston. 
 Ceelems again. Harben, the lessor. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. . . . 201 
 
 The plot of Nelly's Fate. Isabel Lester's cynical 
 views. The poor moth flying into the flame. 
 Stage fright. A bit of tragedy. Bringing down 
 the house. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 238 
 
 The effect at home. A visit from the manager. 
 Miss Ceelems, as the " leading lady," rebels. How 
 the management and Mrs. Leamingston crushed the 
 rebellion. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 EXCELSIOR. 249 
 
 The ruin and its discovery. Fred Somerby 
 again. The dismissal of Julie. The heart of a 
 scene-shifter. Death in the green-room.
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 
 
 THERE stood on a certain street a tall brick 
 building, with a great many small windows of 
 uncommunicative aspect, obscured sometimes by 
 dingy wooden shutters, and always by dust. A 
 large entrance, invitingly open, displayed walls 
 with brightly painted panels. Two black, giant- 
 lettered posters, just outside, announced that more 
 alluring sights were to be seen within. At one 
 side, and down a narrow archway, where only 
 once a day a single sunbeam stole, could be found 
 a door, that, in the pure light, looked half ashamed, 
 as if it had exhausted its spirits in the night's 
 festivities, and just awakened. It was notched 
 and blotched, and with the paint washed off in 
 streaks. 
 
 To this place there came with the sunbeam each 
 day a little child, who glanced at the old door 
 
 (7)
 
 8 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 with frightened, hungry eyes for an instant, and 
 stole away as she had come, softly and swiftly, 
 passing the black giant-lettered posters as if 
 they dazzled her. 
 
 The building was the old Union Theatre, and 
 the child was Abigail Hart. In the neighborhood 
 of the theatre was Abigail's home a brick house, 
 one of a block, that was unlike its fellows only 
 in having a pleasanter face, for in a little iron- 
 fenced bit of ground before it a very grave-yard 
 lot in itself had sprung a grape-vine, that year 
 by year reached out its delicate tendrils, and clung 
 to the rough bricks, till in time it became powerful, 
 and with its strong branches embraced the wall 
 that had given it protection, and in grateful return 
 held sunshine in its rich green foliage and purple 
 bunches, to keep young the soul of the old house, 
 that at times it might forget the weary care and 
 noise of the great city, and dream a little of nod- 
 ding tree-tops far away, and cool babbling streams, 
 that ran between green banks decked with the 
 bright blooms of wild flowers. The best bunches 
 and greenest leaves of the vine clustered about the 
 highest windows of the building, those nearest to 
 heaven and the angels, and where daily seven 
 eager rosy faces peered into the wide world. The 
 room, wanned thus with the vine's sunniest smiles,
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 9 
 
 was called by the parents "the children's room." 
 The apartment extended from end to end of the 
 old house, and was oddly furnished. Its walls 
 were papered with pictures, and a set of long 
 shelves were covered with books. Study books, 
 story books, and fairy tales were alike there; for 
 the rest there were seven little desks, and as many 
 little chairs, a piano, an easel, and a huge box that 
 was filled with toys. Flowers grew in large pots, 
 and tame birds flew at will among them, or lit on 
 the pretty heads and hands of the children. A 
 philosopher had conceived the idea that to educate 
 children, you had only to turn them loose into a 
 library, and an artist had modelled this bower with 
 his own hands. When this philosopher and artist 
 
 | 
 
 combined had completed his work all but the soul, 
 he opened the room to his seven little children; 
 and behold, it was no longer a thing without life. 
 It was no longer a room, but a very land of dreams. 
 The careless, eager young feet went dancing over 
 the flowery paths opened for them into the won- 
 derful world, through all the books and pictures 
 abouf them, and tasted such fruit as fed the first 
 vague hankerings of deeper passions yet in the 
 germ. The children made of this bower a city in 
 the imaginary world in which they lived. The 
 world was called the "made-up world," and the
 
 10 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 city, " Fosus." Each book was a house, wherein 
 dwelt a family of paper dolls. These were the 
 common people of the world. It had also its 
 aristocracy. The aristocracy occupied the little 
 desks ; and ink bottles, papers, and pens found an 
 abode where they might be subservient to the 
 wants of the elite an ink bottle doing nicely for 
 a stove, and the paper being turned to account for 
 dresses. "The wild country" outside, known to 
 grown folks as a store-room, grew old boxes and 
 bits of pasteboard, that were hewn down by the 
 presiding geniuses of the city, and manufactured 
 into tables, chairs, and beds for the aristocracy. 
 Each family had its own home and name, each 
 member its own peculiar voice, out of which it 
 was not allowed to speak, and in time its own 
 history, for new events came with new days. 
 
 There was in the largest desk a church, wherein 
 weddings and funerals took place ; and in the 
 largest flower-pot, under the oleander tree, was a 
 burying-ground, covered with little pasteboard 
 tomb-stones, on each of which was inscribed a tiny 
 epitaph. A court-house occupied the window- 
 seat. A theatre was built . of the largest books, 
 and at night, so that the big lamp always used in 
 the children's room, and christened by them the 
 ".gloomer," on account of its doubtful effulgence,
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FALRY. 11 
 
 could stand behind a bit of green glass, and emit 
 a feeble green glimmer upon the stage. The 
 families would all flock out of their book and desk 
 houses, and occupy the miniature benches placed 
 for them in the auditory. Gail owned the man- 
 ager of this theatre, whose name was Monsieur 
 Belmont, and who talked broken English like the 
 children's French dancing-master. It was a gala 
 night for the six others, when Gail would consent 
 to play theatre, which she did in this manner. 
 The little theatre had its real orchestra, for the 
 elder brother William, to whom the piano be- 
 longed, possessed a subtile power, that hovered 
 about the ends of his lithe fingers, so that he had 
 only to make passes over the keys of the piano, 
 and they would become mesmerized, and the air 
 would be full of music. 
 
 There were real actors also, who all spoke their 
 parts in the voices of the big theatre actors. Gail 
 was the " unseen power" of the stage, while Jenny 
 was the "genius" who gave breath to the audience. 
 Gail would conceal herself behind the book struc- 
 ture, and make her little puppets enter^ by means 
 of a thread attached to their waists a method 
 often attended by difficulties not encouraging to 
 the heart of manager Belmont, who, being under 
 the guidance of an unseen power, whose eyes were
 
 12 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 muffled by a shawl, often saw his Juliet enter on 
 her head, and Romeo, when he should have " taken 
 the measure of an unmade grave," leap up like a 
 harlequin, and make a sudden exit through the top 
 of the building. 
 
 This climax would occasion so much breath to 
 be given to the audience by the "genius" in the 
 act of laughing, as to cause them to disport them- 
 selves in a most unmannerly way. The play 
 could never be resumed till policeman Mander 
 had ejected nearly the entire crowd for disorderly 
 conduct. Gail, who was very much in earnest 
 about the stage, did not enjoy this issue to her 
 play nearly as well as her younger brother, whose 
 lungs gave a very rough voice to policeman 
 Mander, and who occupied no small time in 
 marshalling the refractory individuals, one by one, 
 off to his little station-house. The sister preferred 
 making actors of the presiding spirits, and an 
 audience of Judy, the stout servant girl, who did 
 nicely to " sit and see." As Gail could not devise a 
 curtain to her extempore stage, the audience was 
 respectfully requested by the management to turn 
 its back upon the preparations till such time as it 
 should hear the prompter's whistle. 
 
 Gail always drew tears from her audience, but 
 Judy's eyes were not critics.
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 13 
 
 The children did not always live in their city. 
 They took long rambles with their father through 
 woods and over hills, and listened to the wonder- 
 ful things he read to them from the open book of 
 Nature, which, indeed, was a most exciting book 
 to study from, and one full of pictures. They 
 played, too, on the Common, and on rare occasions 
 on the sidewalk. They mixed very little with the 
 other children, and while they admired, and made 
 up histories, for each little one in the neighborhood, 
 were shy and bashful before them. It sometimes 
 happened that they visited a real theatre. This 
 was a great event to them all, but to Abigail it 
 was more. She drank there what fed the secret 
 fire in her soul, while the rest listened, laughed, 
 and were amused like children. Abigail felt little 
 shivers of enthusiasm run through her, and would 
 picture strange scenes before her, in which an 
 ardent little being would rush upon the stage, and 
 plead to be admitted within the enchanted portals. 
 
 O, how the bright lights and painted walls of 
 the theatre, and all the gay faces, took possession 
 of her, while she sat alone in the great crowd, 
 dreaming her wild dreams ! How, when the cur- 
 tain fell in the last act, her heart would sink be- 
 cause it was all over, and she would walk out in 
 silence, while the rest chatted merrily over the
 
 14 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 play ! On one night the curtain rose to reveal a 
 new scene, far more beautiful than the children 
 had ever witnessed before. It was a fairy scene, 
 and in it Gail beheld, for the first time, "the 
 fairy." "When the music ceased, and the prompt- 
 er's bell sounded, a time always of much excite- 
 ment to the children, the curtain rose on a 
 picture that made the fourteen wondering eyes 
 open -very wide. The stage was all glittering with 
 fleecy gold-tipped clouds, for it was the realm of 
 the spirits of the air, and a circle of fairy beings 
 lined the centre of these clouds, gently stirring 
 their native element with long, silvery sticks, as if 
 it was some ethereal pudding. In their midst stood 
 Germando, the fairy, by the extra brightness of her 
 dress a trifle higher in the grades of aerial aristoc- 
 racy. Suddenly the children cried, " O ! " and 
 Gail's face grew paler with the intensity of her 
 emotion; for a huge, dazzling star slowly curled 
 its points inward, having taken fire, perhaps, from 
 its own brightness, and a radiant queen stepped 
 forth: then the fairies all burst into a beautiful 
 song, that rose like a sky-rocket, and broke on some 
 very high notes, in the words, " Behold our fai-ry 
 queen." Gail felt her little hands grow cold, and 
 her lips tremble, the scene was so intensely excit- 
 ing. After the song, the fairy queen commanded
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 15 
 
 silence, in a voice sufficiently unnatural to belong 
 to a fay, but a voice that thrilled Gail, it was so 
 like the theatre and the stage. The queen ad- 
 dressed herself to an enchanted prince and a comic 
 mortal, whom the children had not before ob- 
 seryed in the superior splendor of the fairies. 
 
 "Hash mortal, what wouldst thou in these 
 enchanted realms?" said the queen. "Knowest 
 thou not that this is the domain of the spirits of 
 the air?" 
 
 The prince thus supposed to have trespassed on 
 aerial premises replied, " Will your most transcend- 
 ent majesty deign to award me the magic rose?" 
 
 "Thankless mortal," responded the queen, "be- 
 hold, the magic rose is thine. Germando, conduct 
 him to the enchanted grotto, there to witness the 
 midnight revels of our fays." 
 
 " I obey, I obey ! " shouted Germando, who had 
 quite won the children's hearts by standing with 
 her feet in the second position, and her cheek 
 pursed up on one side in a manner most interest- 
 ing, though a trifle suggestive of obliviousness of 
 what had been passing. 
 
 The comic mortal withdrew his eyes from a 
 couple of revolving barber-poles that had held him 
 apparently inthralled, and that were, indeed, daz- 
 zling, to smile upon Germando, and to say,
 
 16 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "Charming Germando, please to conduct me 
 too ; " and the trio made an exit, the fairy backing 
 off the stage, and describing imaginary circles in 
 an uncomfortable proximity to the nose of the 
 enchanted one. 
 
 When, after all the bright intervening scenes, 
 the green curtain finally shut out this unearthly 
 paradise from Gail's eyes, she gathered it up in her 
 heart, drew a long breath, and said to herself, 
 vehemently, "I will be an actress." That night, 
 before Gail slept, she added to her customary 
 child's devotions, a brief petition of her own. 
 " Dear Father in heaven, when I grow up, let me 
 go on the stage, for Christ's sake. Amen." Then 
 she tossed about on her bed, somewhat feverishly, 
 rehearsing and planning the little scenes for her 
 own mimic theatre. The next day beheld each 
 sister with her pinafore rolled up tightly about her 
 waist, and tied behind, and the short delaine skirts 
 of her gown decorated with bits of gold paper. 
 Jennie, being a slender girl, was selected as a fairy 
 queen, and, for lack of a star, was mounted on some 
 chairs, to peep over the top of a door. Gail repre- 
 sented the prince. The material was inadequate 
 at best ; but when the homely fairies stood stirring 
 the air with curtain sticks, in short stuff dresses, 
 among clouds that were only shawls, Gail touched
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 17 
 
 the scene with the magic of her love, and lo, there 
 was upon it a golden glow, reflected from her 
 imagination. 
 
 Once the real fairy was signalled by little Esther 
 Hart from the high window. There was an im- 
 mediate scampering, and the seven noses pressed 
 themselves against the panes of glass. It was 
 true, there could be no mistaking the fairy's 
 identity, for although she was a little less rosy, 
 and a little more freckled by daylight, Gail's 
 heart was thrilled by the sight of very pink stock- 
 ings, and a portion of a fairy dress visible beneath 
 her cloak. After this the faces peered through the 
 window daily in the hopes of again beholding the 
 happy child actress. 
 
 The street was a place at any time of no little 
 interest to the children ; for in -one of the tall 
 k brick houses called by them the "dungeon keep," 
 because its blinds were always closed, and the 
 boldest child dared not play on its steps lived the 
 princess, guarded by a wicked fairy godmother. 
 The princess had " long curling hair," made of fine 
 threads of the purest gold, and a face that was 
 exquisitely beautiful. None of the children but 
 Jenny had ever seen the princess "near to;" and 
 when Jenny saw her, her lovely eyes and nose 
 were red with weeping for the death of a sweet 
 2
 
 18 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 brown mouse. The children were sorry for the 
 poor princess, who wept and was lonely ; but, 
 nevertheless, they whispered mysteriously to one 
 another that it would be a fine thing to be an 
 unhappy though lovely princess, and live with a 
 wicked fairy in a dungeon keep. 
 
 Between the dungeon keep and the theatre was 
 a terrible archway, running along the blind walls 
 of two huge old buildings, and terminating in 
 doors situated in the rear of these buildings. This 
 place was termed the Bannock's den, and was 
 inhabited by a creature half man and half monster, 
 whose domestic habits were eccentric, as were his 
 ideas of diet. Though a being of huge propor- 
 tions, he was wont to withdraw into a rat-hole by. 
 day, issuing forth only at night, for the fell pur- 
 pose of dragging in any stray child that might pass 
 that way alone. Even a big man, the children 
 thought, would have to "run by after it was dark." 
 Now that Gail had seen the fairy by daylight, a 
 new dream entered her head. It began to seem 
 possible to her that she might one day meet the 
 fairy, and that, being in truth a child, like herself, 
 the fairy might speak to her, and being at the 
 same time a fairy, might give her the " open, 
 sesame " to the mysterious stage door ; for surely 
 it lay in the power of a fairy to change common 
 people into actresses, if she had the mind.
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 19 
 
 Perhaps with the faint hope of this happy issue 
 Gail and her sisters ventured oftener out into the 
 street. They came, in time, even to establish a sort 
 of platform on the sidewalk, in the near vicinity 
 of the theatre, and to instruct their new com- 
 panions in the art of acting. 
 
 The little ones of the street were greatly pleased 
 with this, as a game particularly appropriate to 
 the place, and likely to strike with amazement 
 any passing actor or actress. In truth there did 
 come about the issue Gail so ardently desired ; for 
 one day, as they were occupied with their little 
 theatre, the fairy actually appeared, radiant in a 
 pink dress, a yellow gauze bonnet, and a spangled 
 veil. In one hand she held a pickled lime, from 
 which she occasionally took a careless suck, thereby 
 completing her conquest of the children ; for what 
 could be more suggestive of worldly ease ? 
 
 One of the little amateurs a girl of a practical 
 turn of mind, and the happy possessor of an old 
 broom was at the time personating a woman 
 sweeping. She rendered the part in a fine shrill 
 voice, and through her nose. Her little spectators 
 had been much excited and pleased with her per- 
 formance ; but at the arrival of the new-comer, 
 the corps fell back, and there ensued that period 
 of silence which preludes children's getting
 
 20 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 acquainted. For the most part, the little novices, 
 in calico frocks and pantalets to match, bowed 
 bashfully before the " real play-actress." They did 
 not share Gail's worship of her, but still felt much 
 awe on account of her bright, fine dress. One 
 only among them, an unpoetical little girl, mur- 
 mured to herself, with some defiance, " I hope you 
 see." The others did not heed her. The silence 
 continued, and was again broken by the most 
 bashful of the party, who found it easier to speak 
 to the stranger through one of her own com- 
 panions than directly to address her. "I guess 
 she didn't think much of Annie's making believe, 
 she seen so much better herself, and her a real 
 play-actress." The other children joined the little 
 speaker, each in her own way apologizing for 
 Annie's acting. Annie herself only opposed the 
 current with a few pouts, and then subsided, 
 giving place to the stronger attraction. Suddenly 
 a clear, sweet voice broke out from among them, 
 addressing the fairy herself. " We were playing 
 theatre," said the voice ; " would you like to join 
 us? Annie here was just acting beautifully, I 
 think." It was Jennie Hart who spoke, and she 
 spoke with kindness, but with some decision. 
 There is a magic in a leading mind which tempts 
 human beings to follow. The children at once
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 21 
 
 caught Jennie's spirit. It was agreed that they 
 should resume the play of theatre, as being the 
 most appropriate in the presence of a real actress. 
 " Now, Annie," said Jennie Hart, " we are all ready 
 to sit and see ; so go on with your part." 
 
 " I daresn't," responded Annie, promptly. The 
 little girls each began to tease Annie; but the 
 child blushed and hung back. " "Well, then," said 
 Jennie, herself a little bashful, "perhaps Ardel 
 will show us what real acting is." The children 
 of the street glanced at one another, for it was 
 current among them that Ardel's real name was 
 Bridget Smith. "I should hope," replied Ardel, 
 "that I had enough of that before the footlights." 
 
 The children were silent at this, for it seemed to 
 imply that what was cake to them was every-day 
 food to Ardel. 
 
 " Do you know the * Lady of Lyons ' ? " inquired. 
 Ardel, with a condescending smile. 
 
 " I don't, but my mother does," said Hattie 
 Smith, not to be outdone. 
 
 "I guess we are too big for that," put in the 
 youngest of the party, in whose mind was flitting 
 infantile memories of a game called " Lions and 
 Bears," best played around the legs of a table. 
 
 " I could perform ' The Lady of Lyons,' " hinted 
 Ardel.
 
 22 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "O, do, if you can," responded the other 
 children. 
 
 After some giggling, and one or two false starts, 
 the real actress commenced the real play. 
 
 Gail had taken no part in the scene, for the 
 reason that she was the most interested. Her 
 interest made her timid before the being she 
 would confide in. And now, while Ardel played, 
 Gail's heart beat fast -with the thought that the 
 play would soon end, and she must speak or lose 
 her chance. Ardel turned to her unexpectedly, 
 and said, 
 
 " Here, you take me into your house, and show 
 me your dresses and picture books." 
 
 Gail accepted the proposal with a tremor of 
 delight. The girls had walked but a few steps, 
 however, when a loud, somewhat harsh voice 
 called to Ardel to come into the house, and a 
 pair of blinds shut, with a slam, over a retreating 
 face. 
 
 "Tis me mother," said Ardel; "you come in 
 with me;" and Gail felt herself drawn into the 
 doorway of a wooden building from whence the 
 voice had proceeded. 
 
 The room the children had entered was far from 
 clean, or orderly in appearance. The chairs were 
 occupied by tinsel coats, peasant dresses, and
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIEY. 23 
 
 costumes of various kinds. On the bureau ap- 
 peared the evidences of a recent feast; sundry 
 dishes, fragments of food, and cigar stumps seemed 
 quite at home in the company of the more legit- 
 imate articles of rouge, powder, and a hair-brush. 
 The bed was unmade, and the receptacle of a pile 
 of programmes, a tambourine, and some slippers. 
 On tht footboard was nailed a string of false curls, 
 and a pair of stockings newly pinked. The clutter 
 gave the room a noisy effect, although no one had 
 spoken. The dress of Ardel's mother was like 
 everything else, at loose ends. She was engaged 
 in fastening some of the most rebellious rips and 
 tears, preparatory to going out. On perceiving 
 her daughter, she cried, 
 
 " You're a nice girl, to go off and leave me with 
 everything on my 'ands ! You've no dress picked 
 out for to-night, and we're both on in the first 
 scene. Now come, no words about it; but get 
 things ready for to-night ; and you might pick out 
 something for me." The tone was not ill-natured, 
 though it was both loud and harsh. " 'Ow do you 
 do, my dear?" she continued, observing Gail. 
 " Would you mind taking 'old and helping Del 
 a bit? And may be one^of these days I'd get 
 Jimmy Tucker to pass you round in front." Dur- 
 ing this speech a man in shirt sleeves, with a cigar
 
 24 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 in his mouth, had come in, and stood surveying 
 the party silently. " Who are you ? " cried the 
 lady to this new-comer. " I don't know you : go 
 home." 
 
 The man, without heeding this bantering re- 
 mark, responded, 
 
 " On in the last act again deuce ! Want to 
 see how Harry gets along at the Ash Street, and 
 can't." 
 
 " Well, mind you," said Ardel's mother, sooth- 
 ingly, " we 'ave to take things as they come in this 
 world; may be you'd get "Thursday; the bill's 
 not up." 
 
 The man gave a significant whistle, as much as 
 to say, " Catch them leaving the attraction out of 
 the programme," and strolled off. 
 
 Mrs. Sands, who had by this time tied on a 
 dirty bonnet, and whisked over it a dirtier veil 
 to conceal it, went out also. 
 
 The girls being left alone, Gail confided to 
 Del her aspirations, and Ardel patronized her 
 with a pitying toleration. When they parted, 
 however, Gail had obtained from the little actress 
 the promise she desired. 
 
 After this a great many days passed, and among 
 them the day Del had selected to take her new 
 friend behind the scenes. It was not until hope
 
 THE CHILD AND THE FAIRY. 25 
 
 had given place to suspense, and suspense to 
 despair, that the child again saw the fairy. They 
 met on the street. Del was accompanied by no 
 less a luminary than the comic mortal, who by 
 daylight had all the serious aspect to be imparted, 
 by hair oiled and curled in a large number of 
 small rings, and a hat worn, with set carelessness, 
 on one side. Gail's face flushed, half in pride and 
 half in diffidence ;- she waited for Ardel to bow 
 first. Del, however, only raised her eyebrows, and 
 talked very familiarly to her companion, enjoying 
 the effect such a happy conjunction of stars must 
 produce on any one so moon-struck as to aspire to 
 be a planet also. The little recluse, educated in 
 no real-world school, drew back at this, sensitively, 
 and wept with an odd mixture of anger and sor- 
 row. The sudden dethroning of an ideal her 
 heart had held sacred gave her acute pain ; and 
 yet the rough touch of the fairy did not disenchant 
 her with the fairy world.
 
 26 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 
 
 JULIE WAED was the princess, and the dun- 
 geon keep was the place Julie called home. Out- 
 side of the dungeon and along the street the 
 princess sometimes sang softly to herself, for she 
 was by nature a merry princess ; but she always 
 stopped at the prison gate, as though there had 
 been a funeral inside, and stole in noiselessly. 
 
 The princess was afraid of the wicked fairy god- 
 mother, who appeared to her in the disguise of a 
 step-mother. This step-mother was a woman angu- 
 lar in body and in soul also, a relic of the old 
 barbarous style of religion that had been well pre- 
 served in the family, and handed down to the 
 present day the very imbodiment of all that is 
 unforgiving, cruel, and narrow in the age when a 
 person was hanged for being so unfortunate as to 
 have the reputation of being possessed by a devil. 
 Such a soul may have few human sins, but plen- 
 ty of inhuman. If her hard nature could have 
 hugged anything, it would have been the motto,
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 27 
 
 "Spare the rod and spoil the child;" as it was, 
 it clutched it. 
 
 When Julie, with the natural elastic spirit of 
 childhood, recovered from the sorrow of her fa- 
 ther's death, the hungry little heart began to look 
 about for something to love and to be happy in, 
 and, finding a stone offered to her instead of bread, 
 began, with babyish arts, to tryjto draw from it the 
 fluid appropriate to her age; but the system of 
 ptevn repulses and blows that met these advances, 
 and punished each careless thought and act, so 
 soon alienated the child from the mother, that Mrs. 
 Ward lost the confidence of the little one, and 
 knew nothing of the nature and needs of the soul 
 intrusted to her care. It was enough, however, 
 for one so narrow, to see that the child feared her, 
 and was obedient. 
 
 The little Julie was not happy, neither was she 
 very unhappy, for it is as hard to chain the spirit 
 of a child as to catch and hold a little ball of 
 quicksilver between your thumb and finger; and 
 while the step-mother held Julie's body in a servile 
 fear, the spirit contrived to elude her, and steal its 
 sustenance from forbidden fruit. It is true, out of 
 school, the child's life was a dull round of work 
 and prayer-meetings, and she could count her 
 recreations on her two first fingers; still she en-
 
 28 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 joyed these two recreations witli a childish zest. 
 She called them her " good ones." Her first " good 
 one " was a mouse. She had found the little fel- 
 low struggling to free himself from a trap, and had 
 released him with eager haste, and bore him, quak- 
 ing, up to her lonely little room, herself trembling 
 not less than the mouse. She made for him a box 
 house, and concealed it beneath her bed. She 
 talked to the mouse, and found it less dull than 
 thinking all by herself. Her second "good one" 
 was the Sunday school. Julie liked the Sunday 
 school, because she could wear he.r best bonnet, 
 and because she felt sure she should have fallen in 
 love with Jesus, "he was so good and so interest- 
 ing ; " and then at the Sunday school the children 
 all exchanged their real sympathies in the dumb 
 language of the little animals and the flowers, that 
 the superintendent and the teachers could not 
 understand. One Sunday Julie came home from 
 school with fresh color in her pretty face. She 
 straightway knelt down before the mouse to make 
 confession. " Look up, mouse," she whispered. " I 
 have got a third ; yes, mouse, and it's the most de- 
 praved of all. It's a wicked little lover." 
 Julie made her voice still lower at the word " lover," 
 and blushed. "His sinful name is Frederic Au- 
 gustus Sornerby. He has lent me a book, mouse,
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 29 
 
 that is not fitted for the minds of the young. Isn't 
 it nice ? He slipped it into my hand, and said it 
 was a funny book, all about hobgoblins. To say 
 the truth, mouse, I've met him once or twice 
 before. We met by chance the usual way, which, 
 mouse, is not in the way of the Lord, and, there- 
 fore, not in the way of step-mamma. It is all very 
 nice, but it is not for the eternal welfare of my 
 soul; but I'm afraid I don't care for the eternal. 
 Amen, mouse." 
 
 A certain man visited Julie's step-mother, for 
 whom the child had conceived an antipathy. She 
 called him the " Presiding Elder," because she had 
 once heard the term from his mouth, and it pleased 
 her fancy. Whenever she talked of the presiding 
 elder to the mouse, she drew very near the cage, 
 and put on a very sober manner. "I don't like 
 him a bit, mouse. He talks like dull books, and he 
 can think of nothing to say except about rods, and 
 ' such things, which, to people like you and me, 
 mouse, the unelect, is personal, and makes us feel 
 ashamed, whether or no. His heart is hardened, 
 too, and it ought not to be, for he is very fat. He 
 has got horrid little eyes, that keep saying dis- 
 agreeable things, and making people blush when he 
 isn't speaking at all ; and, O, mouse, if he was to 
 touch yon, he'd make you shiver all over, his hands
 
 80 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 arc so damp and sticky ; and then he is acquainted 
 with seven devils, which I consider bad company ; 
 but then, he's not given over to the vanities of this 
 world, because he has nothing to be vain about ; 
 neither have any of us, mouse : we brought nothing 
 into this world, and we shall take nothing away ; 
 which is quite true of me and you, for we have got 
 nothing to take away; but don't you be a vain 
 mouse, because you are not even a white mouse, 
 but just one of those common brown mice that 
 are only pests. The old cat will catch you one 
 of these days, if you don't look out sharp." 
 
 It sometimes happened that Mrs. Ward and the 
 elder found it for Julie's moral welfare to attend 
 prayer-meetings without her. On these happy oc- 
 casions Julie would make believe her one stiff little 
 chair was a rocking-chair, and move herself back 
 and forth, while she sang, as loud as she pleased, to 
 a bit of wood tied up in a shawl. One night, as 
 Julie rocked and sang, Fred came and stood under 
 her window, and whistled very low. Julie, true to 
 her coquettish instinct, pretended she did not hear, 
 and went on with her song ; but the singing had a 
 shy zest it did not possess before. Fred, however, 
 was not to be baffled. He called the name in a 
 whisper, but distinctly. Julie pinched the wooden 
 baby to keep herself from laughing, and made him
 
 CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 31 
 
 repeat the name once or twice more. Then she 
 peeped out of the window. " Go away, you bad 
 boy," she whispered. " Don't you know what will 
 happen if you come so near ? I told you always to 
 stop and whistle at No. 20." 
 
 "I know it, Julie," answered Fred, with much 
 excitement. " We should both catch it if we were 
 found out ; but we won't be. /She's gone away, 
 and I want you to come and go to the theatre 
 with me. It's awful jolly there. Come quick. 
 You needn't open the frcfht door; you can climb 
 down on the trellis, and I'll catch you if ypu fall." 
 
 Julie's heart began to beat quite fast; but she 
 drew her mouth down, and answered soberly, 
 " You won't catch me climbing down at all, Fred. 
 I should break my neck." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't," said Fred. " O, do be 
 quick, or folks will see you, and tell. You can 
 climb up again at night, and nobody will know 
 you've been gone." 
 
 " Lead us not "into temptation," said Julie, 
 solemnly. " For of such is the kingdom of 
 Heaven. Fred, I will not go." 
 
 " O, bother, Jule ! I didn't think you'd go back 
 on a fellow," said Fred, half crying. " The play 
 will begin, and we shall lose the best part, and all 
 because you will act so plaguy silly."
 
 82 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "What do they do in theatres, Fred?" whis- 
 pered Julie, with mysterious awe. " I suppose 
 it's a very wicked place ; ' the presiding ' says so, 
 and he is a very godly man, you know." 
 
 " I dare say he knows," answered Fred, with 
 sarcasm. "He's been there often enough, I'll be 
 bound. It's a very jolly place, Julie, and just as 
 good as their old churches are. They have danc- 
 ing there, and a fellow sings a song that's enough 
 to make you die a laughing." 
 
 " But I'm not prepared to die, Fred," said Julie, 
 again, with solemnity. 
 
 "And there's an elopement, and a duel with 
 swords, and in the third act a murder, and every- 
 thing nice," continued Fred, reproachfully, as his 
 mind pictured these charms in the act of passing 
 away.^ 
 
 " But, Fred, I'm tied at home with the cares of 
 a family," remarked Julie, demurely. " If you will 
 not fix your mind on death and judgment, con- 
 sider the mouse." 
 
 " O, the mouse," said Fred, impatiently ; " well, 
 darn him ! I mean give him a great hunk of 
 cheese, and come along. I never saw such a 
 thing. What's the matter with you? I should 
 like to know." 
 
 " Fred, I am only thinking of Christ and holier
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 33 
 
 things; that's the matter with me," said Julie, 
 smiling secretly. 
 
 " What a tease you are, Jule ! I think you 
 ought not to act like that towards me. If you 
 don't come down quick, I shall come up and pull 
 you down." 
 
 " Then I shall scream," said Julie. 
 
 % ' 
 
 "Then I won't," responded Fred, quickly. "I 
 wouldn't care if I was caught ; nobody'd hurt me, 
 but they would you." 
 
 There was a pause. Fred hacked the trellis 
 impatiently with his knife, until Julie again 
 peeped out of the window, and whispered softly, 
 
 " Fred, have you gone away ? " 
 
 " No," said Fred, crossly ; " but I'm going." 
 
 M Because," continued Julie, " I feel as if I was 
 coming down. Yes, I feel as if I was going to 
 put on my best bonnet, and descend ; so you go 
 off somewhere, and look at something, while I 
 climb down." 
 
 Fred obeyed with alacrity, and stood facing the 
 yard fence, dancing an impatient little hornpipe, 
 while Julie made a ladder of the trellis, and then 
 ran to him, with two bright spots burning in 
 either cheek, and an excited light in her beauti- 
 ful eyes. 
 
 " O, my eye, what a pretty girl you are ! " said 
 3
 
 34 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the boy -lover, turning around smartly. " You are 
 the very prettiest girl in the whole world." 
 
 "It's the bonnet," said Julie, slyly. "It is a 
 love. I found the flowers myself, and pinned 
 them in. She would never let me have any." 
 
 "It isn't the bonnet, either," answered Fred, 
 scornfully. " Other girls have prettier bonnets, and 
 prettier dresses, too, but they haven't near such 
 pretty faces. It's you, Julie; and if I was you, 
 Julie, I'd chuck the bonnet off, when we get 
 there ; you've got long curls, and you look better 
 without it." 
 
 When they had got beyond hearing, Julie 
 sniffed the fresh air, and was ready to jump for 
 joy. O, Fred, isn't it nice?" she said. "I feel 
 so light and free. Let's hop-skip the rest of 
 the way." 
 
 " No, don't let's," said Fred ; " people would 
 look." 
 
 "I know it's dreadful wicked to go, besides 
 being sinful," said Julie, gleefully ; " and the theatre 
 is a dreadful wicked place; but I guess I like 
 wicked things and wicked people best. Do you 
 know, Fred," added Julie, slackening her pace, and 
 turning suddenly sober, " I sometimes think when 
 I die I'd rather go to you know the wicked 
 place than, to heaven, because perhaps you
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 35 
 
 never heard it mentioned, but father died with an 
 unrepentant heart, and he has gone there; and 
 if he's there, I'd rather be there too ; besides, 
 Fred, you are going there, too, when you die, and 
 so is everybody that's pleasant." 
 
 "Thank you," said Fred; "but I don't believe 
 I'll ask old Unctions " this was Fred's name for 
 the presiding elder " where I shall go to when 
 I die; besides, the theatre ain't a wicked place, 
 no .more'n he is. Father goes there, and he's 
 good." 
 
 "Is your father one of the elect, think?" said 
 Julie. 
 
 " No ; I should hope not," answered Fred, in- 
 dignantly. "He's something a great deal jollier. 
 He knows how to do a good thing, and not blow 
 about it forever." 
 
 " But you know, Fred," answered Julie, shaking 
 her head, " it availeth not a man that he shall do 
 good if he have not faith in the word." 
 
 " That's the way they always fetch us up," said 
 Fred ; "just as if their word was the word. Father 
 says, the word of God is a great deal too great to 
 be contained in only one book. It is written in 
 in all nature, you know, and in the brains and 
 hearts of all people, and that And I guess 
 he knows."
 
 36 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Julie shook her head. 
 
 "When we grow up," continued Fred, begin- 
 ning to talk very fast, " I'm going to marry you ; 
 then she shan't call everything pleasant wicked, 
 and take it away from you. You shall have a 
 good time, and pretty things to wear on, like 
 other people." 
 
 "But, Fred," said Julie, archly, "perhaps I 
 shan't fall in love with you." 
 
 " O, but you will, Julie," said Fred, hastily, and 
 blushing with confusion, " because it would be so 
 plaguy mean if you didn't. I never shall love 
 any other girl but you. Then we are just the right 
 age you are eleven and I am twelve." 
 
 " We are too old, I'm afraid," said Julie, 
 mischievously. 
 
 "You know what I mean," replied Fred ; " what 
 do you want to pester a fellow for ? I mean you 
 will be sixteen when I am seventeen, and that will 
 be just right." 
 
 " O, hush ! " said Julie. They had reached the 
 theatre ; the color in Julie's cheeks deepened, and 
 she held her breath, the lights in the long entrance 
 were so bright, and the people were dressed so 
 gay and fine. It was so wicked, but O, so ter- 
 ribly fascinating ! Julie held Fred's hand tightly, 
 and walked on tiptoe up the aisle, as they entered 
 the auditory.
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 37 
 
 " You needn't be so very still," whispered Fred ; 
 " it isn't a meeting-house." 
 
 "I fear it is not," answered Julie, under her 
 breath, bewildered and scared. " O, Fred, perhaps 
 we had better go home before it is too late." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Julie," said Fred ; " what a silly girl 
 you are ! " 
 
 Julie ventured to steal a look about the place; 
 it was like the prince's palace in Fred's story book ; 
 the walls were all decorated with gold paper, and 
 there was a great chandelier, as grand as any king 
 would want, hanging in the centre. When she and 
 Fred took their seats, the ladies about them glanced 
 at her, and then at each other, and Julie heard one 
 of them say, " What a lovely child ! I wonder who 
 she is. I never saw so sweet a face before." Then 
 there was music. Julie had never heard anything 
 but an organ and a hand-organ ; but this music 
 made her feel like laughing and crying at the same 
 moment, and seemed to be telling her all manner 
 of charming things, and showing her all manner of 
 bright, beautiful places, till all at once the music 
 changed to a quick, lively air, and Julie touched 
 Fred's shoulder, and pointed to the stage; for 
 something like a dark wall began to rise swiftly, 
 and there were children all dressed in white and 
 gold, with garlands of flowers, who danced so
 
 38 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 beautifully, that, with the music dancing in her 
 ears, she longed to spring upon the stage, and join 
 them. Julie had never had a white dress, and 
 the angels in shining robes could not be more 
 beautiful than were these children. Then came a 
 play that was better than a story. It was more real ; 
 life was not dull and long ; the people grew up and 
 got married in only a little while; they did not 
 wear homely dresses; they talked and laughed; 
 for this was not the tragedy Fred hpd seen, but a 
 comedy. They danced together, and made love, 
 and there was nobody to say it was wicked. Julie 
 forgot she was in a theatre, and all about how she 
 h'ad run away from home, and sat with eyes wide 
 open till the act drop fell and was ready to rise 
 again, when she would whisper to Fred, "O, 
 look quick; it is coming up again." But at last 
 the green curtain fell, and the play was over; the 
 lights were put down, and eveiy one rose to go. 
 Julie heaved a deep sigh, and she and Fred walked 
 out in silence, with hearts too full to speak. Once 
 in the street, however, Fred found his voice, and 
 said, " Well, Julie, wasn't it nice ? " 
 
 " O, Fred ! " sighed Julie, and was again silent. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you that comic fellow would make 
 you laugh ? " said Fred, triumphantly. 
 
 "Yes, Fred," replied Julie; "but what I liked
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 39 
 
 most was those beautiful children that danced. I 
 can shut up ray eyes, and see them now." 
 
 " Those wasn't children," said Fred, with em- 
 phasis. " How green you are, Julie ! they were big 
 people." 
 
 " They wasn't," said Julie. " How small they 
 looked ! " " Didn't you think that was nice, that 
 scene in the woods, where he comes in with a lan- 
 tern ? " Fred began ; but Julie stopped him sud- 
 denly, and turned very white. " O, Fred, see there; 
 it's the ' presiding elder ; ' it really is." " Where ? " 
 said Fred, becoming suddenly red. " There," whis- 
 pered Julie, not daring to look around, " not far 
 behind us, near the theatre." 
 
 " Well, then, he's been there himself," said Fred, 
 defiantly. " So he can't say anything." 
 
 " Yes, he can," said Julie, her teeth chattering. 
 "You don't know him ; he can say that he was there 
 to report the wickedness thereof. You know he can, 
 and he will too, and he'll tell about us," added 
 Julie, wringing her hands, and beginning to cry 
 faintly. " O, I wish we hadn't come at all." " If 
 he does, I'll punch his head," said Fred between 
 his teeth ; " but perhaps he didn't see us," he con- 
 tinued, glancing around. " He seems to be going 
 in another way ; so come along, Julie, and don't cry." 
 
 The children ran on breathlessly a few paces,
 
 40 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 and then Fred said, "Pshaw! Julie; what a girl 
 you are to take a scare ! I don't believe it was him 
 at all." Julie made no answer, and the children 
 hastened on until they reached the head of the 
 street on which Julie lived. " Now I'll go the rest 
 of the way alone," whispered Julie. " I can make 
 less noise so." 
 
 "No, you shan't," answered Fred, "somebody 
 will run away with you." 
 
 " No, they won't," replied Julie, with emphatic 
 earnestness ; " you mustn't go. I don't want to have 
 people disturbed, and a great row made, because I 
 want to go to sleep, and see if I can't dream it all 
 over again, it would be so nice ! Do you know, 
 Fred, I am always glad when night comes to 
 dream, you know. So you let me run alone, and 
 I'll watch my chance, and steal in just as soft as 
 my mouse. O, Fred," added Julie ; and she heaved 
 another sigh. " Well, Julie," said Fred, tenderly; 
 but Julie was silent. 
 
 " O," said Fred, " I thought you was going to 
 say something about me." Julie's eyes were fixed 
 on the stars and the distance, and Fred saw that 
 there were tears in them. "Pshaw! Julie, what 
 are you thinking about ? " continued he " death 
 and judgment, and such things." 
 
 " I was just thinking," answered Julie, " that I
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 41 
 
 wish it wasn't wicked to go there ; for do you know, 
 Fred, it makes me love God so much better, and 
 feel so sorry for all the unkind things I've thought 
 about him, and sometimes even about poor Jesus," 
 added Julie, in a low voice ; " and that was so 
 wrong; because you know he said that about 
 ' suffer little children.' Good night, Fred." 
 
 Good night, Julie," said Fred ; I'll look after 
 you till you are out of sight." 
 
 The boy stood watching the little fluttering 
 figure till it was lost in the darkness, and turned 
 away. Julie ran along, in truth very much scared 
 to be alone in the great dai'k streets at night. 
 Suddenly she stopped, and thought of the "Ban- 
 nock's den," which she must pass. Julie was fa- 
 miliar with the legend of the " Bannock," and the 
 place itself was repulsive enough in appearance, 
 stained as it was, and blackened with grease, lit- 
 tered with old bones and refuse matter, the plank 
 flooring rotten and gnawed away by rats. Julie's 
 heart stopped beating for very fear, but there was 
 no help for it. She summoned up her resolution, 
 instinctively closed her eyes, and prepared to run 
 by, when something moved stealthily out of the 
 old archway. Julie felt two damp hands laid 
 heavily over her mouth. She grew cold and numb 
 with terror, and gave one frightened glance behind
 
 42 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 her. What she saw was not the fiery eyes of the 
 "Bannock," but the fat, repulsive face, and the 
 small browless eyes of the " presiding elder." If 
 the look she saw in the face had meant blows, 
 Julie would have been less terrified ; but, child as 
 she was, she instinctively felt the more devilish 
 purpose in the. mean leer of the brute. She made 
 an effort to struggle, but she could not move ; she 
 was paralyzed with fright. 
 
 " Sweet little blossom ! Sweet little fluttering 
 bird ! " murmured the dastard, huskily, as he pressed 
 his fat hand yet more closely over the child's 
 mouth, and began with a show of abstraction to 
 draw her under the archway. Julie, frightened to 
 desperation, forced the hand a little from her 
 mouth, and uttered a faint cry. Then came to her 
 senses what seemed a little flash of light, and the 
 sound of footsteps. The coward, alarmed, released 
 her, and slunk into the den. More dead than alive, 
 Julie forced her numb limbs to move, and ran 
 along the street blindly. 
 
 The alarm had been false, for presently she heard 
 steps pursuing her, that she knew but too well. 
 This gave her strength to quicken her pace. She 
 reached the door; it was locked. She sank 
 down on the steps with a pitiful cry. There 
 was a light inside that moved along the entry.
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 43 
 
 Julie knocked with all her strength. The "pre- 
 siding elder " reached the steps the same moment 
 that Mrs. Ward opened the door. If she had been 
 an angel, with a sceptre of peace in her hand, in- 
 stead of a harsh woman with a rod, she could not 
 have been more welcome to the frightened child. 
 Julie stole past her ; and now that the danger was 
 over, the poor child found herself sobbing and cry- 
 ing violently, she knew not why. 
 
 " What is it, brother Mesher?" said Mrs. Ward, 
 knitting her brow sternly. 
 
 " Verily," returned brother Mesher, whose face 
 was souiewhat paler than usual, and whose hand 
 shook a little, " the sinful flee when none pursue. 
 The spirit of the evil one must have entered the 
 guileless heart of the young sister, and tempted 
 her into the path of vanity, for she has this night 
 visited the very nest of all vanities the theatre. I 
 thought, at first, knowing your righteous and just 
 views of the like iniquitous places, that my eyes 
 had deceived me; but, stopping the young dam- 
 sel, I found it but too true. The sinful heart 
 quaketh," added brother Mesher, closing his eyes 
 and smacking his lips with a relish. " But spare 
 not the rod, s'ister Ward, for who spareth the 
 flesh destroyeth the soul." 
 
 " I know my duty, brother Mesher, and shall do
 
 44 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 it. I am obliged to you," returned Mrs. Ward, 
 with a dark, hard look in her face, that the orphan 
 girl knew but too well. 
 
 Brother Mesher took his departure, and Julie 
 turned pale in the appalling silence that followed 
 for a moment. She dared not reveal her adven- 
 ture with the hypocrite. The purity of the child 
 shrank with a mixture of terror and shame from 
 even the thought of it. 
 
 Mrs. Ward was a woman of few words. She 
 did not question and argue with Julie, neither did 
 Julie beg and promise, as another child might; 
 even her instincts bowed to her inexorable fate. 
 She trembled, clasped her hands, and prayed for 
 strength. 
 
 Mrs. Ward beat her without mercy ; and when 
 the child stood before her, white and breathless 
 with fear and pain, she said, coldly, " If you offend 
 again, you shall be punished more severely." 
 
 When poor Julie lay awake in her lonely little 
 room, she no longer cried, either with the pain or 
 the shame, for there was something in her heart 
 new to it, something very like hate for her step- 
 mother. 
 
 She lay quite still and clutched the bed-clothes, 
 while her angry thoughts pressed themselves 
 through her brain.
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 45 
 
 "I will run away, some day, and live among 
 those happy people. If she didn't strike me, I'd 
 stay; but as it is, I won't I won't. I love Satan 
 better than God; he's a great deal kinder to peo- 
 ple in this world. O, I wish I was dead ! " And 
 Julie pounded the pillow for emphasis. "I wish 
 she'd killed me that would have been good. I 
 wonder how she would like it, if a great giant 
 came along, and took away the meeting-house 
 and everything she thought was nice. I wish 
 one would, and would fling the 'presiding elder' 
 clear off, where nobody would ever find him." 
 
 When Julie thought of the "presiding elder" 
 she shuddered, and the step-mother seemed far less 
 detestable. " O, O, O ! if, when they were so 
 cruel to me to-night, some angel had come down 
 out of heaven, and took me away from them, they 
 would have been sorry, I guess." 
 
 Julie's pride gave way, and she began to sob and 
 cry with so much violence that she frightened her- 
 self. She strove in vain to be quiet, and to sleep ; 
 but the little body tossed restlessly about the bed, 
 and the golden hair mussed itself in her tears, and 
 made poor Julie yet more uncomfortable, till at last 
 she hardly knew when the feverish thoughts 
 changed to bad dreams. She seemed to get up, 
 and with her bare feet and night-gown glide softly
 
 46 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 down stairs, and out into the street! O, how 
 deathly still the street was ! How each great house 
 seemed a tomb, wherein sleep mocked death ! How 
 the air was peopled with noiseless, fluttering phan- 
 toms ! And as she moved along, not walking, but 
 still gliding, something crawled out of a by-place, 
 and looked at her with a white face, showed its 
 teeth, and snarled. The face seemed neither hu- 
 man nor that of a brute. Its body was huge, and 
 shaped like a rat. Julie dared not move her eyes 
 from the face, and there came into it the same look 
 she had seen in the "presiding elder's." Again 
 she could not scream. The creature reached out 
 its claws to clutch her. She sank down with a 
 weak, ti'embling shock, and the darkness gathered 
 about her. She opened her eyes. She was in her 
 own room ; but there, before her bed, was still the 
 face. The cold perspiration stood on her forehead, 
 and her eyes remained fixed. The face faded, and 
 still Julie lay for some moments unable to move, 
 for the air about her seemed filled with other hor- 
 rors, and she dared not look around. She hid her 
 face at last in the bed-clothes, trembling and ex- 
 hausted. The quivering lips repeated the child's 
 prayer she had been taught to say, for it came into 
 this poor little head, tortured by church fairy tales, 
 what if hell should be like her dream ! " I will
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 47 
 
 be good," thought Julie. " I'll never go there 
 again, and I'll never make fun to my mouse." In 
 her fear she almost resolved to call her step- 
 mother, but the choice of evils was not great ; so 
 she contented herself by feeling about for the 
 mouse-box, and drawing it into her bed, that she 
 might have some living thing near her. She tried 
 not to sleep, lest she should again see the face ; and 
 while she fancied she was still lying with her hand 
 on the mouse-box, the beautiful dancers came troop- 
 ing into the room, and wafted her away to where 
 there was green grass, shaded by tall trees, and 
 where she danced with the dancers in and out 
 among the trunks of the trees, until the sun stole 
 in under the shadows and touched her eyes, and 
 Julie opened them to find the real sun shining into 
 her room. 
 
 With the pleasant dream and the daylight the 
 ugly phantoms took their flight, and left her natu- 
 ral again. She peeped into the mouse-box, and 
 cried, "Boo, mouse!" loud and sudden, that she 
 might startle her little pet from his slumbers, and 
 see him scramble about the box in his efforts to 
 run away. When she had effected this end, and 
 the mouse sat blinking and trembling in the farther 
 side of his box, Julie laughed, and said, " Wake up, 
 mouse, and say you are glad to see it's a pleasant
 
 48 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 day." But she made no confession to the mouse ; 
 she ran to the window instead, and looked out. 
 There was the street looking quite natural by day- 
 light ; and it came quite natural to wonder if Fred 
 would ever come again, and take her to the thea- 
 tre. She looked back into the room and sighed. 
 The room was so dull! and the prayer-meeting 
 would seem duller than ever, and even the school 
 would be dull by comparison. She dreaded more 
 than ever, to descend into the dark diniirg-room, 
 and sit under the stony gaze of her step-mother. 
 But the day must be gone through with, and other 
 days like it must follow, and Julie could only sigh 
 and wish. 
 
 So many days, dull and alike, followed, with no 
 Fred, that Julie's poor little brain ached with 
 wishing. Even the mouse was not satisfactory. 
 She sighed to him each day, " O, mouse, you are 
 so dull ! You" are not even so lively as you used 
 to be. What have you done, mouse ? Have you 
 joined the church, and become a church mouse? 
 You are worse company than Fred ; and I wouldn't 
 be that, because Fred is only a young man, while 
 you are a fine gay mouse, with sharp, diamond 
 eyes ; think of that, mouse." But on one of the 
 days Julie forgot Fred and the theatre for the 
 mouse. Peeping into his little house, she found
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 49 
 
 his poor little body all limp and shrunken, and his 
 sharp eyes blurred, quite cold, and dead. The 
 child burst into tears of real grief. The little 
 creature had been almost the only thing her loving 
 heart had had to caress. She stole down into the 
 street to wait till Fred should pass, on his way 
 from school. Fred took lessons of a private 
 teacher, and Julie's school hours were always 
 over first. 
 
 While she stood wringing her little hands in 
 distress, Jennie Hart came by. It made Jennie 
 sad to see the princess in tears ; and though 
 Jennie was a little bashful before princesses, she 
 stopped, and inquired kindly if she could be of any 
 service ; but the princess only cried harder. " Can't 
 I ? " said Jennie ; " I should like to." 
 
 "O, O," cried the princess, "something dread- 
 ful has happened; a dear, cunning little mouse, 
 that I loved, is dead," and the princess burst into 
 fresh sobs. 
 
 " O, it's too bad," said Jennie. " I know what it 
 is to lose a mouse ; because we lost a dear little 
 bird once. Should you like to bury your mouse ? " 
 
 " O, my mouse ! my poor mouse ! " sobbed the 
 princess ; " and now he's dead I " 
 
 " Who's dead ? " said Fred, coming up ; " the 
 presiding ' ? Good ! " 
 4
 
 50 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "O, no; my poor mouse." 
 
 u Pshaw, Julie ! " responded Fred, in a very dif- 
 ferent tone. " Cat get him ? Cracky ! Don't cry 
 though ! I'll give you my marbles instead ; or 
 stay I'll catch you another mouse. Our house 
 is overrun with them. We'd just as lieve you'd 
 have one as not. In fact we wouldn't mind spar- 
 ing two." 
 
 "But I don't want another mouse," said Julie. 
 " No mouse could ever be to me what he was. O, 
 now I think of it, I remember how he got out of 
 his box once, and gnawed a hole in my slipper," 
 sobbed Julie, overcome by this tender memory. 
 " I should like to bury him," she added, turning to 
 Jennie. 
 
 " Yes, let's bury him," said Fred ; " that will be 
 jolly. O, no; I don't mean that; I mean it will be 
 consoling." 
 
 " I'll run home and bring Kaycander," said 
 Jennie. " He officiates at funerals, and is very 
 happy on such occasions." 
 
 " He ought to be very unhappy, I should think," 
 said Fred, looking at Julie, and blushing slightly, 
 for Jennie was a stranger to him. 
 
 Jennie laughed, and ran off on her errand, while 
 Fred whispered to Julie, " I'll be the grave-digger,
 
 THE CHILD AXD THE DEVIL. 51 
 
 and we'll have the hole in my back yard,- because, 
 you know, she might see us." 
 
 Jennie Hart soon came running back. She 
 found Fred and Julie waiting for her with the 
 mouse. 
 
 The three repaired solemnly to Fred's yard, and 
 seated themselves on the back doorstep. 
 
 "You don't think it's a judgment upon me 
 because we went there do you?" whispered 
 Julie to Fred. 
 
 " Nonsense, Julie ! " replied Fred. " You have 
 had that mouse ever since he was a baby. I mean 
 ever since you was, and I don't suppose such 
 things do live forever." 
 
 " He was not then taken in his early flower ? " 
 Jennie made Kaycander say, with a very stiff 
 bow; for Kaycander possessed a fine straight 
 spine, and was in truth the leg to an old-fashioned 
 bureau. 
 
 Julie smiled through her tears, and thought 
 Jennie was a funny girl to give a name to a red 
 bureau-leg. 
 
 "I hope you don't object to a minister of 
 color ? " said Jennie, pleased to see Julie smile, 
 " because we are all anti-slavery ; and so is pa." 
 
 "The dear departed was not exactly white," 
 said Fred.
 
 62 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " Sure enough," said Jennie, " but he's just as 
 good for all that." 
 
 " He's a good deal better," murmured Julie, 
 affectionately. The little dress being ready, Kay- 
 cander made another stiff bow, while Julie bent 
 her head solemnly, and Fred held his handker- 
 chief to his mouth, instead of his eyes ; for the 
 ceremony did not strike him as an occasion for 
 tears. 
 
 " I say unto you, Verily," began Kaycander, so 
 exactly like a real minister, that Fred pressed his 
 handkerchief still more closely to his lips, " that 
 all men are but as the worms of the earth that 
 perish ; therefore a mouse is as good as a man ; 
 for verily a mouse is as good as a worm, and some 
 better." 
 
 " Mr. K. Candor," interrupted Fred, " is a jolly 
 come-outer, I take it." 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Julie ; and Kaycander con- 
 tinued, 
 
 " The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. 
 Blessed be the Lord." 
 
 " Would you say that, if you was me ? " asked 
 Julie. 
 
 " What ? " said Fred. 
 
 " That about blessed, you know. I'm afraid it 
 would be telling a lie wouldn't it?"
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEVIL. 53 
 
 " O, no ; it wouldn't," responded Jennie, en- 
 thusiastically ; " because, you know, he giveth, 
 too." 
 
 " O, she don't know how much he gives," Fred 
 informed Jennie, " on account of her" 
 
 " Blessed be the name of the Lord," whispered 
 Julie. "I forgot." 
 
 "Amen," echoed Jennie. "I do often." 
 
 So the children buried the mouse, and Jennie 
 ran home with her little minister, while Fred, as 
 he escorted Julie, whispered something to her that 
 had been on his mind for some time. 
 
 "If you wouldn't call pa's and ma's opinion a 
 judgment, Julie, I'd tell you something. It's 
 kind of good and kind of not. I thought I'd wait 
 till she'd got gone before I said anything about 
 it. It's this: I'm going to school way off some- 
 where, to be gone four years ; and then I'm only 
 coming back for a little while, for I'm going to 
 college." 
 
 " Fred, it does look like a judgment, or a special 
 dispensation of divine Providence, or something," 
 said Julie, sadly. 
 
 " Of course it's something," said Fred. 
 
 Julia sighed. 
 
 " Are you sorry, though ? " returned Fred, with
 
 54 BEHIND THE 
 
 glee. " I say, Julie, you're ray girl ; now remem- 
 ber, and don't let the other fellows say anything to 
 you while I'm gone. Good by, Julie ; " and Fred 
 gave Julie a quick, impulsive kiss, and ran off, 
 blushing and whistling.
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 55 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PKINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 
 
 THE princess was not poor: she owned a por- 
 tion of the dungeon keep, and also quite a large 
 bag of gold dollars that were at present flying 
 about in the disguise of little paper birds, and 
 that, when the princess married, or came of age, 
 she could call in, and change back to their former 
 shapes, if she had the mind. 
 
 Now, the " presiding elder," who had become a 
 sort of step-father of the princess, had a son, and, 
 being a tender-hearted father, he saw not why his 
 son should be denied the pleasure of catching the 
 birds. The cage was large enough for all; and, 
 provided the princess's mother bird would only let 
 herself be caught, the young birds might in time 
 be brought to perch on the hands of father and 
 son. 
 
 The younger Mesher was a fat boy of about the 
 same age as Fred an unfinished impression of 
 the father, in somewhat softer and cheaper ma- 
 terial. He was given to bewailing his sins at the
 
 56 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Sunday school, and to knocking down the smaller 
 boys at the day school. He was very greedy at 
 table, and covetous generally. 
 
 After Fred went away, the dull world turned 
 itself over yet more slowly for Julie, day by day 
 month by month, and year by year, till the beauti- 
 ful child grew into the still more beautiful girl, 
 Strange, happy dreams crept into the girl's life, 
 and much of its dulness stole out. Julie's "good 
 one " was now to sit by her window and watch, 
 and Julie's watching was the instinct of a soul in 
 search of its destiny. While her lingers stitched 
 away at her sewing, her imagination was busy 
 over a thousand romantic scenes. Her lovely face 
 would sometimes flush with a bright rosy color 
 and she would glance shyly about the empty room, 
 half suspecting some human eye upon her. At 
 such times she would say to herself, "Pshaw! I 
 believe I think of nothing but beaux and getting 
 married. I even think of elopements, and that's 
 worse." After reflecting thus, Julie always fell 
 back into her dreams straightway. The face she 
 pictured was a lover's, but not Fred's. She 
 thought of Fred pleasantly, but as a child. Even 
 now he would be but a youth; and Julie's ideal 
 was a strong man, tall and handsome, who loved 
 Julie desperately, thought her the most beautiful
 
 THE PRINCESS ANjD THE KNIGHT. 57 
 
 of women, and did not mind telling her so occa- 
 sionally, and taking her to the theatre. 
 
 Julie met her lover in a great many imaginary 
 ways. Sometimes he appeared at the church, saw 
 her, and waited outside till she should pass to slip 
 a note into her hand ; or it would be night, and 
 some unheard-of errand would take her out alone. 
 The "presiding elder" would be taken dangerously 
 ill, and Julie's errand would be for the doctor. 
 Some insolent person would speak to her, perhaps 
 follow her; and he, the lover, would come to the 
 rescue. Then he would call the next day while the 
 step-mother was out, and would say fascinating 
 things to her, and again the next day, till at last he 
 would fall at her feet, and entreat her to fly with him. 
 She would smile, and answer sweetly, but sadly, 
 "No, Edward, not that. I love you devotedly; 
 but but " and he would respond, " But what, 
 dearest?" to which she would reply, "Consider 
 Mr. Mesher and my " and he, being most 
 charmingly worldly, would laugh with a careless, 
 easy grace, and respond, "Mesher be hanged" 
 a sentence which secretly would not sound un- 
 pleasant to her, although she would answer to it 
 with a severe, but still charming lecture. 
 
 Julie began, too, to look for a lover among the 
 real faces she met. She would wonder how such
 
 58 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 and such a young man would seem as a husband, 
 supposing he should fall in love with her. But she 
 met with no eyes like the eyes in her dream, that 
 burned into her very soul, though there were many 
 eyes that looked, and were charmed. The church 
 and the meetings also came to have a new attrac- 
 tion for her. It was not unpleasant to have the 
 men and women exchange covert glances, and 
 whisper as she passed ; and on the street, too, al- 
 though it startled her a little, it was still pleasant 
 to have the passers-by look after her with delight 
 and wonder, as if she had been some rare flower 
 borne through the city's heart in the dead of win- 
 ter. She would remember these looks, and weave 
 them into her dreams with a smile somewhat co- 
 quettish. There were other looks, however, that 
 did not haunt her pleasantly the hypocritical faces 
 of Mesher and his son. Julie dreaded meeting 
 either of these worthies about the house ; for they 
 never failed, by some means, to bring a blush into 
 her face, and a sickening terror into her heart. 
 Her dreams received, one day, a sudden shock. 
 Her step-mother summoned her. In the presence 
 of that lady she was still a child. She had the 
 old fear that forbade her to speak her mind. 
 The two Meshers were in the room also. Julie 
 trembled, and tried to think which of the acts she
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 59 
 
 had lately committed could be laid to her charge 
 as sinful. She half feared that her worldly 
 thoughts had revealed themselves too plainly in 
 her face. 
 
 " Julie," said Mrs. Mesher, briefly, " you are now 
 a woman, and ready to enter into the sphere of a 
 woman. Simon Mesher offers you his hand." 
 
 Julie turned pale, and instinctively drew back. 
 
 " I have told him, as it was my duty," continued 
 Mrs. Mesher, " that you are a vain woman, one who 
 esteems beauty of the flesh before beauty of the 
 spirit, and a flippant woman, one who would 
 not respond to a devout Christian mind." 
 
 Julie thought of her worldly lover, and was 
 silent. 
 
 "One easily led into worldly ambitions," went 
 on Mrs. Mesher, still more sternly; "but he is 
 willing to overlook these qualities, and himself 
 direct you in the path of duty; prepare your 
 mind, therefore, for the life that awaits you, that 
 you may become worthy of the privileges and 
 duties of a wife." The step-mother's words 
 seemed harshly to cut the poetry of Julie's ideal 
 like a sword. She dared not speak, and her heart 
 throbbed painfully. She could feel the small, fat 
 eyes of Ae elder Mesher half close themselves, 
 while his thick lips murmured, " A willing bondage,
 
 60 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 my daughter ; yield up thy body and thy spirit unto 
 him who is to be thy master. Take her, Simon ; 
 take her. Deal with her gently, but firmly. Make 
 of her a faithful wife and obedient servant unto 
 thee and unto the Lord, that she may minister unto 
 thy bodily and spiritual needs, and unto those of 
 thy children, and be a silent and a cheerful servant; 
 for a loud-talking and self-willed woman offendeth 
 the ears of the Lord." 
 
 The elder bent his face close to that of the girl, 
 drew her to him, and patted her head with his 
 hand, while the younger Mesher approached with 
 a smile so repulsive to Julie, that, terribly as she 
 stood in awe of her step-mother, she sprang away 
 from the elder and ran to her own room, threw 
 herself down into her chair, and, tossed by con- 
 flicting emotions, wept. While the cold words of 
 her step-mother touched her ideal love like steel, 
 the sensuality of the two Meshers seemed to taint 
 it so, that for days Julie thought of love and lovers 
 with something like a shudder. After this scene, 
 she knew no peace. There was a new terror in 
 the house for her. She stole about like a thief, and 
 lived almost entirely in her own room. She was 
 so young, and knew so little of the world, that 
 these three beings seemed all-powerful to her. She 
 trembled lest she should be drawn into the sit-
 
 THE PJJINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 61 
 
 ting-room some day, and be forced to marry the 
 detestable Simon. She began now to watch for 
 Fred's return, and wonder if her old child-lover 
 would still rescue her, as he used to promise, from 
 the life that was no longer simply dull. But Fred 
 did not come ; at least, Julie did not see him ; and 
 she watched and waited in vain, till, little by little, 
 an old fancy of her childhood took possession of her, 
 and she began to plan how she might escape from 
 her prison and join the dancers at the theatre. To 
 do so, she must leave her home, and the "presid- 
 ing" would be sure to find her and bring her back. 
 But this was not Julie's strongest motive for lin- 
 gering. Dull as the old house was, it was sacred 
 to her because there her father had blessed her on 
 his death-bed. When Julie looked about her room, 
 and saw her one little chair, her bed, the patch- 
 work quilt she had made with her own hands, the 
 homely scrolls on the paper her hungry eyes had 
 made pictures and flowers of so often, and the two 
 stunted old bushes whose tops just peeped in at the 
 window, she felt a tenderness for these sharers of 
 her solitude, and the thought of leaving them was 
 like that of leaving something human. Now, while 
 Julie watched and waited, Fred had returned, a 
 tall, powerful youth, and still very much in love 
 with her. Fred was at home, and it so hap-
 
 62 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 pcned that he rang the door-bell of the dungeon- 
 keep just after Julie had broken away from the 
 elder, and was crying in her room. Fred did not 
 observe the black look of the step-mother, the 
 shamefaced countenance of the younger Simon, 
 nor the hypocritical smile of the " presiding elder," 
 who seemed still to rehearse the scene he had com- 
 menced with Julie, and to gloat over it. There 
 was something on Fred's mind that confused the 
 objects about him, and caused him to blush and 
 turn pale alternately. Mrs. Mesher motioned him, 
 coldly, to be seated. He glanced about the room : 
 there was no Julie and no sunshine. He took the 
 proffered chair, painfully conscious of the three 
 pairs of hostile eyes that were upon him. " Pshaw ! " 
 thought Fred; "what a baby I ami" Then he 
 spoke aloud, and his voice sounded dry and husky ; 
 not at all as he had planned it should, in the seven 
 or eight times he had passed and repassed, before 
 entering the house. 
 
 " Is Miss Ward at home ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Mesher, distinctly. " What 
 do you want of her?" 
 
 "To see her." 
 
 " Who are you ? " said Mrs. Mesher. 
 
 Fred felt the color mount to his temple ; he had 
 forgotten to introduce himself. "My name is
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. Oti 
 
 Frederic Somerby," he stammered. "I used to 
 know Miss Ward that is, I didn't know her," he 
 added, troubled with a vague fear that, even at 
 this late day, the disclosure of the clandestine ac- 
 quaintance of their childhood might compromise 
 Julie in some way. "I used to see her, and, in 
 short, I called to say to ask her permission and 
 yours to become acquainted with her. A fel- 
 low," said Fred, blushing still deeper because he 
 meant to use the language of a man, and it came 
 more natural to be a boy, "don't like to sneak 
 round, when there's no reason why he shouldn't 
 speak out. I " 
 
 " Who is your father ? " interrupted Mrs. Mesher, 
 with hard, cold emphasis. 
 
 "My father is John Somerby, and by profession 
 a writer," answered Fred, finding this unexpected 
 catechism very embarrassing. Mrs. Mesher knit- 
 ted her brow yet more severely as she said, 
 
 " A man who opposes the loud, boastful vanity 
 of his reason against the Bible. Satan has too 
 many such servants in this day." 
 
 "No, he has not!" said Fred, with a sudden 
 flush. " There isn't a better nor a wiser man going 
 than my father: he has faith in God, and good, 
 whether in the Bible or out of it." 
 
 " You follow in his footsteps," said Mrs. Mesher, 
 with no change in her tone.
 
 64 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " I am proud to say I do, or try to," replied 
 Fred, with warmth. 
 
 " How old are you ? " continued Mrs. Mesher. 
 
 " Well," answered Fred, turning crimson, " I'm 
 about seventeen, but I hope to improve in that re- 
 spect every day." And he added, to himself, " My 
 mother does know that I am out. I suppose you'll 
 ask that next." 
 
 Mrs. Mesher fixed her eyes upon Fred sternly. 
 "Go home," she said, "and in the Bible learn the 
 wisdom of humility. Understand, you are for- 
 bidden to enter this house*. I have considered my 
 duty and the Lord's will in the matter of my 
 daughter's future well-being, and have bestowed 
 her hand on a young man who is a servant of 
 the Lord." 
 
 Fred felt the blood leave his face and recede to 
 his heart, and he sat motionless, trying to decide 
 whether or no his old love had received its death- 
 blow. 
 
 " Any further conversation would not avail you," 
 continued Mrs. Mesher; "therefore I shall give my 
 attention to other duties. Good morning." 
 
 Fred made a nervous motion with his pale lips, 
 as if to detain her ; but he did not speak, and she 
 passed out of the room. 
 
 Simon Mesher chuckled. The sudden dampen-
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 65 
 
 ing of Fred's ardor struck him as amusing, and the 
 elder half closed his eyes, and, mouthing his words 
 with a relish, as was his wont, he repeated, gently, 
 "Understand, young man, you are forbidden this 
 house. This bondwoman of the Lord gives her 
 young charge unto no man but my son, who is a 
 servant ot the Lord, and a believer in his word. I 
 need not tell you that to visit this abode would be 
 to violate the laws of propriety, and to trespass on 
 the sacred rights of the betrothed." 
 
 Fred, jealous and exasperated, did not rise, but 
 muttered, angrily, "I'll bet Julie's never been 
 asked what she'd like in the matter, and that's why 
 you're in such a plaguy hurrry to get rid of 
 me. You want to turn every other fellow off 
 for him" 
 
 " The betrothal," murmured the elder, sweetly, 
 "has this day been consummated between the 
 young people, and the maiden's heart goes with 
 her hand. Yes, yes. I have watched the signs. 
 The signs of a modest maiden's heart," continued 
 Mesher, perhaps inwardly endeavoring to construe 
 Julie's very decided show of repugnance for his 
 son into the wayward indications of love, '^are 
 only revealed to those who look upon the young 
 girl with the tender watchfulness of a parent." 
 
 " SJie didn't say," gasped Fred, suspicious and in- 
 5
 
 66 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 dignant, " that there was any engagement. I'll be 
 bound it's a mean invention of your own." 
 
 " The well-springs of my heart," went on the 
 elder, with a forgiving look at Fred, " have been 
 this day touched, to witness the tender joys of 
 their meeting. O, these young hearts! O, these 
 little fluttering love birds ! They have melted 
 mine old eyes even unto tears, and the dry pastures 
 of my heart have been refreshed and made green 
 with the waters thereof." 
 
 Fred felt his blood rise. "Don't pretend you 
 don't hear," he cried. " I said she didn't give any 
 engagement as a reason why I shouldn't come 
 here, and- 1 should like to know what you say 
 to that." 
 
 Simon Mesher again chuckled, but moved un- 
 easily towards the door. 
 
 " Peace, my son, peace ! " responded the elder, 
 favoring Fred with a look of sorrowful reproach. 
 " Let us not part with angry words on either side. 
 They are vain, my son, vain. Even though a 
 stranger to me, and on this tender occasion I shall 
 be forgiven if I say an intruder; yes, an intruder, 
 my bosom is filled with brotherly love, overflow- 
 ing, as I mighu say, with pure love for you, my 
 poor misguided friend, and for all my fellow-crea- 
 tures, even my enemies. I pray for you, my son,
 
 THE PBINCESS AMD THE KNIGHT. 67 
 
 that your heart may be turned from vain and lust- 
 ful thoughts. Ah, my son, think, consider, His love 
 is more precious than any worldly love ; far more 
 precious, far more priceless. Turn to Him. O, my 
 son, if I might feel that this divine interposition of 
 Providence, this chastening touch of trouble, would 
 be the means of bringing you unto Him " 
 
 " Turn to him yourself," muttered Fred ; " or 
 make him turn and forget her. I'd like to see 
 either of you do it." 
 
 " Your sinful words fill me with grief," said the 
 elder, mildly. "Intrude no longer in -the abode of 
 a righteous love." 
 
 " A righteous love ! You lie ; you know you do," 
 sneered Fred, controlling, with a strong effort, the 
 impulse he felt to shake some other expression into 
 young Mesher's face than the stupid leer it wore. 
 
 "He who calleth his brother a liar," said the 
 elder, yet more mildly " But I forgive you, and 
 send you forth more in sorrow than in anger; and 
 I say to you, in the words of the Lamb, 'Go thy 
 way, and sin no more;' for the good book says, 
 * Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou 
 shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his man- 
 servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his 
 ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's.' O, my 
 son," continued the elder, patting Fred's shoulder,
 
 68 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "let not thine anger rise against the Lord's words, 
 but soften thy hard heart unto " 
 
 " You can keep your hand off my shoulder," 
 exclaimed Fred, seizing the elder's wrist, and fling- 
 ing the hand off. 
 
 " My friend," said Mesher, a streak of red ap- 
 pearing, for an instant, over the natural yellow of 
 his flabby face, " raise not your hand against one, 
 who, in meekness and concern for your eternal 
 welfare But blush, and bow your head, for very 
 shame ; for, behold, thou smitest me on the right 
 cheek, and I turn unto you my left." 
 
 " Here's a specimen for you ! " cried Fred, with 
 indignant contempt. " By George, you ought to be 
 pickled in rum, and put up in some museum among 
 the monstrosities." 
 
 " If thine enemy smite thee on the one cheek, 
 turn to him the other also," repeated the elder, 
 squeezing a few tears out of his closed eyes. " O, 
 unhappy youth, my heart bleeds for you ; the heart 
 of the aged servant of the Lord, whom thou hast 
 this day reviled, and turned against with the 
 might of thy youthful hand, melts in sorrow for 
 your sin." 
 
 Fred sprang up, and clenched his fist angrily. 
 " If I could strike, or shake anything out of you, 
 but a parcel of lies, darn it, you old fool, I'd "
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 69 
 
 " My son, my son, this is blasphemy : think, my 
 son, blasphemy. Verily your sinful words smite 
 upon my soul with a smart that is like unto the 
 smart of my body." 
 
 " Verily," cried Fred, " you've spoken the truth 
 for once in your life ; for you haven't soul enough 
 to feel any contempt, and I didn't strike you." 
 
 " My son," said the elder, " perhaps you are not 
 aware what names your wicked words call down 
 upon your head mocker ! scoffer ! Terrible 
 words, my son appalling words ! O, my son, 
 consider them well, and repent ! " 
 
 Fred made an angry motion, as if to deal the 
 elder a blow, but commanded himself. " Go forth, 
 Simon, and bring the police," said the elder, step- 
 ping back and turning pale. "I feared it would 
 come to this. You are witness, Simon^ that I 
 have borne with meekness insults and blows in 
 my own house. Go forth, Simon go forth." 
 
 "Your coward son went forth to save himself 
 some time before your order," muttered Fred ; " so 
 that game won't serve you. However, your aged 
 heart needn't quake, and you needn't hide behind 
 the door, for I don't intend to strike ; but I mean 
 to find out the truth, and all your noise won't pre- 
 vent me. " 
 
 Fred strode out of the house still pale with
 
 70 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 anger and indignation, and left the elder just in the 
 act of casting up his eyes preparatory to giving a 
 righteous groan. 
 
 He walked along the street with fierce rapidity, 
 his hands still clenched, and his brain on fire, with 
 plans to rescue Julie, and thwart the fiendish 
 schemes of the elder ; but when he came to find 
 himself alone in his own room, the hands un- 
 clenched themselves, and Fred lowered his head, 
 and cried like a woman or a child. In his walk 
 and his planning he had but undone his own 
 hopes; for, after all, what was there in Mrs. Mesh- 
 er's speech to give him reason to suppose the elder 
 lied in the matter of Julie's engagement. He had 
 been angry before, and had not felt the blow 
 to his own hopes that was more cruel than the 
 elder's exasperating words. Now he felt it, bowed 
 beneath it, and wept. He clung, however, to one 
 last hope. Julie might not be a party to the de- 
 testable bargain. He would see her, and learn the 
 truth. With a fevered brain he again stole round 
 to the rear of her mother's house, and stood under 
 Julie's window. He remained some time ere he 
 ventured to speak. With all the resolution born 
 of his trouble, he still felt timid at approaching the 
 shrine of his idol ; for in his mind Julie had not 
 ripened into a woman merely, but rather an angel,
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE KNIGHT. 71 
 
 whom, as yet, he had worshipped only at a dis- 
 tance. He glanced up at her window. The blinds 
 were closed. His heart sank; but he uttered her 
 name as loudly as he dared. There was no an- 
 swer. He repeated it, and still there was silence, 
 He returned home heart-sick, but not discouraged. 
 He came again and again, but always to find closed 
 blinds, and no response to his call. He watched 
 for her in the streets with no better results. A 
 suspicion entered his mind, and gained strength 
 day by day, that Julie was kept prisoner, and that 
 his unfortunate visit had brought about this extra 
 severity. This thought, and his helplessness in the 
 matter, drove him desperate. He had kept strict 
 watch over the house for a month or more, when 
 he observed, at times, a little figure, muffled in 
 shawls and closely veiled, steal in and out of the 
 passage-way between Mesher's house and the house 
 adjoining. The figure was so completely disguised 
 that only by its light, quick step had Fred judged 
 its youth. It might be his imagination ; but he 
 fancied he could trace in its walk some resem- 
 blance to the child he had loved long since. He 
 resolved to observe more closely, and placed him- 
 self one day near the arch-way. Whatever its 
 mission, the figure seldom remained long about it, 
 and Fred had not long to wait. He took good
 
 * 
 
 72 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 care not to make his purpose apparent ; but the 
 figure was evidently on the alert, for Fred had 
 taken but a few steps in the same direction when 
 it quickened its movements. Fred accelerated his 
 pace also, and the figure, alarmed, commenced run- 
 ning. Fred, ashamed, desisted. Still it was not 
 in his nature to abandon an undertaking he had 
 set his mind upon. So he gave himself another 
 chance by cutting through a cross street, and 
 rounding a certain block of houses. This placed 
 him in advance, and he stood waiting till the figure 
 should come up with him. That being was evi- 
 dently still suspicious, as it paused every now and 
 then, and gave frightened glances about, and Fred 
 felt as little respectable as he appeared. Still he 
 watched until the figure reached its destination, 
 which was but a few paces from where Fred had 
 taken his station. It entered the-stage door of the 
 theatre. He turned away more disappointed than 
 he could have believed possible. " What a fool I 
 was ! " he muttered. " It is some actress or ballet 
 girl." Still Fred did not banish this figure from 
 his mind.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 73 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 
 
 " WANTED, twenty ladies for the new spectacle. 
 Inquire at stage entrance, Union Theatre." 
 
 Mrs. Hart read these words aloud, though she 
 did not intend them for her daughter's ear. It 
 was her habit to read whatever she read to her- 
 self aloud, as if her mind was a little hard of hear- 
 ing, and the thing had to make some noise to be 
 let in. The words dropped like a spark into 
 Gail's mind, and set fire to some very inflammable 
 material there. She had made efforts to get on 
 the stage, but in secret. She instinctively shrank 
 from imparting even to those dear to her these 
 attempts, as yet fruitless, to win the thing she 
 loved. 
 
 " I believe I will try it," she said, half to herself. 
 " Who knows what may come of it ? " 
 
 "What! become a play-actress?" ejaculated 
 Mrs. Hart, with a mixture of curiosity and aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Not so bad as that," replied Gail, cynically, as
 
 74 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 certain heart-sickening visions of crushed hopes, 
 closed stage doors, and managers hard to see, and 
 harder to make see, appeared before her mind. 
 " An extra lady," she explained, "is only some one 
 to stand on the stage, and help make up the 
 picture." 
 
 " Well, at the same time, an extra lady is some- 
 thing more than a common lady," said her mother, 
 encouragingly. " I declare, it is over hei*e to the 
 Union Theatre," she went on, after a few min- 
 utes, reverting to the paper with fresh interest. 
 "I knew of some one that used to act upon that 
 staging; it's Mrs. Gray's daughter Lizzie and Mrs. 
 Barrows. Mrs. Gray herself took in their play 
 dresses to iron." 
 
 At another time Gail would have smiled at this 
 innocent coupling of the star's name with that of 
 a poor ballet girl's. But at present she was too 
 nervous at the thought of approaching the dread 
 shrine, even with so humble a petition. She rose 
 somewhat hurriedly, lest her resolution should fail, 
 and hastened to her own room. With unsteady 
 fingers she dressed in her most theatrical style, 
 feeling that her chance was bettered by seeming 
 to have been on the stage, or at least to be up to 
 it. Before leaving the house, she drew a veil over 
 her face in true actress fashion.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 75 
 
 Poor Gail ! it was something of a descent from 
 her ambitious dreams to go on as a mere supernu- 
 merary. 
 
 Those in her little circle of friends who had seen 
 her act had given her to understand she could take 
 rank with the first. But Gail was desperate, de- 
 termined, and still thoroughly in love with the 
 idea of becoming an actress. The theatre had 
 even become sanctified to her by her childish wor- 
 ship of it. All its trickeries, painted faces, and 
 half-clothed dancers had been an enchanted world 
 to her ; for these things had stepped into the heart 
 of the child reverentially as on sacred ground, and 
 bowed to its pure instincts. She hastened on her 
 way to the theatre, at first with an impulse to 
 plunge blindly through what was a disagreeable 
 necessity ; but as the fresh air and exercise braced 
 her, this shrinking gave place to a feeling of inter- 
 est in what she had undertaken, and a sense of 
 delight in her own independence. In truth, when 
 the mood took her, Gail had mental muscle enough 
 to like to feel herself standing alone without lean- 
 ing too much on the opinions of society. She 
 threw from her face the veil she had drawn over it. 
 She thought, almost gayly, " I will take the expe- 
 rience to mind rather than to heart, and by watch- 
 ing and study I shall not be the less of an actress 
 for my poor position."
 
 76 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 When she reached the theatre, she stopped for a 
 moment outside the old door that had so often 
 filled her with awe, and wondered idly, if with the 
 little stream of daylight that should enter with her, 
 the old enchantment would vanish like elves at 
 cock-crow. 
 
 Though Gail was now a woman, time and doubt 
 had not quite, like the wicked fairy's wand, touched 
 her enchanted beings into mere earthly forms. 
 She had still for them the old mixture of ideality 
 and idolatry. 
 
 The heavy stage door creaked harshly on its 
 rusty hinges as Gail pushed it open, as if it, too, 
 grudged her entrance. All she could discern in 
 the darkness within was the appalling announce- 
 ment, "Positively no admittance," written above 
 her head. To her nostrils came a strong odor of 
 gas, paint, and dust, that she had sometimes per- 
 ceived on the rising of the curtain, and that had a 
 charm for her, so was it associated with the place. 
 To-day, nervous and full of dreams for the future, 
 this odor seemed to mix itself subtilely with the 
 breath of human aspirations, somewhat feverish. 
 A feeble ray of daylight filtered through a dirty 
 window above, and mingled with the flame of a 
 single gas-burner, making it shrink within itself 
 feebly.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 77 
 
 After her eyes had become accustomed to the 
 darkness, Gail found herself surrounded by huge 
 piles of scenes, leaning against the brick walls of 
 the building. She was about to penetrate further, 
 when a curious little figure emerged from the 
 gloom, and presented to her sight a dry, serious 
 face, and a rusty suit of copper color, the prevail- 
 ing tint of the canvases about a creature that 
 seemed to her to be soul and body ; a sort of 
 parasitic growth of the material portion of the 
 place. Somewhat timidly, it must be confessed, in 
 spite of her new-born courage, Gail inquired for Mr. 
 Lennox, the lessee and manager. The specimen 
 showed no signs of having heard till he had slowly 
 and fondly deposited, one by one, an armful of 
 masks, and gazed contemplatively into space for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Lennox," he said, musingly. " Mr. Len- 
 nox is at present at his theatre west." The words 
 theatre and Lennox were dwelt upon with a quiet 
 but deep satisfaction. As Gail waited, doubtful 
 how to proceed, there appeared a genius, known 
 as super, coarse in feature, and threadbai'e in dress. 
 
 " No, sir," cried this youth, with defiant famil- 
 iarity ; " Tom's not west neither. Tom's here ; 
 saw him not two minutes ago; talked with him 
 myself."
 
 78 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 His words, like those of the old man, were 
 spoken with a relish, although his manner was quite 
 different. He only wished it understood that he 
 and the manager were on intimate terms, while the 
 little man seemed to turn the name over carefully, 
 as if it had been some rare and precious stone; 
 and as he lowered his voice to whisper to her con- 
 fidentially, Gail felt he could not allow his claims 
 of ownership to be disputed. 
 
 " My dear young lady, he may be here, and he 
 may not. Mr. Lennox is a very peculiar man a 
 very peculiar man. You find him sometimes in 
 one place, and sometimes in another." The little 
 man here took a step back, the better to observe 
 the effect of this evidence of eccentricity upon 
 Gail, and continued, "He said to me, in the 
 strictest confidence, mind you, 'My God, James, 
 I wish they'd let me alone.' He has had," whis- 
 pered James impressively, "fifty applications for 
 engagements in a single week ; fifty applications 
 in a single week." 
 
 Gail lost courage a little, although she only half 
 believed the assertion. She replied coldly, "I 
 came in answer to the advertisement for ladies." 
 
 James eyed her reproachfully, and in the manner 
 of his answer indicated that he considered even so 
 humble a connection with the theatre as an honor.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDEE. 79 
 
 " Ah, indeed ; then I think Mr. Lennox will con- 
 fer with -you," he intimated. "Or perhaps you had 
 better see Jerry Sands." Gail followed her con- 
 ductor behind the scenes into the presence of Jerry 
 a seedy-looking man, but genteel, one of whose 
 .eyes had the appearance of having sported a glass 
 till its impression had become permanent. 
 
 " Bailey ? " murmured Jerry, without raising his 
 face from the table before which he sat. 
 
 " The young lady wishes to engage in the new 
 piece," replied James. 
 
 " Father, husband, or big brother know you're 
 here ? " inquired Jerry, still with his eyes on the 
 table, but seeming to feel that Gail was new to the 
 stage; "because, you know, we don't want any of 
 that sort of thing girls engaging with us, and 
 then leaving on account of a row with the family." 
 
 Gail assured him that he had nothing of the 
 kind to apprehend in her case. 
 
 " Very well, then ; we'll give you one dollar a 
 night, and find your dress. Will that suit?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well ; give your address." 
 
 Gail complied. 
 
 This business over, and the rehearsal not yet 
 come on, Gail found for herself a seat on the stairs 
 ascending to the scene-painter's gallery, where she
 
 80 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 might watch without being conspicuous. She felt, 
 however, little heart for gratifying her curiosity. 
 Something in the very atmosphere of the place 
 seemed to discourage her. She was disappointed. 
 The first step in the experiment she had resolved to 
 try seemed rather to throw her farther off from her 
 real object than to draw her nearer to it. She 
 seemed to feel, in the prevailing spirit about her, 
 only invisible barriers. Educated to an imaginary 
 world, this taste of a harder and colder re'ality 
 gave her sensitive nature pain. The tears in her 
 eyes blurred the desolate stage before her, and 
 perhaps the cloud over her spirits made dim the 
 mind's sight also; for the beings whom she had 
 worshipped appeared to her as very weak and 
 vain mortals indeed, aud she shrank from the little 
 slurs and the petty airs of superiority she fancied in 
 them. She watched the scene and the people 
 about her, in truth, with a mind that was proud, 
 sick, hungry, and jealous that aspired to wor- 
 thier things, and was ashamed of its own weak- 
 ness. From the cold, gloomy stage came the 
 voices of the rehearsers, mumbling over their parts 
 inaudibly, as if they were feeling about in the dark 
 for them as perhaps they were, mentally. Only 
 the cues were given with sufficient distinctness to 
 be heard. The actors and actresses wandered
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 81 
 
 about with a sort of idle restlessness, an absorbed 
 self-conscitfusness, pei-vaded by a certain charm of 
 their stage life, that, even when they expressed 
 themselves discontented with their profession, as 
 they not unfrequently did, was far more impres- 
 sive than their words. 
 
 Gail observed a certain figure pacing the stage 
 behind the scenes a woman, tall, thin, and too 
 quick and sudden in her motions for grace. She was 
 a contrast, both in face and manner, to those about 
 her. She was not an actress. Any part would have 
 expressed her rather than she it. Behind her pale 
 face and sharp gray eyes seemed to burn an un- 
 steady light that at times flushed the face, and at 
 times left it to a dull pallor. Her thin lips often 
 moved nervously when she was not speaking. This 
 woman's character reflected Gail's mood ; and per- 
 haps through this odd sympathy she was moved to 
 address the stranger. At all events, she paused 
 suddenly before Gail, and said, sharply, 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I am not thinking," answered Gail ; " I am get- 
 ting ready to think." 
 
 " Do you know, now," said the lady, "I thought 
 you were a genius ? I said so to myself. I am a 
 genius also, only I am unappreciated. I do utility 
 business. I am Isabel Lester." 
 6
 
 82 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "My name is Abigail Hart." And Gail would 
 have added, " I, too, fancy myself a genius." But 
 this species of frankness did not come natural to 
 her. 
 
 "Just hear them talk," whispered Isabel, alter 
 making a short pause, that seemed to have jerk 
 in it as sharp and sudden as her motions. "They 
 amuse me." Isabel indicated, by a slight nod, two 
 actors who had sauntered near the spot. 
 
 " Hadley says he's sick of the whole business. 
 Guess he'll throw up. And Dean isn't much bet- 
 ter pleased been on the shelf ever since they 
 opened," said actor number one. 
 
 " I don't see what the fellows want to grumble 
 for," responded actor number two. "I should con- 
 sider myself precious lucky if I had their chance 
 all pay and no work." 
 
 "No play either, Mr. Andrews," put in Isabel. 
 
 " Why don't they go into something else, if they 
 don't like the profession ? " retorted Mr. Andrews. 
 
 " That's a mystery," said Isabel, biting her lips 
 with an odd sort of impatience. "We actors and 
 actresses are always saying we don't like the pro- 
 fession, and yet we cling to it as if we did. I 
 know I'm perfectly lifeless outside the theatre; 
 and I guess others are, too, if they'd own up." 
 
 In spite of Isabel's sharp manner of speaking,
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 83 
 
 and alert way of glancing up when others spoke, 
 as if her wit was ready to pounce upon the slight- 
 est weakness, Gail felt she possessed a certain vein 
 of tenderness, and that her wit was more like a 
 sharp surgical instrument than a sword, it would 
 rather cure than kill. At this juncture, the ballet 
 mistress appeared. Gail recognized in her Mrs. 
 Sands. She had not become a whit less noisy or 
 slatternly with years. 
 
 "Are you engaged for the new piece?" she 
 cried to Gail. 
 
 "I believe so." 
 
 " Very good, my dear ; and I honly wish I 'ad a 
 dozen more like you." 
 
 " Take me, Meary ? " said the voice of a gentle- 
 man behind her : " won't I do for a young lady ? 
 I'll dance good, if you'll be my partner." The 
 new-comer was fashionably dressed, large and 
 handsome, with a face somewhat flushed, and a 
 look somewhat dissipated. He had in his manner 
 too much of the world outside, and too little of the 
 ideal world, for an actor. His presence created a 
 little breeze of pleasure and coquetry among the 
 ladies ; and Gail judged him to be Mr. Lennox. 
 
 "I wish to God you would dance!" cried Mrs. 
 Sands ; " you'd keep the gals in order." 
 
 " I guess they'd have to keep me in order,"
 
 84 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 laughed the manager, embracing Mrs. Sands, and 
 glancing at Gail. 
 
 a For shame," answered the ballet mistress ; " and 
 you a married man, too." 
 
 "Well, now, why not, Mrs. Sands?" said the 
 manager. "Is the world worth being good for?" 
 
 " Is it worth being bad for ? " queried Isabel. 
 
 "My dear," said Lennox, "I never know what 
 you're driving at when you speak." 
 
 " Perhaps you're not used to hearing the truth. 
 I happen to mean, just now, that it don't pay to be 
 bad, any more than it pays to be good ; and in 
 truth it doesn't pay to be at all." 
 
 Mr. Lennox laughed in an easy, off-hand man- 
 ner, and made his exit. 
 
 "Isabel, my dear," said Mrs. Sands, seriously, 
 " I wouldn't speak so to Mr. Lennox. Mind you, 
 I know you don't mean any 'arm, but I'd 'ave 
 respect for a man that's older than me, and that 
 has two theatres, one 'ere and one west, and the 
 hopera besides." The ladies here began to com- 
 plain that the rehearsal was late. 
 
 "You can't blame me, I'm sure," cried Mrs. 
 Sands, loudly, but not offensively. " I've been 'ere 
 since nine o'clock, and, mind you, at the same time 
 I don't blame you. Our own ladies is always in 
 time, and it's not Tom Lennox's fault either, nor
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 85 
 
 any that manages under him. There isn't a better 
 manager anywhere than Tom Lennox, and I don't 
 care who 'ears me say so. I've played business 
 under Father Symonds, too, and in the old country 
 'icks of the Surrey. But, mind you, I'd rather be 
 ballet mistress under Lennox than the whole lot 
 of 'em." 
 
 " Why, yes, one's enough," said Isabel. 
 
 The other ladies, catching Mrs. Sands's spirit, 
 began of one accord to praise the handsome man- 
 ager; but notwithstanding this, Mrs. Sands so 
 relished her position as champion, that she must 
 continue in the same strain. " And my advice to 
 you, one and all, is, Mr. Lennox does the fair thing 
 by you, and so I tell you now." 
 
 " I'll take your advice for one," said Isabel. " It 
 isn't grammar or sense we should prize; it's the 
 good heart. Don't you think so, Mrs. S. ? " 
 
 " Has you say, Mrs. 'Hel, it's the 'art we should 
 prize," said Mrs. Sands, whose good-natured, care- 
 less way of listening took none of the sarcasm of 
 the speech, and who was quite unconscious of 
 having given her sentence a more applicable mean- 
 ing by knocking the h from heart. 
 
 " Damn you, darlings, get on with your rehear- 
 sal," cried Blowper, the stage manager. " We 
 haven't got all day to wait."
 
 86 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Mrs. Sands, who received in this order the first 
 intimation that the rehearsal of the dance might 
 proceed, anxiously hurried the ladies upon the 
 stage, and began placing them in couples, implor- 
 ing each in turn to do her best. 
 
 Gail, who had become weary and nervous in her 
 position as spectator, began to feel renewed inter- 
 est. Here was something to do, and already her 
 mind was alert to do it artistically. But the dance, 
 under Mrs. Sands's management, was anything but 
 encouraging. Her character, like her dress and 
 manners, might be called slipshod. Authority was 
 only pinned into her nature, as her dress was 
 pinned on her. Any tread, rough or gentle, 
 trailed it down into the dust. 
 
 "Now, then, gals, take your places as you 'ad 
 them yesterday," she ordered, with a voice suffi- 
 ciently loud, but in which there was no real deter- 
 mination, " and when I call one, two, three, and 
 you 'ear the music, 'tee dum, tee dum tee dee, tee 
 darj all start on tee dnr. Now, then one, two, 
 three; start. My God, you're late, be'ind there; 
 and, you in front, where's your 'ands round? 
 Your places, your places, quick. [To the violin.] 
 Once more, Sig. Bruno, if you please. One, two, 
 three hintirely hout? 
 
 " Of course it all goes wrong, Mrs. Sands," said
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 87 
 
 an offended dancer. " What can you expect ? 
 There's a set of people here who don't know the 
 first thing about dancing." 
 
 "The trouble is," said another, "we are not 
 rightly placed. I'm first bally, and Smith is sec- 
 ond. So, of course, we ought to lead." 
 
 "To be sure," cried Mrs. Sands. "Who says 
 you shan't? And now, mind you " 
 
 "Mr. Blowper told me to stand here," inter- 
 rupted the offending party. "Of course, it is 
 nothing to me. All is " 
 
 "Well, my dear, you can stand be'ind; you're 
 seen j ust as much there as anywhere ; and mind 
 you, gals, you're all leaders in this dance, and at the 
 same time Miss Smith and Miss Burns takes the 
 front; and now, again. One, two, three." Still 
 the refractory dancers refused to start on tee dar, 
 but not only consented to start a few moments 
 later, but to continue dancing out of time* in spite 
 of Mrs. Sands's vociferous cry of, " Hout with the 
 music, my dears. Fall into your 'ands round, 
 quick ; not you be'ind you in front, there." Nor 
 was a clearer perception of the dance diffused 
 among them when Mr. Blowper repeated the 
 order a little too late for its proper execution, and 
 
 shouted, "For a set of d d handsome gals, 
 
 you've got about as little brains as I ever saw."
 
 88 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 The dancers were only stayed by symptoms of 
 an open warfare between " our own ladies " and 
 the extra ladies. 
 
 There had existed ill will in the hearts of both 
 parties, expressed by " our own " in under-tone 
 sarcasms and innuendoes, and by the extra in a 
 sort of impenetrable obliviousness, that was in its 
 character exasperating. 
 
 " We were all right enough," cried the voices 
 of several, endeavoring to make themselves heard 
 above the voices of several others; "if it hadn't 
 been for those two girls from the Ash Street " 
 
 " If you mean me and Henny," interrupted a 
 solid voice from the crowd, "you'd better hold 
 your tongue. We know as much as you do." 
 
 " My God, I like their impudence," muttered a 
 partisan of eccentric taste. 
 
 "'Ush, 'ush, 'ush!" cried Mrs. Sands; "and go 
 back to* the beginning, every one of you." 
 
 This command not having the desired effect, 
 Mrs. Sands resorted to more soothing measures, 
 and whispered to each dancer, in turn, as she re- 
 placed her, "Now, mind you, I depend entirely 
 upon you; you've practised for a dance, and we 
 can't expect those as 'asn't to do as well as those 
 as 'as;" but with all her efforts, the rebellion 
 was only turned back into its former mode of 
 expression.
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THIS LADDER. 89 
 
 " Now, then," said Mrs. Sands, stopping to take 
 breath and survey the rehearsers, " we have height 
 on one side, and height on the other," which was 
 quite true. "So we can start fair again the 'ole 
 sixteen. Now, then, again. One, two, three ; " 
 and the whole sixteen started fair. But as each of 
 " our own ladies " had an independent notion of 
 the figures, and the extra ladies had no notions 
 whatever, but, to use an expression of " our own," 
 stood and "gawped," they proceeded otherwise. 
 But still Mrs. Sands, beating time emphatically, 
 shouted the figures "'Ands around, you four 
 front couples, and circle at the back. Now, then, 
 the reverse. Form a line. That brings you down 
 in front, you're not in a line, my dears, and 
 then your 'butterfly' and the 'bayaderes' are on. 
 Too late with your 'butterfly.' For God's sake, 
 your tableau, quick ! " shouted Mrs. Sands, desper- 
 ately; whilst the stage manager swore and ges- 
 ticulated in a most unintelligible manner; and 
 two ladies, whom Gail had previously seen, in 
 soiled slippers and short dresses, solemnly, and 
 with distressed faces, kicking at each other from 
 opposite wings, bounded on to the stage, and began 
 a most alarming succession of rapid movements, 
 regardless of spots already occupied by preoccu- 
 pied artists, who ought to have been, but who were 
 not, out of the way.
 
 90 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 A number of small collisions, of course, took 
 place. 
 
 " My God ! give us the stage ! " cried the baya- 
 deres, breathlessly, but without pausing. 
 
 The dancers scolded each other. 
 
 Mrs. Sands shouted, " My dears, my dears, this 
 will never do at night ! We shall be ruined ! Now, 
 then, again ; your slow movement, quick ! " 
 
 This unlooked-for order dissipated what little 
 idea of the dance existed among the dancers ; and 
 Mrs. Sands was fain to start afresh. 
 
 " But not at the beginning ! " she cried. " Tour 
 butterfly. On one foot, my dears ! " 
 
 The butterfly was no sooner commenced, how- 
 ever, than the rehearsal terminated quite unex- 
 pectedly, on account of the solitary violinist, who 
 had furnished the music, disappearing under the 
 stage, suddenly, like a genius of some sort. In- 
 deed, before his final exit, the stout Italian leader 
 had been waxing cold and dismal ; and more than 
 once Gail had fancied she heard, about his vicinity, 
 something that sounded like " Sacramento damn ! " 
 
 Gail returned home from the rehearsal almost 
 discouraged, and not very pleasantly excited. 
 There was little to hope for from the dance ; and 
 the coarse, disrespectful familiarity of the stage 
 manager, conflicted painfully with her sense of re-
 
 AT THE FOOT OP THE LADDER. 91 
 
 finement and dignity. However, it was too late to 
 retract. So Gail prepared her dress and her mind 
 for the coming ordeal, and still hoped for a happier 
 issue. Two or three more similar rehearsals brought 
 the night of the play. 
 
 As Gail crossed the stage, she fancied a suppressed 
 spirit of excitement lui-ked about the closed dress- 
 ing-room doors, that was mocked by the dismal wail 
 of some instrument under ground, and that contrast- 
 ed with the lonely creaking of boots and slamming 
 of doors by the few early arrivals in front. The 
 dressing-room, she found, was unpleasantly close and 
 crowded, and her welcome anything but cordial. 
 
 " Well, I'll give up ! How ever I'm to get yoiT a 
 body I don't know ! " exclaimed the mistress of the 
 wardrobe, Mrs. Howe. "Body" was Mrs. Howe's 
 term for waist. 
 
 "Who sent you here?" cried one of the ladies. 
 " If it's that prompter, you ask him if he'd like to 
 have us dress in the flies, or the painter's gallery. 
 We'll do anything to oblige him." 
 
 Gail was not moved to comply with this request, 
 but stood for a second in doubt what to do next, 
 thinking one body, under the circumstances, was 
 as much as she could dispose of. " You come here, 
 and don't mind her," said Mrs. Howe. "You've 
 as good a right to the plnce ns anybody." Mrs.
 
 92 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Howe was a stout, bustling woman, and was at 
 present engaged in sorting over a large bundle of 
 " bodies " and " trunks" an operation which filled 
 up no small portion of the already over-crowded 
 room. Indeed, three little human bodies might be 
 said to be literally shelved ; for they peered down 
 from a nook in Mrs. Sands's dressing-place, where 
 they were stowed away until such time as they 
 should be required. Gail afterwards learned to 
 know them by the names of "the little Italian 
 brother," " Mrs. Sands's sissy," and " that brat Jerry 
 picked up." The brother possessed eyes larger 
 than his nose or mouth, which gave him a melan- 
 choly expression. His skin, moreover, on coming 
 to dress him, was found to be made so many shades 
 darker by dirt than nature or Italy intended, that 
 Mrs. Howe exclaimed, " Well ! was ever anything 
 like it? for that dirty wretch of a Lumbini to 
 bring this child up here in his every-day skin!" 
 She proceeded to cover the difficulty by a vigorous 
 application of chalk, and then to array him in a 
 low body, in which he looked more forlorn than 
 ever. " Sissy " had an old face, pale and sharp, 
 with weak eyes. She could say bright and imper- 
 tinent things with equal felicity, and "'ad quite a 
 turn for learning," Mrs. Sands said. Indeed, she 
 lost no time in soliciting the information as to M how
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 93 
 
 old Mrs. Howe might be ; what made her nose so 
 red ; and why she didn't have hair on the top of 
 her head." Later in the evening, Mrs. Sands dis- 
 covered these three children asleep behind some 
 properties at the back of the stage, and aroused 
 them in a very sneezy, snuffly condition. Sissy 
 was duly scolded, and recommended, by her 
 mother, to " 'eat her feet before going hon." 
 
 The languid dullness of the rehearsals had given 
 place, in the dressing-room at least, to a reactionary 
 excess of spirits. Gail heard related many lively 
 reminiscences of other theatres and engagements, 
 and learned that, at other theatres, each lady pres- 
 ent had -played "business." She also had occasion 
 to note a peculiar coincidence. 
 
 Each lady, with only one or two exceptions, had 
 just entered her seventeenth year. Isabel re- 
 marked thereat, " That's right, girls : I like to see 
 constancy in all things. I say, get an age, one 
 that you really do like, and stick to it." 
 
 Mrs. Sands, who had dressed herself in a matter- 
 of-fact way, with neither taste nor vanity, and 
 who had been taking her part in the conversation 
 in a manner by no means less lively than the oth- 
 ers, quite unexpectedly changed her tone. "Gals, 
 I'm in a fit of the blackest blues ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter with you?" inquired
 
 94 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 one of the merriest of the girls, who was engaged 
 in establishing a curl over one eye, talking and 
 laughing the while. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," reflected Mrs. Sands ; 
 "I've hevery thing to make me 'appy. There's 
 Martin, with his pranks and jokes ; Vs enough to 
 put the 'art into anybody." 
 
 Martin was a vapid-looking youth, who did er- 
 rands for the box-office. He had been seen in the 
 morning permitting himself to be embraced by 
 the ladies, and from his lips had issued the follow- 
 ing scintillation of wit : 
 
 "Ladies! ladies! Now, really! O! Ah!" 
 
 "I believe," went on Mrs. Sands, "I should pick 
 up a bit if you gals was to stand me treat for a 
 mug of beer. It wouldn't come 'ard on any of 
 you." 
 
 The girls promised, and Mrs. Sands reciprocated 
 by calling herself Mother Goose, and the ladies 
 her little geese. 
 
 Gail was somewhat timid about descending in her 
 strange dress until such times as the others should 
 be ready ; but as the room was far from comforta- 
 ble, she stepped outside the door, and, from the 
 rough gallery where she stood, she could see the 
 ropes and rigging of the theatre. 
 
 In a vast space above the stage, almost twice as
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 95 
 
 high as that portion which is seen from the audi- 
 tory, were the dim outlines of dragons, cloud cars, 
 and all manner of strange shapes. About her 
 were the great coral reefs to be used in the last 
 act, to you, in the enchantment of a little distance, 
 a vast spangled grotto, where sirens glance out 
 from sparkling shells that glow, now red, now 
 green, now white, in the changing light; jewels 
 turning from ruby to emerald, and from emerald 
 to diamond. 
 
 The other ladies being ready, Gail descended 
 with them to the stage. She found managers, 
 actors and actresses, carpenters and scene-shifters, 
 in a state of much excitement, and herself in a 
 crowd of demons, dragons, knights, monks, slaves, 
 ladies, fairies, and hobgoblins. There was a strong 
 infusion of super and swearing, and none of the 
 motley throng were in the best of humor. The 
 poor little fays exhibited a very mortal anxiety 
 for their toes and their dresses, and the knights 
 were no more human than the dragons in their 
 efforts to place themselves in their proper rank in 
 the procession. 
 
 Gail was thankful when the music sounded, and 
 the great discordant mass was sifted through a 
 side wing on to the stage, and into perfect har- 
 mony.
 
 96 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Poor as the position was, and as much pain as it 
 had caused her, Gail felt something of a thrill when 
 she found herself standing on the stage for the first 
 time, suiTounded by so dazzling a multitude, and 
 fronting a vista of shining halls, golden pillared 
 and sparkling in tinted lights. She felt that the 
 least had a part to play in the beauty of the whole, 
 and she took care that her own attitude should 
 conform to the general harmony. 
 
 When the curtain came down on this gay scene, 
 everything else came down also. The fairies de- 
 scended among rough boards and some rough 
 language, with no wings to help them fly from 
 harm. The piece, so carelessly rehearsed, as far as 
 one little dance was concerned, seemed at night to 
 have become a matter of life and death. 
 
 Between each act it was as if a mania for de- 
 struction had seized the scene-shifters. Scenes 
 bore down directly in the way of casual by-stand- 
 ers in a most alarming manner. One genteel indi- 
 vidual, who had engaged as a "super" out of 
 curiosity, was most unfortunate. Wherever he 
 sought refuge, some heavy article on castors, di- 
 rected by some unseen impetus, made its way to- 
 wards him with fearful speed. Or he would hear 
 from above a voice shout, in language one might 
 expect from below, " Keep out of the way, if you
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 97 
 
 don't want your damned head broke!" and be- 
 fore the knowledge . that it was he who Was 
 meant could dawn upon his perceptions, down 
 would slam some large property within an inch of 
 his person. Perhaps judging the green-room to be 
 the safest place for a novice, under such pressing 
 circumstances, he repaired to that apartment some- 
 what hastily, closely pursued by a "scene," the 
 destination of which appeared to be his destina- 
 tion, and its course his course, however he might 
 dodge and diverge to get clear of it. 
 
 At intervals, little swarms of fays would light 
 on the big round of the act drop, and be scared 
 off by the lively tendencies of inanimate objects, 
 or the unexpected hitching up of the curtain. 
 
 The stage manager a stout, apoplectic char- 
 acter, who, to use Mrs. Sands's expression, was apt 
 to be " spleeny " appeared to be in his element. 
 There were some large squares of looking-glass 
 to be used in the last act that seemed to awaken 
 the most intense emotional interest in this man's 
 breast. In the course of the evening he created 
 a general panic by groaning out, "My God, we're 
 ruined ! Every bit of that glass gone to smash, 
 and the whole piece rested on it." No wonder it 
 was broken. 
 
 It turned out, however, to be only a crack of the 
 7
 
 98 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 mind on the part of the manager,' for the glass 
 was found quite safe. 
 
 Every now and then, this man would appear in 
 the wings talking and gesticulating so violently 
 that at first Gail took fright lest some immediate 
 danger to life or limb were apprehended from some 
 invisible source, and was relieved to find it was 
 only, " My God ! put down your border lights, or 
 we're smashed;" or, "Damn you, lower your flies;" 
 and that " we're smashed " referred to the piece, 
 and not to the people. No one seemed much dis- 
 turbed by his way of proceeding, and the play 
 went on quite smoothly in spite of him. 
 
 It appeared, however, that there was ill feeling 
 towards him in the hearts of the scene-shifters, one 
 of whom was heard to mutter to himself, " Damn 
 him, if I had my way, I'd travel over it," mean- 
 ing the manager's favorite glass. 
 
 With some jostling and promiscuous prompting, 
 from all concerned, the dance was successfully 
 spoiled. But to cover the defeat, the bright but- 
 terflies, whom Gail had seen in the grubbing pro- 
 cess, came floating'about the stage beings that 
 seemed as if they could have been born of no low 
 thing, but were the beautiful offspring of the natu- 
 ral union between motion and music, so did 
 they flout into harmony with its dreamy move-
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER. 99 
 
 merit, and twinkle into brightness with its merry 
 moods. 
 
 Gail began, after not many nights, to sicken of 
 her monotonous, unsatisfactory duties, and the silly 
 jingle and tawdry dresses of the piece. From 
 watching, hoping, and striving to make the most 
 of her little part, in order to impress the manage- 
 ment favorably, she had fallen into hopelessly pic- 
 turing improbable scenes and events, in which the 
 manager should recognize her genius, and straight- 
 way advance her to the foremost ranks, or falling 
 into little spasms of excessive nervousness at the 
 thought of appealing to him in his office. 
 
 Behind the scenes he usually appeared good- 
 natured, though often a little intoxicated. But in 
 his office, on pay days, the only occasions when 
 Gail saw him there, he was always sober, not to 
 say cross. And the little scene which invariably 
 transpired, did not encourage the timid girl to 
 reveal her secret aspirations to him. 
 
 Mr. Lennox occupied one side of the table, with 
 his face bent uncompromisingly over vai'ious papers 
 and programmes, while opposite to him sat the 
 paymaster, who appeared to have a chronic objec- 
 tion to paying anything. 
 
 He tolerated the " company," each one of whom 
 always greeted him with, " Ah, Mr. Macks, we're
 
 100 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 never sorry to see you on pay days." But as re- 
 garded " the extra ladies," he would express himself 
 " dead beat," or " blowed," if ever he " saw that face 
 on," at all. 
 
 He would begin with each lady by offering first 
 a quarter, then a half of what was due; and not 
 until Mrs. Sands had had what she called a " bout 
 with Macks," would he pay the whole.
 
 AN EPISODE. 101 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN EPISODE. 
 
 IT was getting on towards " positively the last 
 night," and already the old show piece had to dis- 
 pute its way with " off nights " and " benefits." 
 
 Gail stood in the wing reflecting on this fact, and 
 on the step she had taken. She was in no very san- 
 guine humor, and her object seemed more hope- 
 lessly distant than ever. No one had discovered 
 innate talent in the manner of her walk, her dress, 
 or the way in which she stood on the stage, for 
 she did no more, the dance having dwindled 
 into a mere tableau in the background. There 
 was nothing left but the old story to tease, and 
 plod her way up. 
 
 Even could she achieve it, Gail did not look upon 
 the second round of the ladder with much more 
 favor than the first. Self-possession and a knowl- 
 edge of stage business could as well be acquired in 
 the study and performance of parts true to human 
 nature as those that were not. In truth, she felt 
 that her genius had as good a chance of progress 
 and development in the standing lady as in the
 
 102 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 walking lady, a stiff little being, who, when she 
 has said, " Nay, uncle," or Pray explain, guardi- 
 an," is made to stand on the stage through scenes at 
 least calculated to awaken her interest, if not her 
 emotions, with no mode of expression but that 
 given to dumb animals or idiots pantomime. 
 
 The manager's office was situated near the spot 
 where Gail stood, and occasionally she caught the 
 sound of his voice and that of the prompter in 
 conversation. Suddenly, words fell on her ear 
 that caused her to turn first red, then white, and 
 made her heart beat with painful violence. 
 
 A new-comer had joined the couple in the 
 manager's room a gentleman who was to play 
 Mercutio on the following night. The occasion 
 was his own benefit, and an actress, celebrated in 
 the part of Romeo, had been especially engaged 
 by him, to add her performance to the attractions 
 of the bill. 
 
 " Here's a pretty to do," cried this new-comer ; 
 "a note, at the last moment, from Miss Ceelems, 
 announcing that she's sick, and can't appear as 
 Juliet to-morrow night." 
 
 " The deuce ! " exclaimed the manager. 
 
 " The dickens ! " echoed the prompter. 
 
 Gail's heart beat faster, and she breathed with 
 some difficulty, for a very wild idea flashed into 
 her brain.
 
 AN EPISODE. 103 
 
 "It's a shame," continued Mercutio, warmly; 
 "it'a personal spite, and nothing more. Some peo- 
 ple give themselves airs. She would, at best, 
 only go on for the part. I knew that girl when 
 she was glad to get utility business. For Heaven's 
 sake, is there any one else up in the part ? " 
 
 Gail's quickened hearing caught every sound. 
 
 "Who should there be, my dear fellow?" said 
 the manager, taking his cigar from his mouth. 
 " Our juvenile lady is off on a furlough, and really 
 ill, besides. Put up something else, my boy; 'tis 
 your only chance." 
 
 " As good throw up the whole affair," muttered 
 Mercutio ; " and I can't do that. It's too late." 
 
 Gail blessed Mercutio. 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said the prompter, in a tone 
 of soft, tolerant impatience, "this is no time to 
 come to us with a story like that. O, good gra- 
 cious, no ! Why, the posters are all out, with Mrs. 
 Hazledean's name in print." 
 
 " It's no fault of mine," said Mercutio, moodily. 
 
 "But what shall we do? what shall we do?" 
 repeated the prompter, still appealing to Mercutio, 
 with a sort of mild reproach. " Have you the doc- 
 tor's certificate that the lady is really ill ? " 
 
 " 111 or shamming," said Mercutio, " she'll never 
 play at my benefit ; not if there's a Juliet to be found 
 on earth."
 
 104 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 At that moment appeared from the tomb it 
 would seem, to judge from her white, frightened 
 face a Juliet. 
 
 " Let me play the part ; I have studied it, and 
 rehearsed it often," pleaded Gail, when she could 
 command herself sufficiently to conceal her agita- 
 tion a little. 
 
 The three old stagers eyed the little victim to 
 the stage mania as if they had never seen such a 
 specimen before. The prompter was the first to 
 break the silence, which he did softly and helpless- 
 ly, still in an appealing manner. 
 
 M O, good gracious, Tom, here's a go off. Why, 
 the lady must have taken leave of her senses. But 
 what are we to do? what are we to do?" 
 
 This prompter was not only soft spoken, but 
 ^soft appearing also ; fat, and with light eyes, and an 
 habitually worried expression. He stepped softly 
 also, even when not on duty, and his whole manner 
 seemed to say, " O, my goodness ! you are forgetting 
 yourself, and making too much noise." He had 
 given human nature up long ago, as a thing full of 
 whims, that could not be got to conform sensibly 
 to the adopted rules of the world by world he 
 meant stage world a thing ridiculous enough, 
 but that must be tolerated. 
 
 " Suppose you try me," continued Gail, gaining a
 
 AN EPISODE. 105 
 
 little courage from the very desperation of the 
 case. " There is the rehearsal ; if I fail at that, or 
 if that would leave you no time to get some one in 
 my place, try me to-night on the stage, after the 
 piece is over." 
 
 The manager tapped the table with his finger, 
 and Mercutio kept his eyes on the floor, while the 
 prompter murmured, " Dear, -dear me ! here's a 
 hopeless case ; something must be done, surely." 
 
 His tone stung Gail a little made her a little 
 angry ; still, in the dead silence that followed, she 
 did not gain in confidence. She turned from the 
 prompter, and intuitively felt the pulse of the two 
 others. She was not encouraged by the result. 
 Mercutio looked supercilious and forbidding, while, 
 to win Mr. Lennox, who was a man of impulse and 
 pleasure, she must be pleasing ; and Gail not only 
 shrank from assuming any of the little coquettish 
 pleadings that might influence such a man, even, 
 in so important a decision ; but her sense of honor 
 forbade such a course. She could not decide. The 
 silence embarrassed her, and forced her to speak. 
 
 " I know I am asking a very great favor," she 
 said, with a sudden flush overspreading her face, 
 " and one that must seem ridiculous to .you, with 
 your experience of the stage mania, and the little 
 it often means besides self-illusion. I know, too,
 
 106 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 that giving the chance to a stranger might occasion, 
 discontent in your company. But let We 
 all have to make a beginning somewhere, and I am 
 only unfortunate in being obliged to speak without 
 even the poor introduction that almost any one else 
 might get. But if you have any faith in the old 
 proverb, that ' where there's a will there's a way,' 
 you need not be afraid to at least grant me a trial, 
 where there is so little risk." 
 
 Gail ceased speaking, with a confused sense that 
 she had not -bettered her cause, and had only given 
 the manager the cue for a dozen excuses for getting 
 rid of her. 
 
 She was not a little surprised when Lennox bent 
 his handsome face towards her, and spoke in a 
 manner at once so kind and polite, that she felt 
 the tears start to her eyes. She bit her lip quickly 
 to check them. 
 
 " My dear girl," said the manager, " you do not 
 realize what you propose. One of our oldest 
 actresses would hardly succeed under such circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "Perhaps a young one would," answered Gail, a 
 spark of native wit getting the better of her em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 Lennox smiled graciously, and was pleased ; still 
 he continued, "It's a very different thing to do
 
 AN EPISODE. 107 
 
 well at a rehearsal, with only one or two about, 
 than when you have a thousand before you." 
 
 " True," said Gail ; " but the second ordeal is the 
 less trying." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " asked the manager. 
 
 "With the instinct of an actress," answered 
 Gail. 
 
 Unknown to Gail, the tide worked a little in her 
 favor. It so happened that Lennox, in his frequent 
 visits behind the scenes, had been not a little im- 
 pressed by her. She had awakened his curiosity 
 and interest, without, however, pleasing him. She 
 had taken the careless, gallant compliments it was 
 his habit to pay the ladies of the theatre, with a 
 mixture of sensitiveness, sarcasm, and coldness, 
 that was not at all flattering, but that, while it 
 piqued him, made her favor seem the more desira- 
 ble; and now that he saw her face lightened by 
 the intensity of her desire, and felt her wish to 
 please him manifested in her tone, half proud and 
 half pleading, he felt an interest in the odd little 
 scene just taking place, that, with a less attractive 
 heroine, would have been simply annoying. He 
 reflected that a fine figure and a fine dress cover a 
 multitude of deficiencies in talent, and made up 
 his mind to grant the trial. He turned to Mercu- 
 tio, and whispered, aside, " There is no one else up
 
 108 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 in the part ; and suppose we try the lady. She is 
 not bad looking." 
 
 " I've no objection to listening to the lady's read- 
 ing of the part, if you say so," answered Mercu- 
 tio, aloud, and with no very good grace. "It's bad 
 business, at best; and I suppose we can cut the 
 part that is, if she succeeds after a fashion." 
 
 " You may kill the part if you cut it," answered 
 Gail, anxiously ; " at least, let me try first." 
 
 " If the bills were not out," said Mercutio, with- 
 out heeding Gail, "we might have made a 'first 
 appearance ' of it, and perhaps saved ourselves in 
 that way ; but, as it is, don't, for God's sake, men- 
 tion it outside the building till to-morrow night." 
 
 Poor Gail stood by, eagerly drawing the honey 
 out of this speech, too much elated to heed its 
 rudeness. She gave her hand to the manager, 
 however, with some words very grateful and un- 
 business-like. 
 
 "My dear," answered the manager, retaining the 
 hand, " I am pleased to have it in my power to 
 gratify a lady ; " and he lowered his voice, with a 
 look of admiration that startled Gail a little. 
 " You shall have it your own way, my dear. The 
 part shall not be cut ; and I think there'll be no 
 danger but that you will appear at night. It de- 
 pends on me to decide, you know."
 
 AN EPISODE. 109 
 
 Gail felt the color rise in her cheeks. She could 
 not be altogether blind to the tone and emphasis 
 of the manager's last sentence, and she hurriedly 
 gave one of those answers that are born of a min- 
 gling of emotion, conscience, instinctive purity, 
 policy, and wit. " No, it must depend on my own 
 ability and your judgment," she said. "I could 
 not think of taxing your kindness further." 
 
 Lennox was a little puzzled, but took his cue 
 from the tone, which, coming more directly from 
 conscience, was somewhat decided and forbidding, 
 and he bade Gail "good night" a little coldly. 
 
 Poor Gail stood for an instant bewildered and 
 scared ; she seemed to be drawing her great for- 
 tune by an awfully slender thread the caprice 
 of a man whose governing power, both instinct 
 and reason told her, was impulse. She had to 
 thank his impulse for the very chance she was 
 dreaming over so wildly at the moment, for might 
 he not easily have engaged the leading lady of 
 some other theatre? This thought made Gail 
 dizzy, standing, as she fancied herself, on the brink 
 of a precipice. " After all, it is very near the time, 
 and it would cost them a great deal to hire an 
 actress." Then, by a fatal fascination, she peeped 
 again into the abyss. " It seems strange, though, 
 he should be willing to trust so important a part
 
 110 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 to a stranger ; but perhaps he does not really mean 
 to trust me, but only lets me rehearse, and yet 
 he said " Gail glanced up hastily to banish a 
 troublesome idea. The curtain was falling on the 
 last act, and she had forgotten to go on. The 
 omission gave her an odd sensation. She seemed 
 to have forgotten the old show piece for weeks, 
 instead of only for an instant. She hurried with 
 the crowd to her dressing-room, and began, appar- 
 ently, to prepare for home, but, in reality, to aban- 
 don herself to the new dream that had begun to 
 weave itself about her senses. There was even 
 more noise than usual among the ladies of the 
 piece, but Gail heard none of it, till her dream was 
 disturbed by a loud laugh in her ear. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said the voice, when the 
 laugh had ceased; "have you fallen in love? or 
 what? I've spoken to you three times, and you 
 haven't answered me once." 
 
 " I didn't hear you," replied Gail, trying to arouse 
 herself. She might have added, " I have been lis- 
 tening to the music in my dream," for her rapt face 
 said as much. 
 
 "I should think not," continued the voice. 
 "You've been smiling away to yourself with 
 your eyes staring at I don't know what." 
 
 " Let her alone," put in Isabel Lester, in her usual 
 sharp way "perhaps she's happy."
 
 AN EPISODE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " I wanted to know why you didn't go on," per- 
 sisted the other lady. " I saw Seely peering round 
 there, and he'd notice if a girl stood an inch out 
 of place, and report the spy." 
 
 " I had something pleasant to think of, and forgot 
 the scene," answered Gail. As she glanced around 
 the little crowd of faces turned towards her, her 
 heart smote her that she should be so much more 
 fortunate than those who perhaps had hoped and 
 hungered with her, even though their outsides 
 seemed to match so poorly with her soul, that the 
 thought hacl never entered her head before. Gail 
 had dressed for home quickly, in spite of her ab- 
 sorbed state, for she was eager to impart her good 
 news. When she crossed the dark stage on her 
 way out, the manager and prompter had not left 
 the building. They stood together in one of the 
 wings. Gail heard the prompter's well-known voice 
 murmuring in his well-known manner, " But, my 
 dear sir, the case is wholly unprecedented wholly 
 unprecedented." 
 
 She did not wait to hear more, although she felt 
 the prompter's mind was still running on the late 
 disgrace to stage convention, for she dreaded meet- 
 ing the manager she could not tell why. There 
 was nothing disrespectful in what he had said to 
 her, and yet, as she hurried along the street, she
 
 112 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 seemed to be escaping from something in her new- 
 found joy that pained her, shamed her, and flat- 
 tered her, in one breath. She still felt the pressure 
 of the manager's hand on her own, and heard the 
 tone of his voice in her ear, uttering such words 
 as she had only heard in her wildest dreams. "He 
 can't be a bad man," thought poor Gail, " to rise 
 so much above other managers as to dare to think 
 and act for himself. To-morrow I will speak more 
 kindly I mean politely to him, as I ought to any 
 one who has been so good to me." The next mo- 
 ment she hid her face in her hands, as if to hide 
 her blushes from the darkness and from herself. 
 She thought, " Perhaps this is what people mean 
 when they talk about the temptations of the stage. 
 I don't want to please him only because I think he 
 has been good, but because I am afraid to offend 
 him. I believe I would do almost anything short 
 of absolute crime rather than lose this chance. It 
 seems like life itself to me," she added with vehe- 
 ment intensity, " for I've hoped, and planned, and 
 thought so much about being an actress, that I had 
 rather not live than lose this chance, poor though 
 it is." Gail did not, however, look upon it as poor : 
 on the contrary she reasoned, " They will be sure 
 to want me when they see how well I play." But 
 she thought all manner of contradictory things,
 
 AN EPISODE. 113 
 
 and was, in truth, almost intoxicated by her sud- 
 den blissful luck. She had already lived so much 
 in her new dream that her life of yesterday seemed 
 a thing of long ago. People in dreams or in trance 
 have very little sense of time. Already she could 
 afford to jest, in her own mind, at past disap- 
 pointments. Her stage experience, until now, had 
 made her sensitive and taciturn. She had been 
 wont to avoid all conversation concerning it in the 
 family, and it had been her habit, after the perform- 
 ance each night, to slip into the house noiselessly, 
 lest Mrs. Hart, whose curiosity in the matter was 
 lively, might be awake, and interrogate her as to 
 the night's experience. 
 
 To-night, as she entered, she even hoped her 
 mother had not retired; for she was ready to dance 
 for joy, and light-hearted enough to have said all 
 manner of silly things. She began to wonder how 
 the event could have seemed unnatural a few hours 
 back. 
 
 " Is that you, Abby ? " called Mrs. Hart from the 
 sitting-room. " Do come in and tell me just what 
 happened from the time you went inside the thea- 
 tre till you got home again." 
 
 Gail answered this accustomed greeting of her 
 mother's with a smile so happy and so peculiar, 
 that Mrs. Hart, who had been in daily expectation 
 8
 
 114 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 of her daughter's promotion, immediately divined 
 the cause. 
 
 " Isn't it splendid, mother ? Only think, the very 
 best part ! It seems too good to be true," cried Gail, 
 unable to suppress her enthusiasm. 
 
 "I don't know, Abby, about too good to be 
 true," responded Mrs. Hart, in great excitement, 
 her face flushed with maternal pride; "it's what 
 I've all along told you. I've always said about 
 that Union Theatre, and those stage managers, 
 that if you'd only let them alone, they'd come to 
 you, and beg of you to take the best parts ; and now 
 I hope you see that your mother knew best." 
 
 Gail was too happy to explain that her case was 
 a peculiarly fortunate one. 
 
 "If you had only minded me," went on Mrs. 
 Hart, getting a good deal confused, as the necessity 
 of an immediate preparation for the performance 
 impressed itself upon her, " you'd have had things 
 in readiness. I don't suppose, now, you've the first 
 thing to wear." 
 
 " But perhaps I may not get the part to play," 
 intimated Gail. 
 
 " There's my green alpaca," said Mrs. Hart, " my 
 new one, if it would only fit." 
 
 " Sure enough," said Gail, not in reference to 
 the alpaca, however; "it would be as well to think 
 about something to wear in case of need."
 
 AN EPISODE. 115 
 
 "Now, if it had only been Romeo you had been 
 ' cast up in? " continued Mrs. Hart, reflecting with 
 some vanity on her knowledge of stage phrases, 
 " we could have done first rate, and no thanks to 
 any one ; for there's those white summer pants of 
 William's, he's outgrown them, and they're bran 
 new. I always thought it was foolish, his getting 
 them so late in the season, when he was just in the 
 growing age." 
 
 " How absurd, mother ! " laughed Gail. 
 
 "Well, I don't know that it is," replied Mrs. 
 Hart, warmly ; " women do play Romeo there's 
 Charlotte Cushman herself, she played it, and I'm 
 sure nobody had a harder time to get on to the 
 stage than she did; and you're more like her than 
 any one else all you girls are. There's little Mary, 
 she'll make the best play-actress among you yet ; 
 what will you do for a dress ? " 
 
 "I know," replied the daughter. "I can sew 
 that spangled trimming I once made on to my 
 white satin dress. I made it on foundation, you 
 know, that I might be able to transfer it from one 
 dress to another. We actresses," she added, feel- 
 ing herself the stage-charm she had once con- 
 demned as affectation in others, " call it faking." 
 
 Gail could not sleep that night. She underwent 
 all the fever, the pain, the joy of her soul's birth
 
 116 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 into a new state of existence. In our monotonous 
 daily life, we change so slowly, that we do not feel 
 ourselves grow ; but with Gail, quickened by the 
 longed-for event, it was the start of a new life. She 
 saw her old self almost as the butterfly might look 
 upon the larva as no part of her being. 
 
 She had now a purpose something to hold her 
 mind above the petty jealousies and vanities of the 
 theatre. She already experienced its vitalizing 
 influence. She felt broad and generous impulses. 
 Her new soul, out of its abundance, was ready to 
 give. Her genius, too, seemed to have developed. 
 
 The part revealed itself to her. She did not 
 model her ideal of the character, holding it at will 
 to assume or to set aside. It was rather the part 
 that took possession of her. The conception of it 
 that had long ago dawned in her brain expanded 
 itself in the warmth of her new impetus, till it filled 
 every thought, nerve, vein, and muscle of her be- 
 ing. She felt awaken in herself the sympathies 
 of the frank, earnest character of Juliet. She re- 
 alized the passion of , love. The very destiny of 
 Juliet was for the time the foreshadowing of her 
 own. At the rehearsal on the following morning, 
 Gail had become so absorbed in her study, that she 
 was hardly aware of what was passing around her. 
 The ballet made cutting remarks, and the actors
 
 AN EPISODE. 117 
 
 and actresses were far too conspicuously indiffer- 
 ent. Mrs. Sands alone greeted her in her usual 
 manner. 
 
 "Do you go hon for the part, my dear?" she 
 said. " It's 'eavy business for a beginner, though 
 it's not so 'eavy as what I 'ad to do myself. I 
 went on for Lady Mac, and I wasn't in your years 
 neither." This last remark savored of truth, as 
 Mrs. Sands was considerably older than Gail at the 
 specified time, when she played Lady Macbeth at a 
 town hall with a company of rather verdant aspi- 
 rants for histrionic fame. 
 
 As the rehearsal proceeded, however, the actors 
 and actresses began covertly to watch her per- 
 formance with something besides indifference, or 
 assumed indifference. The new sensation was, per- 
 haps, rather excitement than approval, and partook 
 a little of the feeling with which one watches a 
 gathering storm that one must admire and dread 
 at the same time. When not on the stage, Gail 
 sought the most retired spot behind the scenes, 
 that she might record the business she would have 
 to remember at night, and prepare her mind for 
 the next scene. While she was occupied in this 
 way, a sentence, uttered by a voice close at hand, 
 startled her for an instant from her ideal surround- 
 ings. The speaker was concealed from her by a
 
 118 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 huge wing; but the voice sounded distinctly in her 
 ear. " What do you think of the new actress ? " 
 
 A slight flush overspread Gail's face. 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " was the answer. " Len- 
 nox's new favorite ? " 
 
 The flush in Gail's face deepened painfully. 
 
 " She his favorite ? Hs the favorite, I should 
 think. She follows him about like a little kitten 
 the fool." 
 
 Gail became indignant. 
 
 " You may well say fool," answered the second 
 speaker. "I declare, when I see any one behave 
 like that, I want to shake them. He means to 
 engage her here next season doesn't he ? What 
 does she do, I wonder? Good business?" 
 
 " I don't know, or care, as far as I am concerned," 
 replied her companion. "I never was in such a 
 theatre before. They don't care that what the 
 public wants. Everything goes by favoritism. 
 Lennox and one or two of the big ones have it 
 all their own way. You can't get a respectable 
 actress to stay here. They say they won't play 
 where a theatre has the reputation this one has." 
 
 "It is just like all theatres," put in a voice Gail 
 well knew. "I never saw an actress yet that 
 didn't say there never was a theatre so bad as the 
 one she happens to be at and not up in."
 
 AN EPISODE. 119 
 
 " O, you shut up, Bell ! No one can say boo but 
 that you snap at them." 
 
 " You must own," replied the irrepressible Bell, 
 " that she is very beautiful." 
 
 "They must mean some one else," whispered 
 Gail. 
 
 "Well, prettyish," was the answer; "but it's 
 not a face that strikes me at all." 
 
 "I was wrong; it is me," again thought Gail. 
 At this moment the prompter's call sounded for 
 Juliet to be ready, and Gail strove to shake off the 
 odd mingling of elation and annoyance that had 
 taken possession of her. On her way to the stage 
 she met the manager, for the first time that morn- 
 ing, face to face. Until now he had manifested 
 little or no interest in her trial, and had hardly 
 seemed to be aware of her presence in the theatre ; 
 but now he approached her familiarly, and, put- 
 ting his arm around her shoulder, murmured some 
 compliment in her ear. "With the petty suspicions 
 uppermost in her mind, she repulsed him with de- 
 cision, and then stood for a moment a little scared, 
 for she remembered Lennox's hint, that her appear- 
 ance depended on his pleasure as well as on her 
 success. But it was only for a moment. The in- 
 tegrity of her character asserted itself. She col- 
 ored with shame, and resolved to win by her abil-
 
 120 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 ity alone. She turned her mind again to her part, 
 and proceeded to rehearse with renewed power 
 and interest. On her exit, Gail observed that the 
 ladies had issued from their place of concealment, 
 and were promenading the side stage. Presently 
 they were joined by a pretty little figure, the fas- 
 cination of whose presence caused Gail to scan the 
 face with attention. It was like a strain of music, 
 and recalled the past. Gail strove to think where 
 she had seen it, and remembered suddenly the old 
 legend of the princess. She had not chanced to 
 see the princess for a number of years; but this 
 face had in it the pretty child's expression she 
 used to watch from a distance, only it was more 
 beautiful than even the picture she had once car- 
 ried in her mind. The ladies welcomed the prin- 
 cesg. She seemed to be a favorite among them. 
 There were no tears in the beautiful eyes, as there 
 had been when Jenny had seen them. They were 
 merry with smiles. 
 
 "What are you laughing at, Julie?" inquired 
 one of the ladies. " You seem to be very much 
 amused." 
 
 " Good reason for it," cried the beauty, saucily. 
 "What do you think? That man wanted to 
 kiss me." 
 
 "What man do you mean, Seely? I'd have 
 boxed his ears."
 
 AN EPISODE. 121 
 
 "Seely! O, good gracious, no!" laughed Julie, 
 mimicking the prompter. " Your manager, there. 
 Lennox you call him." 
 
 " O, Tom Lennox ! Well, why didn't you let 
 him ? " 
 
 "I thought I'd rather be excused," said Julie, 
 demurely. The next moment she added, " O, 
 hush ! He's here ! " 
 
 Gail raised her eyes, and caught an expression 
 in Julie's face that touched her. The child was 
 evidently not so bold as she wished to appear. It 
 was a struggle between her vanity and some better 
 instinct. The manager advanced to the little 
 party, and, glancing at Gail, triumphantly em- 
 braced Julie. "You are a very pretty girl," he 
 whispered to her. 
 
 " I know it," said Julie, archly, but not without 
 blushing. 
 
 " You know it, eh ! " replied the manager. " You 
 are a coquette." 
 
 " She says you wanted to kiss her," put in one 
 of the ladies, mischievously. 
 
 Julie's blushing face glanced at her, beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Well, I do now," said the manager, looking 
 poor Julie out of countenance with his bold, hand- 
 some eyes.
 
 122 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "O, but you mustn't. It would be wicked 
 wouldn't it?" cried Julie, a little alarmed, and 
 trying to disengage herself from the manager's 
 embrace. 
 
 " Now you are unkind," said the manager, " and 
 a naughty girl besides." 
 
 " Don't call names, sir, if you please," replied 
 Julie, pouting. " If I'm a naughty girl, you'd 
 better go away. People don't like to stay where 
 other people are naughty, I should hope." 
 
 " Don't they, though ? " said the manager, with a 
 laugh. " Now I've half an idea they do, some of 
 them." 
 
 Gail had changed her place; she stood where 
 she could not see the speakers, but their voices 
 were still audible. 
 
 There was a silence ; and when the manager next 
 spoke, something in his tone sent the blood cold 
 to her heart, and caused her a sickening sensation. 
 She judged, by this altered tone, that he and Julie 
 were alone. His manner had no longer the care- 
 less gayety of one half in joke. " What do you do 
 all day long, my darling ? " he whispered. 
 
 "All day is a long time; I couldn't say," was 
 Julie's answer. There was a change in her voice 
 also. She spoke as if her heart beat far too fast. 
 
 " Come up and see me," said the manager, still
 
 AN EPISODE. 123 
 
 lowering his voice. " Won't you ? Come. I'm 
 deuced lonely sometimes, and I like to see your 
 pretty, merry face." 
 
 Julie was, like a poor charmed bird, fascinated 
 and frightened at the same moment. 
 
 "I don't know whether I'll come or not," she 
 said. "You mustn't talk that way to me any 
 more." 
 
 " What way ? " said the manager, laughing, and 
 drawing Julie more closely to him. 
 
 "Why, you know, like that;" said Julie. 
 "You frighten me, and it's wrong to frighten 
 people." 
 
 " You needn't be frightened, my child," said the 
 manager, so tenderly that poor Julie broke down. 
 
 " You you'll make me fall in love with you, 
 if you d d don't take care," she half sobbed ; 
 "and that would be dreadful; you you know 
 it would." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear ; don't," said the manager, 
 somewhat hurriedly. " Why, what could a pretty 
 little girl like you see to take a fancy to in an old 
 fellow like me ? Come, run along home now, dar- 
 ling ; " and he added, somewhat lower, " Come 
 here again to-night, and I'll walk home with you. 
 It's a long distance for such a pretty girl as you 
 to walk alone."
 
 124 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Gail's face flushed and grew cold by turns. She 
 felt an inclination to draw away from the seem- 
 ingly light being who threatened to displace her 
 old pure image of the princess, even while she 
 longed to excuse, protect, and defend Julie. She 
 would like to have stolen out of the wing unseen, 
 but Lennox evidently stood where Julie had left 
 him; for Gail presently heard the harsh voice of 
 Mrs. Sands address him. 
 
 "For shame, Lenny !" she cried. "You're turn- 
 ing that poor child's 'ed with your fine talk. She 
 'ain't been brought up in the profession, and she'll 
 believe anything." 
 
 " Well, I don't mean to hurt her, Mrs. Sands," 
 said the manager, more thoughtfully than he had 
 yet spoken. 
 
 " That's the way you men always talk," laughed 
 Mrs. Sands. "But you're gay deceivers, the 'ole 
 lot of you. I know you." 
 
 The manager laughed also, but his answer showed 
 some disquietude. 
 
 "You're not very complimentary to a fellow, 
 Meary," he said. "One would think we were a 
 d d mean set." 
 
 " "Well, now, mind you, Lenny," cried the ballet 
 mistress, " you mustn't mind me. I don't mean the 
 'alf of what I say, nor yet the quarter ; and me and
 
 AN EPISODE. 125 
 
 you 'as known each other long enough not to quar- 
 rel, I should 'ope. You've a good 'eart, Lenny, 
 and there's no 'arm in being a little gay. I honly 
 wish it was as heasy to be 'appy." 
 
 It was drawing near the time for Juliet to take 
 the sleeping potion. Gail had placed her chief de- 
 pendence on this scene. She had the stage, and 
 could give her undivided attention to it. She 
 wished again to banish from her mind all disturb- 
 ing causes. For this purpose she repaired to the 
 dressing-room, and in solitude rehearsed the scene. 
 When she descended she was prepared. To ac- 
 tresses of experience the ordeal Gail was about to 
 undergo would have been a severe one, and far 
 more trying than a debut before an audience. It 
 is not the habit of players to act at rehearsals ; 
 and any display of histrionic ability at such a time 
 appears to them novice-like. She had, moreover, 
 none of the hothouse stimulus to genius the 
 lights, the excitement, the applause, and the living 
 picture that surrounds the debutante in the scenes, 
 events, and other characters of the piece. But to 
 a mind like Gail's these things were of little mo- 
 ment. She hardly observed the groups of actors 
 and carpenters that filled up the lower entrances. 
 Nor was she disturbed by the noise and talking. 
 She stood for one moment as if summoning
 
 126 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the scene before her. There was a hush in the 
 wings. 
 
 On the stage Juliet reached out her hands to the 
 nurse imploringly, despairingly, then forced her- 
 self into courage. She moved to the centre of 
 the stage, and fixed her eyes on the vial in her 
 hand. Already some subtile, invisible current from 
 the potent draught seemed to creep through her 
 veins, freeze the blood in her heart, and draw the 
 color from her cheek. Pale as death, with glazed, 
 absent eyes, a voice, low and appalled, she ut- 
 tered, one by one, her fearful surmises. It seemed 
 not that she conjured up the ghastly picture of the 
 tomb, with all its sickening images, but rather that 
 it forced itself upon her, holding her spell-bound, 
 like one in a dream. 
 
 She is motionless transfixed with horror till 
 the last frenzied climax, when, with the weak, 
 desperate effort and the shuddering scream of the 
 dreamer, she cries, " Stay, Tybalt, stay ! Romeo, 
 I come 1 This do I drink to thee." The effect of 
 this scene, thus powerfully rendered, was electrical. 
 Before they had had time to reason or criticise, 
 Gail's little audience was surprised into applause. 
 But, nevertheless, the trial over, here is what fol- 
 lowed : 
 
 "By George," said one of the scene-shifters*
 
 AN EPISODE. 127 
 
 " that's real life. "We haven't had anything in the 
 make-believe line that's taken hold of me so since 
 I've knocked about a theatre, and that's twenty 
 year." 
 
 " She'll do" said a companion. 
 
 "Amen," said Isabel Lester, emphatically; and 
 she glanced with malicious triumph into the faces 
 about. There was a silence. 
 
 "She'd do in a drawing-room," said Tybalt; 
 " but she'd hardly tell before an audience." 
 
 "The girl don't read bad," said Paris; "but I 
 can't say much for her elocution." 
 
 "Her business is fearfully stiflj" put in Lady 
 Capulet. 
 
 " Why, for God's sake, don't some one tell her 
 the business of the piece, if she's new to the 
 stage?" said Tybalt. 
 
 " How quick one can tell a novice ! " said Lady 
 Capulet. " Did you ever see Mrs. Reems play the 
 part ? She was immense as Juliet perfectly im- 
 mense ! " 
 
 " She didn't believe acting could be learned in a 
 day," sighed the Nurse. " She was forty years old 
 before she ever went on for the part. I knew her. 
 I played with her myself in the old country. She 
 was then in the juvenile business, and I was play- 
 ing children."
 
 128 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " Were you, indeed ? " said Lady Capulet. " It 
 doesn't seem as if poor Reemsy could have been 
 old enough for the juvenile business at that time." 
 Lady C. inwardly thought that it didn't seem as if 
 poor Nursy could have been young enough for 
 the children. 
 
 " Managers are not what they used to be," con- 
 tinued the Nurse. " It is enough now to have a 
 fine figure and a good dress to play Juliet. Then 
 we had to undergo a thorough schooling." 
 
 " It is astonishing, though," said Friar Laurence, 
 " how unerringly the instincts of genius hit at the 
 right mark. Here is this young girl, possessed of 
 native talent, but wholly new to the stage, not 
 only touching all our hearts, old stagers that we 
 are, but managing her voice and power with so 
 much discretion and sense, that she at all times 
 sustains the part, and is heard in any part of the 
 house. I have watched some of her scenes myselfj 
 from front." 
 
 If the Nurse had been an argumentative charac- 
 ter, she would have said, " Your theory leaves an 
 actress no room for improvement ; " but not being 
 so, she replied, " Ah ! do you think so, indeed ? " 
 with a faint smile. And the friar felt he had 
 clenched the matter. 
 
 "Is the lady new to the stage ?" inquired Mrs, 
 Hazledean.
 
 AN EPISODE. 129 
 
 "Quite new," replied Lady Capulet. "I think 
 it is quite apparent." 
 
 "I hadn't noticed till now," replied Mrs. Hazlc- 
 dean, with a little flush. In truth, the Romeo of 
 the morning had only indicated the consciousness 
 of his Juliet's presence at such times as they 
 should have been in contact, and then only by 
 murmuring, "Now, then, here's where the embrace 
 comes in;" "Now we have the business of the 
 balcony ; " or, " The other side, if you please, my 
 dear." 
 
 On the stage, Mercutio, who did not rejoice in 
 any great reputation for gentlemanly manners, 
 seized the vial, at the close of Juliet's scene. 
 "Don't throw your arm up like that, madam," he 
 said ; " you're not drinking a toast. You want to 
 speak out freer, too, and have more ease and mo- 
 tion, and not stand like a stick, as if there were 
 but one spot on the stage. By George, you all 
 do it, though, you novices. One would think you 
 had never seen your own arms or legs before, you 
 know so little what to do with them." 
 
 "Your idea of the scene is different from mine," 
 answered Gail, suddenly freezing from the languid, 
 sunny warmth she had begun to feel after her 
 effort, and in the consciousness of her success. "It 
 does not seem to me so natural to " 
 9
 
 130 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " All right," interrupted Mercutio, with marked 
 impatience ; " if you know too much to learn ! " 
 
 "I don't consider " began Gail again. 
 
 " Any time you can let us have the stage, between 
 now and nightfall," put in the prompter, with mild- 
 spoken sarcasm, " we shall be obliged. Don't in- 
 convenience yourself, though. The ladies happen 
 to be waiting to go on with their scene that's 
 all!" 
 
 Gail retired, without, however, apologizing. 
 The sarcasm of the prompter did not strike her as 
 necessary. 
 
 On her exit she was received in a manner rather 
 more flattering. Mr. Lennox, and two gentlemen 
 outsiders who had been pouring their enthusiasm 
 into his ear, stood ready to welcome her. "Bravo! 
 bravo! bravo!" said the manager, clapping his 
 hands gently. " Bravo ! " echoed the other gentle- 
 men. 
 
 "We'll make an actress of you yet," continued 
 the manager. "You show great promise." 
 
 " You are satisfied with me, then ? " said Gail. 
 
 " Yes, yes !" answered the manager. "You do 
 as well as that to-night, and you'll bring down the 
 house." 
 
 "I congratulate myself that I shall be present at 
 the debut of one destined to become one of our
 
 AN EPISODE. 131 
 
 brightest stars," said one of the gentlemen, blush- 
 ing slightly. He was quite young, wore eye- 
 glasses, had the air of a student, and, in the place, 
 very much the appearance of a fish out of water. 
 
 Gail bowed. 
 
 " He means what he says," said the other gentle- 
 man, who was considerably older, and one of those 
 stout persons one invariably meets in the vicinity 
 of the turf, in the frailest of vehicles, the man 
 and carriage reminding one of a fat-bodied spider 
 on slender legs. " You beat the others all 
 Tom, you ought to herald the lady's debut with 
 sometlrins: besides an announcement. He don't 
 
 O 
 
 make the most of his good luck does he, my 
 dear?" 
 
 Gail shrank under the gaze of this man, that 
 was even more wanting in respect than the man- 
 ager's. 
 
 "All that will come in time," answered Lennox, 
 prudently. " One must creep before they can- run, 
 you know." 
 
 M You will not be frightened, my child ? " to 
 Gail. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I shall expect you to-night." 
 
 " Thank you." Gail could say no more, though 
 the manager's words gave her a thrill. Still she
 
 132 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 was not surprised. She had lived all her life in 
 this one dream, and she had lived so much in the 
 event, that she was at home in the new state of 
 things. Moreover, the realization of the dream 
 brings with it care that is not dreamed of, and that 
 seasons the dream with a little real life. 
 
 Gail's new life opened to her rather as an in- 
 tense interest, than a joy. We might say lives, for 
 she lived also in the character she was about to 
 personate, and it would be hard to say which was 
 the greater romance of the two, Juliet or the new 
 Abigail. 
 
 On her way home from the rehearsal, Gail 
 stopped, and said to herself, with a sort of ec- 
 stasy, " Now I am sure," and fell to fancying all the 
 happy possibilities that might ensue from her de- 
 but. At her own door she paused, with a smile. 
 " I wonder if they can tell by my face," she thought, 
 " whether I'm to play or not. I mean to look sober, 
 and make them guess;" to which end she pushed 
 the door open softly, and stole in upon the family. 
 She found her mother, however, and her three 
 sisters in a great bustle of excitement, surrounded 
 by ribbons, laces, and all manner of stage finery. 
 
 " Hush ! " cried Jennie Hart, as Gail entered. " I 
 wonder if she'll notice." 
 
 On the table were two lovely roses, fresh as a 
 June morning ; one red, and the other white.
 
 AN EPISODE. 133 
 
 "What exquisite flowers!" said Gail. 
 
 "She noticed them first thing!" cried Jennie, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Well, you put them right in plain sight there, 
 mounted up on my cake-basket; so no wonder," 
 said Mrs. Hart. 
 
 " They're for you to wear to-night in the ball- 
 room scene," continued Jennie, jumping about the 
 room in her delight. "That red one's mother's 
 present to you, and the white one 's father's." 
 
 " How do you know there is to be any ball-room 
 scene ? " said Gail. " Perhaps I failed, and " 
 
 " And perhaps you didn't," interrupted Jennie. 
 " That frown isn't near big enough to cover a big 
 smile I see underneath. O, you goose ! I wonder 
 the manager don't put you into babies' parts, 
 you're such a poor actress. Say, though, it is all 
 right isn't it?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Gail. 
 
 " You must keep up good pluck, daughter," said 
 Gail's father, with a beaming smile. " Ma and I 
 and the girls will be right on hand to cheer you. 
 We've got first-rate seats ; so you must look out for 
 the applause." 
 
 "Pa, dear," said Gail, something causing the 
 quick tears to start in her eyes, " I shan't hear 
 any other hands clap but yours."
 
 134 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " I'm sure, Gail, I hope you will" said Jennie, 
 turning it off as a joke. " It W9uld be rather em- 
 barrassing if pa was the only one who applauded." 
 
 But Gail did not smite ; her face was bent thought- 
 fully over the flowers. She touched the white rose 
 with reverence, and whispered over it some mys- 
 terious words. " This shall be my talisman. When 
 I forget the trust you have in me, you dearest of 
 fathers, and most noble of men, I shall deserve not 
 to succeed. I will always keep my home in my 
 mind, while I am at the theatre." 
 
 "I'm sure I'm thankful you've come home, 
 Abby," said Mrs. Hart, whose face was much, 
 flushed. " I've been in such a state of hurry, that 
 I don't know what to do. I'm afraid that we 
 shan't have things in readiness." 
 
 " We shan't want to have all these things in 
 readiness, as ma calls it," laughed Jennie. "Just 
 look ; we've hauled down about everything in the 
 house in case of need. You see it's rather a dan- 
 gerous thing having people about that are liable, 
 with.no notice whatever, to be 'cast up.'" 
 
 " Or cast down, perhaps," intimated her sister. 
 
 " Hush, children ; you confuse me," said Mrs. 
 Hart. " It's about my bonnets I'm puzzling. I 
 don't know which to wear. Your father says, 
 wear the one that suits me best; but then men
 
 AN EPISODE. 135 
 
 don't know what they're talking about, in such 
 matters, half the time." 
 
 " Wear the green," suggested Gail, abstractedly. 
 
 " Green ? What green ? " said Mrs. Hart, mus- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I would say your black lace bonnet," said Gail, 
 rousing herself. 
 
 "Well, I must wear that or something," re- 
 sponded Mrs. Hart. 
 
 " Why, yes," put in Jennie. " It does seem 
 necessary." 
 
 " I suppose, as your father and mother," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Hart, " pa and I will be taken consider- 
 able notice of, and the girls, too. I do hope they 
 won't go to putting on bonnets, and making them- 
 selves look as old as the hills ; when, too," went 
 on the mother, addressing herself to her younger 
 daughters, probably in continuation of some recent 
 discussion, " when, too, all the Beacon Street 
 ladies wear little simple hats, and make themselves 
 look like just what they are little children. I 
 mean, of course make you look like what you 
 are, and not like grannies, or little dried-up 
 nimshies." 
 
 " If you happen to see a little dried-up nimshy 
 in the audience, Gail," said Jennie, merrily, " you 
 may know it's me; for I feel as though I must
 
 136 BEHIND THE SCKNES. 
 
 wear my best white bonnet, trimmed with scarlet 
 flowers." 
 
 " Do come here, Gail," said the mother, squinting 
 up her eyes to scan her daughter's face. " Seema 
 to me you're all broke out with some kind of 
 rash." 
 
 "Why, no, she isn't, ma," cried one of the 
 younger girls. " You are always saying something 
 to scare people, just when they naturally want to 
 look nice." 
 
 " I hope you are not going to have the measles," 
 continued Mrs. Hart, "just at this most particular 
 time, when everything depends upon you. I 
 should give up ; but I suppose Jennie could play 
 the part. Now, if she'd only studied it up, in 
 case of " 
 
 "It's nothing, mother," interrupted Gail, in- 
 wardly hoping that she might look sufficiently 
 pale by night for the interesting Juliet. "The 
 stage was cold, and I got excited over my part, 
 and then coming into this warm room here " 
 
 " Excited ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hart. " Gail, you're 
 no play-actress at all. I've heard say Fanny Kem- 
 ble would be acting the greatest part, and turn 
 right round and say the most commonplace thing 
 to some of the other play-actors. I suppose now, 
 if I'd gone on to the stage when I was a girl, I
 
 AN EPISODE. 137 
 
 should have made as great an actress as Mrs. Sid- 
 dons by this time. Your father says I would," 
 emphasized Mrs. Hart, in defiance of a rising smile 
 on the countenances of her younger daughters. 
 "For if ever there's a fire or a robhery, I'm always 
 quiet and collected ; and there was Susan Wilson 
 she wanted'to scream if only the dinner pot boiled 
 over, I was going to say." 
 
 " The talent for acting is not confined to one 
 particular temperament, mother," said Gail. 
 
 " That's just what I said," replied Mrs. Hart, 
 "and what I've been telling you all along; and 
 now, Gail, what I do hope is, that you'll come right 
 out on the stage, the very first thing, and speak up 
 tragic, flourish around some, and show them what 
 you can do." 
 
 At night Gail repaired to the theatre somewhat 
 earlier than was necessary. There was no sign of 
 life in the auditory, and not even a stray workman 
 behind the scenes. She remembered, the first night 
 she had crossed the stage, how different it had 
 seemed. Then the excitement was all without; 
 now it was within ; and yet everything about her 
 was charged with the magnetism of her good 
 fortune. Being an actress meant so much to Gail. 
 It made of her life a romance ; and now that she 
 had tested her own power, and felt the foreshadow-
 
 138 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 ing of her own success, it took yet deeper hold of 
 her. She entered her dressing-room, and was a 
 little startled to find it dark. She had not forgot- 
 ten that it was an off night ; but it had not oc- 
 curred to her that on that account the usual noisy 
 throng would be absent. 
 
 For an instant an odd sort of a little' panic took 
 possession of her. She produced a light, and re- 
 ferred to a programme she had brought with her 
 to assure herself that there could be no mistake in 
 the date. It seemed strange that on this eventful 
 night there should be no stir and excitement. The 
 light revealed the empty dressing-places, soiled 
 dresses, and bits of dirty tinsel and tarletan left on 
 them by the ladies. All the brightness and glamor 
 of the old show-piece seemed to have burned itself 
 down to this last charred, smoky, sickening litter. 
 Gail wondered she could have endured so long the 
 hunger and discouragement of her old position. 
 
 The confident, dignified woman, whose face was 
 beautified by the soul's development, was indeed a 
 contrast to the nervous, irritable girl, starved on 
 morbid fancies. She stood before the glass in all 
 the pride of this new dignity, with the fresh en- 
 thusiasm of youth flushing her face, as handsome 
 a Juliet as ever appeared upon the stage. Her 
 beauty was like a garnet ; it needed the light of
 
 AN EPISODE. 139 
 
 good fortune to bring out its depth and richness, 
 as the jewel needs the sunshine. To-night her 
 black eyes shone with a starry brilliancy. The soft 
 lace of her dress reposed on a bosom as white as 
 itself, and her dark hair contrasted with her snowy 
 forehead. She possessed one advantage for the 
 stage, the value of which, as yet, she did not know 
 a perfectly-modelled figure. 
 
 Having prepared the image of Juliet, she began 
 pacing the room and rehearsing her part, that she 
 might put the soul into it. There was a soft knock 
 at the door. " The call-boy," thought Gail, " come 
 to call the act ; " and she experienced a slight pal- 
 pitation of the heart. 
 
 " Is Miss er Hart within ? " inquired the gen- 
 tle voice of the prompter outside. 
 
 Gail stepped to the door. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Hart is it?" said the prompter, 
 with a step back, as if the apparition startled him, 
 for some reason. Gail answered, " Yes." 
 
 "I came up to inform you," continued the 
 prompter, his eyes seeking the floor, "that we 
 needn't trouble you to go on for the part. Miss 
 Ceelems has so far recovered from her illness that 
 she decides to appear. I was in hopes to see you 
 before you dressed; but I see you are ahead of 
 me. You are quite early, my dear ; the half hour
 
 140 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 is not yet called." The prompter added this gen- 
 tly, but still not without sarcasm; for to be too 
 early was novice-like. " I am sorry to have troubled 
 you. There is nothing more ; good night." 
 
 The prompter stole down stairs on tiptoe, and 
 Gail still stood as she had first met him, with her 
 head bent, and the door knob in her hand. When 
 at last the crushed soul raised itself painfully and 
 laboriously into half-consciousness, she closed the 
 door, returned to her dressing-place, and began 
 slowly turning over the leaves of her play. Then 
 she raised her face quickly to the glass, and paused. 
 Her lips pressed themselves together tightly ; but 
 there were no tears. She began removing the or- 
 naments from her dress hurriedly, looking, by force 
 of habit, into the glass the while. She did not 
 once see the white, stricken face on which her eyes 
 were fixed. Her every motion, sure in its aim, but 
 painfully forced, had a sad significance. It showed 
 now little strength the will had to lift even so light 
 a hand, that must keep in check a torrent of pas- 
 sion. She had been thrown from her dizzy height, 
 remorselessly, into the abyss of a bitter, bitter dis- 
 appointment. The passions that Gail could sum- 
 mon at will were her familiars, and in turn held 
 over her their sway. In the darkness of her soul, 
 those who had insulted her appeared like demons, 
 triumphing in her downfall.
 
 AN EPISODE. 141 
 
 With every nerve quivering with pain, she op- 
 posed them proudly, and strove to shield herself 
 from them by a poor, pitiful, mock indifference. 
 She tried to arfange each little thing in the orcler 
 it should be for conveying home, lest any trivial 
 mistake should reveal to these imaginary eyes that 
 she was not mistress of herself; but her little hands 
 trembled over their task. Her lips were hot, and 
 she struggled constantly to choke down a great 
 ache in her throat that was intolerable. She had 
 had no consciousness of each separate act, till her 
 hand came upon the roses in her bosom. The 
 touch was like a kind word. She bent her face 
 over the roses and cried. Dear hearts would be 
 sad for her, and dear faces pale and sorrowful, that 
 had been made so bright by her happiness. Some- 
 thing like a flash of lightning, sharp and sudden, 
 blinded her for an instant, and left her trembling 
 from head to foot. She sprang forward and clasped 
 her hands fiercely. It was a moment of agony. 
 Then she flung herself down upon her knees with 
 an angry, helpless cry, buried her face in her hands, 
 and sobbed. All was over all but the pain, the 
 sorrow, the astonishment, and indignation. 
 
 A few notes of the overture struck upon her ears, 
 air I she started up pale and shivering with a new 
 terror. She must escape from the theatre before
 
 142 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the piece should begin, that no curious eye might 
 see her wretchedness. She finished her task des- 
 perately, and stole down stairs with a strange min- 
 gling of dread and defiance. If the manager had 
 seen the royal beauty of half an hour ago, it is pos- 
 sible he would have let his admiration overcome 
 his. prudence, and his fear of offending his leading 
 lady, and Gail would have appeared; but if he had 
 seen the bowed figure in its old shawl, and with its 
 heavy bundle, unhappy face, and red eyes, it is 
 more than possible he would have looked another 
 way, and pretended he saw nothing of the sort. 
 
 Gail hurried blindly across the stage and out 
 into the street. For some moments she .walked 
 rapidly. Then she slackened her pace, in dread of 
 meeting the loved ones at home. There was both 
 shame and love in this timidity. It is hard to own 
 to ourselves that we are considered nobody, and 
 harder still to confess it to those whose love for us 
 makes them almost as blind as we ourselves are. 
 Gail made an effort to fortify herself for the ordeal, 
 and again quickened her steps. She had not gone 
 many rods, when the voice of Isabel Lester hailed 
 her. She drew back, and in secret wrung her hands. 
 She did not want her wound touched, even in sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "I have been following you," said Isabel, bluntly.
 
 AN EPISODE. 143 
 
 " I knew you would be disappointed because they 
 took away the part. They're a mean set." 
 
 Gail could not command herself sufficiently to 
 respond, and the two women walked on some paces 
 without speaking. 
 
 "You might know," said Isabel, at last, jerking 
 herself out of the silence that was growing awk- 
 ward, "that such a modest little thing as you 
 though, by the by, you're not so very small 
 would be imposed upon. Lennox only put you up 
 because he knew the other woman was in a jealous 
 tiff, and that as soon as she found some one in her 
 place, she'd come out of it quick enough." 
 
 Gail's eyes flashed, but she did not trust herself 
 to speak, lest Isabel should discover she had been 
 crying. 
 
 "I'll give you a little information free gratis," 
 continued Isabel, with a sort of dry sharpness, " in 
 case you ever try to get on to the stage again. 
 Managers are only to be caught in their own trap 
 a brazen exterior, and such loud-lettered advertise- 
 ment of yourself that a fast man may read them 
 as he runs. The theatre is just like the caldron 
 in Macbeth. Not much good gets into it, and 
 only the scum rises. You know, as a general thing, 
 what is light floats uppermost, and flippant peo- 
 ple get on swimmingly, while weightier characters 
 sink."
 
 144 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Poor Gail, too proud to be pitied, and, at that 
 moment, too scornful of human failings to be gov- 
 erned by her own bitterness, endeavored to lift her 
 mind from its misery, and force herself to think 
 impartially. Her poor little bit of philosophy found 
 its way through lips that could scarcely steady 
 themselves to speak. " There are facts that have 
 a different story to tell. There are truly great 
 actors and actresses on the stage. Then, it is but 
 natural we must speak loud to be heard in a world 
 where so much is going on. Because I have to 
 condemn a few, I don't want to judge all harshly. 
 My interest is a small thing in itself; but if I 
 hold it too near my mind's eye, it can hide the 
 world." 
 
 u Why, you've been crying ! " said Isabel, quick 
 to detect the emotion in Gail's voice. "I wouldn't 
 mind it. Come to my house some day, and we'll 
 look over the New York papers. There are lots 
 of theatrical advertisements in them, and who 
 knows but that something may come of it ? " 
 
 Gail's heart sickened. It was the old painful 
 subject, only made ghastly; for to her it had been 
 dead, and was now, so to speak, rising from its 
 grave. She thanked Isabel wearily ; and, as they 
 had reached Gail's house, Isabel bade her good 
 night, with characteristic abruptness.
 
 AN EPISODE. 145 
 
 Gail dragged herself into the hall, and stood 
 leaning her throbbing temples against the cool 
 plaster, striving to press back the hot tears, that 
 she might meet her family in a more courageous 
 manner. She had not long to wait,' for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hart left the theatre immediately on the rising 
 of the curtain. But when the door opened and 
 they stood before her, she dared not raise her eyes 
 to meet her 'father's face. She could not have 
 borne to see the pained look that tried to be cheer- 
 ful. To feel that it was written there, made her 
 heart ache anew. 
 
 The poor mother made no effort to conceal her 
 indignation. "If I'd been you, Gail, I'd gone right 
 on, in spite of them, and played the part. Every 
 play-ac"tress has to do that, if she wants to get 
 along. I declare, when I saw that other woman 
 coming on in your place, I thought you had let 
 them come it over you with some of their tricks ; 
 and I wanted to get hold of you so, that I didn't 
 know what to do." 
 
 Gail shuddered, and thought of a distasteful 
 farce, in which two Juliets appear, and a ranting 
 burlesque ensues. 
 
 " Never mind, Abigail," said her father, his voice 
 becoming unsteady as he spoke ; " you shall have a 
 10
 
 146 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 theatre here at home, and your mother and I will 
 see you play." 
 
 Gail began to sob as this homely balm touched 
 her wound. She longed to say how the whole 
 world's applause could never be so precious to her 
 as the appreciation of that one loving, noble spirit ; 
 but she could not control herself to speak words so 
 near her heart. She could only sob out, "I I 
 don't mind it much. I'm a little overtasked just 
 now ; but I don't care for it. I don't know why I 
 cry about it. I am sure I didn't mean to. It's so 
 much learned, if there's nothing gained. So don't 
 let's think any more about it." 
 
 " That's the best way," said her father. 
 
 "Can't anything be done, father," asked Mrs. 
 Hart, "to make those stage managers feel how 
 meanly they've acted towards our Gail ? " 
 
 "Never mind it now, mother," pleaded Gail, 
 pressing her hands tightly together under her 
 shawl, as if to draw the pain from her heart. 
 " Come, Jennie, let's you and I go to bed. We'll 
 feel more jolly in the morning, I dare say, and I 
 won't act quite so silly." 
 
 Jennie, who had been walking up and down the 
 room, with a strange bright light in her eyes, very 
 different from the trouble in the faces of the others, 
 came quickly.
 
 AN EPISODE. 147 
 
 "We sfran't need any light to-night," continued 
 Gail, anxious to conceal the emotion she could not 
 suppress. 
 
 " No," replied Jennie. 
 
 The sisters crept into bed in the dark, and the 
 night wore on. Gail lay still, pretending to be 
 asleep ; but she was feverish, and her brain throbbed 
 unceasingly under her closed lids. Nor could Jen- 
 nie have been asleep, for her wide-open blue eyes 
 looked towards the window at the stars. Once 
 she passed her hand gently across her sister's face. 
 There were fresh tears in the eyes, and the lips 
 were parched. 
 
 " Asleep, Gail ? " she whispered. 
 
 "Not just now, Jennie," answered Gail. 
 
 Jennie was quiet. She was still doubtful. 
 
 By and by she repeated her inquiry more hope- 
 fully. 
 
 Gail, without moving, replied as before. 
 
 " I've thought what we can do, Gail," cried Jen- 
 nie, rising up in bed to clap her hands exultingly. 
 "We can hire a theatre. You get together all 
 your favorite plays, and practise them up." 
 
 "Go to sleep, Jennie," replied Gail, trying to 
 smile ; " or rather, wake up. You're dreaming, and 
 that makes the thing seem reasonable to you." 
 
 "No such thing," said Jennie, emphatically.
 
 148 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "I've planned everything out in iny'own mind, 
 and I know just what to do; only x of course, it 
 will take time. But no matter you'll see. I'd 
 rather have got things all ready, and made the 
 scheme speak for itself. But I thought I'd say a 
 little about it to-night, to comfort you." 
 
 Gail drew Jennie's hand to her lips, and kissed 
 it ; and the sisters said no more until morning.
 
 SCENES IN THE DKESSING-ROOMS. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-BOOMS. 
 
 Miss FANNY CEELEMS stood before the glass 
 dressing for Juliet. Mrs. H. D. Leamingston and 
 Mrs. Maria Latell were occupied in the same man- 
 ner, for the respective roles of the Nurse and Lady 
 Capulet. 
 
 Miss Digby, the dresser, was in attendance. 
 
 " "What takes my fancy," said Miss Ceelems, 
 'haughtily, "is the impertinence of the thing. "Would 
 you believe it, they say she came up here to the 
 theatre, and dressed for the part actually dressed 
 for the part. My God ! " N. B. This expres- 
 sion is uttered by the ladies of the theatre rather 
 as a light ejaculation of astonishment, than as an 
 oath. "I never was so treated before. I suppose 
 some one will be asking for my eyes next." 
 
 " Or your hand, my dear, and your heart," re- 
 sponded the Nurse, wittily. 
 
 " Dear ! dear ! dear ! My senses, will you hear 
 that woman talk ? " murmured Miss Ceelems. 
 
 "What did Lennox say for himself, my dear ?" 
 inquired Lady Capulet.
 
 150 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Miss Ceelems smiled aside with secret satisfac- 
 tion, but answered in the same tone. " O, he 
 apologized ; said he- judged by my note to a certain 
 brute who shall be nameless that I would not 
 be able to rehearse, and that he hadn't any inten- 
 tion of letting the girl do more than go on in the 
 morning, and that only to gratify her. It seems 
 she is ambitious for the profession. A ballet girl ! 
 The idea! She teased Lennox into letting her 
 rehearse, as she "said, by way of a little practice. 
 Poor Tommy can't say no. You know he's as ten- 
 der-hearted as a baby." 
 
 " Poor Tommy can say no when he has a mind 
 to," muttered the dresser aside. She had enter- 
 tained desires concerning the stage herself, and 
 probably knew. 
 
 "The whole affair was a ridiculous farce from 
 beginning to end," drawled Lady Capulet. " I reelly 
 felt for the poor geirl. She tried hard; buj you 
 know what the part is, and what the stage is. It 
 was fearful : in the first place, she couldn't be heard 
 two feet off; and then she had stage fright, so that 
 Seely had to give her the word constantly ; and to 
 cap the climax, she comes up at night to play." 
 
 " Stage fright at rehearsal ! Well, well," said Miss 
 Ceelems, laughing. 
 
 " O, now, my dears, you shouldn't speak like
 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-ROOMS. 151 
 
 that ; you know she's a novice," replied Lady Cap- 
 ulet. 
 
 " And that will account for any crime short of 
 murder," thought Miss Digby. 
 
 Miss Ceelems contemplated the lovely picture in 
 the glass before her, and sighed luxuriously. "If a 
 woman knows what's good for herself, she'll keep 
 out of the profession. You do not know, my dears, 
 how I pine for the seclusion of private life ; all this 
 glitter and vanity palls upon the senses ; but, then, 
 the public, my dear, you know, the public ! " 
 
 The Nurse and Lady Capulet sighed also, and 
 intimated their acquaintance with the public. 
 
 Miss Ceelems powdered her face complacently. 
 "And so, after making a total failure, she would 
 have gone on at night, in Shakespeare, too ! Well, 
 the blind conceit of some people is refreshing. If 
 it wasn't for the ridiculousness of it, I should be 
 half inclined to be angry." 
 
 " Well, now, I don't know that I should, my dear, 
 at a thing like that," said the Nurse. " Now, I'm 
 peculiar in such matters. I feel, with Miss Latell, 
 really sorry for the poor girl. Drop that lace a 
 little lower, Digby ; it looks hunchy. She is not 
 wholly without talent, either. I think, if Lennox 
 were to put her into little business for a season or 
 two, she might do very well in the profession ; now
 
 152 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 I really dp. You recollect what a stick poor Le- 
 wellansy was when she first went on the stage." 
 
 " Those legs ! " said Miss Ceelems " fearful ! " 
 
 " That neck ! " said the Nurse, surveying her own 
 plump figure. 
 
 " I don't see what on earth the woman wanted 
 to enter the profession at all for with such a neck." 
 
 " I don't see that she would want to enter it 
 without it," thought Miss Digby. 
 
 ""Well, now, it's my opinion," continued the 
 Nurse, "and I've always said O my God, Dig- 
 by, child, you ran that pin clear into me; what 
 do you think I'm made of?" 
 
 "And yet," said Lady Capulet, who was a very 
 thin person, " the papers all speak well of her. It 
 shows what perseverance can do for a woman. She 
 isn't as slender now as she used to be." 
 
 "Isn't it getting late, Digby, dear?" inquired 
 the Nurse. 
 
 "I'm getting awfully nervous. Do see if you 
 can't lace my dress a little tighter. I'm so 
 There, that's better. Now, if you'll only just pin 
 those bows on." 
 
 "Miss Hart is not too thin, I'm sure," sug- 
 gested Digby. 
 
 "Did you dress her, my dear?" inquired the 
 three ladies at once.
 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-ROOMS. 153 
 
 " Me ! O, no ! she didn't call. Besides, I don't 
 take charge of the other side of the building; 
 that's Howe's business, when it's anybody's." 
 
 " I felt some curiosity to hear what she would 
 say for herself; that's all," said Miss Ceelems. 
 " It's ridiculous business, and I can't help but laugh 
 at it now, though I'll own I was a little angry at 
 first ; for it really did seem hard on the ladies of 
 our own company to put some one else up at re- 
 hearsal, and then call on one of them at the last 
 moment. For my own part, I'm quick to get 
 angry; but I get over it quick." 
 
 " It would have been Miss Steel's business to 
 have gone on for the part in the absence of Mrs. 
 Wells," said Lady Capulet. " Steely told me this 
 morning that she was willing to go on ; but she 
 thought it no more than fair that she should be 
 called to rehearsal. It's really fortunate you re- 
 covered in time." 
 
 " I ought not to have come out," said Miss Cee- 
 lems, which was quite true. " Mother said to me, 
 when I told her my intentions, ' Why, Fanny, you 
 are crazy to think of such a thing ! ' But there, I 
 thought Mr. Lennox will be so annoyed! and I 
 can't bear to think of giving any one trouble, and 
 Mr. Lennox is a man I respect highly. He's al- 
 ways been a perfect gentleman in his manners to- 
 ward me. I will say "
 
 154 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "Juliet, Nurse, Lady Capulet, ready for the 
 act," shouted the call-boy, with a loud knock at 
 the door. 
 
 " O, my God, I shall be late ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Ceelems in consternation. "I didn't hear the 
 orchestra rung in, and I'm discovered in the 
 For God's sake, Digby, fasten my belt quick, and 
 don't go to sticking any of your pins into me. 
 That call-boy ! I mean to complain to the manage- 
 ment about him. He gets worse and worse. O 
 God, Digby, you're so awkward, you make a pos- 
 itive fright of me. There, now ! Where are my 
 jewels? Not ready, I dare " 
 
 " There's no hurry, my child," said the Nurse, in 
 a great fluster. " The first scene's not on yet ; be- 
 sides Digby, you must really attend to me a 
 half second. We're all on together, and I am 
 so stout I lose breath. Not that, child ; you'll ruin 
 me; the other body the red one, of course. 
 Now, then, attend to the lady, and be quick. 
 Maria, dear, are you most ready?" 
 . Lady C., who, being in following business, did 
 not interrupt the leaders in their calls upon the 
 dresser, answered, in a frenzy, "No, I am not; 
 but I should be if I could only get this darned 
 brooch to stay clasped. I believe that style of 
 brooch is the very devil incarnate for mischief;
 
 SCENES IN THE DKESSING-KOOMS. 155 
 
 they never will work, do what you will. I should 
 have been " 
 
 The prompter's whistle sounded at this moment. 
 
 " My God, that's us ! " exclaimed the ladies in 
 concert ; and the peculiar trio made a precipitate 
 dive for the stage. 
 
 During this little' dialogue the following scene 
 took place in the manager's office: Thomas Len- 
 nox was seated before his office table, with the 
 usual amount of papers before him, and with his 
 usual cigar in his mouth. 
 
 Henry Seely, prompter, also seated at the table, 
 was engaged to judge by appearance in men- 
 tally hushing up the proscenium, that being the 
 only object within his optical range. 
 
 Marcus Dalton stood in the doorway, his face 
 flushed with angry excitement, and perhaps with 
 something else. Marcus had but just entered. He 
 was the stout gentleman whom Gail had seen with 
 the manager at the morning's rehearsal. 
 
 " What's this I hear, Tom ? " muttered Marcus, 
 sulkily. "What have you done with that smart 
 girl you showed me this morning?" 
 
 Lennox glanced at the prompter, and continued 
 his writing. 
 
 " We are happily released from our embarrass- 
 ment in that quarter," replied the gentleman
 
 156 . BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 referred to, shuffling in his chair, and looking any- 
 thing but happy or unembarrassed. " The lady 
 resumes her own part." 
 
 " By George ! " exclaimed Marcus, loudly, so 
 loudly that the prompter involuntarily raised his 
 hand, " what's that for?" 
 
 " I'm sorry, sir," pleaded the prompter, meekly. 
 "If we could have known you had taken a fancy 
 to seeing the lady play or perhaps you have some 
 interest in introducing the lady before the public 
 knew her father when you was a boy, or something 
 of that sort of course, you know, we couldn't 
 judge the matter by instinct." 
 
 "Damn instinct," growled Marcus. "I'd made 
 up my mind to see the girl play. I've bet on her 
 against Ceelems in the part, my two hundred to 
 Dick Harben's one, and by George, sir, she'd have 
 carried the day without a cent out for pulfs ; " and 
 Marcus again startled .the nervous prompter by 
 bringing his fist down upon the manager's table 
 with a bang. 
 
 "The poor fellow's as drunk as a , and 
 
 gone dead crazy over the lady, besides," . thought 
 the prompter, helplessly. He said, propitiatorily, 
 " Really, now, my dear sir, if you'll only listen to 
 reason. The part belonged to the lady, our lady, if 
 she chose to play it. So what were we to do?
 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-ROOMS. 157 
 
 There'd have been the deuce and all to pay, if we 
 had offended her. My God, sir, we'd have had the 
 papers down upon us like bricks. The lady pleases 
 with the public, you know." 
 
 " I should like to know who's to be pleased in 
 this place if I am not," muttered Marcus. " Damn ! 
 you've always found my purse strings open when 
 there's been any go on foot here. Where is the 
 lady?" 
 
 " Which lady do you mean, sir ? " said the 
 prompter, nervously : " Miss Hart ? She is not in 
 the building. Besides, consider, Mr. Harben favors 
 the other lady. She came here at his request, 
 and his son Dick is" awfully smashed on her, you 
 know." 
 
 " Who's to be pleased, if I am not ? " repeated 
 Marcus, angrily. 
 
 " Well, but, my dear sir, I don't know that 
 anybody is," pleaded the prompter; adding, aside, 
 " the gentleman is fearfully noisy in his cups." 
 
 "Where's Martin? Send him for the lady," 
 exclaimed Marcus. 
 
 " O, my God ! you're wild, my dear sir. You'll 
 ruin us," cried the prompter, in alarm. "The 
 overture will be rung in in less than ten minutes, 
 and the other lady is already dressed for the 
 piece."
 
 158 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " Come, Dalton," said Lennox, " where's the sense 
 of quarrelling over this business? I'm the girl's 
 friend as much as you are, and I'm the friend of the 
 theatre too. No man can say I haven't done my 
 share in its interest. A first appearance, under the 
 circumstances of to-night, would have done the 
 girl no good, and you'd have lost your money. By 
 George, you must heat the iron before you can 
 strike while it is hot. The public don't swallow 
 new -things till they've been warmed up for them 
 with a little blowing " 
 
 The manager was here interrupted by the en- 
 trance of a young man, who stood bowing in the 
 doorway, looking exceedingly embarrassed. He 
 was evidently an outsider, and it was equally evi- 
 dent that he wished to appear otherwise. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Lennox. You see I have 
 taken you at your word, and dropped in upon you." 
 
 "Aha! Mr. Harben," returned the manager. 
 " Happy, I'm sure." As a dead silence followed, in 
 which Mi'. Harben blushed deeply, and pretended 
 to be absorbed in the contemplation of a side wing, 
 Lennox remarked, " Like to look about the place 
 some ? I shall be at leisure in a few moments." 
 
 " O, deuce, no," answered Richard Harben, has- 
 tily. He was secretly ambitious to become a fast 
 man. " I'm used to the place ; that is, I'm quite 
 familiar with such places, in general."
 
 SCENES IN THE DRESSING-BOOMS. 159 
 
 " I'll take my oath you are," responded the man- 
 ager, who seemed willing to humor him. 
 
 Dick became conceited and confident immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 " By Jove," he cried, " the governor draws it so 
 hard on a fellow that a fellow can't look at a pretty 
 woman without being brought to account for it ; 
 and, by George, it tells on a fellow's finances ; but 
 I can't quite go harness." This was a choice ex- 
 pression Richard had borrowed from his patron, 
 Dalton. " So, while he thinks I'm fast asleep in 
 New York, I steal a march upon him, and here I 
 am. Do you take ? " 
 
 The manager laughed, somewhat lazily, to indi- 
 cate his intelligence. " What are you doing now ? " 
 he asked, paring his nails. " Step in," he added, a 
 moment after, smartly ; for what Dick appeared to 
 be doing just at present was getting in the way of 
 the property-man. " Still in a counting-house ? " 
 
 " By Jove, yes ; boxed down as tight as, I 
 don't know what. But I'm not your sort for that. 
 Does for a blinder, though, for the governor, fa- 
 mously ; and the old horse is pretty sharp, too. 
 But luck's against me to-night. The charming 
 Fanny Ceelems fails to appear." 
 
 " O, the lady plays," said Lennox, suppressing a 
 yawn.
 
 160 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Richard blushed still more deeply. 
 
 " You're doubly in luck. You'd have lost your 
 bet if she had not appeared," growled Dalton. 
 
 "I don't see it in that light," said Richard, 
 getting bolder. "Do you, Tom?" 
 
 "Who were to be the judges?" inquired the 
 manager. 
 
 " O, good fellows ; men of our own sort, and men 
 that know what's what," said Richard; at which 
 Dalton laughed so loudly and unexpectedly, that 
 the prompter, who had been walking up and down 
 the side stage, divided between his deference for 
 the manager's party and his nervousness at having 
 the play, which had commenced, disturbed, mut- 
 tered, " My God, gentlemen, you'd drown the big 
 drum." The conversation was again interrupted 
 by the presence of the Friar, who stole solemnly in 
 upon the worldly party, and there ensued a whis- 
 pered dialogue between him and the manager.
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE KOBE. 161 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 
 
 WHEN the morning came, the sunlight crept 
 pleasantly into the room where the sisters lay 
 asleep, and touched their faces. The touch pained 
 Gail, and she turned away from it fretfully. She 
 had suffered through the night, and her suffering 
 was not yet over. Jennie met it hopefully. She 
 could begin to act on her new idea, and she sprang 
 blithely up, and was soon busy preparing the break- 
 fast with her hands, while her head was at work 
 over her plans. Gail rose also, but slowly; her 
 heart was heavy, and less tossed by conflicting 
 emotions, she felt more keenly the cruel ache of 
 her disappointment. There had arisen in her also 
 a stern contempt of dishonesty. She no longer 
 faced the invisible demons that racked her soul 
 with any weak pretence of indifference or wild 
 dreams of impossible triumph. She faced the 
 truth instead, and wore her trouble with a pride 
 too great for vanity. She shrank only from the 
 cure. She already began to realize the old sad 
 11
 
 162 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 story of dragging a sick heart through a daily 
 round of duties it is for the time unfit to meet. 
 She lingered over the arranging of her room, 
 dreading to meet the family down stairs. " I hope 
 they will not say much to comfort me," thought 
 the poor girl, as she dusted the table for the third 
 time. " It would upset me, I know." She looked 
 about, and saw nothing to be done except once 
 more to wash the traces of tears from her eyes. 
 She did this carefully, shivering the while, for the 
 room was cold, although she had been unconscious 
 of it. At the head of the Stan's she paused, and 
 listened. The house was still. She could hear only 
 the old clock in the hall, ticking with a hollow rat- 
 tle in its throat. She glanced from the soiled 
 house-paper to the worn stair-covering. Sights 
 that never depressed her before, but which even 
 glowed through the romance of a new life ahead, 
 now made her sick at heart. At the foot of the 
 stairs, her eyes fell on the basket containing the 
 costume for Juliet. She descended quickly, and 
 returned with it to her room. The dress she had 
 handled so affectionately the night before, she 
 snatched out of the basket, and hurried it to its 
 place. The white slippers came next, and the jew- 
 els " They shan't see these things," she said, " and 
 be reminded of last night." She worked rapidly
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE BOSE. 163 
 
 to keep down the rising sobs; she even tried to 
 jest. " One would think, to see me, that I had com- 
 mitted a murder, and was trying to hide the body." 
 Two tears stood in her eyes. Through them she 
 saw her roses blurred and swelled. She paused, in 
 her hurry, to gather up their withered leaves ten- 
 derly, and take from her bureau drawer a small 
 box. The box contained but one other treasure 
 a ring of silver hair. She laid the white rose and 
 the gray together, and returned the box to its place. 
 Perhaps at that moment the soul of the buried 
 roses bloomed in her heart ; for when at length she 
 resumed her duties, the objects in her home no 
 longer sickened her, or seemed commonplace. She 
 descended to the kitchen, where she found Jennie, 
 with 1 her sleeves rolled up$ a rolling-pin in her 
 hand, and a layer of dough before her. Jennie was 
 not rolling the dough. She was looking into the 
 future with the same bright absent expression her 
 face had worn the night before. 
 
 " How early we both got up, Jennie ! " said Gail, 
 trying to speak as if nothing had gone amiss. 
 
 It took a little time for Jennie's mind to come 
 back into the present ; but when it did she showed 
 a very lively interest in the things about them. 
 
 " Sure enough, Gail ! I have had things ready 
 for breakfast this long time, and now I've started
 
 164 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 on dinner ; and I don't know as there's any one up 
 but you and I yet." 
 
 Gail joined Jennie in her household occupations, 
 and both sisters began to talk, each avoiding the top- 
 ic that was in both their minds. Jennie was not un- 
 conscious that at times her sister would forget what 
 she was about, and at times work with a feverish 
 intensity. Poor Jennie longed to comfort her, and 
 once or twice thought of again broaching the sub- 
 ject of her scheme ; but Gail had so little faith in 
 it, that Jennie did not venture. The sisters had 
 not spoken for some time, when Gail said, with sad 
 sternness, 
 
 "Jennie, I wish you would let me do all the 
 work till it is time for me to go to the theatre." 
 
 " I would not go tothat theatre again, Gail, if I 
 was you," said Mrs. Hart, entering in time to hear 
 her daughter's words. 
 
 "I must, mother; there is one more perform- 
 ance of the show-piece." 
 
 "I don't see why you must on that account," 
 returned Mrs. Hart, warmly. "Gail, you've got 
 genius, and all that, but you're dreadfdlty simple. 
 Now, if I was in your place, I'd stay away just to 
 spite 'em. I would not let myself be triumphed 
 over by a parcel of beetle-headed dragons," said 
 Mrs. Hart, pausing for a name sufficiently opprobri-
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 165 
 
 ous. " They've behaved dishonorably towards you. 
 Your own^ father says they have; and I wouldn't 
 be so mean-spirited as to go near them." 
 
 " It would be unprincipled not to go," answered 
 Gail, trembling a little with indignation ; " and that 
 would be like them." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Hart, emphatically. 
 "That shows how little you know about it. It 
 would be unprincipled to go," she added, in a tone 
 "as if she had clenched the matter with the strongest 
 argument. " Well, Gail, before I'd go among such 
 a lot of mean stuck-ups ! I'd think more of my 
 mother, if nothing else. Why, Gail, they'll laugh 
 at you in their sleeves." 
 
 " I know it, mother," answered Gail, bitterly. 
 
 " Besides," went on Mrs. Hart, " I'd play only the 
 leading parts. I don't see why you don't, I'm sure. 
 You're better able than any of the women they've 
 got there ; for, between you and me, I don't think 
 much of those play-actresses. Now, I know ; for 
 I've taken notice. I wonder at your letting your- 
 self be put down so. If I was you, I'd show those 
 stage managers that I felt myself above them. I'd 
 make them feel what they've done." 
 
 " I've struggled against such thoughts all night," 
 answered poor Gail, bending her face close over 
 her work to hide her anguish.
 
 166 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "I shouldn't mind it a bit," put in Jennie. 
 " You've done nothing wrong. It's they ought to 
 feel ill at ease to see you." 
 
 Gail bit her lip proudly, and went on with her 
 work in silence. As it drew near the time for the 
 theatre, she glanced at the clock every few min- 
 utes. Its hands went slowly round to the fatal 
 hour. It was an old clock, with a harsh bell ; and 
 Gail's heart turned sick at every blow it struck. 
 Still, she wrapped her shawl about her, and started 
 for the theatre without flinching, sternly contemptu- 
 ous of the painful beating of her own heart. Her 
 imagination, excited as it was by trouble, pictured 
 an ordeal awaiting her that was little less than tor- 
 ture. She pushed the old door open, and entered. 
 She heard it swing back harshly on its rusty hinges, 
 as it had done the first time. It no longer grudged 
 her admittance it mocked her. She saw the one 
 gas flame absorbing and corrupting the white light 
 from above. It seemed to fall on the ghastly face 
 of the dead past. She shuddered. The place was 
 empty and desolate. The old wail of the tuning 
 instruments under the stage seemed to wind itself 
 about her heart like chords from the infernal 
 region, charming her into a death-like sleep. She 
 was faint and stifled. She groped her way dizzily 
 upon the stage. An ugly canvas monster leered
 
 THE MAGIC OP THE ROSE. 167 
 
 at her with its meaningless painted eyes. She 
 leaned for an instant against one of the scenes, and 
 her hold on the identity of the place gave way. 
 She was in the tomb of th Capulets. Her dead 
 hopes were the "yellow, capless skulls, and rat- 
 tling bones." She made an effort to step. Dark- 
 ness gathered about her. She felt something like 
 a slight touch against her forehead. Then there 
 was nothing. 
 
 When Gail opened her eyes, she wondered, for 
 an instant, why she should see before her the heavy 
 green curtain of the theatre, instead of the famil- 
 iar objects of her room. To her confused senses 
 she seemed to have been unconscious for hours, in- 
 stead of one brief second. She rose, and hastened 
 to her dressing-room. The swoon had wrought a 
 change. Beyond the thought of concealing her 
 sudden illness, she experienced only weariness a 
 very incapacity for further mental suffering. She 
 entered her room, as she thought, quietly and in 
 her usual manner. There followed a hush. One 
 of the ladies said, kindly, You are not well, Miss 
 Hart ; you are faint." 
 
 Gail started, but commanded herself to answer, 
 " Not now. I was a moment ago." 
 
 "She looks downright ill," said several of the 
 ladies ; and one of them added,
 
 168 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " It's a shame to. have to come up here when one 
 is not well. I know what it is myself." 
 
 " Have some of this," said all the ladies, present- 
 ing bottles to Gail. "It's good for faint turns," 
 urged the lady who had first spoken. "I'm sub- 
 ject to them myself, and I know, poor child ! " 
 
 " So am I," sighed another lady. " We all are 
 in this world." 
 
 " It's the 'urrying up to be in time," said Mrs. 
 Sands, delicately ignoring what she guessed to be 
 the real cause of Gail's illness. " Gals, it's taken 
 me that way many and many's the time. First 
 I'm flustered; then, slap, I'm gone. It's 'orrid!" 
 
 "I'll go off at just nothing at all," said quite a 
 stout lady, " although you wouldn't think it." 
 
 Each lady tendered her services to Gail, and all 
 refrained from asking questions, much to her relief. 
 " I don't wonder I alarmed you ; for I see I look 
 worse than I feel." She was looking at her own 
 face in the glass, for the first time since she had 
 dressed for Juliet, the night before. 
 
 "And no wonder," said Mrs. Sands, sympa- 
 thetically. "What, with the 'urry and the 'eat 
 of the room, it will be a wonder if you hain't 
 hill." 
 
 There was some need of haste in dressing, Gail 
 found, when she consulted her watch. She was
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 169 
 
 glad of this; for it occupied her time, and di- 
 verted from her the attention of the ladies. 
 
 It became time for the rising of the curtain. 
 Gail descended with the rest to the stage, and 
 with them went through the weary routine of the 
 scenes. When her services were not required, she 
 crept to her old place at the foot of the dressing- 
 room stairs,' and leaned her head against the cool 
 bricks of the building. 
 
 At times she fell into half-unconscious fits, and 
 listened dreamily to the old play. It seemed to 
 be slipping away from her, and she seemed to 
 be slipping away from herself. The familiar voices 
 on the stage sounded hollow in the half-empty 
 house, and were mocked by a dreary echo. A 
 large detachment of the supernumerary force had 
 been dismissed. There was no ordeal. The ac- 
 tors with whom she had rehearsed in Romeo and 
 Juliet accepted her presence as a matter of course. 
 Lennox was absent, and the prompter kept his 
 eyes on his book. There seemed no enchantment 
 now about the place. It was real life, lonely, 
 cold, and dull. Gail drew her little shawl closer 
 about her. She could hardly believe herself in- a 
 real theatre. It would have seemed like some of 
 the old attempts at making believe, with which 
 she used to cheat the hunger of her heart in old
 
 170 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 times, but that she sat spell-bound while it passed 
 her, and faded from her. The actors hurried the 
 piece, and introduced " Gags." They had no re- 
 spect for the dying play, that, with all the pain 
 and weariness it had cost her, now touched Gail as 
 something sacred. She would lay in its grave so 
 much of her dreaming youth. To the others it 
 was not a first experience, and they were tired of 
 it. Each one, as he or she came off the stage, 
 only said, languidly, "My God, I shall be glad 
 when this show business is over ! " From the 
 green-room window a stream of daylight slanted 
 down upon the stage, robbing it of its mystery and 
 romance. The painted faces of the actors whi- 
 tened or turned a sickly green as they passed across 
 it. The strip of stage behind the scenes, where 
 Gail had paced so often, and where she had seen 
 others pace, where so many souls had dreamed, 
 hoped, aspired, or sorrowed, became changed into 
 a very "ghost's walk." Gail watched the stout 
 figure of a Sea-king, the Friar of yesterday, 
 who had possession of the walk; and the phan- 
 toms of all her past dreams and emotions went 
 pacing to and fro, accompanying the ghostly Friar 
 on his solemn march. 
 
 The prompter's bell sounded for the last act. It 
 roused Gail from her stupor. She realized, at that
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 171 
 
 moment, that she was in the theatre for the last 
 time : a brief hour, and all would be over. She 
 would witness the closing of the grave over her 
 dead hopes. Her heart sank heavily, and, like a 
 drowning thing, caught about desperately for some 
 straw. The fatal minutes passed one by one. 
 The scenes closed one by one. The prompter's 
 whistle sounded harsh to her ears. The Friar paced 
 slowly up and down the ghost's walk. Who or 
 what was there to hope in ? She raised her eyes ; 
 they met those of the Friar. He had paused in his 
 walk, and was watching her. "You like the pro- 
 fession ? " he said. 
 
 " Better than it likes me," answered Gail, trying 
 to smile. 
 
 "You would like to enter it?" continued the 
 Friar. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The Friar took one or two more turns on the 
 walk, and then seated himself beside Gail. "I 
 would not advise one of my own daughters to 
 adopt the stage," he said. "It is a hard life, par- 
 ticularly for a young girl like you, not born in the 
 profession. Still, you have capacity for it, and if 
 I could be of any service to you, I should be 
 pleased. I spoke with Mr. Lennox last night," 
 Gail's face flushed, and her very heart stopped
 
 172 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 beating to listen, " in reference to your appearing 
 at my benefit. I can't promise you much from it, 
 and I've no especial influence with the manage- 
 ment ; but it might prove an opening for you 
 at any rate, it would be practice." 
 
 Saved ! saved ! Th'e thankful tears sprang into 
 Gail's eyes; if she had dared, she would have 
 seized the Friar's hand and kissed it. There were 
 no longer any phantoms on the ghost's walk. The 
 Friar had blessed her, and they had vanished. The 
 good Friar had succored Juliet. 
 
 "Unless," said Gail, too much moved to speak 
 coherently, " you have striven and failed, as I have, 
 you can never know how grateful I am to you, for 
 I am far too stupid to thank you appropriately." 
 
 "No occasion! no occasion, my child. What 
 little I can do I shall be glad to do. You are a 
 good, conscientious student in the art, and if you 
 persevere in the right course, you can in time 
 take a high rank. I am not so sure but what it is 
 I who ought to thank you." 
 
 " I am sure it is not," responded Gail, quickly. 
 
 And the Friar, well pleased with himself and 
 Gail's earnest frankness, resumed his walk. 
 
 When the Friar had played his part in this worthy 
 manner, the Nurse came up, and played hers also 
 worthily.
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE EOSE. 173 
 
 " You seem ill, my dear. You look quite pale. 
 I have been trying to get a chance to speak to you. 
 I would not wait for the last act, my dear. I'd 
 dress and go home. Mr. Blowper, the stage mana- 
 ger, will excuse you I know. He's a bit rough in 
 his way, but he's not a hard man. I'll speak to 
 him for you if you wish it shall I ? " 
 
 " O, no ! " answered Gail, whose heart was be- 
 ginning to warm her cold frame wonderfully. " I'd 
 rather remain till the piece is over." 
 
 " Would you, indeed, my dear ? "Well, I don't 
 know but that it will be as well, the piece is so 
 nearly through. But, really, you don't look well 
 enough to walk home ; and it snows, too. I ride 
 to-night, and I shall be happy to set you down at 
 your own door, if you will let me." 
 
 " Thank you ; it will not be necessary to trouble 
 you." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear ; it is no trouble. I should 
 like to do it. I shall be at the stage-door now 
 remember." 
 
 The Nurse nodded pleasantly, and retired to the 
 wing to wait her cue. 
 
 The Friar again paused before Gail, and whis- 
 pered, impressively, " Perhaps it will be as well to 
 keep the matter you and I spoke about quiet. It 
 doesn't do in a place like this to say all you know."
 
 174 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Gail assured the Friar of her silence, and watched 
 him grope his way down the theatre cellar stairs, 
 into submarine depths, from which he was shortly 
 to arise as the Sea-king in a sea of glass. Then she 
 repaired to left hand, upper entrance, in four, pre- 
 paratory to soaring into aerial regions. She viewed 
 the scene passing on the stage now with a grateful 
 sense of security. She was not made wildly, blind- 
 ly, passionately happy, as she had been by her first 
 good fortune. She experienced a quieter sensa- 
 tion, one touched with tenderness, for the resurrec- 
 tion of hope from the grave is attended with more 
 solemnity of the soul than its first joyful birth. In 
 her suffering she had striven to conquer her selfish- 
 ness, and was strengthened for the light, as she had 
 been strengthened for the darkness. 
 
 The other ladies were also gathered in the wing, 
 ready for the scene. Martin, the errand boy of the 
 box-office, presented himself among them. 
 
 " Which of you gals is Miss Hart ? " he cried, in 
 a manner as if this very commonplace inquiry was 
 the height of humor. 
 
 " Hush ! " said one of the ladies, soberly. " That's 
 Miss Hart." Martin's manner immediately toned 
 down into the respectful. Gail's dignity of char- 
 acter had begun to call forth this instinctive trib- 
 ute of respect from the people about the place.
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 175 
 
 Martin handed her a letter. She accepted it with 
 some curiosity, but placed it in her bosom till she 
 should be at leisure to open it. 
 
 The play over, she found the Nurse waiting for 
 her at the stage door, as had been agreed. 
 
 " Jimmy Hurdy is all ready, rny dear, to take us 
 home," she said, as Gail appeared. Jimmy was the 
 livery-stable coachman, and Mrs. Leamingston had 
 engaged his services only once before ; but it was 
 her actress nature to be chatty and familiar with 
 everybody. "James, dear," she said, when she and 
 Gail were seated in the coach, " if you'll drive first 
 to the lady's house Where is it, my dear ? " 
 
 Gail informed her. " No. 28 Street, and then 
 
 take me home. I'll owe you the fare, and give you 
 my blessing now." 
 
 James accepting the conditions with good humor, 
 the coach drove on. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Leamingston, " you have 
 a great deal of love for the profession, I notice." 
 
 " Yes, I have," answered Gail, frankly. 
 
 " And you find it hard to get on to the stage ? " 
 
 Gail felt some inclination to answer, "I have 
 tried but little, and cannot judge ; " but she remem- 
 bered her late contempt for deceit, and put vanity 
 aside. 
 
 " I have tried over and over again, and failed," 
 she said.
 
 176 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "It's the way with all beginners, my dear, es- 
 pecially if they're not born in the profession. I 
 was very fortunate myself. I was born in the pro- 
 fession, and married into it. Poor Leamingston, 
 he was great in the little nice bits of character; 
 but he was a very imprudent man in his cups. He 
 never could keep an engagement through the 
 season." 
 
 Gail held a respectful silence. 
 " I shouldn't advise any young girl to adopt the 
 profession," continued Mrs. Leamingston, "if she 
 has a good home, and good means of getting bread 
 and butter elsewhere, for it's a hard life ; but, my 
 dear, if you'll excuse my mentioning it, I feel 
 quite an interest in you. I really do. You seem 
 modest and lady-like, and not obtrusive, as a great 
 many young persons are in, the profession. I 
 wouldn't say this, except between ourselves, for 
 the theatre has always been my home ; but there's 
 good and bad in all things don't you know 
 there is?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Gail. 
 
 " Well, what I was going to say, my dear, was, 
 that if you would like to try for an engagement 
 with us at the Union, I'll speak a good word for 
 you with the management, myself." 
 
 Gail could have kissed the hem of Mrs. Learn-
 
 THE MAGIC OP THE ROSE. 177 
 
 ingston's dress. "You are too good," she cried. 
 " I thought myself less fortunate than others, but 
 I see I was mistaken. There are very few who 
 would do as much as that for a stranger." 
 
 " Well, my dear, it's my disposition. I don't 
 boast of many good qualities, but I always want 
 to help any one who I think needs it and de- 
 serves it." 
 
 "But I'm afraid Mr. Lennox does not think 
 favorably of me," said Gail, flushing slightly. 
 
 " What makes you think that, my child ? Mr. 
 Lennox spoke very highly of you to me. He said 
 you were a very attractive woman, and made a 
 very fine appearance on" the stage." 
 
 Gail was a shade disappointed. She would have 
 preferred that her genius should be more impres- 
 sive than her appearance. 
 
 "I was thinking," she said, somewhat sternly, 
 of last night." 
 
 " Well, now, my dear, you shouldn't mind that. 
 Poor Lennox is the most tender-hearted creature 
 in the world. He wouldn't have had it happen, if 
 he could have helped it; but, between you and 
 me, and I say this in confidence, there's a cer- 
 tain lady in the building I won't mention names 
 who didn't play the most lady-like part in the 
 matter. I don't blame you at all for having some 
 12
 
 178 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 feeling about it ; but my advice to you is, Be good 
 friends with Lennox. He can help you, if any 
 one can. Were you told to come up for the part 
 at night?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 " Were you, indeed, my dear ? Somebody about 
 the building circulated quite a different story ; but 
 I believe you, my dear. I think I would take your 
 word before that somebody's; and then I would 
 advise you to say nothing, inside of the building, 
 about what we spoke of in reference to your getting 
 an engagement for the next season. Such things 
 are much better kept dark about a theatre. I saw 
 you speaking with Father Haines; do you know 
 him at all?" 
 
 " No," answered Gail, feeling herself on danger- 
 ous ground. 
 
 "No ! Well, I didn't know but that you might. 
 Poor old Hainsy ! " 
 
 " Is he unfortunate ? " inquired Gail. 
 
 " No, my dear, not at all ; he's very well thought 
 of, both in the building and outside. Why do you 
 ask me, my dear ? " 
 
 " You spoke of him as ' poor.' " 
 
 " It's my way, my dear. He's an odd being, but 
 he's as good a soul as ever breathed." 
 
 They had reached Gail's door by this time, and,
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE EOSE. 179 
 
 thanking Mrs. Leamingston again, Gail ran joyfully 
 into the house. 
 
 " What is it ? " said Mrs. Hart and Jennie. Both 
 had seen the carriage through the blinds. 
 
 "Nothing," answered Gail; "only we shan't 
 have to hire a theatre, Jennie." 
 
 "Too bad," said Jennie, with anything but a 
 sorrowful emphasis. " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I'm going to play at 
 somebody's benefit," replied Gail, separating 
 the words with comical precision. 
 
 " There ! " said Mrs. Hart, triumphantly ; " didn't 
 I say, Go to the theatre just as you always do, and 
 keep your ears open, and you'll hear something. 
 If I was you, Gail, I'd cultivate some of those 
 play-actors a little." 
 
 " I don't suppose," said Gail, cautiously, "it will 
 be a very good part; but, then, it's better than 
 nothing at all." 
 
 " It's splendid," said Jennie ; " because, you see, 
 we can go on with our plans about the theatre ; and 
 this will be all clear gain." 
 
 "That is not all, either," said Gail. "There's 
 something else." 
 
 " What ? " inquired Jennie, eagerly. 
 
 " Do tell," said Mrs. Hart, with impatient excite- 
 ment; "you always want to make a mystery of 
 everything."
 
 180 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " You remember the lady who plays the Nurse 
 she offered, all of her own accord, to speak a good 
 word about my getting an engagement next sea- 
 son. I rode home here with her in her carriage." 
 
 "What lady? What nurse? I saw you come 
 ' prancing ' home in a carriage ; and it gave me the 
 awfulest start ! I thought nothing but that one of 
 those infernal if I must call it by name ma- 
 chines there, that you go up on, had come down, 
 and that you had broken your neck." 
 
 " And that isn't all, either," said Gail, suddenly 
 remembering the note that Martin had given her. 
 She drew it forth, and read, " Dear Miss Hart, I 
 should be happy to see you in my office between 
 ten and eleven o'clock Monday morning. Yours 
 respectfully. Thomas Lennox." 
 
 These few words were written in so careless a 
 manner, that nothing short of Gail's impatient in- 
 terest could have deciphered them. Mrs. Hart and 
 Jennie, in the mean while, read them much more 
 plainly from her face. 
 
 " Do let's see it," cried Mrs. Hart. " Dear me ! 
 can't you read it aloud ? " 
 
 "O Jennie, Jennie," cried Gail, when she had 
 complied, "you don't think this note can mean I'm 
 not to play for the Friar's benefit, after. all?" 
 
 " Of course not," said Jennie, who was even of a
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 181 
 
 more hopeful character than her sister. " I know 
 it's nothing of the sort. Besides, you just look 
 clear ahead to the goal, and never mind the strug- 
 gle, the sinking and the rising that come between. 
 Swim out the best you know how, and you'll reach 
 it, be sure." 
 
 "I wish I could feel as you do," answered the 
 elder sister; " but, as it is, I guess I had better try 
 and think " 
 
 "You had better go to bed early, and not lie 
 awake all night talking about it," said the mother. 
 " You are as black round your eyes now as a coal ; 
 and you won't be fit to play in anything if you 
 don't ret. I dare say that other woman there 
 knows precious well how to take care of herself. 
 You'd never do for the stage in that respect; that's 
 clear." 
 
 Mrs. Hart was possessed of the popular idea that 
 actors and actresses have little to do with feeling, 
 except on the stage, and are creatures of extraordi- 
 nary coolness, self-command, and presence of mind 
 in every-day life. 
 
 Gail followed her mother's advice, that night, in 
 a most dutiful manner, with a sort of half resolve 
 to follow her own. But when she was alone, she 
 again read the note, which she already knew by 
 heart, to convince herself there was nothing alarm-
 
 182 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 ing in its purport. After she had performed this 
 little ceremony, she became less doubtful and more 
 elated. 
 
 It is joy to receive something we have long de- 
 sired ; but to lose that thing, to bewail it, and 
 then to regain it, is to be blessed. Gail's bitter 
 experience had broken some of the little tendrils 
 of vanity that clung to the stage, apart from her 
 art. But the roots of her nature had taken yet 
 stronger hold of the art itself. She appeared before 
 Mrs. Hart and Jennie, on the following morning, 
 equipped for the ordeal in a plain dress and hat, 
 and a pair of large, warm mittens on her small 
 hands. "Jennie," she said, "you see I've got on my 
 armor. I mean to win the battle by my fitness 
 alone. Genius requires at our hands self-abnega- 
 tion from all minor vanities and petty schemes of 
 self-interest, before she will crown us with immor- 
 tality. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Gail, you are a perfect fool ! " said Mrs. Hart, 
 discontentedly. " Self-abne-fiddlesticks ! Go and 
 dress yourself so as to look as handsome as you 
 can. You won't look any too well. Please the 
 managers now, and keep your high-flown notion 
 till you have the reins in your own hands." 
 
 " I must act as I am endowed. I have no power 
 to be sociable, and make myself popular; and I
 
 THE MAGIC OF THE ROSE. 183 
 
 find myself wofully distracted and disabled by try- 
 ing to fathom the games of others. It frets me, 
 and makes me ungenerous and suspicious." 
 
 "Is big mittens indispensable to self-abnega- 
 tion ? " said Jennie. " Now, I think art is worth 
 respecting in dress as well as in other things, pro- 
 vided we do not let it occupy our mind and time 
 too much. I like to see people a little vain ; it 
 makes them happier." 
 
 " Sometimes; but not when one wants to devote 
 the full force of the mind to one purpose."
 
 184 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 STRAWS. 
 
 GAIL, however, did not repair to the manager's 
 office with a mind as independent as her dress. 
 Beneath the frank dignity was the constraint and 
 nervousness of a morbidly sensitive and imagina- 
 tive nature. 
 
 Lennox was seated at his table, in company with 
 the Friar. 
 
 "Good morning, my dear," said the latter, with 
 his pompous respect. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear," said Lennox, with his easy 
 familiarity; but without, however, raising his eyes 
 from the table. 
 
 Gail obeyed; and in the silence and her con- 
 straint, the air seemed to creep and gather in dark 
 waves about the objects on which her eyes were 
 fixed. She experienced two emotions antagonistic 
 to each other. Her wounded pride at the insult 
 her genius had received from the manager was 
 ready to fight ; while the hunger of her love for 
 her art was ready to beg.
 
 STRAWS. 185 
 
 " Now, then, my dear," said Mr. Lennox, glan- 
 cing up, " I understand you wish to enter the pro- 
 fession ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Gail. 
 
 "I don't know," continued the manager, cau- 
 tiously, " how I shall be situated for the coming 
 season ; but if there is an opening I shall have you 
 in my eye. In the mean while, we have arranged a 
 debut for you at this gentleman's benefit. We do 
 a piece we brought out here in the first of the 
 season, called ' Nelly's Fate.' You will play let 
 me see Molly Hetty " 
 
 "Nelly," suggested the Friar. 
 
 Gail sprang up, and clapped her hands. She had 
 witnessed the piece, and been strongly impressed 
 with the leading part. She forgot all else in her 
 enthusiasm. "The part affords great scope," she 
 cried, "for passionate and emotional acting, and 
 the situations are thrilling." 
 
 " Well, my dear, that's all for this morning," said 
 the manager, smiling, " except there's a rehearsal 
 at eleven is there not, Haines?" 
 
 " Half past," answered the Friar. 
 
 " Half past," repeated the manager. " Go down 
 now and get Martin to give you your part. The 
 piece is in manuscript, and there are no books." 
 The manager's familiar direction sounded inex-
 
 186 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 pressibly charming to Gail. It seemed to recognize 
 her as one of the company. 
 
 Behind the scenes she met Mrs. Leamingston, 
 who greeted her kindly. "I see, my dear, you are 
 to appear at Mr. Raines's benefit. I'm glad of it. 
 Your name is in the cast. It's an excellent part 
 'Nelly Dillon.'" 
 
 Gail's face flushed with the exquisite pleasure 
 this trifling honor gave her, and she stole into the 
 green-room and glanced at the little velvet-lined } 
 glass-covered show-case, in which the casts were 
 pinned. She dared do no more than glance ; for 
 the company many of them were present, and 
 she was shy of displaying the red glow of pure 
 pleasure that suffused her face, and the conscious 
 smile that played about her lips ; but in her glance 
 she saw written, in the stage manager's well-known 
 hand, "Nelly Dillon Miss A. Hart." 
 
 " Is there anything," said one of the actresses, 
 studying the cast with an air of nonchalance Gail 
 wondered she could acquire, "that concerns me? 
 No; nothing new; that's good, and gives me a 
 night off. Let me see, though ; the bill's not up 
 for Thursday and Friday." 
 
 "We do that Irish piece 'Nelly's Fate' for 
 one thing, Friday, I suppose," said Mrs. Latell 
 "Haines's benefit, you know; he does 'Pat Dil- 
 lon.' "
 
 STRAWS. 187 
 
 " O, true, true ! " went on the actress, musingly. 
 " Let me see. Is the cast up yet ? O, yes ! here 
 it is. I didn't see it. Bet Fagan Mrs. Lea m- 
 ingston ; that's you, my dear," she added, turning to 
 the Nurse, who had just entered ; " they can't let 
 you off, I see." 
 
 "No rest for the wicked, my dear," answered the 
 Nurse, with a smile. " Mrs. Dillon Mrs. Latell," 
 continued the reader. " Kittle Dillon Miss Julie 
 Ward ; so she's up for something. I thought she 
 didn't come till next season. Is it much of a part, 
 I wonder ? " 
 
 "It is only a few lines," said Isabel Lester. 
 "You may know that; for I went on for it in the 
 first of the season." 
 
 "It's a very good little bit, I am sure," said the 
 Nurse. 
 
 " It's a very good little bit better than Nancy," 
 spoke up Isabel, sharply; "and I do that now, 
 of course." 
 
 " Norry Croon Miss Simpson ; that's me. It's 
 only a line or two, I suppose ; so I'll get Harrey 
 Seely to let me have the prompt-book." 
 
 "The parts are given out. Martin ought to 
 have been here with them by this time. It's called 
 for half past eleven." 
 
 "I wonder who does Nelly's?" went on Miss
 
 188 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Simpson. " I don't see Ceelems' name. Is there 
 a blank for it, I wonder. It's a benefit, you know. 
 Ah, here it is: 'Nelly Miss A. Hart.' Who's 
 that ? None of our company." 
 
 " This is Miss Hart," said the Nurse, introducing 
 Gail, pleasantly. "She does the part for Lewy 
 Haines's benefit." t 
 
 " Ah, indeed," said Miss Simpson, coldly ; " how 
 do you?" 
 
 " O, here you are, Martin ! " she added, warmly. 
 " What have you got there for me ? " 
 
 " Nothing," responded Martin, facetiously. 
 " There won't be no parts given out in this here 
 place." 
 
 u Now, Martin, you are too bad ! " said the ladies, 
 laughing at Martin's humor. 
 
 "Now really, though," said Martin, "Johnny 
 hasn't got them ready." 
 
 Gail was too happy and too much excited to re- 
 main still till Martin should be ready with the part 
 she was impatient to examine. She strolled out 
 of the green-room. The same chilly, monotonous 
 murmur was taking place on the stage that Gail 
 had observed at the first rehearsal. But it no 
 longer had upon her the same effect. She seated 
 herself to watch the rehearsal, with a new interest. 
 The piece then on the stage was "Retribution."
 
 STRAWS. 189 
 
 Miss Ceelems, in the leading role of Clarisse, stood 
 at the right hand, first entrance, O. P., waiting for 
 her cue. Ceelems was dressed with more than her 
 usual elegance in a fine brocade silk and a rich 
 camel's hair shawl. Both dress and shawl were 
 particularly becoming to the wearer's style. Miss 
 Ceelems was tall, possessed regular features, fine 
 eyes and complexion. Her habitual expression, 
 when not speaking, was an interesting sentimen- 
 tal gloom, in which there was much of the stage 
 charm. When in conversation, there was in her 
 manner a methodical, artistic gayety. She pre- 
 sented a magnificent contrast to Gail on this par- 
 ticular morning; for Gail sat, in her homely dress, 
 absorbed in dreams of advancement, utterly uncon- 
 scious of her own attitude and appearance, while 
 the leading lady of the Union Theatre swept past 
 her with not only a self-possessed air, but an air of 
 possessing everything about her also. Occasion- 
 ally she bestowed upon Gail a glance of seeming 
 indifference, but in reality of secret hostility. She 
 felt in Gail a rival. How dangerous, or how harm- 
 less, she could not say ; for, in the great game of 
 whist, the theatre, where so much ambition and 
 self-interest is concerned, the players conceal 
 their hands, and win by trieks as well as by hon- 
 ors;, and Gail, humble as she looked, might pos-
 
 190 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 sess weapons that did not appear. At any rate, 
 Ceelems flung down her glove, and armed herself 
 for an emergency. She was not, however, at this 
 moment, armed to the teeth, but rather to the lips 
 and eyes ; for she greeted the manager in her most 
 fascinating actress manner. 
 
 Lennox appeared in company with Marc Dalton ; 
 and though they passed Gail, neither of them ob- 
 served her in the superior brilliancy of the " lead- 
 ing lady." 
 
 " Ah, how is me Lenny this morning ? " asked 
 Ceelems, archly. Miss Ceelems always spoke to 
 the manager as if she were in the presence of an 
 invisible audience. 
 
 " Miss Ceelems," Lenny replied, " upon my soul, 
 I don't know. Those fellows kept me up so late 
 last night, that, as near as I can judge, I have got 
 the deuce and all of a headache." 
 
 " O, Tommy, Tommy," said Ceelems, throwing 
 a serious shade into her lighter manner, "you are a 
 sad man. I don't know whether to punish you or 
 to nurse you ; and that's a fearful state of doubt. 
 It hurts to be punished, you know," she added, 
 saucily, patting one pretty jewelled hand smartly 
 over the other once or twice. 
 
 Lennox and Dalton both laughed. "Now, by 
 George," said the manager, "I'll let a woman whip 
 me; but I'd give a man 'Jessie' if he tried."
 
 STRAWS. 191 
 
 " I suppose, then, I can't send for my big brother, 
 as the lady in the farce does, and do the business 
 by proxy, eh ? " replied Ceelems. Changing her 
 tone, she added, "But no; it shall be cured by 
 magnetism. Do you believe in magnetism, sir? 
 It all depends on faith, you know." Fanny laid 
 her hand on the manager's shoulder. 
 
 " He believes in gal-va.msm" said Dalton, laugh- 
 ing, " if he's flesh and blood." 
 
 " You're too bad, Marc, by Jove," said the man- 
 ager. " Upon my soul, Miss Fanny, I have faith 
 when I can trust the doctor." 
 
 "You can trust me," said Fanny, sweetly, and 
 at the same time artfully. "Don't you know I'm 
 a magnetic character? Who was that poor young 
 man who wrote a poem for one of the newspapers, 
 about somebody's magnetic charms? Well, of 
 course, that somebody must have magnetic charms ; 
 for the papers always speak the truth. There, does 
 that make it feel better?" 
 
 "It produces a counter-irritation in the heart, 
 my dear," said the manager. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" responded Fanny; "just hear 
 him talk. But seriously, now, talking of papers, 
 who's the theatrical critic of the Morning Com- 
 pass, I wonder? Do you know?" 
 
 " Well, no," replied the manager, laughing. " I 
 should suppose you'd know, if anybody."
 
 192 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " Now you are too cruel," cried the actress. k> I 
 don't, 'honor bright.' I only wonder somebody 
 don't put him in a strait jacket. He ought not 
 to be allowed to inflict his insanity upon the pub- 
 lic. He deals in adjectives, that man does. He 
 has advanced from bewitchingly charming to irre- 
 sistibly fascinating in the case of your humble 
 servant." 
 
 " His disease must be catching," said Lennox, 
 bowing politely. " The other papers follow suit." 
 
 "She must have affected them all, as she has 
 poor Dick Harben," said Dalton, " by St. Peter 
 
 " You are really cruel to Bick, Miss Fanny," put 
 in the manager, who sometimes nipped Dallon's 
 speeches in the bud, lest he should utter something 
 positively unmannerly. " Upon ray soul, Fanny, I 
 pity poor Dick. I wouldn't be Dick for considera- 
 ble. By Jove ! poor Dick." 
 
 "Dick's caught the fever awful bad," said the 
 irrepressible Dalton, breaking out into a fresh 
 laugh. "I'm afraid Dick don't sleep well nights." 
 
 " O ! O ! O ! You're too bad, gentlemen," cried 
 the actress, hiding the face that w^s guiltless of a 
 blush behind her pretty hands. "It is you that are 
 cruel to each other." 
 
 "Ah! I don't know about that," said Lennox. 
 " We men fight in open field ; but you women con-
 
 STRAWS. 193 
 
 ceal the point of your weapon till it enters a 
 fellow's heart." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Lennox, you don't mean all that 
 horrid stuff, I know." 
 
 " Clarisse ! " sounded the prompter's voice from 
 the stage. 
 
 " My God, that's me ! " cried Ceelems, " and I 
 ought to be round on the other side. It's your 
 fault, you naughty men." 
 
 " Clarisse ! Clarisse ! " repeated the prompter, 
 glancing at the wing with impatience. " It's you, 
 madam." 
 
 " That prompter is really impertinent," thought 
 Ceelems, as she hastily found her place in the book. 
 " He's officious, and wants to show off before the 
 management. Let's see! Let's see!" she said 
 aloud. " My husband's voice in that room ! Ah, 
 heavens! Count Priuli!" 
 
 Gail returned to the green-room, where she 
 found Martin distributing the parts, and spicing 
 their delivery with a little bantering of his own. 
 She received hers with visible emotion, and the 
 consciousness of the eyes that were directed to- 
 wards her made her timid of reading it. She 
 contented herself as many a lover has done in 
 company with the secret touch of his mistress's 
 hand, by letting the hidden charm of the contact 
 13
 
 194 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 spread subtilely through her nerves and brain. But 
 it was not long before she sought out her old nook 
 behind a large pile of wings, at the back of the 
 stage, and opening her little note paper book, com- 
 menced quaffing the first draughts of the magic 
 liquid that was to change her into another being. 
 Already she had begun to feel her mind fitting 
 itself to different sympathies and circumstances, 
 when the sound of a voice, strange to the place, 
 caused her to raise her eyes. The voice belonged 
 to an elderly gentleman, who had about as little 
 the appearance of any of the various insects that 
 are supposed to flutter about the theatre, attracted 
 by its injurious light, as was possible. He was 
 neither stage-struck, a fast man, an actor, nor an 
 author. He was neither ill at ease, nor at home. 
 He was too individual to be susceptible to any 
 skin-deep influence. His body was small and wiry, 
 but his head and forehead large, and beneath a 
 pair of dark, shaggy eyebrows burned two keen 
 blue eyes. He peered first into one wing, and then 
 into another, as if he were searching for something. 
 " Do these lamps smoke at night ? " he asked of 
 one of the scene-shifters, eyeing the border-lights 
 sharply. " These traps would go like shavings from 
 only a spark. You men keep your buckets ready, 
 I hope."
 
 STRAWS. 195 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied one of the men, explaining 
 how the scenes and dresses were protected by a 
 wire covering to the lights. 
 
 " Won't do to trust it," said the little man, im- 
 patiently. "Must keep your eyes peeled, too 
 Here, what is this ? " he added, ferreting out some 
 paint pots and a can of turpentine. " Tut, tut, tut ! 
 Put these things out of the way of the lights." 
 
 He handled them cautiously, and glanced about 
 the building. 
 
 " They won't be there at night," said one of the 
 men, respectfully. 
 
 " See to it that they are not," said the little man, 
 emphatically ; and he looked up and down, and into 
 another wing, where he discovered Miss Ceelerns, 
 who had just made her exit. Miss Ceelems met 
 him with marked politeness. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Harben, this is an unexpected 
 pleasure to see you." 
 
 " I always go over the building once a month, 
 marm," said Harben, seeming mentally to hold the 
 actress at arms' length, as if she was something 
 even more combustible than the gas, or the tur- 
 pentine, and something he knew far less how to 
 dispose of. 
 
 "But, dear Mr. Harben, I am not always for- 
 tunate enough to see yon, and that is a great loss
 
 196 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 to me ; for I like to thank you once in a while for 
 your kind protection of me here." 
 
 Mr. Harben knitted his brows. " Has that boy 
 of mine been around here, making a fool and a 
 nuisance of himself? " he inquired. 
 
 " I have not had the pleasure of seeing Mr. 
 Richard, sir. We actresses have to be occupied 
 with our business here, and get very little time to 
 see our friends." Fanny's reply was given with 
 peculiar emphasis. 
 
 " It would do no woman any good to see Dick," 
 said Harben, with a kind of nervous irritation in 
 his manner. " Dick's a poor boy. Dick isn't worth 
 a red cent. A woman is much better off to get 
 her bread and butter in a good business, espe- 
 cially if she has the chance that you have here, 
 marm." 
 
 " Ah, I know that quite well, Mr. Harben," an- 
 swered Fanny, with a sigh; "and even if that 
 were not so, do you think I could be so ungrate- 
 ful to you ? No, Mr. Harben ; I have that respect 
 for you that your wishes are paramount with me." 
 
 " I hope so - I hope so," muttered old Harben, 
 with a strong shade of suspicion in his tone. " It's 
 for your own good, marm ; it's for your interest to 
 do so, especially here in this place, marm. Good 
 night, marm ! "
 
 STRAWS. 197 
 
 "Good night, sir!" and Fanny curled her lips 
 slightly, as she went on to the stage to resume 
 her part, while old Harben continued his search. 
 
 "What are you doing there, miss?" he said, 
 coming upon Gail's retreat. 
 
 " Studying, sir." 
 
 "What are you studying? How to cipher?" 
 
 " My part in the next piece." 
 
 " O," said the old man, as if he remembered the 
 place he was in, " don't you know better than to 
 sit here in the cold? You'll catch your death. 
 Get up and go where there's a fire. Thirty per 
 cent, of all the consumption that occurs is got by 
 just such tricks." Gail rose with a smile, and 
 Harben was about to leave her, when he turned 
 suddenly, and again addressed her. 
 
 " Did my boy Dick ever make love to you ? " 
 
 "No, sir," answered Gail, a little scared. 
 
 " Did you ever see him make love to the other 
 woman, there, on the stage ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " If you ever do, and she's soft on him, tell me, 
 and I'll put you into her shoes in the theatre. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " But I shan't tell you, sir." 
 
 "Why not? Why not?" 
 
 " Because I'm not ambitious to play the part of 
 a spy."
 
 198 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 The old man eyed her curiously. " But it is a 
 good cause, and you'd get all the best parts the 
 best parts by it ; think of that ! " 
 
 " I can do without them," answered Gail. 
 
 "Or you can get them without pleasing me, 
 perhaps you mean," said the old man. 
 
 "I don't know that I can," answered Gail. 
 " Who are you ? One of the influential men we 
 novices always imagine help others, and stand in 
 our way ? " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " said Harben, who seemed greatly 
 amused at this idea. "That's just what I am. 
 I could have you turned out of this place, if I 
 had a mind." 
 
 " No, sir ! I think you could not, just now." 
 
 " Why not, miss ? How should you know ? " 
 
 "Because I don't belong in the place." 
 
 " You're a witty girl, and you're a fool at the 
 same time ; because, if you pleased me, you would 
 belong in the place." 
 
 "Not such a fool as you think," answered Gail. 
 "As near as I can judge character, I should please 
 you quite as well not to flatter you." 
 
 " Look ee here," said the old man ; " I tell you 
 what : if my son Dick makes love to you^ you 
 needn't give him the mitten ; but no, you're too 
 good for poor Dick. Dick, miss, is an idle rascal !
 
 STEAWS. 199 
 
 Good morning." The old man hurried away ab- 
 ruptly, leaving Gail half amused, but anxious. 
 Genius, then, the key to the people's heart, was 
 not the open sesame to the stage door. This 
 barrier only half revealed, and still in obscurity, 
 looked, perhaps, more formidable to Gail than it 
 really was. " My poor success of one night, even 
 if I achieve it," she thought, " cannot do much for 
 me against such odds." 
 
 From this time until the time of her debut, one 
 circumstance after another occurred, tending not 
 only to confirm her in her suspicions of the po- 
 tency of outside influences, but to shake her faith 
 in the people's heart itself; for in her visits to the 
 auditory, she often heard fine acting delivered to 
 apathetic listeners, while some cheap -and hackneyed 
 sentiment, shouted with sufficient noise, awoke a 
 corresponding echo of applause. Ceelems, who 
 performed every night, rose suddenly in popularity, 
 both with the management and with the public. 
 At the rehearsals she coquetted with Lennox, and 
 made the time he spent behind the scenes pass in 
 a most agreeable manner. At night she played 
 with unusual confidence; the papers expressed it, 
 with " unusual power." The play of Retribution, 
 was to prelude Nelly's Fate on the night of 
 Gail's debut, and handsome photographs of "Miss
 
 200 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Fanny Ceelems, the charming popular actress of 
 the Union Theatre," adorned the print-shops, while 
 the main entrance of the theatre presented a por- 
 trait of her life size. 
 
 There was no heralding of Gail's appearance, 
 either in the bills or the newspapers, and behind 
 the scenes she passed unobserved in her old soli- 
 tary way.
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 201 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 
 
 THE play of Nelly's Fate is a dramatization from 
 a touching little story, the plot of which is briefly 
 this. Nelly, the pride of the place, has a lover, a 
 reckless, unprincipled man, who is disapproved of 
 by her father, and peremptorily sent about his busi- 
 ness. Nelly is persuaded to accept the addresses 
 of one Dennis Ryan. Of course this incurs the 
 anger and jealousy of her old lover, Peter Fogarty. 
 The play opens with a rural ball in Tim Scollay's 
 barn, at which Peter, by his superior audacity, 
 claims so much of Nelly's attention, as to occasion 
 gossip in the village. At home Nelly is taken 
 severely to task for her conduct at the ball, and 
 sets out on a nightly duty to meet and assist her 
 mother in bringing home parcels, in no very good 
 humor. Fogarty puts himself in her path, and 
 when he cannot persuade her to accompany him 
 abroad, whither he is obliged to flee, having since 
 the ball committed a slight murder in his native 
 town, he abducts her by force. Nelly's absence,
 
 202 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 and that of her former lover, coupled with the late 
 gossip, and the humor in which she left home, con- 
 spire to cast a fearful suspicion on her name. Her 
 own family and her betrothed turn against her. In 
 the mean while Peter is frustrated in his designs 
 by the police, and forced to leave Nelly in a cave, 
 many miles distant from her home, whither she has 
 been conducted blindfolded, and in a swoon. She 
 awakes to find herself alone and in a strange locali- 
 ty. She strives to discover her way home, falls sick, 
 and is taken care of by strangers. When she recov- 
 ers, and learns the time that has passed during her 
 illness, she is overcome with anguish, and though 
 sick and feeble, she again seeks her home, stealing 
 out of the house alone, lest the good people should 
 detain her out of consideration for her weakness. 
 When she reaches home, it is to receive the curses 
 of her father, who closes his door against her. She 
 is found, half dead, by one Bet Fagan, who is every- 
 body's friend, and who conducts Nelly to her own 
 house, and though only half believing Nelly's sto- 
 ry, straightway sets about ascertaining the truth ; 
 to which end she visits the jail where Peter is 
 awaiting his doom, and begs of him to set Nelly 
 right before her people if possible. Peter at first 
 refuses to do this, out of hate for his rival ; but 
 upon the cunning insinuations of Bet, who tells
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 203 
 
 him that Nelly's heart is rather with him than with 
 Dennis, he consents to make confession to the 
 priest. The result of this confession is the public 
 announcement of Nelly's innocence, in the church, 
 by Father M'Cabe, and the consequent joy of her 
 family and her lover Dennis, who seek her at Bet's 
 house, and are ready to receive her. But Nelly, 
 whose wrongs and bodily and mental illness have 
 wrought in her a fierce morbid pride, denounces 
 her people and her lover, and turns her heart to 
 Peter as the only true love among them all. She 
 is, however, overcome by tender memories, and 
 before dying, relents and forgives. N. B. The story 
 ended with the denunciation, but the dramatizer, 
 being a tender-hearted mortal, throws in the for- 
 giveness without extra cost. 
 
 The night of the debut arrived. The posters 
 outside the building announced, in type somewhat 
 larger than the print of the general cast, 
 
 "First appearance of a young lady upon any 
 stage," and the small bills within echoed the same 
 thing more feebly, and in smaller type. 
 
 Gail glanced at the posters as she passed them 
 on her way to the stage door, and at the gay 
 throng pouring in from the street. She was re- 
 minded of the little child, in days gone by, who 
 had prayed and dreamed over being an actress,
 
 204 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 and had been dazzled by the posters, and it came 
 home to her that the prayer was answered. For 
 an instant the woman was not less dazzled than 
 the child. She tasted, in anticipation, a little of the 
 intoxicating romance that awaits a successful ac- 
 tress in the love and worship of an enthusiastic 
 public. She was agitated also. For the first time 
 it looked to her no trifling ordeal to stand the bat- 
 tery of an army of minds equipped with eyes and 
 appetites critical. " Who was she? to dare to face 
 this many-headed monster, with its serpent's hiss, 
 and say, ' I will charm you ' ? " 
 
 But once behind the scenes, her fears took flight. 
 The influence within was not at all exciting. 
 There was the same dull chill, the same stillness, 
 the same odor of gas and paint, the same sleepy, 
 blinking effect of the lights. James dozed in his 
 chair in the passage-way, with his hands in his 
 pockets ; and the prompter yawned listlessly, as 
 his slippered feet pattered softly up and down the 
 ghosts' walk. He was waiting the time to ring in 
 the orchestra. The prompter was always prompt at 
 his post at precisely five minutes before the time. 
 
 "Good evening," he said, greeting Gail in a man- 
 ner so pleasant that she was surprised. " You don't 
 think that you will be at all frightened to-night 
 do you?"
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEEK DEBUT. 205 
 
 "O, no; not at all," answered Gail, instinctively 
 echoing the pleasant tone. 
 
 " O, indeed ! " said the prompter, still pleasantly, 
 though a little in a manner as if Gail was some- 
 tiling explosive, and must be handled cautiously. 
 "I didn't know but that you might; that's all. 
 Excuse my asking. It's a saying with us, that we 
 must all have stage fright, sooner or later, and 
 perhaps your turn has not yet come. I suffered 
 awfully myself from it, when I first went on. It 
 appeared O, dear! as if I never felt such a 
 sensation before." 
 
 " I hope I shall prove an exception, at least for 
 to-night," answered Gail. 
 
 " I hope so, my dear," replied the prompter ; and 
 Gail passed on to her room. 
 
 "Did you see that notice of you in the Com- 
 pass?" asked Isabel, abruptly, pointing it out to 
 her, as Gail entered. 
 
 "No," answered Gail, feeling startled in a sort 
 of electrical manner. "I guess you're joking. 
 Where is it?" 
 
 "There!" 
 
 Gail read, " At the Union Theatre, the bill for 
 Mr. Haines's benefit announces the first appearance 
 of a lady upon any stage. These first appearances 
 at people's benefits are generally very stupid affairs,
 
 206 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the debutant being only tolerated out of respect 
 for the beneficiary; but we trust this lady will 
 prove an exception. She has every advantage in 
 her selection of a part which almost acts itself, so 
 to speak. Still, there are reasons why the choice 
 may be unfortunate. Miss Fanny Ceelems' un- 
 rivalled success in the part, her nice analysis and 
 powerful rendering of the emotional scenes, will 
 be remembered by all who listened to the piece at 
 its production in the first of the season ; and com- 
 parisons will naturally arise, greatly, we fear, to the 
 present aspirant's disadvantage. That such com- 
 parisons are odious (especially where the lady, on 
 the one hand, is but a novice, while, on the other, 
 she is a thorough artist, and one who has labored 
 long and earnestly to prepare herself for the stage) 
 will not admit of a doubt. But that they will and 
 must arise is equally incontrovertible." 
 
 " Do you mark that ? " said Isabel ; " ' almost acts 
 itself ! That's to rob you of any credit in play- 
 ing it." 
 
 "He gives Miss Ceelems credit for acting it, 
 though. 'Nice analysis and powerful rendering' 
 looks that way." 
 
 " I suppose you know who put that in ? The 
 Compass has taken to blowing lately, where a cer- 
 tain lady is concerned, and sent the misguided pub- 
 lic adrift with a breeze of its own creating."
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 207 
 
 " Being strictly moral," said Gail, " it is, or ought 
 to be, my purpose not to rival Miss Ceelems, but to 
 render the part as it reveals itself to me." 
 
 "You are awfully unphilosophical," said Mrs. 
 Lester, half provoked. "If I had your chance, I'd 
 pluck that poor little peacock till it had not a 
 feather left. You've got more brains and talent, 
 and you just let them rust, sheathed in your pretty 
 moral theories. I'll bet her against you now, in- 
 ferior as she is. Don't you see? she is better 
 advertised ; people are prepared to like her. It's 
 the fashion, and human nature follows the fashion 
 blindfold. It's a mania of the instinct." 
 
 " Now, where is the sense of exasperating me ? " 
 answered Gail, laughing. "It's too late to raise 
 me, by any outside lever, to-night." 
 
 "Well, I'm put out with you," said Isabel. 
 "Why didn't you let Dalton get your pictures 
 taken? I heard him, talking with Lennox 
 about it." 
 
 " I was not consulted." 
 
 " There it is again," cried Isabel. " These man- 
 agers .know a good push at the start will send us 
 straight into fame, with almost no effort of our 
 own. But they do nothing ; or, worse, they drag 
 you back till you've forced yourself beyond their 
 power, and then nobody is so ready to help."
 
 iOS BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "Concealed wisdom," said Gail. "They push 
 only those that prove themselves capable of mak- 
 ing a good hit." 
 
 " You'll sing another song after the performance, 
 I'll warrant." 
 
 " I shall not sing my own dirge," said Gail, with 
 a sudden flash of triumph in her eyes. 
 
 The curtain rose on the play below, and the ap- 
 plause sounded unusually vigorous. 
 
 "That is for Clarisse," said Isabel, glancing almost 
 maliciously at Gail. "Hear the fools give her 
 their hands. They will not throw down the old 
 idol in this city for a new one. They will cling to 
 her with all her faults, the closer if you threaten 
 them. She works on their sympathies. That ap- 
 plause is more than half to assure her that you 
 will not share her laurels to-night. She has had 
 her own story to circulate both outside and inside 
 the building, you may be sure." 
 
 " She really is very great in the part," said one 
 of the ladies. 
 
 "The paper speaks very 'ighly of her," said 
 Mrs. Sands. 
 
 " You hit the mark," continued Isabel, " when 
 you said managers were wise. Lennox knew just 
 how far to bait the public with you to bring them 
 out strong on her. It will draw well, the trick.
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 209 
 
 There, that is Count Priuli's entrance only a 
 round. It is a shame, and so old an actor too. 
 That, again, is because he brings you out." 
 
 " You give them credit for too little indifference 
 in my case. They would be wild to consider me a 
 rival to an old-established favorite." 
 
 " Not at all. You don't know the theatre as I 
 do. There are a few regular comers, who are the 
 heart of the audience. The public at large is only 
 its hands. She has touched the heart by her 
 stories about you, and the heart has prompted the 
 hands into applause." 
 
 " Who could guess, in my disguise, that I was a 
 rival ? " laughed Gail ; reflecting, however, some- 
 what nervously, on the supposed prejudice against 
 her. 
 
 " What are you looking so sober for ? What are 
 you doing ? praying ? " asked Isabel, after a pause. 
 
 "Yes," answered Gail. "I am praying." 
 
 "Are you praying," said Isabel, comically, 
 "that you may succeed to-night?" 
 
 "Perhaps so." 
 
 ',' My God, what a thing to pray for ! " said one 
 of the ladies. "It's really wicked, and in a theatre, 
 too ! I wonder you ain't afraid." 
 
 " Well, pray," said Isabel, laughing, " that your 
 rival may get her just due defeat." 
 14
 
 210 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "Too late for that now," answered Gail, in- 
 wardly striving to banish an unpleasant feeling of 
 jealousy from her mind, and thinking only of her 
 true aim. "I'd rather pray that I shan't forget 
 my part." 
 
 The applause rose again. 
 
 "Is it for Clarisse?" said Gail. 
 
 " Yes. It is the scene where she is jealous, and 
 tears up her fan." 
 
 Gail applauded also. 
 
 " Amen," said Isabel. 
 
 In the next room, Julie Ward, dressing for the 
 part of Kittie Dillon, sang a smart, lively air over 
 her work. Now and then she paused, laughed 
 gayly, and a bright color flushed her face. The 
 little dressing-glass before her reflected large, lus- 
 trous eyes, shaded by long, dark eyelashes, with skin 
 like a rose-petal for delicacy of tint and texture, 
 and the sweet, wondering expression of youth that 
 just half reveals the charming dream-world in the 
 fresh, opening soul. The little hand that passed 
 through the shining hair was snowy white, and the 
 dainty fingers tipped by the pink of the tiny nails ; 
 the whole figure more perfectly modelled than any 
 statue. But at present Julie was not thinking of 
 the pretty face in the glass. She was dreaming of 
 a pair of handsome eyes, and a laugh and voice that
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 211 
 
 charmed her. She broke off her singing, and talked 
 to herself as she used to talk to the mouse. " I 
 hope he won't take any notice of me, whatever else 
 he does," she said, archly shaking the golden curls 
 over her face. " If he does, he'll get told to mind 
 his own business he will, truly; so, now, I assure 
 you ; and I don't care if he is a great manager." 
 Julie paused to sing the first verse of her song over 
 again, with a more sprightly, saucy expression. 
 " Come up on purpose to see him ? No, I thank 
 you, sir ! " making a low courtesy. " I should hope 
 I had some other things to think about. Let him. 
 walk home with me ? O, no, I thank you again, 
 sir ! " with another courtesy ; " I am old enough to 
 take care of myself;" and Julie glanced into the 
 glass, pursed up her pretty lips saucily, and then, 
 being dressed, tripped down stairs, humming the 
 tune she had sung. Down stairs, she peeped shyly 
 into each of the wings, and was a little scared. 
 So she ran round into the green-room. " I like 
 the green-room," she thought. "It is light there, 
 and the people are always pleasant, and like to see 
 other people ; and now that's so much better than 
 being cross ! " But to-night, when Julie took a look 
 in at the green-room door, she whispered, with 
 demure solemnity, " Everybody seems to be some- 
 where else, but just the actors." However, Julie
 
 212 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 entered, and seated herself. The objectionable 
 actors welcomed her with compliments that did 
 not seem as charming as usual. Julie found the 
 room lonely. The door only attracted her. She 
 watched it, half wistful and half frightened ; but 
 no figure appeared, except that of Mr. Haines, the 
 beneficiary, whose habit, when not engaged in the 
 piece, was to haunt the stage and the green-room 
 with a solemn sort of restlessness, rehearsing his 
 part in a sepulchral under-tone. He appeared and 
 disappeared so many times, and caused. Julie so 
 much trepidation and disappointment, that she 
 murmured, reproachfully, " He needn't do that the 
 whole time, if it is his benefit." She wandered out 
 among the scenes again. It was lonely there, also, 
 and Julie said to herself, "I believe it is lonely 
 everywhere, except in the direction of the prompt- 
 er's three bright lights, and that is too near his 
 office. It would not do at all to go and stand 
 there." So she seated herself on the O. P. side, 
 and pretended to be looking very hard at the play. 
 " He may come round here," she thought, " and I'd 
 have him to know that people feel interested in 
 plays sometimes, though this play is not a bit in- 
 teresting, except just the part where she faints and 
 he comes in. It's kind of nice about that, but it 
 don't come in till the last act." Julie sighed, and
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 213 
 
 glanced across the stage; but some instinct still 
 kept her from the prompt side. She rose, stood 
 in one of the big wings, and began drawing lines 
 with her fiugers on the dusty canvas. " I wonder 
 if he is a wicked man ? " she mused. " Or mar- 
 ried ? or anything horrid ? He frightens me. Pie's 
 not like Fred ; but then Fred was only a child, and, 
 to say the truth, he's not like another big boy I know, 
 either, who is almost a man ; but then the least I 
 say about him, the better, for he's not a very edify- 
 ing subject, if his name is William. He's different 
 from those. He's a great deal handsomer." Julie 
 crossed and recrossed her lines, and her face began 
 to look less sober. "If he thought I was pretty 
 when I had on only my old clothes, I wonder what 
 he will think now that I am all dressed up in my 
 peasant's dress, with flowers in my hair?" She 
 drew a circle round the lines, and started, and 
 drew her hand away quickly, for she heard, not far 
 off, the voice she had had in her mind. The same 
 instinct that had made her keep away from the 
 lights caused her to turn and try to escape ; but 
 she was too late. The manager's imposing figure 
 already stood in the entrance. 
 
 "Not running away from me, Julie, I hope ?" he 
 said, stopping her, and forcing her to look into hia 
 face.
 
 214 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " I don't want you to talk to me," replied Julie, 
 coquettishly. 
 
 " Now that's too bad ! because, Julie, you are irre- 
 sistible. Come here ; I want to see how you look ;" 
 and Lennox, drew Julie into one of the empty 
 dressing-rooms adjoining the stage, used only dur- 
 ing the engagement of stars, and closed the door. 
 
 " Why, your heart beats like a rabbit in a trap. 
 You're not afraid of me ! That would be non- 
 sense." 
 
 "I'm not much afraid of anybody," answered 
 Julie, with a pretty toss of her curls; "but 
 glancing nervously at the closed door never- 
 theless. 
 
 " There's nothing there," said the manager, seat- 
 ing himself between Julie and the door, and 
 placing Julie before him. 
 
 " I know it," responded Julie ; " but hadn't we 
 better have it opened ? Stage business, Mr. Man- 
 ager, you know." 
 
 "I'll take care of that, Julie. Besides," he added, 
 with a laugh, " I'm not going to devour you, ex- 
 cept with my eyes ; and I'm not going to keep you 
 long. Where do you live, Julie? Who takes 
 care of you ? Paternal and maternal relatives, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " No," answered Julie, alarmed as she pictured
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 215 
 
 tlio formidable trio at home. "I hope you don't 
 intend to call," she thought ; " because, if you do, 
 I'm afraid you'll find me out, and the minds of the 
 others fixed upon higher things. There's only 
 me and step-mother," she added, softly, not consid- 
 ering it necessary to mention the two Meshers. 
 
 " Step-mother kind to you ? " continued the man- 
 ager. 
 
 " I fear sh6 is," said Julie, " to my immortal soul ; 
 but she don't think much of of me myself." 
 
 " She don't beat you does she, Julie ? " 
 
 " O, no ; not now," replied Julie, blushing ; " I'm 
 too large." 
 
 " How old are you, Julie ? " 
 
 " Horrid old ! " said Julie, with a happy shade of 
 vanity ; " way sixteen." 
 
 " Who comes to see you ? Plenty of young men, 
 I'll be bound." 
 
 "Is catechism most over?" put in Julie, archly, 
 but secretly anxious to change the subject; "or 
 have we got to come to, * Who went into the ark ? ' 
 And I don't so much mind that, either," added 
 Julie aside, " if it doesn't end in, ' Who comes out 
 of the back upper window ? ' for, to say the truth, 
 I'm not in the habit of sneaking out at the front 
 door, and I don't like to see it." 
 
 " We haven't got by, ' Who was the first man?' 
 yet, Julie. Let's have your answer."
 
 216 BEHIND THB SCENES. 
 
 "You don't happen to mean, who was the first 
 big boy do you? There's no first man. There's 
 only just a tall boy ; and he don't call," added Julie, 
 laughing. 
 
 "O, there's a tall boy, eh?" said the manager. 
 "Well, what does your tall boy do, Julie? Put 
 his arm round you, so ? and draw you to him, so ? " 
 
 " No ; I guess he don't. I should put my hand 
 on his, so ! and so ! and so ! " slapping the hand 
 that held her round the waist, smartly. . 
 
 The manager laughed. "By Jove, Julie," he 
 said, "if your tall boy don't catch it worse than 
 that, he'll do so again, some time, when you're not 
 minding." 
 
 "You mustn't call him a tall boy, when his name 
 is William all the while," laughed Julie, merrily. 
 She was beginning to feel more at ease, and very 
 happy. 
 
 " O, his name is William is it ? " said the man- 
 ager, still embracing Julie. 
 
 "Do let me go ! " said Julie, frightened again at 
 this. " I'm afraid I'll scream if you don't." 
 
 " Now, Julie, you don't mean that. Come, stay 
 so won't you ? " said Lennox, with a tone and 
 look that entered the poor child's soul like wine, 
 and made her feel light and gay. She answered, 
 
 " Well, then, Will blushes dreadfully when he
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 217 
 
 sees your humble servant, and walks, first before, 
 and then behind, till I get so nervous I don't know 
 what to do; and I just say to him, 'Did you come 
 out here to see me, or somebody else?' just to help 
 him on, you know ; because," added Julie, saucily, 
 "he's not near so bold as you are, to say nothing 
 of his being a great deal handsomer" 
 
 " Is that so, Julie ? Well, what next ? " 
 
 " Well, next he says, ' M m miss, shall I 
 carry your book ? It m m must be heavy.' 
 Then I smile sweet and sentimental like, and hand 
 him my play-book, which he always drops, blush- 
 ing still more ; because you know," insinuated 
 Julie, cunningly, " it's so awfully heavy." 
 
 "Upon my soul, Julie ! " said the manager, " I'm 
 afraid you're destroying Will's peace of mind." 
 
 "And then," continued Julie, glancing at her 
 companion roguishly, " I say, Stupid ! although 
 Will isn't that, because he goes to the high school, 
 and knows Latin, and lots." 
 
 "My God, Julie!" said Lennox, "go home. 
 You're enough to tempt a saint." 
 
 " What ! right away, now, before the play, do 
 you mean ? " asked Julie, alarmed by the tone, but 
 still with a shade of coquetry. 
 
 "No, my child; I don't mean that; but you're 
 so young, and know so little of the world; and one
 
 218 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 of these days you might make some poor tall boy 
 a charming little wife ; and upon my soul, I don't 
 want to do you harm." 
 
 " But you needn't need you ? " whispered Julie, 
 caressingly. 
 
 " I don't know about that, Julie ; if I saw much 
 of you, my resolution would go to the dogs ; for, 
 deuce take it, Julie, you're the most bewitching 
 little woman I ever met." 
 
 Julie was not simple : what the manager said 
 had to her, in a vague, unlearned way, its true sig- 
 nificance ; but she loved him, and when his words 
 took from her her purer hope, she was bewildered 
 and alarmed, and in the moment of danger in- 
 stinctively clung to her false love. She added low, 
 and almost in spite of herself, 
 
 " You don't think so, or you wouldn't send me 
 away. You think I'm one of those people that 
 are just ordinarily good-looking." 
 
 " Now, damn it, Julie," whispered Lennox, " you 
 know better than that." 
 
 "Don't use words," said Julie; "it's wicked. 
 Yes, you do ; you want to send me away, and you 
 want never again to say pleasant things to me ; " 
 and Julie put her two arms around the manager's 
 neck, and looked beseechingly into his face. 
 
 " Now, I'll be d blessed if flesh and blood can
 
 AMONG OTHER THING % S, A QUEER BEBUT. 219 
 
 resist this," said Lennox. " Julie, don't you want a 
 lover?" 
 
 " I don't want him for my lover," answered Julie, 
 naively. 
 
 "No, hang it, Julie, I don't, either; take me. 
 I'll do for a lover, after a sort, I dare say." 
 
 " You sent me away, and I'm going home," said 
 Julie, trying to still the beating of her heart. 
 
 "I don't know about that! I don't think you 
 can, just now. Try ! " 
 
 Julie made an effort, but the arms that held her 
 were powerful. The manager bent over her and 
 kissed her. " I'll tell you what we'll do," he said, 
 " you 'and I. We'll get a sleigh and some fine 
 horses, and go to ride after the rehearsal to-mor- 
 row ; and we'll find some pleasanter place to take 
 supper than step-mam's, eh ! You'll go, Julie 
 won't you?" 
 
 " "Would you go, if y*m was me ? I should like 
 to. It would be fun," cried Julie, striving to blind 
 herself, and plunge into her false happiness with a 
 reckless gayety that was at heart so sad, and that, 
 with all its assumed simplicity and coquetry, had 
 in it a shading of earnest appeal. The man felt 
 this and was silent, but only for an instant. A 
 glance at the lustrous eyes, and he whispered, "I 
 shall have that sleigh around by two o'clock to- 
 morrow."
 
 220 BEHIND TIIE SCENES. 
 
 "Well," answered Julie, trembling with agita- 
 tion ; "perhaps I'll go ; I'll see about it ; but there's 
 one thing, you you mustn't ride in the street 
 where I live, because because " 
 
 " I'll take care of that," said the manager, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Yes, I will go ; I will," said Julie, with a sudden 
 tenderness ; " because I love you so I do. You 
 love me too don't you ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. My God, Julie, what man 
 could help it? You are the most charming, fas- 
 cinating, irresistible little angel that ever " The 
 manager stopped his utterance with a kiss, and 
 added to himself, "that ever tempted a man into 
 sin, and sent him to the devil. Love you, Julie?" 
 he said aloud. " Yes ! " and Lennox drew Julie 
 upon his knee, and kissed her again and again. 
 
 " You won't forget it," whispered Julie, leaning 
 her head against the manager's shoulder. "You 
 won't, you won't will you ? You'll promise me 
 you won't. I mean for always. O, Lenny ! Lenny ! 
 Lenny! I love you so! I love you so! I'd go 
 and break my heart if you did!" She drew the 
 manager's face down to hers, and caressed it with 
 her cheek and hands, and said, reproachfully, " I am 
 real wicked to keep being afraid, and teasing you, 
 and all that ; but you don't mind it do you ? Say
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 221 
 
 you don't mind it. Let me hear you say so. There, 
 ' now ! I'm going to run away," she added, capri- 
 ciously. " I want to wash my eyes so that they 
 won't see I've been crying; that would be so hor- 
 rid, you know." 
 
 "There's no hurry, Julie," said Lennox. "Stay 
 a bit ; kiss me again, and try to laugh. I want to 
 see you merry before I let you go." 
 
 Julie complied with a shy, timid sweetness ; but 
 her lip quivered, and there was a shade of despair 
 in her face. 
 
 " Well, now go, my darling," whispered Lennox ; 
 " but by Jove you must run quick, or I shall keep 
 you here all night, and play the deuce with the 
 piece." 
 
 The manager rose, opened the door, and Julie 
 slipped out. 
 
 Left to his own reflections, Thomas Lennox was 
 not at all at his ease. It was not his heart that 
 was hungry. Julie's beauty, and her fresh, piquant 
 manner bewitched him, while the love she was so 
 ready to cast at his feet -troubled and even an- 
 noyed him. Her youth, the touching pathos of her 
 weak nature, and her strong, hopeless love, haunted 
 him ; but he lit his cigar, tossed off a glass of wine 
 or two, and found it easier to drown this one care 
 than to banish from his mind the girl's enchanting
 
 222 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 grace, or cast out the passion that made him im- 
 patient for the morrow. 
 
 Julie, when she found herself outside the door, 
 was frightened and oppressed with a shame that 
 made her want to hide her face, and slip off to her 
 dressing-room unseen. The stage, with the voices 
 on it, sounding strange and distant, seemed so 
 lonely and cold, that it struck a chill into her 
 fevered brain, and she shivered ; but Julie, as she 
 ran off to her room, did not cover her face ; she 
 tossed back her curls with a gay, defiant little 
 laugh ; and as she stood before her glass, smoothing 
 her creased dress, and arranging her tumbled hair, 
 she sang a gay, reckless song a song that re- 
 peated, " O, a short life and a merry life for me." 
 She thought of her ride, a wild, free ride, over 
 the long snow-covered roads, all glowing with the 
 bold kiss of the winter's sun, and her song rang out 
 yet more clear. She thought of her lover's hand- 
 some eyes, and the clasp of his arm, that would be 
 all hers for one brief afternoon, and the song grew 
 low and tremulous. She thought of her own de- 
 ceit, and the stern, forbidding faces at home, and 
 the song died on her lips. Her own face became 
 anxious with care, but her heart, after its own fash- 
 ion, echoed the words of Macbeth, " I am in guilt 
 stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more, re-
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QCTEEE DEBUT. 223 
 
 turning were as tedious as go o'er." Julie hummed 
 her song, and by and by a sly smile began to play 
 around her lips, as she thought, "What would 
 Will, or some of the actors and actresses, think, if 
 they should see me riding with him / wouldn't they 
 be jealous ? " Julie's dress and hair were in order ; 
 still she did not descend. She seated herself before 
 her toilet shelf, and dallied with the articles there, 
 still singing, but with a voice that was low, and at 
 times broken, till the song again faded, and Julie 
 found herself sobbing and trembling. 
 
 It was not the all-powerful monarch, throned in 
 a gold-paved celestial city, with white-robed, sing- 
 ing angels to do him homage, the omnipotent 
 spirit, not of nature and human nature, but far 
 above them, that the child had been taught to 
 fear and worship, that awed the woman now. 
 Neither was it Satan, in a world of burning tor- 
 ture, that she shrank from, as the child had done. 
 It was simply an instinct of conscience, or purity. 
 For a time the groping soul bowed before this nat- 
 ural messenger of God, and feared, as a child in the 
 dark might, before an angel sent from heaven with 
 a warning. .Only to poor Julie, with her new love, 
 the messenger seemed cruel, rather a fiend than 
 an angel. She tried to banish it from her mind, 
 and dream on, as the child, hiding its terrified eyes
 
 224 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 beneath the bed-clothes, had striven not to see the 
 phantoms of its nightmare. But there were no 
 bright home spirits to awaken the woman into a 
 natural sunny reality, as there had been for the 
 child. There was no gray-haired father, whose fncc, 
 when he should learn her guilt, would turn pnle 
 with pain and surprise ; no brother, into whose 
 heart, all young and fresh for joy, should spring the 
 passion and fever of a just wrath against her se- 
 ducer ; no mother, to be made anxious and watchful 
 by the sorrowing faces about her ; no group of won- 
 dering little ones, crying and pitying her for they 
 knew not what; no companion sister, whose loving 
 eyes should fill with tears, and whose quivering lips 
 should say, " It is still our own Julie, that used to 
 play with us, and that, with God's help, we will 
 still love and protect." Julie had no such picture 
 to help her now, in her hour of need. So she 
 sr.ng, to banish the phantoms conjured by her con- 
 science, in the darkness of her blind, doubting soul, 
 and clung to her love; excused, idealized her 
 lover ; and even rebuked herself for heeding the 
 instincts that condemned him. It was not only 
 Julie's vanity that fluttered about the. false light ; 
 her cheated heart crept also to it for warmth. 
 
 The play of Retribution went on successfully. 
 Miss Ceelems stood in the green-room, her face
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 225 
 
 radinnt with triumph. The green-room table was 
 heaped with floral offerings. "Dear me! What 
 shall I do with all this?" cried Miss Ceelems, 
 appealing to the manager and two newspaper 
 critics, who were present. " They are truly lovely, 
 and I adore flowers; but I'm afraid I shall have to 
 abandon the profession, and engage in the flori- 
 cultural line." 
 
 " Don't, for God's sake, yet a while," answered 
 Lennox. 
 
 " Madam, you would rob the stage of one of its 
 brightest gems," said one of the critics, who pos- 
 sessed a ready wit. 
 
 "The very brightest? said his companion, who 
 possessed another. " For what gem can be brighter 
 than a star?" 
 
 " Stars shine with a borrowed light," said Cee- 
 lems, with a confident impression that all stars 
 were planets ; " and I feel sure I owe my lustre to 
 the generous friendship of you, gentlemen." 
 
 "A very bright idea, truly," said one of the 
 gentlemen, suppressing, with an effort, his better 
 knowledge of astronomy. 
 
 "And one worthy the source from whence it 
 sprang," remarked the other. 
 
 "O, gentlemen, for shame; you flatter!" cried 
 the actress. 
 
 15
 
 226 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "I do not, for one," said the gentleman who had 
 last spoken. 
 
 The debutante slipped quietly down from her 
 dressing-room, and took her usual seat on the steps. 
 No one observed her. She saw Miss Ceelems' tri- 
 umphant face, the manager's elated manner; heard 
 the critic's flattery, and the applause of the crowd 
 in front ; and she began to lose confidence. Her 
 judgment did not sanction Miss Ceelems' render- 
 ing of the part. The scene then on the stage was 
 the one in which Clarisse, fascinated by Count 
 Priuli, and tossed by doubt and jealousy of her 
 husband, receives the Count. The Count's purpose 
 is to ruin the wife to avenge himself on the hus- 
 band. Clarisse is a weak woman, and the emotion 
 first to be rendered is the creeping, shuddering 
 presentiment of the Count's approach. Then fol- 
 lows the terror with which she is overcome in his 
 presence. She lowers her voice, glances stealthily 
 aroimd, and asks him if he is sure no one saw him 
 enter. On the Count's assuring her that he has 
 been unperceived, she implores him, in wild, broken 
 sentences, to leave her. The Count makes a show 
 of doing so, when, again yielding to the fascina- 
 tion he exerts over her, she reaches out her hand, 
 and utters his name tenderly and helplessly. 
 When he returns to her, Clarisse expresses, with a
 
 AMONG OTHER THIXGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 227 
 
 sudden blind fervor, the terrible influence he holds 
 over her. At the close of the recital, sinking with 
 shame, and covering her face with her hands, she 
 pictures, with equal intensity, the ruin that must 
 result from yielding to her passion. Miss Ceelems 
 rendered this scene with none of the change and 
 shading of emotion necessary. She depended on 
 attitudes for effect, and did not depend on the pas- 
 sion to inspire the attitudes. Her emotion was 
 simply stagy. Nevertheless the scene ended in 
 a good round of applause, and Retribution con- 
 tinued in triumph to its close. The green curtain 
 fell ; and Gail began to feel a very unpleasant sen- 
 sation of suspense. There was a vociferous call 
 for Clarisse and the Count. Poor Gail was pushed 
 aside into a dark recess, while her rival, led by the 
 Count, swept majestically past to the stage, courte- 
 sied low, cast her eyes swiftly over the parquet, 
 favored the audience with an emotional smile 
 expressive of her gratitude and agitation, and 
 retired. Gail came out of her recess, and crept 
 still higher up the steps, that she might be out of 
 the way of the carpenters, who were setting the 
 stage. For a while all tangible doubts and reason- 
 ings fled from her mind before one sickening, pain- 
 ful dread. With a fast-beating heart, she prayed 
 that if she could not triumph, she might at least
 
 228 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 be spared from a disgraceful failure. The men 
 hurried their work. The characters and peasants 
 of the piece gathered on the stage. Gail descended 
 dizzily, and took her place among them. The 
 prompter rang the first bell. Gail's breath came 
 and went quick, and the stage seemed to grow 
 dark. She strove to hold her lip and hand still, 
 and bend her mind to the first line of her part. 
 She had a vague impression that some one said in 
 her ear, "You are a little scared, my dear; but 
 never mind : you'll get over it after the first word." 
 
 "Are you ready?" said the prompter. "She 
 doesn't hear. O, my God! this will never do! 
 The lady is going to faint." 
 
 Gail raised her hand a little proudly and impa- 
 tiently. " Ring up ! " she said ; " I am ready." 
 
 "O, all right, my dear," replied the prompter. 
 " I only wanted an answer." 
 
 The second . bell sounded. Gail's heart stood 
 still. The curtain rose swiftly. She felt the 
 warmth of the foot-lights against her cold cheeks, 
 and was blindly conscious of the mass of faces 
 and the flutter of fans and programmes before her. 
 There was a dead silence. Not one hand greeted 
 her. The players glanced at one another, and 
 whispered, " Shame ! " Miss Ceelems, in the wing, 
 chatted yet more lively with the manager. The 
 play began.
 
 AMOXG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 2li9 
 
 Peter. " Now, Neddy, give us the reel of Tully- 
 ugly. Strike it up, man. It's the finest tune you 
 know." 
 
 Set. "Bedad, that's true for you, Pety. But 
 it's yourself that knows what's what." 
 
 Nan. " Ketch Paty ever making a mistake about ' 
 the purtiness of a chune, or anything else," glan- 
 cing at Nelly." [Bus. Dennis advances towards 
 Nelly as if to ask her to dance, but Pety is too 
 quick for him.] 
 
 Peter. "Sure, you'll be my partner, Nelly?" 
 
 A clear, natural voice answered, with the proud, 
 shy dignity of the character, " It isn't fair to ask 
 me to dance so often, Pety." The spell was 
 broken. It was no longer the frightened debutante 
 whom an apathetic public refused to cheer, but 
 the village favorite, the proud, earnest girl, full of 
 fresh enjoyment of the dance, shaded by an anxiety 
 for her reckless lover and friend. The audience 
 began to manifest unusual interest in the scene. 
 The music and dance commenced. Bet whispered 
 to Nelly, as she chassed past her, "Don't rnind 
 their not applauding, my dear. It's only because 
 yours is a strange face;" and, in another turn, 
 "You stood among the others, and they didn't 
 know you. It's often so." But Gail, as Nelly, was 
 thinking of a wild country and the power of law-
 
 230 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 less men. She drew Peter aside when the dance 
 was over, and, throwing all the earnestness of the 
 character, and the foreshadowing of evil, into her 
 utterance, she whispered distinctly, " For the love 
 of all that's good, Pety, don't go with the boys to 
 the still to-night. I heard that the ganger's men 
 are hunting close upon it, and there'll be murder 
 surely." 
 
 The scenes changed, one for the other. There 
 was still a silence in the audience ; but it was the 
 applause of a strict attention. Poor Nelly's fate 
 was followed, step by step, till the last sad phase 
 of her story. She sits in Bet Fagan's house, 
 facing alone the inevitable death she feels approach- 
 ing, proud and stony, dead already in soul, as 
 it were. The priest's revelation has been made, 
 and Nelly's family and neighbors enter joyfully. 
 She rises slowly, and stands before them, pale and 
 motionless, with an outstretched hand. 
 
 Dillon. "Nelly, my own jewel, youll come 
 home to your father once more." 
 
 Mrs. Dillon. "And it's Dinnie Ryan that's a 
 happy man this day." 
 
 Dennis rushes in, and attempts to seize Nelly's 
 hand. The congealed blood seems to spring at 
 once into Nelly's veins. She gathers all the an- 
 guish, the outraged love and pride, the bitter
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 231 
 
 shame and suffering into two words, and hurls 
 them at Dennis's feet in one scornful, mad 
 flash. 
 
 " Keep back, Dennis Ryan ! " The hearts of 
 the audience seemed to leap into their hands, and 
 there was one tremendous burst of applause. No 
 muscle of Gail's face changed. She still stands, 
 until, with a wild, bewailing sob, she cries y "Keep 
 back, all of you. You're nothing to me, and I am 
 nothing to you." 
 
 Bet. "Nelly! dear Nelly!" 
 
 Nelly, bowing for an instant under the flood of 
 her passion, moves her lips mutely, and then, with 
 an effort, repeats, " Ay, nothing to me, and I am 
 nothing to you." . 
 
 Dillon. " Yes, ye are ; ye are the same to me 
 as ever ye were ; ye're my own pet child again." 
 
 Nelly. (Freezing?) " But you are not the same 
 to me." 
 
 Dillon. "I am, I am, my poor child. Your 
 father's house is there, ready to resave ye." 
 
 Nelly. (Passionately.) "Never, never will I 
 cross the threshold of the door that shut me out 
 in the dark night. No, Pat Dillon, I'm your 
 daughter no longer." ( With wild emotion) " I've 
 no father, no mother, no brother, no sister. I 
 haven't one to love me but the man that will be
 
 232 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 hung in the front of Clonmel Jail the day after to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Bet. "Nelly, acushla!" 
 
 Nelly. ( Taking Bes hand, and speaking with 
 bitter grief.) . " You were kind to me, Bet Fagan ; 
 and you, Norry Croon, knew me better than my 
 own people. You trusted me more than the man 
 that wanted me for his wife ; but still there wasn't 
 one among you all that loved and trusted me like 
 Peter Fogarty." ( With sudden breathless inten- 
 sity.) " With all his crimes on his head, and great 
 a wrong as he has done me, and great a sorrow as 
 he has given my heart, I'd marry him this day in 
 Father McCabe's chapel, if he was here, free and 
 out of prison." 
 
 Dillon. " You come home this minute." 
 
 Nelly. "Never! never! If there wasn't an- 
 other roof to shelter me in the world, I'd perish 
 rather than put a foot in your house ! " ( With 
 softened grief and tears.) "I loved you once, 
 father; I loved you so well that I broke my own 
 heart for you. I did what I could to forget the 
 boy that was dear to me for many a long year, 
 just because you didn't like him, and I strove to 
 like another till I did like him, and I gave him my 
 promise to rnarry him, and God sees it was a prom- 
 ise I'd have kept, but I'm sorry to the heart that
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEEK DEBUT. 233 
 
 ever I did the like ; for the love I threw away was 
 the only true love among ye all. O, Peter, 
 robber, murderer that ye are, I'd marry ye this 
 minute, if ye was here to take me ; but we'll be 
 together soon enough." 
 
 (Dillon tries to seize her hand, but is held back.) 
 
 Set. "Ye'll not lay a finger on her. Ye've 
 desarved this ; for ye was like Turks to her, and ye 
 know it." (Nelly staggers to arm-chair, and sinks 
 into it senseless.) 
 
 Norry. "She's dying she's dying; lave the 
 house, all of ye." (The crowd fall back.) 
 
 Mrs. Dillon. " O, God forgive us ! O, my child ! " 
 
 Dillon. (Falling on his knees.) " Nelly, Nelly, 
 won't ye look on yer own father, and say ye for- 
 give him ? " 
 
 Bet. " Sure ' she's not herself; it's her mind 
 wanders." 
 
 Nelly. (Repeating the delirious fancies of her 
 recent illness.) " I can see the chimneys of our 
 house, but it is still so far off. O, the grass is 
 cold under my feet. Sure! Sure! Sure! It is 
 the moan of the river that wearies me. If I could 
 cross to the other side It is so dark, here 
 O, help ! the path is so steep here I am falling. 
 O, father mother help ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dillon. " Mother 's here, child ! and father
 
 284 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 too. It's your father, Nellie ; it's just your poor 
 owld father that's a knaling here, and a begging of 
 ye to take a thought of him. O, Nellie ! look up. 
 It's standing by the River Jordan, ye are. O God ! 
 O, darlint, don't cross to the shining shore beyant, 
 and lave us here in the dark, with them words 
 ye said always a sounding to us! Look at him. 
 Alanah ! Just open yer swate dear eyes and look 
 at him. Ye was oncet his pet. Sure I mind the 
 day, darlint, whin ye'd run to him wid the look of 
 his eye ; whin ye'd play all day wid him in the 
 field, wid the posies in yer pritty curls. Will ye 
 take a thought of it now, darlint ? Think what 
 yer laving him to. Think of the poor crushed 
 heart of him, always a hungering for the last kind 
 word ye never gave him. O, darlint, darlint, take 
 heed of the time whin he'll lay his poor owld gray 
 head down to die. Sure, thin, it's not your troubles 
 in this' world ye'll be draming of. Ye'll come to 
 him, darlint, like the bright angel ye'll be.; and ye'll 
 raise yer two white hands and take the curse off of 
 him ; ye'll bless him, thin, darlint. Ye'll knale to 
 him, darlint, and it's his pardon ye'll be asking thin 
 for the heart-break ye gave him." 
 
 Nelly. (Having shown the struggle in her face, 
 bows her head and weeps.) " O, mother ! O, fa- 
 ther ! Forgive me and bless me before I die."
 
 AMONG OTHER THINGS, A QUEER DEBUT. 235 
 
 She sinks into Mrs. Dillon's arms. Dillon places 
 his hand on her head. The neighbors uncover their 
 heads and bow. The curtain falls slowly. There 
 was a rushing sound in the auditory. The people 
 had arisen in a body. Then came cheers, loud and 
 prolonged. Gail opened her eyes dreamily. The 
 play had been real, and the real seemed confused. 
 A sudden excitement prevailed on the stage, aud 
 behind the scenes. A group of eager faces sur- 
 rounded her, and poured praises in her ear. 
 
 " By Jove," cried the manager, " you've carried 
 the house by storm, my dear! You've won the 
 day." 
 
 There was a lull before the curtain, and the mon- 
 ster wave of emotion that had been gathering 
 through the piece broke again into applause, that 
 shook the old Union Theatre to its foundation. 
 The excitement behind also increased. 
 
 "Ring up on the tableau!" shouted Lennox. 
 " My God, they'll tear down the building." 
 
 " Not yet ! not yet ! " vociferated the stage mana- 
 ger, who was never collected in the best of circum- 
 stances, and who appeared to have fallen a victim 
 to a species of gesticulatory fit, in his efforts to 
 render himself heard above the noise. 
 
 " O, good gracious F good gracious ! " muttered 
 the prompter ; " what's to be done ? Is any one
 
 236 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 missing, sir? I'm bless'd if I can hear what you 
 say." In truth, the only intelligible word in Mr. 
 Blowper's speech was damn. 
 
 " To your places, quick ! " cried Lennox to the 
 actors. "Now, Blowper, in God's name, what's 
 amiss ? By the saints, we shall have the benches 
 at our heads if this goes on much longer." 
 
 " Ring up, Seely, ring up, man ; we are all right." 
 
 " O, the dickens ! " muttered the prompter, as he 
 prepared to obey. "If something isn't done for 
 poor Blowper, he'll be borne from us in a deadly 
 swound." 
 
 The curtain rose and fell while yet the applause 
 was unabated. 
 
 "By Jove, they'll make us close for repairs 
 they won't be satisfied. Take her before the cur- 
 tain, Haines. Now, then, my dear, give them your 
 prettiest smile." 
 
 The little crowd fell back, and the bewildered 
 girl was led before the audience, cheered and ap- 
 plauded to a furious climax. A shower of flowers, 
 a twinkling of gloved hands, a quiver of gay colors 
 and faces, the dazzle of the lights a moment be- 
 fore her eyes, and a flitting emotion within her, 
 as if she might either laugh or cry, and Gail had 
 passed across the stage, and was again behind 
 the curtain. The brief commotion was suddenly
 
 AMONG OTHEH THINGS, A QTIEER DEBUT. 237 
 
 stilled, the lights put down, the stage cleared, and 
 Gail stood before her glass, wondering, dreaming 
 in a flutter of blissful agitation, with the manager's 
 last words sounding in her ears, "I will see you 
 to-morrow, my dear." She began to realize that 
 her success was unusual. Never before had the 
 audience failed to rise promptly some minutes be- 
 fore the close of the piece, and spoil the finale. 
 Never had there been so much excitement and dis- 
 cussion among the actors. Even Miss Ceelems' 
 demonstrative indifference had been awed into 
 silence.
 
 238 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 
 
 ON the morrow, Gail, m her own room, reflected, 
 exultingly, over her success of the night previous, 
 and her possible future. A little to her surprise, 
 she heard the well-known voice of Mr. Lennox 
 inquiring for her below> If she had had any doubt 
 of" his presence, it was speedily dispelled by a 
 detachment of the younger members of the family 
 scampering up stairs, and shouting to her, at the 
 top of their lungs, "Gail, Gail! it's the manager; 
 it really is ! " . 
 
 " Hush," said Gail, hastening to the head of the 
 stairs, with some trepidation. 
 
 "You don't believe it," cried the children, in 
 concert, "but it's true; just peep over the banis- 
 ters, and you'll see him for yourself. He's standing 
 in the entry; here's a good place ; just look over." 
 
 The fact that the manager was made aware of 
 her exact locality did not tend to compose Gail. 
 
 "Run down," she said aloud, politely. " Ask the 
 gentleman to walk in ; and tell him I'll be down
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE ? 239 
 
 presently." She added, in an emphatic undertone, 
 "Not all of you, for gracious sake! one!" The 
 heedless children, however, swarmed down in a 
 body to where Mr. Lennox stood, quite deserted, 
 for the two elder girls had retired precipitately on 
 catching a glimpse of his coat through the side- 
 light. 
 
 The bashfulness of the little ones was put to 
 flight by their united strength, and they encour- 
 aged the manager with cheerful shouts, "She's 
 coming down ! She's coming down ! Go into the 
 parlor ; you must ; she wants you to ; she said so." 
 
 Gail, who had not lingered up stairs to make any 
 alteration in her dress, but rather to change her 
 confusion for a sufficiently dignified manner, did 
 not regain her self-possession when she heard her 
 mother's voice join with the children's in welcom- 
 ing the stranger. 
 
 Mrs. Hart came forward in an unconcealed flut- 
 ter of excitement. " We are really very glad to 
 see you, Mr. Linton. (Mrs. Hart was one of those 
 women who " never could remember names.") 
 You really must excuse the children. Our children 
 are brought up to say just what they think. It's 
 Mr. Hart's way of educating them. He believes 
 in free speech, and all such things. Abigail will 
 be delighted to see you. She was saying to me
 
 240 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the other day," continued Mrs. Hart, inventing a 
 flattering fiction, " that she wished Mr. Linton 
 would come up some time. She would like to 
 show you her books and flowers. You and your 
 wife, too," went on Mrs. Hart, mindful of the pro- 
 prieties of life. 
 
 The manager's answer must have been some- 
 thing flattering to herself, for Mrs. Hart immedi- 
 ately responded, 
 
 "Yes, indeed, our Gail is a very great genius. 
 Tow, as a stage-manager, ought to know. Her 
 own father says," continued Mrs. Hart, laying great 
 stress on her words, as if Mr. Hart's evidence was 
 the most disinterested in the world, "that, as a 
 play-actress, she is equal to Charlotte Cushman ; 
 but, for the matter of that, all my children are 
 geniuses, and always have been from their cradle 
 upwards." 
 
 " Why, no, we ain't, ma," said one of the little 
 ones, who, in company with two or three others, 
 had formed a row before the manager, in order 
 to enjoy the full lustre of his presence. 
 
 "Yes, you are," answered Mrs. Hart, smartly. 
 " Don't you know that it isn't polite to contradict 
 your mother ? " 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Hart, again addressing 
 Mr. Lennox, " that any of my children would make
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 241 
 
 good play-actors ; but then there's my second 
 daughter, Jennie, she's quite a notion of " 
 
 Gail entered at this time, with a manner some- 
 what more cold than was quite necessary. 
 
 " Ah, good morning, my dear," said the manager, 
 rising to meet the successful debutante. " How do 
 you find yourself after the fatigues of last night?" 
 
 "How very familiar in his manners!" thought 
 Mrs. Hart, " to say my dear to our Gail ; so young 
 a man, too ; but I suppose it's the way of those 
 foreigners; and I saw at once that he was an Eng- 
 lishman, or a southerner, and I suppose, by that, 
 that he's intemperate they all are." 
 
 " I merely dropped in this morning to mention," 
 said the manager, lowering his voice, " that we con- 
 tinue the piece till further notice. I may depend 
 on your appearance ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Step round to the theatre about ten o'clock, 
 when the office is open, and we will enter into 
 arrangements about the terms. Good morning, 
 my dear!" 
 
 "Gail," whispered Mrs. Hart, nudging her 
 daughter, " why don't you ask Mr. Lennox to stay 
 longer ? You never seem, to know what's for your 
 inter what's polite, child." 
 
 "Thank you, madam; but we managers get 
 16
 
 242 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 little or no time for pleasure. I congratulate you 
 on the possession of so gifted a daughter. Miss 
 Abigail is looking this morning the picture of all 
 that is attractive.". The mother smiled and nod- 
 ded, and the daughter frowned, while the children 
 danced and capered about Gail's skirt in a most 
 embarrassing manner, inspired thereto by the sup- 
 posed tender nature of the manager's greeting. 
 
 At the theatre, some hours later, the eye of Miss 
 Fanny Ceelems fell on this notice in the morning's 
 paper. 
 
 " Owing to the unparalleled and almost miracu- 
 lous success of Miss Abigail Hart in the leading 
 role, the popular little drama of Nelly's Fate will 
 continue to be the attraction, at the Union Thea- 
 tre, for some time to come." 
 
 Miss Ceelems changed color. " Well, upon my 
 soul ! Do you mark that, Mrs. Leamingston ? Did 
 you observe anything 'unparalleled or miraculous' 
 about that business of last night? My God, I 
 like the impertinence of it too. I believe I was 
 engaged here for leading business. A mere ballet 
 girl! I never was so treated in any theatre. I 
 shall speak to the management directly." 
 
 " "Well, now, if you'll take my advice," said Mrs. 
 Leamingston, " you won't say anything about it at 
 all. The manager knows his own business "
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 243 
 
 " And I know mine, too," said Fanny ; " and I 
 will not be insulted." 
 
 " I only speak for your good," began Mrs. Leara- 
 ingston ; but Fanny swept out of the green- 
 room to the stage. She found the management in 
 full force. Mr. Lennox, Mr. Seely, and Mr. Har- 
 ben, the lessor, were all present. Miss Ceelems 
 was somewhat abashed; but she was too angry 
 and jealous to draw back. She did not observe 
 that Gail also was on the stage, waiting, perhaps, 
 for some papers concerning her brief engagement 
 to be made out. 
 
 "I understood that I was engaged here for the 
 leading business," said Fanny, in a low, angry voice, 
 to the manager. 
 
 "Certainly, madam," answered Lennox, with a 
 slight flush. 
 
 "Then what am I to judge by this? this no- 
 tice?" Fanny suppressed her anger, and assumed 
 as much politeness as she could. 
 
 " Nothing, my dear madam. The lady did well in 
 the part, and we venture the piece on trial." 
 
 " It's a mere star a a sort of star engage- 
 ment," murmured the prompter, soothingly. 
 
 Miss Ceelems regarded him with withering dis- 
 dain. " I have not been accustomed," she said, 
 addressing the manager, " to things of this sort. 
 It is not whnt I expect."
 
 244 BEHIND THK SCENES. 
 
 "But, my dear madam, we can't help what you 
 expect," retaliated the prompter, but not, however, 
 audibly. 
 
 " It does not at all interfere with your position 
 in the building, I assure you," said the manager. 
 "It is an entirely separate affair. There are no 
 lines in any theatre, except what are subject to the 
 interests of the place." 
 
 " The case was not so stated to me," said Fanny, 
 raising her voice. 
 
 " It is always understood," replied the manager, 
 somewhat impatiently, but politely " always un- 
 derstood." 
 
 " Interest 1 " said' Fanny. " I believe the public 
 were well satisfied with my rendering of the part. 
 You can consult the papers. I consider that the 
 business belongs to me." 
 
 Gail felt the color leave her cheek. She under- 
 stood little about the rules and customs of the thea- 
 tre, and had little reason to trust in the manager's 
 word. " Miss Ceelems may be right," she thought ; 
 " and in that case it is my duty to resign the part." 
 
 "Now, my dear Miss Ceelems," said Lennox, 
 with a slight laugh, but still in a low voice, "a 
 lady of your penetration must be aware that it is 
 a part of the duty of a man in my position to feel 
 the public pulse, and treat it as it seems to require ;
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 245 
 
 and to that end, of course, it would be absurd to 
 bind one's self." 
 
 " It's not the part I care for," interrupted Fanny, 
 still louder. " But I like to see -justice, and this is 
 an imposition, and not for the credit of the build- 
 ing with the public." 
 
 " This from a girl whom I have puffed into popu- 
 larity ! " muttered the manager. " I don't want to 
 quarrel with a lady," he said aloud, his face flush- 
 ing somewhat angrily ; " but I must trouble you to 
 remember that I am manager in this theatre." 
 
 Gail approached the disputants with a resolution 
 that was painfully forced. To cast away a great 
 advantage was an effort ; but to disobey her con- 
 science was impossible. She said, briefly, "It seems 
 to me that the part belongs to Miss Ceelems, and 
 therefore it is not right for me to take it." 
 
 " You can do as you please," said the manager, 
 bluntly, regarding Gail with surprise. "It is a 
 matter of no great importance to us. We are 
 drawing good houses in any case. You play 
 against your own interests, however. The run of 
 a piece like that would be the making of you." 
 
 "I know that," answered Gail; "but I can't 
 conscientiously take advantage of it." 
 
 " Damn ! " muttered Mr. Blowper to himself, im- 
 patiently. " This is a theatre, I believe, and not a
 
 246 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 place for preaching. "We want no petticoat clergy- 
 man here." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Gail, making, with an effort, a 
 last appeal, "Miss Ceelems will consent to my 
 playing the part." She turned to her rival, and 
 said, with a mingling of pride and sensitiveness, 
 " It would probably be no loss to you, and, as you 
 must see, an invaluable gain to me." 
 
 " Upon my soul," said Miss Ceelems, more an- 
 grily than she had yet spoken, " your impertinence 
 is uncalled for." 
 
 " Now, Fanny," said Mrs. Leamingston, who had 
 entered upon the scene a few moments earlier, and 
 who never stood long under any circumstance 
 without having something to say, " you'll excuse 
 my mentioning it, my dear, but you act very un- 
 wisely. Miss Hart speaks like a true lady. If I 
 were in your place, I should only be too happy to 
 oblige her. Besides, you must see that Mr. Len- 
 nox is in the right." 
 
 "What's the trouble? What's all this about?" 
 said old Harben, nervously, making a sudden pause 
 before the contending parties. 
 
 " Damn it ! as near as I can judge," said Len- 
 nox, " we appear to be rehearsing ' Much Ado about 
 Nothing.' " 
 
 " I understood I was engaged here to do leading 
 business," repeated Fanny, sulkily.
 
 WHO IS TO MANAGE? 247 
 
 "Well, well, well ain't you?" said Harben. 
 "Isn't she engaged for leading business, man- 
 ager?" 
 
 . "Certainly," said Lennox, with a slight laugh. 
 " The lady chooses to consider her rights infringed 
 upon. It does not strike me so. This other lady," 
 explained the manager, "pleased the public so 
 well last night that we judged it best to run the 
 piece. She is new to the stage, and it would be 
 of advantage to her." 
 
 "O, it's you, miss is it?" said Mr. Harben. 
 " You're the lady who gave my wife's maid servant 
 the trouble of washing six extra pocket-handker- 
 chiefs, and gave me the nightmare last night. 
 What do you mean by stepping into other people's 
 leading business, and kicking up such a devil of a 
 row? Do you suppose people want to go to a 
 funeral instead of a play eh ? " 
 
 Nobody had the heart to laugh except Mrs. 
 Leamingston, who tapped Mr. Harben with her 
 play-book, and said, " O, you droll man ! " 
 
 " Now, my dear sir," said Mr. Lennox, " there's 
 no interference with the lady's business. Our pro- 
 posal to run the piece is an entirely different affair, 
 as I have assured her. It is really absurd that a 
 lady of Miss Ceelems' reputation in the profession 
 should think of the matter for a moment. If she
 
 248 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 chooses to remain with us for the ensuing season, 
 the same position is open to her." 
 
 " There, you hear that you hear that, marm ? " 
 
 said Harben. " Manager 's right there. Miss 
 
 plays for the benefit of the theatre. It's a star 
 engagement, marm." 
 
 " I said so I said so," murmured the prompter 
 to nobody in particular, and tapping his foot im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " I'm sure," said Fanny, somewhat appeased, and 
 making a virtue of necessity, " the woman's wel- 
 come to appear in the part for all me. I only 
 wanted to know if I'd performed my duties here 
 satisfactorily." 
 
 "Then I can't see but that we are all right," 
 said Mrs. Leamingston. "I suppose, my dear, 
 you've no scruples against continuing in the piece 
 now?" 
 
 "Certainly not," responded Gail, with alacrity; 
 " and I don't know that I ever should have had, 
 if I had been better acquainted with the customs 
 of the place." 
 
 " She will not play here next season, at all 
 events. I've blocked her game there," murmured 
 Miss Ceelems.
 
 EXCELSIOR. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EXCELSIOE. 
 
 JULIE'S rnerry voice was no longer heard singing 
 over her little dressing-place. The song that had 
 died from her lips had died from her heart also ; 
 and in the place of the vain, happy, coquettish 
 light of her eyes, glared the care and hunger of 
 her soul. Her feet no longer tripped over the 
 ghosts' walk as they had done. Her step grew 
 slower day by day. She no longer came to the 
 theatre when she was not required in the piece; 
 and her dress was always plain. 
 
 " That young girl is not as pretty as she prom- 
 ised to be," remarked Mrs. Leamingston, looking 
 across the stage to where Julie stood listlessly in 
 the wing. " She is not as plump. She begins to 
 look peaked." 
 
 " Perhaps she is ill," suggested Mrs. Wells, " or 
 unhappy." 
 
 "Perhaps so," sighed Mrs. Leamingston. "I 
 wonder who she is. I've inquired of several in 
 the building, and no one seems to know."
 
 250 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " I dare say she has reason enough to be secret," 
 insinuated Mrs. Wells. "I was never so much 
 mistaken in a young person in my life. One 
 needn't have their eyes sharpened by their wits to 
 see what's been going on. She makes no secret of 
 that. If she did but know it, she renders herself 
 very annoying to Mr. Lennox." 
 
 " Well, now, my dear, do you know," said Mrs. 
 Leamingston, " I've an idea she don't, and that it's 
 as much Tommy's fault as it is hers. Hush ! You 
 don't think she could have heard us ? " (A look of 
 trouble had come into the child's face, and she had 
 turned, and walked away.) " I'm sorry for her." 
 
 As Julie's step became daily slower, so did the 
 step of the muffled little figure that stole down 
 the archway of the stern old prison Julie had once 
 called her home. It had been many weeks since 
 the figure had sought its old haunt, when, one day, 
 there came to the place, with sad, weary feet, what 
 seemed but the ghost of it. This poor little phan- 
 tom of Julie was less cautious than the happy 
 child. It had less life to lose. When it arrived at 
 the archway, it hurried, rather than stole, through 
 into the yard, and climbed the trellis as if it were 
 escaping from some invisible pursuer. When the 
 little window had been raised, and Julie stood 
 again in her old room, she forced herself to look
 
 EXCELSIOK. 251 
 
 about it, and it gave her sore distress. She passed 
 her trembling hand over each dear object, and 
 pressed her cheek against it, and moaned out, "You 
 poor dumb things, I've been afraid to come back 
 and look at you for days and days. If I could only 
 die, and be still, like you. But I can't." Julie 
 walked to and fro, striving to ease the aching of 
 her heart. Her throat was hot and dry, and she 
 could not weep. She stopped for an instant before 
 the bed, and drew from beneath the mattress her 
 father's picture. "O father!" she cried,choking; 
 "if you were only not dead, you would love me, I 
 know ; and I'd try to be " The word Julie 
 would have uttered froze on her lips, and the 
 blood froze in her veins. A heavy hand grasped 
 her wrist, and shook the picture down upon the 
 floor. Without a word Mrs. Mesher led the terri- 
 fied girl down to the sitting-room, locked the door, 
 and seated herself. The elder Mesher was present, 
 and another. Julie gave one glance at the other 
 figure, and the blood that had been frozen spread 
 itself quickly over her face and arms. It was 
 Fred. She raised her eyes to Mrs. Mesher's face 
 for an instant, with a terrified look of appeal, then 
 dropped them, and again turned white. "What 
 does this mean ? " stammered Fred, the expression 
 of his face changing. "Miss Ward, you are in
 
 252 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 trouble. I hope I am not the occasion. I I 
 called " 
 
 "Be silent!" said Mrs. Mesher, with severity, 
 " and you shall learn what it means. This guilty 
 woman has been a stranger to me for the past 
 three weeks, and to all respectable society* Re- 
 main where you are. It is fit she should have wit- 
 ness to her shame." 
 
 Fred seated himself, dumb and at a loss, con- 
 fused as much by the look he saw in Julie's face 
 as by her- step-mother's words. A feeling of angry 
 indignation seemed to crouch within him, ready for 
 a spring. Mrs. Mesher concentrated the force of her 
 rigid, narrow soul into her hard, gray eyes, and 
 fixed them on Julie. In the poor girl's heart, sick 
 with apprehension, was one lingering spark of hope 
 that Mrs. Mesher might not have discovered her 
 love, but only her appearance at the theatre. She 
 dared not ask mercy of the step-mother; but, in- 
 voluntarily and in silence, she prayed for it. " O 
 God, spare me this blow, and I will hide myself 
 from all human eyes, and die." 
 
 There was no malice or mean passion in Mrs. 
 Mesher's eyes only a pure, heartless sense of 
 duty. While J'ulie prayed for mercy, Mrs. Mesher 
 prayed also for power to turn a sinful soul from its 
 downward course.
 
 EXCELSIOR. 253 
 
 A silence. 
 
 Julie felt the wild throbbing of her heart. 
 
 The blow fell one word : 
 
 "Adulteress." 
 
 Julie bowed her head ; her heart was stunned, 
 and grew suddenly still'. 
 
 " A lie," said Fred, between his teeth. " Deny 
 it, Julie." 
 
 Julie's white lips moved, and formed the words, 
 
 "The truth." 
 
 Fred, in his turn, became cold and dumb. 
 
 " Woman, woman ! " cried Mrs. Mesher, with a 
 hard, intense fervor in her voice, " cast out of 
 your soul this devil of vanity and lust that blinds. 
 Look at your vile sin in its nakedness, humble 
 yourself in the dust, and pray that the just wrath 
 of the Lord may be averted from your soul, that 
 through Christ's atonement you may become puri- 
 fied. Kneel and kiss the rod in my hands that 
 saves you; for in fasting, prayer, and chastise- 
 ment shall your shame and vice be branded into 
 your memory, that when you again walk among 
 God-fearing men and women, it shall be with 
 humbled mien." 
 
 " Behold, O servant of Satan," murmured Mesh- 
 er, addressing Fred, " this is, in '^>nrt, thy work, 
 who first tempted this light and giddy mind into
 
 254 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 the house of vanity the theatre. O, daughter, 
 my heart bleeds for you; prepare your body for 
 the rod ! " 
 
 Mesher rose, and was about to approach Julie. 
 Fred felt the blood leap into his veins and tingle 
 in his fingers' ends. He clenched his fists, sprang 
 up, and, with one blow, sent Mesher staggering to 
 the further end of the room. He seized Julie in 
 his arms, and stopped for a moment, breathless 
 and panting with anger. 
 
 Mesher's face turned a sickly yellow, and the 
 red spots upon it, caused by too high living, shone 
 out disagreeably plain. He reseated himself, and, 
 with an effort, endeavored to assume his usual 
 meek smile, but without turning unto his enemy 
 his other cheek to be smitten. "Let him," said 
 Fred, when he could force his clenched teeth to 
 move "let him who is without sin among you 
 cast the first stone." 
 
 "We are not here," said Mesher, assuming his 
 unctuous affectation with much difficulty, "to 
 listen to the wisdom of babes and sucklings." 
 
 "If you read your Bible," cried Fred, "you will 
 find the words I have spoken in the mouth of 
 Christ. Which are you pleased to term him a 
 babe or a sucking?" 
 
 The spots in Mesher's face deepened.
 
 EXCELSIOR. 255 
 
 "You are neither of you without sin," cried 
 Fred, his brain on fire with indignation. "You 
 are neither of you guiltless of Julie's misfortune. 
 If you hadn't stigmatized every pure and natural 
 appetite as a vanity and a sin, she would have 
 known better what was right and what was wrong. 
 If you hadn't cheated her out of all natural pleas- 
 ure at home, she would not have sought it else- 
 where. If you hadn't turned away every honest 
 lover, she would not have loved a dishonest one." 
 
 "Profane not the sacred word love" began 
 Mesher. 
 
 But Fred raised his voice, and continued: "If 
 you had shown her a little human love, and allowed 
 her to enjoy a little good, honest, worldly plensnre, 
 if you had not taught her a religion which 
 makes God hateful rather than lovely But I 
 don't lay it all to your religion. You are a cruel 
 woman, and I don't need to know Julie's story to 
 know that even if she was herself in fault, she is 
 as good a creation of the Lord as you are ; and as 
 for you, you old hypocrite," added Fred, with con- 
 tempt, " your motives in the matter are almost too 
 contemptible to waste words upon. You wanted 
 to throw Julie into the meanest kind of slavery, 
 because you knew she owned a portion of this 
 house, and you had no objection to getting it away
 
 256 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 from her." Fred had spoken with such over- 
 whelming intensity that even Mrs. Mesher was 
 surprised into silence, while Mesher expressed the 
 torture of a shocked soul in a succession of facial 
 contortions. 
 
 " Look up, Julie, and don't mind them," said 
 Fred, suddenly choking with a difficulty of utter- 
 ance he had not experienced in addressing the 
 others. " There's a kinder creed than theirs. It's 
 Christ's, and it's written in the Bible, too, and it's 
 in all human and forgiving hearts." Then Fred 
 drew his breath with an effort, and sobbed out, 
 *' O, Julie, if you'll be my wife, I'll say God bless 
 you, for I love you, Julie. I can't help it, and I 
 don't want to. If there's any trespass to be for- 
 given, I forgive, as I know you would forgive me 
 in the same case. Go home with me. They'll 
 be kind to you there, and we'll begin the world 
 again." 
 
 O Fred, don't! don't! don't!" gasped Julie. 
 " You hurt me worse than they do. O, God bless 
 you, God bless you ; but, Fred, I love him. I do ! 
 Idol" 
 
 Fred grew numb and cold again, and then fresh 
 anger filled his mind ! " Damn him ! whoever he 
 is," he muttered. 
 
 Mrs. Mesher arose, unlocked the door, and mo-
 
 EXCELSIOR. 257 
 
 tioned Fred to be gone. " You are standing be- 
 tween this soul and its salvation," she said. 
 
 Fred did not stir. "Simon," continued Mrs. 
 Mesher, with no change in her voice, " it becomes 
 your duty to turn this young man into the street 
 by force." 
 
 Simon did not stir. 
 
 "You'll not put me out of this house alive," 
 choked Fred, "unless she goes with me; for I would 
 not leave a dog to your tender mercies, much less 
 a human being." 
 
 "Let us seek to move the unregenerate heart to 
 a sense of its error by tears and supplications of 
 brotherly love," murmured Mesher, hoarsely. He 
 did not like the look of Fred's powerful frame, and 
 the angry flash in his eye, nor the feeling of his 
 clenched fist, and Fred stood between him and the 
 door. 
 
 " Don't mind me, Fred," whispered Julie in agony, 
 " but go." She gave a frightened glance about the 
 room, sprang through the open door, and ran, not 
 into the street, for she fled from Fred also, 
 but up stairs into her own room, stunned and ter- 
 rified. Suffocated with shame and grief, she forced 
 her trembling hands to open the window. Then, 
 half throwing herself, she dropped blindly' down the 
 trellis, and fled. 
 17
 
 258 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Mrs. Mesher did not follow. She deemed Julie 
 still in her power. 
 
 Fred, bewildered and still white with anger, cried 
 out, " If there's any law to prevent your cruelty to 
 this helpless girl, you shall be made to feel it." 
 
 In the street Fred still lingered about the place, 
 indignant and tossed with horrid fancies concern- 
 ing Julie's punishment. He made one more effort 
 to rescue her. He slipped down the archway and 
 ascended to her window, too reckless and full of 
 care for any timidity. The room was empty ; Julie 
 was either a prisoner, or gone to one whom Fred 
 could not think of without hate and anger. 
 
 And all the while that this strife and passion had 
 raged, in these poor human brains, the snow had 
 been falling and hushing the noise and rattle of 
 the city. Fred came forth into the street. The 
 silence touched him, and his heart ached with grief 
 as if love and joy were murdered. 
 
 This afternoon would be succeeded by the night 
 of Gail's benefit. A^ the manager's request she 
 continued the play of her debut, Nelly's Fate. 
 The night had come on cold. The light snow of 
 the afternoon had given place to a rough, boister- 
 ous wind. It was still snowing; but the snow no 
 longer fell in soft, large flakes, loading with jew- 
 elled blossoms every bare-branched tree of the Com-
 
 EXCELSIOR. 259 
 
 mon, to glisten in the gas-light, but in fine, -icy 
 needle-points, that pricked the frozen cheeks that 
 faced it. The successful actress had no fear that 
 her reception would be less warm for the cold with- 
 out. Every seat in the theatre had been sold two 
 days previous, and Gail saw the long line of coaches 
 standing before the main entrance, and the coach- 
 men swinging their arms to keep warm, and heard, 
 over the freezing snow, a muffled sound, and squeak 
 of the wheels of fresh coaches arriving each mo- 
 ment. She hurried along the dark passage, and 
 through the old stage door, glad to feel the warm 
 air, of somewhat doubtful purity, that greeted 
 her inside. She found James rubbing his hands 
 with quiet satisfaction. " A severe night without 
 is it not, Miss Hart ? " he said ; " and the thea- 
 tre is pleasant." James could have warmed him- 
 self by a painted fire in his worship of the place. 
 " I pity those who don't have a cheerful place to 
 be in on a night like this," he continued, half aloud 
 and half in meditation, eyeing fondly the broken 
 panes of the little window on high, through which 
 the wind blew sharply. 
 
 Gail gave him a pleasant reply, and tripped bi'isk- 
 ly on her way. As he stood watching her with the 
 peculiar dry zest with which he regarded every- 
 thing belonging to the building, he murmured,
 
 260 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " Ah, that young girl does honor to my recom- 
 mendation." Indeed, Jamea looked upon Gail as 
 a sort of protegee of his. He would say, " Miss Hart 
 is in my confidence, and any communication for 
 her I will deliver with the utmost care ; " and to 
 Gail he would say, " If there is anything you re- 
 quire in the building, refer the matter to James 
 Hallman. I will attend personally that you are 
 satisfied." 
 
 Crossing the stage, these words fell on Gail's 
 ears from one of the wings "Disgraceful ! She 
 will never come inside this building after to-night." 
 
 Gail ascended the stairs to her dressing-room. 
 Mrs. Leamingston and Mrs. Latell had not yet 
 arrived, and the room was dark. She began un- 
 fastening her shawl. Something between a moan 
 and a cry greeted her. 
 
 "Is any one in the room?" she inquired, gently, 
 as she turned up the gas. A little figure sprang 
 from one of the chairs, and would have fled past 
 her, but she detained it. 
 
 'Don't go, Julie; stay with me. You are in 
 trouble; perhaps I can help you. You know we 
 are sisters to-night, you and I." Julie wrung her 
 hands. "You don't know, I suppose," she said. 
 " Nobody's told you that I'm going away to-night, 
 never to come back any more. He wants me to. 
 He told them to tell me."
 
 EXCELSIOR. 261 
 
 " Why, Julie, how's this ? " said Gail, pained and 
 shocked. 
 
 " I don't know how it happened to be so," an- 
 swered Julie, her voice dry and husky, and a help- 
 less terror in her eyes. " I didn't want to ask. I 
 didn't dare to. I only came in here because some- 
 body else was in my room this afternoon." Julie 
 slipped past Gail with a mute appeal not to be re- 
 sisted, and went again to her own room. The gas 
 was not lighted there, and Julie sat in the dark, 
 enduring dumbly the ache in her heart. When 
 she was fleeing along the street, she still clung to 
 her lost love ; but when the news of her discharge 
 from the theatre met her, her hope seemed to let 
 go its hold on the things of life, and leave her 
 adrift, with the helplessness of a nature that carries 
 no guide in itself. Now and then she moaned, or 
 cried out faintly, as the outraged love or the terror 
 and agony stirred in her bosom; but her heart had 
 received too severe a shock to be as yet fully con- 
 scious of its own injury. 
 
 " Why does not Mr. Lennox allow Julie to finish 
 her season here ? " inquired Gail of Mrs. Leam- 
 ingston. 
 
 "Well, my dear," answered Mrs. Leamingston, 
 " I suppose he sees she is ill, and not fit to be in 
 the profession at all."
 
 262 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " The truth of the matter is," said Digby, with 
 sarcasm, " that she's too thin to look well on the 
 stage." 
 
 " The plain truth of the matter is," said Mrs. 
 Latell, with emphasis, "that he's tired of seeing 
 her round. He wants to be freer to make love to 
 the other ladies. She haunts him with those great 
 hollow eyes of hers, like a ghost." 
 
 Gail hurried her dressing, and went into Julie's 
 room. She had thought of offering the misguided 
 girl kind advice and assistance ; but when she lit 
 Julie's gas, and found the child sitting with white 
 lips and a vacant look in her eyes, she sought only 
 to aid and comfort her. 
 
 " You are not well, Julie," she said. " You are 
 not well at all to-night. Don't try to play. Let 
 me get some one to take you home." 
 
 " You can't ! you can't ! " said Julie, shivering. 
 "There's no home there; and now there's no place 
 anywhere." 
 
 "I will tell you what we will do, Julie," said 
 Gail. " You wrap up warm, and sit here, or in the 
 green-room by the fire, and I'll get Mr. Blowper to 
 let one of the others play your part. I'll go now. 
 I won't be gone long. I'll come again and sit 
 with you." 
 
 Julie looked into Gail's face with a sort of
 
 EXCELSIOR. 263 
 
 frightened, hungry surprise, seized a portion of her 
 dross, pressed it against her cheek, then dropped it 
 restlessly. 
 
 Gail kneeled down quickly,, and drew Julie to 
 her with tears in her eyes. " I'm so sorry things 
 went so bad with you! Never mind now; come 
 home with me after the play. Jennie and I have a 
 nice, cosy little room, and you shall share it with 
 us. You used to belong to us, Julie. You didn't 
 know it, but you were our little princess. That's 
 what we used to call you, because you was so beau- 
 tiful. Why, you used to be almost like one " 
 
 Gail checked herself suddenly, for Julie's head 
 fell forward upon the dressing-place, and she 
 clenched her hands together with a cry, terrified 
 and helpless. 
 
 Poor little Julie's soul, rudderless, and drifting 
 out into a black, relentless sea, beheld its own fate, 
 like a cruel jagged rock, against which it must 
 perish. 
 
 She set her teeth into her lip remorselessly, then 
 drew her breath, and began to sob and pour out 
 broken words. 
 
 "There, there," said Gail, "we can all talk it 
 over, and see what can be done to-morrow. Shall 
 I speak to the prompter now ? I won't be gone a 
 minute."
 
 264 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 The poor heart, tossed and tortured as it was, 
 reached out for an instant, and clung to this last 
 fragment of its wrecked life. Julie moaned, 
 
 " O, no, no ! I want to play it. It's the last 
 time. I didn't mean to cry. I didn't want to be- 
 fore; but you cried, and seemed sorry, and that 
 made me. O, if you would only You you 
 could make him take me back. If you' would 
 only ask him Will you ? I mean here at the 
 theatre. You needn't be afraid. I don't want to 
 do wrong: O, I couldn't, and think of Fred ; he 
 said something that broke my heart. I only want 
 to stay here." 
 
 " Yes, Julie," answered Gail. 
 
 " But not right away," sobbed Julie. " By and 
 by, when I tell you." 
 
 The girls descended to the stage just in time for 
 the bell. Gail was greeted heartily by the audi- 
 ence, and an exquisite wreath of fresh flowers was 
 handed to her from the orchestra. The gayety and 
 enthusiasm contrasted sadly with her pitying sym- 
 pathy for poor Julie ; but the case was imperative, 
 and she summoned the scenes before her, and 
 abandoned herself to the part. Perhaps, touched 
 by Julie's distress, she played with even more than 
 her wonted truth and naturalness. The audience 
 called her after every act, and the manager, yield-
 
 EXCELSIOR. 265 
 
 ing to the "magic of success," found her unusu- 
 ally attractive, and exerted his utmost power to 
 render himself agreeable. Pie made love to the 
 earnest woman in a manner more respectful than he 
 had shown to the trusting child. He stood ready, 
 at each entrance, to receive her flowers, and when 
 it pleased her to go there, to conduct her to the 
 green-room. He was witty, praised her cunningly, 
 and contented himself with such accidental touches 
 of her hand as fell to his lot in the transfer of the 
 bouquets. Once only, tempted by the fine face 
 and graceful dignity of manner, and piqued, per- 
 haps, by her cool self-possession in his presence, 
 he retained the hand, placed his arm about her 
 waist, and whispered, " You surpass all other wo- 
 men in power, and, by my honor, in a year's time 
 you might become the idol of the public, and have 
 society at your feet. For one, I'll own I'm capti- 
 vated at the start. You excel yourself to-night. 
 You are positively radiant." 
 
 " At present," answered Gail, a little angrily, and 
 blushing, "I must trouble you to show me a higher 
 respect than is due to a wooden image, or a doll, 
 by removing your arm from my waist, and honor- 
 ing me with something besides flattery." Gail ut- 
 tered these words with an effort; the manager's 
 conduct was embarrassing and painful to her.
 
 266 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "My dear girl," began Lennox, soothingly, but 
 without removing his arm, "you misunderstand 
 me. I mean " 
 
 ". There is no reason why you should misunder- 
 stand me," answered Gail, with seventy, disen- 
 gaging herself from the embrace as she spoke. 
 
 "Upon my soul," said Lennox, speaking low, 
 and in the same tone, but a trifle crest-fallen and 
 ashamed, "you draw the line pretty close. My 
 interest in you is the purest friendship. You pos- 
 sess genius, and Well, I have it in my power to 
 aid you. Come now, my dear Miss Hart, why not 
 be friends with me ? " 
 
 Gail, stung to the quick in the keen sense she 
 felt of her outraged dignity, stood apart, and 
 deigned no answer. 
 
 "By Jove," thought the manager, "it won't do 
 for a man to say anything besides his prayers in 
 your presence, I see. Now, for my part," he con- 
 tinued aloud, " I don't see any harm in a little con- 
 fidence and familiarity between friends ; but, 'pon 
 my honor, I don't want to offend. I won't again, 
 I promise you. You'll forgive me won't you? 
 Do ! There, give us your hand unless that sort of 
 thing is on the other side of the line, too. Come ! " 
 And Lennox approached Gail, and, bending his 
 face yet closer to hers, whispered some furlher 
 pleadings in- her ear.
 
 EXCELSIOR. 267 
 
 Julie saw him ; a sickly hope had lingered in her 
 heart, that, as it was the last night, he might have 
 some kind parting word for her; but when she 
 saw his face bent over another, and read in his 
 eyes the old look that had once made her dream 
 his love was true, the poor sore wound in her 
 heart received a new stab, that made it, all un- 
 healed as it was, bleed afresh. She gasped, and 
 pressed her thin hands convulsively together to 
 keep herself from crying out with the pain. She 
 turned away, and crept off among the scenes, sob- 
 bing faintly. The pitiful little spark of hope died 
 out, and Julie sat in the obscurity on an old pile 
 of carpets, rocking herself with a despairing, rest- 
 less motion, striving to choke down the cruel ache 
 that swelled in her throat. Her short part in the 
 piece was over till the last act. There was noth- 
 ing to disturb her. The scenes and the hours 
 slipped away. It was cold where she sat ; but a 
 fierce fever crept into her chilled blood, and her 
 head dropped heavily against the scene nearest 
 her. She retained only a fitful consciousness of 
 the bitter reality; but the ache remained, and 
 seemed at moments to be no part of herself, but 
 some sick thing she had in her care, and suffered 
 for. At times she still kept up the jogging mo- 
 tion,' as if to hush and soothe this thing in pain,
 
 268 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 and at times dragged it through her weary dreams, 
 and strove to cheer it on the desolate journey the 
 two seemed to be taking together. 
 
 When, at last, the fever wore off, Julie fell into a 
 brief sleep. The cold again crept over her, dead- 
 ening her limbs. From this sleep she rose bewil- 
 dered and shivering; but the ache in her heart 
 was less. She tried to think, and, little by little, 
 her brain slowly took in the reality, the full bitter- 
 ness of which her benumbed senses no longer felt. 
 She rose from her seat, came from her place of 
 concealment, and crept up to a window, where a 
 pane of 'glass had been broken out. She hardly 
 heard the sounds on the stage that had chafed her 
 wound and mocked her trouble." 
 
 Something distant and beyond the storm ap- 
 pealed to her, and she strove to recall a time long 
 past a time that she had walked on the Common, 
 with the stars shining, and the sweet, warm air 
 bringing her dreams of the country. There was 
 no noise, passion, or suffering then. 
 
 The wind blew the icy snow into her face and 
 against her thinly-covered shoulders. She raised 
 her little blue hand, and watched the fine flakes 
 fall upon it. They melted slowly, for the hand 
 was hardly less cold. 
 
 " Come out of the draught," said one of the scene-
 
 EXCELSIOR. 269 
 
 shifters, roughly, but not unkindly. " The theatre is 
 no place for you on a night like this. You'd better 
 be at home and in bed." Julie moved slightly, as 
 if the voice annoyed her; but she did not leave 
 the window. The man presently came with a bit 
 of board, and placed it against the broken pane. 
 "Let it be, Morris," said Julie, petulantly. "I 
 want to see the stars shine. The others are too 
 dirty the whole ones." 
 
 " God," responded Morris, " if you can see any 
 stars to-night, your eyes are better than most folks', 
 for it storms like thunder;" and Morris fastened 
 the board in securely. 
 
 " It's a going to clear off," sobbed Julie, sensi- 
 tively, " and it'll be fair weather soon. You might 
 have let it alone, Morris. I'm going home to- 
 night, and it's likely I'll never come back again." 
 
 " Here, put yourself inside of this," said Morris, 
 divesting himself of his knit jacket, and wrapping 
 it about the child. "God," he added, aside, "if 
 I had the managing of that manager, he'd get his 
 come-upance, and pretty devilish quick, too." 
 
 Gail came up and whispered to Julie, " Shall I 
 speak to him now ? It's the last act, and I have a 
 long wait." Gail's breath blew, a dying spark of 
 hope back into life for an instant, and a faint color 
 came into Julie's cheek: she glanced nervously
 
 270 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 through the wings. The curtain had not yet 
 risen, and Lennox stood on the stage, laughing at 
 the moment, and joking carelessly with a group 
 of the actors. To Julie he looked so handsome 
 and powerful that she turned to Gail with a - look 
 of pain in her white, thin face, and said, low, "No, 
 not just now; he is talking with some one, and 
 may not like it : wait a little." 
 
 "Why, Julie," said Gail, "you have lost your 
 shawl, and you are shivering with the cold." 
 
 Julie had made no effort to keep the jacket about 
 her, and it had fallen to the floor. 
 
 " Come with me into the green-room," Gail con- 
 tinued, " and let us sit by the fire. I feel sure all 
 will " Gail stopped. 
 
 " My God," whispered Morris, " take her in your 
 arms, Miss Hart ; she's fainting, or dying." 
 
 "Who is? What is the matter?" cried voices 
 about Gail ; and in an instant there was a hush in 
 the theatre, and a group of blanched faces gath- 
 ered on the spot. Gail and Mrs. Leamingston 
 carried Julie gently into the green-room. The 
 others followed, awe-struck and terrified. 
 
 " Run for the doctor," whispered Mrs. Latell. 
 
 " Some one has gone," was answered, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 They laid her on a settee, bowed their heads,
 
 EXCELSIOR. 271 
 
 and watched. No one spoke. No one brought 
 water or restoratives. The change that had' crept 
 over the face said too plainly Death. Gail knelt 
 down trembling, and touched the hand timidly 
 and with reverence ; but she dared not utter the 
 familiar name. A vague sense that she might dis- 
 turb the soul, perhaps already in the presence of 
 God, or trespass with rude effect on the mystery 
 of death, withheld her. 
 
 The first ghastly touch of the destroyer that had 
 brought a look of mortal suffering into the face, as 
 it drew from it all the warm, wonderful beauty of 
 life, was over; and perhaps now the bright children 
 came trooping around, ready to awaken the poor 
 spirit from its tragic earthly dream into a happier 
 world. For all the care and the trouble had faded 
 from the features. Julie had gone home, never 
 more to return. The awed silence that had pre- 
 vailed was broken by sobs. 
 
 Thomas Lennox came forward and looked at the 
 little body whose last breath would have excused 
 and blessed him, and whose last glance had been 
 timid and fearful of him ; and it was now his turn 
 to be afraid and to shrink. 
 
 The others stepped aside. None looked at him, 
 or spoke ; only the sobbing became more audible. 
 He was human, one of them, and they were sorry
 
 272 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 for him. Perhaps, too, they felt, and held sacred, 
 the presence of the divine tribunal that had called 
 to the stand the soul whose sufferings might wit- 
 ness against him. 
 
 Lennox bowed, and his frame shook with his 
 emotions. The mute face, the longing eyes that 
 would trouble him no more with their too plain- 
 loving glances, the little feet that would no 
 longer stand in his way, the poor life that had 
 been short, and not merry, touched him, and as 
 he turned away, he sobbed out, " When I forget 
 you, Julie, may God forget me." 
 
 The men left the room, and the women took the 
 false flowers out of Julie's golden hair, and gently 
 wiped the paint from her cheeks. Gail covered 
 the peasant dress with her shawl, that when the 
 little wearer should be borne from the theatre, 
 no shocked instinct should trespass on kinder 
 thoughts. 
 
 Mrs. Leamingston said low, through her weeping, 
 *' Dear Julie ! she looks as though she had only fall- 
 en asleep. She had a sweet, affectionate nature. 
 Don't you think she had ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Gail, crying over the poor lit- 
 tle hands that bore the purple marks where Julie 
 had pressed them in her suffering. 
 
 When everything had been done that could be
 
 EXCELSIOR. 273 
 
 done, and Gail and Mrs. Leamingston stood look- 
 ing at the sleeper in sorrowful silence, the prompt- 
 er came to the door, and said, gently, 
 
 " Shall we go on with the piece, Miss Hart ? I 
 suppose the audience must be satisfied some 
 way." 
 
 "Yes," answered Gail. "I shall be there in 
 time." 
 
 The women broke into renewed weeping. To 
 continue the piece at that time seemed to them 
 unkind to poor Julie. Each kissed the forehead, 
 and left the room. Gail covered the face, and 
 retired also, closing the door. 
 
 The actresses hushed their crying as best they 
 might, and stood awaiting their cues grouped in 
 one wing ; for before the awful mystery of death 
 and hereafter, like children in the dark, they un- 
 consciously drew together, to feel each other's pres- 
 ence. They still spoke low, and even on the stage 
 were not forgetful of the sleep that never could be 
 broken. 
 
 Little Sissy Sands had been crouching outside the 
 green-room door, afraid to enter. She crept up 
 now, and pulled Gail by the sleeve. " Say, Miss 
 Hart, won't our Julie go to heaven because she was 
 an actress ? She will go there won't she say." 
 
 "Yes, Sissy." 
 18
 
 274 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "But my Sunday school teacher says theatres 
 are wicked, and people " 
 
 '"TJsh!" interrupted Mrs. Sands, but not loudly, 
 as was habitual to her. " You 'eed what your 
 Sunday school teacher says ; and at the same time, 
 Miss 'Art, you're quite right ; and, Sissy, don't you 
 mention Sunday schools 'ere, for, mind you, it's not 
 a fit place." 
 
 " I loved Julie," said Sissy, with a sigh. " She 
 used to come and sit by me when I was sick, and 
 tell me all about 'a little mouse she had when she 
 was a little girl ; but it made her cry, and say, ' O 
 Sissy, I wish I was a child now.' Do you think, 
 now, that she would go and cry for a mouse that 
 happened so long ago ? " added Sissy, pausing sud- 
 denly to make the inquiry. 
 
 The women glanced at each other. 
 
 "God knows how much that poor girl suffered 
 for her fault," Mrs. Latell murmured. 
 
 " You went into her room to-night ? " whispered 
 Mrs. Leamingston to Gail. 
 
 " Yes," replied Gail. 
 
 "I'm glad of that," continued Mrs. Leaming- 
 ston. " Poor Julie ! I don't know what put it out of 
 my head. I had meant to look after the child some. 
 She needed some one." Mr. Lennox passed the 
 group on his way out of the theatre, and placed a
 
 EXCELSIOR. 275 
 
 note in Mrs. Leamingston's hand. Mrs. Leaming- 
 Bton read the note and handed it to Gail. It was 
 from Mrs. Mesher, forbidding Julie's further appear- 
 ance at the theatre. 
 
 " That accounts for it," said Mrs. Leamingston, 
 when Gail returned the note. " I did wonder at 
 his sending the child away. Poor Tommy, he's 
 careless, but he hasn% a hard heart." 
 
 " I suppose it is to give us Julie's address," said 
 Gail. " But I think Julie had separated from her 
 family." 
 
 " I dare say, my dear. It's often so in such cases ; 
 but they'll be sorry enough now, poor things." 
 
 " She had only a step-mother," said Gail, sadly ; 
 "and I judge she gave Julie but little affection." 
 
 "Is that so, my dear? Well, now, I thought, by 
 the tone of the letter, that she was a harsh woman. 
 I believe, my dear, I will take the poor child home 
 with me to-night. I don't like to interfere in these 
 matters, but I can't bear to think of any one think- 
 ing unkindly of Julie, on account of her poor little 
 dress. So, my dear, if you will ride with me, I'll 
 take her home, and we can write to the woman. 
 It is us, my dear is it not?" she added, a few 
 moments after. 
 
 Gail nodded assent, and the two women took 
 their places on the stage. The tears stalled in
 
 276 . BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Mrs. Leamingston's eyes. "Ah, my dear! those 
 people in front little know how heavy-hearted we 
 poor players are, sometimes, when we go on for 
 their amusement." Gail was silent, touched by 
 the sad scene in which she had just played her 
 little part. The voices on the other side of the 
 flat struck a chill into her heart. Involuntarily 
 she shuddered at the task before her. To mimic 
 human pain and grief seemed to invade the sacred- 
 ness of real suffering, and to portray the last sad 
 struggle and sleep of death was to mock the poor 
 stricken face in the green-room. But deeper in 
 Gail's nature lay too great a reverence for God's 
 works not to feel also that the voices but seemed 
 to mock, for the soul respected and gave sympathy, 
 and a veneration for the Almighty, too humble not 
 to believe in the rights and purpose of his crea- 
 tion genius. The actress felt that while nothing 
 in her spirit violated the sacredness of death, her 
 mission was true. 
 
 When the last scene drew to its close, and the 
 actors, bowing their heads, wept, their tears were 
 real, for each heart missed the little figure that 
 would never again kneel in its old place. 
 
 That night Mrs. Leamingston and Gail took the 
 little body between them in the carriage. The 
 muffled wheels, rolling over the new snow, seemed
 
 EXCELSIOE. 277 
 
 to hold a reverential silence for the dead. The 
 storm and the wind had ceased. The kind stars 
 looked down into Julie's sleeping face, and, to 
 those that watched, seemed to draw a smile from 
 the closed mouth, that had predicted their coming. 
 The storm in the poor tossed bosom was over also, 
 and for Julie the fair weather had come. She 
 rested in peace, as pure and qyiet as the snow. 
 
 On the morning following, a city journal fur- 
 nished the public with the two items here ap- 
 pended : 
 
 " DEATH IN THE GREEN-BOOM. The sudden 
 death by heart disease, it is supposed of one of 
 the members of the Union Theatre company was 
 the occasion of the long intermission between the 
 fourth and fifth acts of last evening. All those 
 who have witnessed the play of Nelly's Fate will 
 remember with pleasant emotions the sweet face of 
 little Julie Ward, better known to the public as 
 Josie Wood, the Kittie Dillon of the piece. Al- 
 though her part in the piece was brief, like her 
 earthly existence, her lovely face once seen, and 
 the happy, child-like voice once heard, would not 
 readily fade from the heart. Miss Ward had only
 
 278 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 just entered her seventeenth year, and was quite 
 new to the stage. Yet there are few among her 
 associates in the profession, who will not sincerely 
 mourn her loss, for she was one of those happy 
 embodied sunbeams, too bright to last, and too 
 rare to be forgotten." 
 
 "ON DIT. It is rumored, and popularly credi- 
 ted, that Miss Fanny Ceelems, the leading actress 
 of the Union Theatre, was secretly married to Mr. 
 Richard Harben, Jr., son of the well-known mer- 
 chant and principal lessor of the Union. An 
 attachment and understanding had long existed 
 between the lady and young Harben, and the cause 
 of this clandestine movement is said to have been 
 the opposition of Mr. Harben, Sr., to the match. 
 The habitues of the theatre will miss the graceful 
 figure, the handsome face, and the charming and ' 
 coquettish style of acting, that were the peculiar 
 and fascinating gifts that pertained to Miss Cee- 
 lems. 
 
 " It can scarcely be a matter of speculation as to 
 who will be the lady's successor. The public and 
 the management will alike look to the recent de- 
 butante at the benefit of Mr. Joseph Haines Miss 
 Abigail Hart, whose original conception and un-
 
 EXCELSIOB. 279 
 
 paralleled presentment of the heroine's character 
 in Nelly's Fate evinced unquestionable genius, 
 enraptured the public, and necessitated a repe- 
 tition of the piece for many nights, and estab- 
 lished herself as a permanent favorite with play- 
 goers."
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 THE matter of the author failing to fill the paper of the 
 printer, a few pages are here thrown in gratis. They may 
 prove useful, if not entertaining, to whom they may con- 
 cern. 
 
 Human life may well be viewed by some of us in three of 
 its primary aspects of individual, domestic, and social, as 
 related to each other. 
 
 Between individual and social life there must exist a life 
 very distinct from either. It is the life of the family. So- 
 ciety at large cannot be made up of mere individuals. It 
 cannot take the place of the family, or be one great family, 
 except in dreams. It can hardly do the office of a family, 
 even as a figure of speech, because the human individual 
 begins and often ends life utterly helpless. Society at large, 
 even if so disposed, could help the sprawling and wail- 
 ing little animated dumpling, just come into the world, to 
 nothing worth living for. It takes a family to minister to 
 and find bliss in the care of such a terrible little nuisance. 
 It has nothing to pay, and no other possible corporation 
 would trust it. The perfection of the family is, that it 
 trusts it without reserve ; ready to make unlimited advances, 
 tmd scorning to ask for any indorser. Hence the family, 
 
 (281)
 
 282 APPENDIX. 
 
 and not the individual, is the true unit of society ; as the 
 tree, and not any individual root, boll, or branch, is the unit 
 of the forest. 
 
 The joy of a family is like the joy of a tree ; to be com- 
 plete in itself and independent of society, giving to the com- 
 mon happiness as much as it receives. Branches may wither 
 or be cut off. The tree lives from age to age. It is only 
 of virtuous and perennial families that a glorious social life 
 can be composed. Society cannot make families. They 
 make society. It can recognize their inestimable value and 
 cultivate the spirit of independence on which they thrive. 
 Society can frown on whatever threatens the sacredness of 
 family life, whatever undermines its self-sustaining force. 
 It can throw wide open the doors to such pleasures as fami- 
 lies can participate in, as such. It can do honor everywhere, 
 and above all things, to that duality of human nature on 
 which family life is founded. This life, in barbarous ages, 
 has lacked half its base, the father being all, the mother 
 nothing. The only prop failing, the structure was in ruins. 
 Civilization fortifies family life in proportion as it accords 
 equal honor and importance to both parents. 
 
 But the most powerful agency which civilization hast yet 
 offered to promote the self-sustaining energy of family life, is 
 the system of life insurance. Families being, as a rule, 
 combinations of helpless and productive lives, the cessation 
 of the latter, in the absence of accumulated wealth, throws 
 the former a sure wreck upon society. This is prevented 
 by life insurance a system by which the social life is made 
 to sustain the family life against the greatest of calamities, 
 without encroaching on its independence. 
 
 Taking any considerable number of human lives in full
 
 APPENDIX. 283 
 
 vigor, the ravages of death will be found to obey very 
 nearly a certain law, having regard to age. If a few thou- 
 sand individuals on whose- productive energy from day to 
 day, and year to year, the well-being of as many families 
 depends, form an insurance or indemnity fund, to which 
 each contributes annually an easily-spared sum, proportioned 
 to his own chance of having to be indemnified, every one of 
 these families is from that moment put in possession of an 
 estate that will sustain it after its productive support is re- 
 moved. 
 
 Of all the money-institutions of civilized society, the 
 Mutual Life Insurance Company should be the one most 
 affectionately cherished by the family, and the one most 
 jealously guarded by the powers of society. Science can 
 have no loftier aim than to contribute to the certainty and 
 equity of its methods. Philanthropy will do its very best for 
 the race when it persuades every family to which death can 
 bring poverty, to resort to it. 
 
 Life insurance, in its present form, has for its principal 
 founder llichard Price, a dissenting minister in London, a 
 particular friend of our Benjamin Franklin, arfd so great a 
 friend of our revolutionary fathers, and their principles of 
 liberty and independence, that Congress offered to pay his 
 expenses to this country and give him a handsome salary 
 to take charge of our confederate finances during that great 
 struggle. Nothing but his impaired health prevented his 
 becoming an American. His system of life insurance has 
 stood the test of a century, while hundreds of other schemes, 
 diverging more or less from his principles, have gone to 
 wreck. It is a union of savings bank and insurance. In 
 Massachusetts the system is jealously guarded by law, and
 
 284 APPENDIX. 
 
 her companies will, therefore, being founded on correct prin- 
 ciples, be as permanent as the progress of society itself. 
 The law aims to have them give. every man all the insurance 
 he pays for, and they willingly do it. Already they distrib- 
 ute a million of dollars a year to bereaved families, and 
 every year their power of good increases. 
 
 The Massachusetts companies are but a very small part 
 of those doing business in Massachusetts. Fifty-six com- 
 panies, having insurance to the amount of fifteen hundred 
 millions of dollars, have the Massachusetts test applied to 
 them from year to year, and it is by this only that more than 
 half a million families interested in them, and scattered all 
 over the United States, can form any very correct judgment 
 of their management. In regard to nearly as many others 
 the insured have no such test, or any other that deserves 
 consideration. 
 
 The well-being of nearly a million families in this country 
 already depends on institutions for life insurance. Is it not 
 wonderful that we see in social and political life so little 
 interest in this subject? We have social and political dis- 
 cussion in lecture-rooms and innumerable popular conven- 
 tions on all other subjects. Why should not the holders 
 of life policies in every social circle confer together, and by 
 delegates assemble in a national convention to secure for 
 this great interest the regulation and protection which it 
 needs. A state or two have fostered it more or less. As a 
 general rule, the states merely tax it and prey upon it. Con- 
 gress ignores it altogether. The whole interest is, in fact, 
 intrusted to close corporations, and the state laws which 
 hold them responsible to their constituents and the public 
 are generally very expensive, while they are by no means 
 effective.
 
 NEW ENGLAND MUTUAL 
 
 OFFICE IN THE COMPANY'S BUILDING, 
 
 30 STATE ST., BOSTON. 
 
 Policies issued on the most favorable terms. 
 The greatest risk taken on a life, $2O,OOO. 
 
 Surplus distributed among the members annually. 
 
 ALL POLICIES NON-FORFEITABLE. 
 
 JTo Policy issued by this Company is forfeited until its 
 value is worked out in Insiirance. Special attention is here 
 called to an Act of the Massachusetts Legislature (Chap. 186), which 
 secures to policy-holders, in companies chartered by the authority 
 of this Commonwealth, protection against the immediate forfeiture 
 of Policies for non-payment of premium. No one, after examining 
 this Statute, ivill forego the advantage of insuring in a Mas- 
 sachusetts Company. 
 
 Forms of application and pamphlets of the Company and its Re- 
 ports, to be had of its agents, or at the office of the Company, or for- 
 warded by mail, if written for. 
 
 SEWELL TAPPAN, GEORGE H. FOLGER, 
 
 M. P. WILDER, JAMES S. AMORY, 
 
 CHARLES HUBBARD, FRANCIS C. LOWELL, 
 
 HOMER BARTLETT, JAMES STURGIS, 
 
 BENJ. F. STEVENS, DWIGHT FOSTER. 
 
 BENJAMIN F. STEVENS, President. 
 JOSEPH M. GIBBENS, Secretary. 
 
 WM. W. MORLAND, Medical Examiner. 
 WALTER C. WRIGHT, Actuary.
 
 LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY, 
 
 SE.AJRS 
 
 Washington Street, corner Court, 
 BOSTON. 
 
 ORGANIZED AS THE EXPONENT OF THE NON-FORFEITURE 
 LAW OF MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 It was the first Company to proclaim the benefits of this Statute 
 to the public; the first to make all its Policies subject to this Statute, 
 and had " the honor of the first practical compliance with the 
 Statute." 
 
 All the Profits are divided among the Policy-holders. Dividends 
 paid annually on the Contribution Plan, commencing- one year 
 from date of the Policy, and may be used as cash in payment of Pre- 
 miums, or to purchase additions to Policy. 
 
 Each Policy is Non-Forfeitdble after one payment, or the 
 holder is entitled to a Paid-up Policy. 
 
 By reference to the Reports of the Insurance Commissioner of Mas- 
 sachusetts, it will be seen that this Company is not surpassed by any 
 other in the United States as to security to the Policy-holders. 
 
 GEO. P. SANGEE, President. 
 GEOEGE P. AGEB, Secretary. 
 J. C. WHITE, Medical Examiner. 
 ELIZUE WEIGHT, Actuary. 
 F. HUNTSTEWELL, Sup't of Agencies. 
 
 OUT Agents of integrity and ability wanted in different localities.