THE LITTLE STAGE DOOR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XI, Issue 46, 18 November 1893, Page 432

THE LITTLE STAGE DOOR.

There’s an odd little door in a grimy blind alley, A door that is broken, black, battered, and small, And it stands at the end of a shadowy valley, ’Twixt a tenement house and a factory wall. All the panels are splintered, and since they were varnished The long years that have passed near amount to a score, And it swings with a squeak, for quite rusty and tarnished Are the hinges and lock of the little stage door. A belligerent Celt by the name of McNally, Who, to use an old phrase, is as ugly as sin, Stands a vigilant guard, and keeps accurate tally Of the people who go to the regions within. For the stranger who thoughtlessly taps at the portal He awaits with a frown and a terrible roar Of, ‘ Say, what! —what d’ye want?’ so the average mortal Has a deep rooted fear of the little stage door. There’s the young leading man, with his dresser and valet, The second old man with his property frown, Mam’zelle Somethingorother, the queen of the ballet, Who but lately was known as Miss Smithers or Brown. The soubrette, the dancers, and all of the chorus, too. With the gasmen, musicians, and several more Who aid in the bill, are the fortunate beings who Freely pass in and out of the little stage door. Ah, the phantoms that fancy can conjure around it, Of the faces and forms of those players who came To it far in the past, and who finally found it A hard conquered gate to the temple of Fame ! It has opened for those who gained riches and glory, It has closed upon hearts that were weary and sore, And in many a lost and forgotten life story, What a part has been played by the little stage door !