SPOTS AND BLOTS.

Western Star, Issue 426, 12 March 1881, Page 1 (Supplement)

SPOTS AND BLOTS.

AJt OLD CIRCUS CLOWN. In that county fitly called “ the Garden of England,” I had determined to spend my holiday. In one of my favourite walks I frequently passed a pretty, oldfashioned, well-kept cottage, which even a lover of London could not fail to admire. I had often noticed an old man working in the garden, and pottering over some favourite plant, but I had no idea that he was an old circus clown till we drew together. through me noticing that he was particularly fond of children. He would sometimes spend half an hour at a time walking through the garden with my little girl, telling her the names of the flowers, and showing very intelligent interest in the habits and culture of his plants. All the children in the village loved Ben Jarvis—he had suph a kind, genial way with. him; and where children lead in this respect, we

hard-grained seniors may safely follow. "And you; thought I was a born gardener, sir,| did you?” he said, with a hoarse chuckle. “Lor’ bless you, I’ve been among tents and sawdust all my life, and travelled hundreds of miles with our oirctisand wild beast show. We had a

taking lot of animals too, what with lions, elephants, and camels —to say nothing of the monkeys. Seem fond of children? lam fond of them. I can’t help feeling soft as a babby when they come prattling about me, with their innocent eyes shining up into mine. Yet curious thing, sir, I never took particular notice of children till I took charge of Daisy, my chum Joe Sando’s little lass. “ HOw was that, do you say ?, It’s a true story, and if you’ve time I’ll tell it

you.- ■ ■ “Joe Sando and me was chums in the, profession—the twin Apollos we called ourselves. You smile, air, at that; but, mind, I wasn’t old and cranky-boned then, nor so awful ugly either ; and Joe —he was a picture of handsomeness, and as fine a fellow as I ever saw—we were always just like brothers.” And Ben’s

voice grew hoarse, and his eye misty, at thb recollection, while his sudden turning aWay» it struck me, was not altogether in thh interest of the flower oyer which he Bent. “Joe and me never had a quarrel for all the years we were together, and that’s saying a deal in that knock-about Ufe where there’s more jealousy and envy than anyone would believe that’s not been in it. He got married to a beautiful wonian and clever, but that made no

difference in our friendship, though in my heart I never quite liked the choice he’d made. Joe’s wife was too beautiful — like some o’ them red-cheeked apples of mine along there, which are the very first that the birds make a dab at with their beaks. , .f f

soon saw how things were going, and Joe saw it Wo, though nothing but sad looks ever passed between us; and one day, when we were changing our town, she didn’t turn up. She’d bolted with a swell, and we never clapped eyes on jher again. At first Joe would not believe it, until I found a letter she had left, for him, showing she never had a woman’s heart. * Well, that was the first

thing that broke his spirit,’ says I, when « she bolted. * Don't fret, Joe; she’s not worth it.’ Bat it's easier to tell a man to forget his wife than it is for him to do so. I said, * It’s a good thing she’s left Daisy to as ’ —that was his little girl, just turned seven; but Joe only shook his head.. At first, I thought he would, have gotieout of his mind ; but, even with our greatest sorrow, you know what time does, and so it did with Joe; but that sorrow* changed him, and he used to vent his ill; temper upon a,nasty-tempered lioness we had—a Snappish minx that would have quarrelled with her own shadow. Juba we called her, and I was her keeper. ‘‘ln our .circus we had to turn our hahjis to any kind of work. Ido believe people would not come in such numbers now to see a procession a quarter of a mile long come into a town as they did,

yeais .-ago, to see our little lot when it arrived. Well, Juba couldn’t frighten mewith her growls and her great white teethj but nobody else would have trusted them?Clves inside the bars of the caravan cage; The two lions used to draw j ust with their roaring. The old' lion —we called him Falstaffe—was getting, wheezy and consumptive, but was very fond of me—used to feed out of my hand, and lick my face, and lay his paw on >my shoulder when I went in to clean Out his cage; but Juba was young and savage; l so we’d two compartments to her cage, and used to pop her into one, and then let down a slide while we cleaned out ’ the other—just to prevent mistakes, you know. Weil, this was the one Joe delighted in teasing, making faces at her, and' calling her ail sorts of names, just as if she’d been the wife that ran away. Of course, he did it at a respectable distance from the bars ,of her cage, where there Wesa’t'a ghost of a chance of her making a quick claw at him, but it was a foolish thing to do, for them beasts has more in their heads than folks believe, and can keep up spite for years, and never forget who did ’em wrong. But for all I spoke to him, and warned him, Joe wouldn’t keep away from her cage. “ About this time we came to a tidy little town, where we were sure of a month’s good business at any time. Joe and me were favorites there, and on the night of our benefit the public let us know it in the best way they could, for a crammed house wouldn't hold all that came. We got to the place all right, only that the old lion, Falstaffe, got a tremendous bad cold on the way, and coughed, and was so ill, that the ‘vet’ said he wouldn’t live many days. I nursed him like a child, and when he couldn't hold up his head even, he’d look at me that grateful, and lick my hand so, that the tears came into my eyes. I loved that old lion.

“Circus people aint slothful lie-a-beds, and one morning very early, though I’d been up nursing old Palstaffe long after the performance, I went the round of the

animals to see that everything was right and in doing so had to cross the circus. The place was sort of dark, but, I don’t know how it was, the minute I got inside the door I stood still as if my heart had scented a kind of danger I couldn’t see. Then I looked away up on the gallery seats, and saw two shining things; like, small red lamps. There was' a growl at the same minute! spotted ’em, and my ; heart gave a jump so that I thought it had been in my mouth, for I saw at once that Juba had got out of her cage. The show of fear with wild beasts is fatal, so I picked up a whip,; and, cracking it, made for the gallery as fast as I could spramblei “ ‘ Why, you oAdacious minx 1 Hoyr dare you break out of your , cage without my leave?’ I cried; and she.cowered, down at once, for she’d always been afraid of me from the tinie when I’d, to get that left-hand; of .mine out ;of her teeth by< striking her on the head, I laid the whip about her hide in fine style, T tell you; aitd drove her down the seats to her cage,, and in at the bars she'd Ibrokeri; and pull-’ ing up the slide shut her in the inner compartment before I noticed that her mouth arid teeth w;ere soaking with blood. ■ u t What have you, been up, to, you brute P’ I cried to her, making a drive at her ugly head; .through the bars. * Some of the dogs or monkeys have suffered, I suppose, and; you won’t need any dinner to-day. Wait till the governor comes iri; and see what he’ll say’ to you.’ 1 Some, more, of the company crime in just then, and we traced the drops of blood right up to the gallery, arid then T picked-up \ something like a jacket arid a scapf.. The fight, wasn’t good, but, it was, strong; enough for me to See that the jacket and the scarf belongedto Joe. Some of them had to hold me up, for my legs l gave way under me. They searched further, arid behind the seats they l forind part of the' dead body Of Joe Sando, my best and faithful chum. However . he'd .got in there, arid how Juba had broken her bars and got but, I never knew; but I expect Juba had been out most of the night, and had wolfed ’up Joe when he wandered in in the early morning, ■ maybe to tease her. While they were holding my hands andsaying all sorts of kind, soothing things; to me, I remembered about little Driisf;' that never was a dozen yards from her’ father’s side, ho matter where he went. I: thought the worst. Perhaps the father* had been killed in defending his child, and that he had riot succeeded, ,'.a 1 “ ‘ Where’s the child ?’ I shouted out, sort o’ crazed-like. ‘Where’s Daisy?’ Nobody had - ; seen, her j and: they tried to > make me believe it was all right, till some, one ran to her lodging and said she’d gone, out with her father and had not been seen since. Then I tore through the place, looking everywhere, and shouting for her, till at last I notices a white thing -like a child’s frock: ; Ofltepf uthe, seats. I staggered over to it, and looking down I. saw her, lying with her, eyes; closed, and the mark, of a broad red tongue on her pure forehead. 1 screamed out that she was dead, but she She was lying there fast asleep, or maybe in a faint from fright. "There 1 was; a : terrific rumpus in the town when it got known that one of the lions had killed and eaten a man. In the afternoon the griv’nor came to me, he, ‘ Ben,, depend upon it the authorities will insist bn the lion being shot that killed Sando. Let’s put them on to old Falstaffe. See ? see and thenihe nudges me kind of slylike in the ribs.

[ “‘What do you mean?’ I said, not taking him up. \ “ ‘ Oh, Falstaffe won’t live a wedkr-he can scarce lift his head,, arid every breath, seems a trouble to draw ; but JubaA, worth a lump of money/any day—-young, arid; strong, and likely to live. I can't; afford to lose her. We’ll put old Falstaffe out of pain; and say nothing about it’ - ,-■ , v ini r u=J! tui -.mu- -sr- hi i

; “ Dash me if I could see it! It gave my heart an awful puli, I tell yob, to think of poor old Falstaffe being shot for the offence of a brute like Juba ; but what could Ido ? It'was as much as my bread was worth to speak out. Ini the: afternoon in comes the Superintendent of Police. He had a long conversation with the governor, and I.heard him say, .‘ You had better have that* done before you are told to. It will help Ito get you out of the trouble.’ On passing the lions I saw the governor point at Falstaffe. Juba was asleep, and so looked quite smalh and innocent-like, while poor old Falstaffe seemed to sniff danger, for he lifted his great head and gave a kind of a growl. And he looked that noble-like, facing us all in his old age and weakness. The guv’nor said, ‘lf you stop a minute you shall see it done.’ Then he loaded a gun, and comes up to me and puts it in my hand, saying, ‘ Ben, you know. I told you I should have the lion shot, and you’re up to the ways of the brutes ; just you do the job so’s to give the least pain/ But ju|t then the poor old brute gets his affectionate eye oh me—'kind of half surprisedlike he looked—and I dropped the gun like as it had burned me. * I’ll die first|!’ I shouts out afore ’em all;. and then, like a baby as I was, I covered up my eyes and cried. That was the last look I got at poor old Falstaffe, for, in a minute, there was a shot, and I started to see him roll over dead in the bottom of his cage, with the last look of his glazing eyes fixed, reproachful-like, on me. You woulddn t believe me, sir, but I never felt so down-hearted and lonesome in my life as I did then—losing my chum and my old lion all in a breath as you might say, and knowing all the time that that shedevil J üba was the vagabond that ought to have suffered.

“ All the company, out of respect, attended the funeral. How unlike was that procession to the one when we entered the town. The little church on the hillside, standing surrounded by its graveyard, was soon reached. What a quiet resting-place, I thought, for poor Joe. Under the shade of a willow-tree the grave had been dug, and I, feeling weary and heart-sick, wished it had been my restingplace too. By the side of poor Joe’s grave

, I promised to take care of Daisy, and every honest man knows what such a promise means. I kept my word. . “ We left the town a few days after the funeral —not because our business had fallen off, for that was better than ever ; and I believe if we could- have owned to i the fact that the public were .looking ■ at the.animal that really killed Joe, instead of at its mate, we should have done better still. : . J'-.t ■ - ■ •; vb “ I took in hand to bring up Daisy* and be her father in. place of him that was gone. Up to that time I never took much inotice of ohildreri—they wasn’t much ,to. my taste; but Daisy isbbn V changed all that. She was so sweet, and loving,, arid: tender; and, so beautiful, too, that body said it was plain that she wasn’t long for this world., Ha!, ha! ha!. It’s me that knows better now. I watched that child; and/ lobked after her till she < i pulled ;me right away from my loneliness land sorrow. She grew, /up calling me Father,” and I never stopped her; it wris : sort of ; nice to - hear ‘her say ;it. ■ I never tired of training her arid bringing her on. She was soon able to go into;the ring on hdrsebaok with; the gay’ribr, ‘ who was A splendid horseman, and then she , was starred in. the bills as “ The Little, Fairy’; Arid, she was that, and.nothing I else! I told the f guv’nor! that if; an accident should happen to her in the ting' in ■His hands I’dbe nigh kifiing himbut he only laughed And said,* f You think she's a dolt, Ben ; she i;brilda f t hurt herself no" more thanA butterfly falling from a tree;’/' ■And he was right. How my heart used to swell; with pride when she/werit throughher l ..performance; ..Then ,1 IthoaghTpf.vtHefuture.. , Was myADaisy to grow np and to be knocked about in I the: profession after I waaiold; bri dead ? Not if I knowed iti; .Most of theiappreriticesinour circus knew nothing beyond i their ring framing, but '‘every l town we, i went to, I clalpS Daisy inJA.the best school in the place ;; so she: grbw np a reg’lar young lady. Thinks I, if she’s to be in a different sphere, people ; vsron’t laugh at. ■her for an she’ll make ■’em open their-eyes.; ,One season-when Iwe was down Manchester way, playing at i the Onion Fair, a young gent saw her ■and lost his heart straight away. ,He could do nothing but come in to every performance, and gaze‘at. her ,arid applaud; and he' never -'noticed me in the ring, though! was watching Him all the time, and reading, him like a book., I knew what was his trouble, cos I’d had it myself when I was ypriqg,qnly the poor Jgirl died and I never troubled with another. -Bat one night he had a talk with me. 1 Now, look here,’ I said, when he'd gone over his story, > ‘ love’s all, very well; you know; but you don’t mean to say you’d marry a common circus girl? ’ ‘She’s not a common circus-girl.! ’ be said, proud and eloquerit-like, arid I w/as shut up for a minute. Tell you, he. scored one there. His prospects were good—too good, I thought; for I feared the fate that had overtaken her smother. Well, time went, on and we changed our town, and then I thought he would forget her ; bnt no, letters came from him often, arid very nice letters they were. I “ When Daisy sent her first letter in reply,! posted it. It looked so neat, and tead so well, that I said to myself, ‘ Ben, pld man, you’re getting ’.value , for the girl’s sphpoling:; ’ and I .was. At last it wps, arranged .that she should leave the circus, and;!, remember the governor saying, hej ‘ hoped the ring she was changing for would suit her us well as-the orie she* was leavingbut it had not come to that yet. She stayed with iny married sister ini London, arid went to 'school, foie', mow than 1 a year. She had grown very pretty —ra little like her, mother was when he married her, but a more home-looking girl, and she loves me like her father; On the day they were married I felt my: promise had been so far* kept to myi old feiend. f > mob-! --bim b

1 “ Did T ever hear anything of her mother? Well, I did hear that the fellow who took her away behaved shamefully to her, and that she died abroad, j “ Well, they did,marry, and very happy they are. The little home live got I owe to Daisy’s husband, and most of the comforts I enjoy with it ; but when !; tell him, j so;. he, says, > .mo; < Ben—think owe toiyoul ini a true and loving little wife/ : iThey wanted ihe to settle with theim, but I wouldn’t-, ] i“ ‘ No, Daisy, dear,’T said, ; ‘ I’ll’lote you till you didjbhe same as if I had been: your own father; butT educated ypulfor a different; sphere, and I’ll come : and see you sometimes, but it wouldn’t do for me to bring shaine on you; :and nothing they could say would put me 1 off the I see them often. That: was them you saw in my garden yesterday, and the lady as kissed me afc the; gate was Daisy.’’