THE CLOWN'S STORY.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2090, 31 January 1896, Page 3

THE CLOWN'S STORY.

AX EPISODE IN CIRCUS LIFE. Mr Harry Furness, the ex-clown, will now address the meeting. It was an ordinary temperance meeting at a West End Mission. 1 had just finished speaking, and Mr Furness was to follow me. Have you ever noticed how different people are to what you expected them to be ? So in this case. T had pictured a short, droll man, l'ull of jokes and saw-dust-patter, with a lot of facial expression, and a bit vulgar. I fonnd a tall, fine-looking man, with a refined face, and eyes that were eloquent with sympathy. His speech was one of the best I have heard. The opening sentences light, playful, winning. arresting, and interesting; gradually growing in dignity and sweetness until the speaker was lost sight of in the awful importance of his message. Passages of real eloquence swept and swayed the hearts of the audience. Every word seemed to come as white heat from the anvil of an awful experience, and closing with a peroration of pathetic pleading on behalf of the drunkard. Not a word of himself, nor his past lire. It was the exact opposite of what I had expected, and yet so powerful and persuasive, that I stayed behind to tell him how much I enjoyed it, and how different it was from what I expected. "Ah." he said, smiling, "you expected paint, sawdust, and powder, and the chatter of the footlights. Xo. that is not my line; but little good is gained in flinging open the doors, and letting the public wander down the corridors of my past life. It is too sad, too dark, for curious eyes to gaze upon." And yet a few months after, sitting by the fireside, he told me all the story of that

life, with its varying lights and shades; and because I believe that it may be

helpful to some tempted one, I tell it here, just as he told it to me. "I was born a clown; my father was a clown and my mother a doncing wo-

man. and I was born in the van of a travelling circus. Before I was many years old, I was put into training for an acrobat, and let me say if a boy is fairly sharp at his work, an acrobat life is no hardt-r than any other. It is all nonsense about the beating and torture.

As I grew up I developed a fund of humor and mimicry, so it was decided I should be a clown. Nothing of any importance happened until I was about two and twenty, and then I fel '.ln love. The story of a man's love is so ordinary. so human, that if is of little interest to another. But to me, sir, it was j a crisis; a juncture in my life; a mighty revolution. She was a circus rider, the girl I loved. I remember the first night she joined our show, ah; as if it were yesterday. I remember her sitting like a goddess on her horse as they led her in. A burst of applause greeted her entry; beautiful women and wealthy men brought their glasses to bear upon her, as she rode slowly round the ring. Yes, she was beautiful, very, very beautiful. I met her eyes as she rode towards me, and mine grew dim, my voice grew huksy, as I stood and fooled, and played the clown before her. I suppose trie world would say it was a case of love at first sight. To me it was an all-absorbing passion. You know the words of Tennyson about "The maiden love for a maiden," well, sir, it was my maiden love for a maiden; pure, holy, strong', true. It changed my whole life. Before I had earned and spent, ate and drank, and slept, and generally led an aimless, purposeless life. Now I had an aim. something to live for; to woo and win this little girl for my wife. It's a grand time for a young man when an all-mastering passion seizes him. Sometimes it is religion, sometimes ambition, sometimes invention, and sometimes love. But, be what it may, it's a. grand time for any man. Why, there were days during that period of my life that were almost sinless, for that girl was not only pretty, but good. She was a better woman than I was a man. and soon ennobled and elevated me. Old habits, such as drink and gambling were powerless to assail me in those days. Well, sir, to make a short story of it, I did win her, and we were married. For the next seven years of our life I don't think there were two happier mortals on God's earth than we were.

We loved with a perfect love. We bore with each other's failings that seemed to crop up after marriage; bore -with each other because of our great love. We were clever at our business, earned good salaries, and were sober and thrifty in our living, and began to save money, and after five years married life bought two well trained ring horses, some dogs, and goats, and were in a position to earn twenty pounds a week. We had one child—a boy. I trained him for the ring. He was a sharp, quick, little rogue, and at four years old was earning much more than his keep. One night, ten years ago next Christmas, we were playing at Liverpool, the circus was lit by electricity; my wife always dreaded the electric light, she; said it was so uncertain, I

She was doe* the two-horae barel*a«k jump trick. She jumped through a lons paper sort of tub blindfolded, and alighted upon two horses. There was a certain kind of risk about It, but she had done the trick scores of times before, and the horses knew the business well, when all in a moment, just as she leaped, the light flashed and lowered almost to darkness. The horses shied, there was a scream, and an awful thud. A thrill of horror ran through the audience, an involuntary groan of dispair fell from my lips as I dragged her from under the horses hoofs. "Not hurt. Furness, I hope," said the ringmaster, "only a faint?" "No, sir, not a faint; dead, sir, quite dead. Oh, my dear, dear darling! Oh God. my wife, my life!" I will not tell you the history of the next five years, only in one awful sentence, "I took to drink," you know what that means.l sold off horses, dogs, parted with everything, my honor, my manhood, my soul for drink-

For those five years 1 wandered God's beautiful earth like a lost fiend. I lost engagement after engagement, until I fooled in the common streets for a night's lodging in a low doss house. And the boy? Yes; he stuck to me nil tiirough. Beaten, starved, kicked, Oh my Oocl! what that little lad endured for those five years at my hands, at the hands of his own father, and when I was sobor. I would love him and shower kindness upon him; and when in drink—ah! it is the remembrance of that, the awful knowledge of how drink changes and blasts and changes a man from a fond father to an inhuman fiend, that makes me speak as you heard me last night. Well, one night, it was summer. we were doing the coast, sleeping in the open, under a haystack. That niprht my wife came and stood by my side, and bent over me, and said, "Harry, my husband."

I started up. She never moved

No, sir, it was no dream. No, I am not a spiritualist nor a theosophist. I hope lam a Christian man. But I say my wife stood by me that night, looked upon me with her very eyes and spoke to me with her own voice. I saw her as distinct as I see you, only purified and radiant.

I say she stood by me, sent by God to save me from hell. "Harry, my husband," she said, low and sad-like, "do you want to lose me for ever and ever and ever? Do you never want to join me again?" *

I could not. speak. How could I utter her sacred name with drink blistered lips? But, she read my thoughts and went on.

"Then you must give up the drink. It will be an awful struggle, but God will help you. Has He not sent me to help you? Be brave! Fight on for His namesake, for my namesake, for our son's sake, for your own soul's: sake. Give up the drink," and then sheaiooped and kissed the lad, and the moon was shining on him as he stirred and smiled in his sleep.

And with God's help and foj- my boy's sake, I have given up the drink. It has been a fight, an awful fight. You cannot conquer a five years' habit in a day. The chain you have wound round you must be unwound link by link, bit by bit. And it is that which makes me so patient, so compassionate with all drunkards. The fight for their freedom must be a personal one, no one can fight it for them. It is a long, awful, hand-to-hand fight with a life-long habit; and they need all the help by reducing the temptation that they can get. But I say here, and I say at every meeting- I address, next to the inspiration of God's spirit in a man's heart, there is nothing like a diet largely composed of fruit, to change the unhealthy craving for strong drink.

How did I become a temperance speaker? Oh, that is soon told. I felt I could never go back to the ring again, my clown days were over, and so I offered myself to the C.E.T.S., and after a few months' probation, they engaged me permanently. I have made many friends; one gentleman is helping me to keep my boy at King's College, and he is doing very well. Hopes to win a scholarship and go to Oxford and enter the Church. That is my story, sir, too sacred for the platform, too awful for me to rerite for transient applause. Good night, sir, and with all my heart I wish you a merry Christmas and a bright New Year.—"The Vegetarian."