AN AMUSING STORY.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LXI, Issue 7178, 1 March 1884, Page 6

AN AMUSING STORY.

A strange story of real life has come to my knowledge, says one of the numerous writers of weekly gossip at Home, a story which is not too good to be true, but which is much too good for me to keep it to myself. Some years ago a well-known dramatist invited his friend, the editor of a weekly journal, to come and see & farcical comedy, of which the dramatist was particularly proud. The editor occupied a private box, and the dramatists and the actors watched the editorial face intently, in order to see the effect upon him of the screamingly funny situations, and the excruciating comic dialogue. Bui the editor’s face was adamant, never a muscle relaxed, never the faintest symptom of a smile hovered about his lips. During the entire performance his brow was wrinkled, and his lips were tightly compressed. A great dread fell on the audience; there was something in the cold, emotionless face of the editor in the private box that awed everyone, and the comedy which commenced with a roar ended in the silence of the grave. The unhappy author was furious; he vowed he would never speak to thai editor again, and for years he kept his word. The editor wondered why his former friend was so cold and distant, but he, too, was proud, and would not stop to inquire; and so the years went on, and the two bosom friends were strangers,’divided by an impassable gulf, and such they might have continued to their laid hour but for an extraordinary coincidence. Quite recently two steamers meet on the sea in a fog. They met too hurriedly, md both sank. When the fog lifted a raft alone floated on the oooan. On that raft were two men one from each vessel. They stared at each other for a moment; thAt, with a cry of joy, fell on each other’s bosoms and wept. They were the friends of other days, the dramatist and the editor. After the first flush of joy was over, they began to question each other. There was no pride left now. The hour qf common danger had rewoven,the unravelled threads of friendship. “Tell me, dear boy,’’-said the editor, “ why you have been so cold to me for years—why suddenly, from being my best friend, you took to cutting me in the street and at the olubP What was the reason P”. " What!” exclaimed the dramatist, “ do you moan to sayyou don’t know P” “ Know, my dear chap 1, I’ve never had the remotest idea.” “Well,”said the dramatist, "perhaps you remember coming to see my farcical-comedyP” “Yes* certainly.” • “ Why did you sit through the entire performance without a smile.” The editor gazed wildly at his friend for a moment, and then a great roar of laughter floated over the billows, and startled the hovering seagulls, who, with a wild scream, flew heyondthe horizon. “ My dear fellow,” he (the Miter, not-the seagull) exclaimed, “why didn’t you come to me for an explanation before P

Ton? jHeco delighted me. It was with the neatest physical agony I restrained my laughter —Wit I daren't even -smile." " Daren't (” " No, tny boy. I had a false tooth right in the middle of the front row, aud it came'out in the street, .and dropped down a sewer grating' os I was crossing the road. I daren't smile for fear of showing the’ gapl” Just then a passing vessel picked the two friends up, and brought them to England. One of them told me the story the other night, between the acts of " Lords and Commons" at the Haymarket. Moral.—Never quarrel with a friend without telling him why. You may not plways have the opportunity of explaining matters on a lonely raft on the boundless-ocean.