POOR DOLLY.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2885, 24 October 1895, Page 3

POOR DOLLY.

There was the usual buzz of conversation in the Empire Theatre, and mingling now and then with the buzz might be heard a shrill laugh or a whistle, To-niarht everyone had an expectant look, and nearly all the audience were talking of Dolly Vane, the popular actress and acrobat, who was giving her farewell performance before she went on a long tour through the colonies. It was to see Miss Dolly that this large and fashionable audience had gathered to-night, and they were prepared to give her a hearty farewell. Suddenly the orchestra trooped into their seats, and in a few minutes struck up a lively tune. The curtain was quickly drawn up. There was a pause, and then the beautiful form of a young woman bounced on the stage. She had dark hair and eyes, and was clad in a short yellow and scarlet dress, the bodice being literally covered with sequins, so that wherever she turned in the bright gas-light she seemed to be one blaze of red and yellow. Smiling and kissing her hands to the audience, she began to sing a bright song, to which she kept time by a series of steps, kicks, and [bounds. Whenever she accomplished an 'unusually high kick or a good bound the audience clapped and shouted their approval. But the grand finale was to come ; the thing that made women shudder and men turn their heads away, and yot they came to see it This was her wild dive from the top of the theatre to a bar a few feet off the stage, when she did some marvellous gymnastic feats, and finished up with a wonderful dance, that never failed to " bring down the house.” Lightly skipping to the back of the stage, Dolly caught a rope in her hands, and was quickly hoisted to the top of the theatre. There she hung, smiling on the vast sea of faces below, ere she made her wild plunge to the bar. Suddenly in that breathless pause a man’s voice was heard shouting, “ Dolly ! Dolly ! for Go IV sake don’t jump ! Dolly, my wife, don't.’' Dolly lifted up her head, and seemed to be suddenly convulsed with emotion, and then, with a wild cry of “Guy, Guy, at last!” fell to the stage, and lay there a motionless heap. Before the terror-stricken audience could stir, a little white-robed figure, with flying golden hair, rushed across the stage to where the woman was lying so ominously still. With a wild cry of “ Mother! mother! speak to me ! Speak to your little Pearl 1” she flung her-elf down by her mother’s side. This, as the curtain was rung down, was the last thing seen by the onlookers, and it seemed to be the dropscene of some frightful tragedy. The little white-robed figure kneeling by her side, and the piteous cry of “ Mother, speak to me 1” rang in many cars us the audience slowly wended their way homeward. * * * *

The end of this tale was told in a London newspaper a few days later. It ran as follows : “ Toe funeral of the popular actress Miss Dolly Vane took place to-day at 2 o’clock. The wreaths were handsome and numerous. Many notabilities were present, the chief mourners being the Earl of Rhyl and his son Sir Guy Norton. It seems that Sir Guy was Miss Vane’s husband. He met her when quite a young girl staying at a country house. They were mutually attracted, and when Sir Guy asked Dolly to run away with him she did not refuse. Sir Guy was going on a yachting tour to the antipodes, and took Miss Dolly with him, without her relations finding out. But when in Australia, eighteen months later, he got tired of her, aud basely deserted her in Melbourne. She was left with her child, only a few months old, in Melbourne, friendless, homeless, aud moneyless. She could not teach, and could not sew, and was on the point of starvation when one day she saw in a paper an advertisement that some chorus girls .were wanted for a new opera just about to be produced. So, applying to the manager of the company, she was engaged for a year. During this time she worked hard, putting by half her wages to pay for a passage home. At last she had enough, and when she reached London, too proud to beg forgiveness from her family, she got an engagement at the Empire Theatre. Here she quickly won her way to the front, by her pretty face, charming manners, and cleverness. She lived all this time hoping one day to see her husband, whom she really loved, and whom if ho had returned to her she would have forgiven at once. So affected, therefore, was she the other night by the unexpected sound of his voice that she fell to the floor senseless. Sir Guy went to her at once after the accident, and had everything possiol* done for her; but she never rallied, and died without knowing or seeing her husband. Wo understand that the Earl of Rhyl was very angry at his sou's rash marriage, i ut has now quite forgiven him, and recognises little Pearl us his gj.aptL laughter, Sir Guy having claimed and proved her to be hiebild a few days after Ids wife s sad death. —(Whitten by Minnib S Ma.clkan. Marivale, Christchurch, aged L y^ars.)

OH WHERE SHaLL I GO?

Oh where ! Oh where shall I go ? When thro’ this cold clay life ceases to flow; When death's icy hand is laid on my brow, Jut of this world I unwillingly bow, Tell me where, oh where, oh where shall 1 go, When consigned is this corpse to dust below ? Oh have I not read , The Great Book hath said That I shall reap fruit from seed that I sow? Oh where 1 Oh where shall I go ? When nature bless’d gifts no more doth bestow, When the swift tide of life hath ebbed out its flood, And the venom of death curdles the blood, When the soul, freed from its sheathing of clay. Wings its swift flight to its Maker away, Oh, where shall I go ? To judgment I know ; After the judgment, oh where shall I go ? Oh where 1 Oh where shall I go ? Can a poor mortal his destiny know ! Eternity stretcheth beyond the tomb, Eternal joy, or eternal gloom Awaiteth the soul in unexplored space, And time appointed, cometh, when the place That’s known us before Shall know us no more, For eternity awaiteth our race. Oh where ! Oh where shall I go ? To life above, or to drear death below, To the home of saints, the Saviour and God, Or to the dark place where mercy ne’er trod. Tell me where, oh where, oh where shall I go, When thro’ this cold clay life ceases to flow ; Oh have I not read The Great Book hath said That I shall reap fruit from seeds that I sow, Then shall I sow seeds for life or for woe ? —H. H. Heatley.