Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 March 1897 — My Last Card. [ARTICLE]

My Last Card.

People teil'l me Chat I am very successful, and I suppose I ought to consider myself fortunate. To-day lam counted among the leading singers, and few concert programmes lack my name. But it was not ever thus, and 1 may frankly say that I owe my success to one of the most lucky accidents t'lM't ever occurred in this world. 1 had come to the end of my resources. When most people say those words, they simply mean that they will liave to retrench expenses a little, give up their carriage, postpone their Winter visit to Nice until another year, and so on. But In my case it meant that I was very near Uhat point at which the workhouse seems the only way of sustenance. I was a baritone, trying vainly to secure some sort of a livelihood by my vocal efforts. But influence is perhaps more useful in the professional world than anywhere else, and influence I lacked. I could not turn to my reflations In my hour of need, for not one of them Would have acknowledged me. My family were all of that class which a Scotch poet has called the “Uuco’ guild,” and they were so bigoted that the very fact of my singing for my living put me beyond the pale of tflieir sympathy. No use, therefore, applying to my own flesh and blood. To whom, then? Friends? Yes, I had a few friends, but those Who had money wouldn’t lend it, and those who would lend It hadn’t any. Foolishly enough, I tliought that if I gave up singing and tried to find work in less ambitious directions, I should be successful. Alas, how soon I discovered my mistake. The lower one goes, the harder the struggle becomes —if there is little room at the top, there fa absolutely no room at all at the toot tom. I found this out When I had tried in vain to obtain a position first of all as clerk, then shopman, then dock laborer. Everywhere the cry was "Full up,” and there seemed no variation in this disheartening message. Tt sounded iu my ears like a death knell, and every day my position grew worse and worse. One by one my few belongings left me, until a.t length there remained only the suit in which I Stood, threadbare and patched, and my dress suit, to Which I sKM clung—for without it, how were engagements, if ever engagements came, to be filled? Yes. The evening clothes must remain, come what might. I now lived in a garret in 8100 nsfrury, where I owed four weeks for rent. My landlady, good-natured woman as she was, was now becoming impatient, and I knew that in a few nights, unless something were done, I should be roofless and without food. An awful SL'tuation truly. One foggy Thursday evening I climbed the Stairs 'to my wretched room, and saw a letter 'thrust under the door. Opening it, I found that it contained a concert 'ticket for a performance to be given tltat evening at a great hall in the West End. Tickets were often sent to me in Virtue of my professional position, though heaven knows a loaf of bread would have been more welcome.

The churdh clock struck 6. There was stirU 'time 'to dress and go 'to tine concert if I so deaired, and after nil, ilt would be better to ■spend 'tflie evening In a warm, well-Cighted Wall than in the gloom of a Dondtm garret. I decided, ■the:.ilore, to go t'he concert. I made a 1/x+ty toitdt, and jmrt as 1 was completing it, there came a tap at my door. “Oome in,” I said quickly. In answer to my invitaitlton, Mrs. Huxtable, the landlady, presented herself. “Mr. Lennox,” She said, speaking hastily and nervously, “I’ve jtKt looked in to ask you when you think you'll be able to pay me somethin’ to go on wd'dh. I’m not a ’ard woman, as you know, but I’ve goit a bedridden husband and plenty of Mtttie ones as well, and I must think o’ them as well as o’other people. When can you settle?' I tried ’to speak calmly, ae I replied: ••Verr •oom. I hope. At any rate, I will

do my bert. ifore tfcan taut, Mre. Huxtable, 1 can’t say." She mumbled something, and was about to retire, when she drew out from her pocket a small visiting card. “This must be yours. Mr. Lennox,” she said, giving ft to me. “I picked it up in the room this mvrnin’ after makin' your bed. Good night.” I looked at the piece of pastboard. Yes. k was one of my visiting cards, and it reminded tne of the days when my worldly affairs had been very different, and when people were g'.ad 'to liave me at their houses. Ixmg since I bad been without such a luxury as a card, and st came upon me now as a messenger from a far-off ami weli-uigh torg’ot’ten period. Meehanically I put it in iny pocket, and then extinguiishhig the candle, I went slowly down s’taira. A thick fbg was making all things pesWden'ria’, and it seemed to overwhelm iny entire being wMi disgust of l£fe and living. I cwtsed my hard fate a thousand tames, and in my heart there rose a despairing prayer—a prayer for death. Tb'fe world was unendurable—let the Ocher begin when ft would, fbr surely no atker existence could be more awful than tllris. My wUy to the concert Itall led me thvodgli the Strand, and near the Temple an irreshatElbCe impucse led ine down one of the narrow streets touching i he Etalbankmeut. Then I wetft and leaned on the Stone parapelt, and looked down into the fog-covered stream. As I looked, there rose in my heart a sudden and overwhelming desire to end my life then and there, and I CJiubed upon the parapet ,about to filing inywelf down Into the dark dep’-bs below. I hesitated. The oM, old thoughts, which Hamlet has put into words of wondrous beauty—words which surely must represent the tbougtiitls of all them that (have contemplated Self-destmotton Since the world began—were with me pow, and I said to myseCf: “Suppose the h.rreaflter shouOd be more bitter than fihe present—how then? how then? I drew back. A better hope sprang up in my heart. I would live ou and fight life’s ba-tihe to the end. Let them who h'ad committed deeds of 'shame seek such au end as this—for me, whose Onf.y desire for extinction was born of misfortune, a worthier end. And so. ibe bdJter decision won the battle. L't was a great relief to pass from the gloomy London Street inlto the cheerful ami brtlliiantly lighted concert hall. Already a great crowd had assotnbldd, lor the programme held some of the world’s most famous names in the musical world, among others tihait of Signor Luigi. AHl'hough Ms name was Italian, he was ns mucu an Englishman as m ’ self; but, like many singers he had adopted the foreign tDt’.e for professional reasons. I had always been specially interested in listening to Luigi, for many persons bad told me that my voice resembled his—in fact, some had gone so far to say that if he uud I were placed In competl'tilon, I should do better work than he. But Lulg! was flattered and courted, and obtained his nundred guineas per song, While I—weM, those wflio have read the preceding limes will know the difference between us. Luigi received a tremendous reception on this occasion, and sang two songs. He was rather late on the programme, and when ills performance was ended, the bulk of the audience, incdUiudtag myself, rose to go. As 1 passed cult Into the street I ran up against a man walking rapidly. He apologized brusquely, and catching sight of him under a lamp, I recognized the singer whom I had just heard, Luigi. A curious Impulse took hold of me. I would ask Luigi to help me. Perhaps im the hour of his own triumph, he would hold out a helping hand to the stumbier on the way. I ran after Uhiim amid soon came up with him. ’lYudhling him lightly on the arm, 1 eaiid: ’ excuse me, but may I have a word With you?” He turned round very abruptly, and said: “Who on earth are you? Whlat do you want?” His tone was rough in 'the extreme, and all hope died Within me as the harsh tomes fell on my ear. But I put iny pride in my pocaet, and said hastily: “My apology for thus troubling you must be that I aim absolutely penniless. Ah, no, I don't ask- for charity,’’ I said quickly as I saw Ms baud moving in the directiion of his pocket. 1 ask for aid of another kind. I am a singer. I believe I have some measure of ability, but I can’t find an engagement, t-.ough heaven knows I've done my best. Will you help me to find one?”

He looked very unamiable as ire replied: “Really, your behavior is irnconvenUCoiiai in the extreme, sir. To Waylay a m!an in 'the street and ask for assistance in cows manner is something quite now to me. However, give me your card, and if I hear of anything suitable, I will let you know.” 1 drew out my lawt card, which my tandtady 'had fortunately handed me that evening, and g ive it‘to him. Without deign.ng to gjance at it, he thrust it in his wa).stcoat pocket, and gave me a brusque “Good o.'ght,” passed on. A moment later, however, I saw him stopped again by a passer-by, evidently an American. I heard the latter congratulating li im 'in heartj' terms, and I did not doubt that allready I was forgotten by e successful slinger as completely as though I had never crossed h'is path. On my way home that evening I had a slight stroke of idck. I fed in with Charlie East, an old schoolfellow, and he hearing of my crlttea)! condition, iu'jt.sted on lending me a sovereign. Out of tbis I gave Mrs. Huxtable something on account, and went to bed in a happier frame of mind than I had for weeks. Nest Monday there came a letter which took my breath away. It ran thus: “U'riilted States Concert Bureau, 9 George Street, W., Nov. 2, 188—. “Deer Sir—Mr. Kent one of our directors has handed us your card with a view to our engaging you for a eeries of concerts promoted by tide agency, Ito be held between now and the ensuing earing. Unfortunately, Mt.

Kew b«« been ended aw* y to Mew York since tie bad the pleasure of meeting you, so chat he Will be unable to go Into marters with you personally, but If you will call here at your earli ~w convenience wo wall endeavor to meet your views as tar us possible. Very respo-tfully yours, “United States Concert Bureau, (pet) G. Will is, Secretary.” Two feelings (struggled for the mastery in my heart, as I read these lines—amazement a_d joy. Amazement tbut such a letter should have been addressed to me—joy that it bad come at al. My first impulse would have bxn> to go straight to George Street, but further reflection showed me that sura a course would be impolitic, Evidently the letter tad been written under the impression that I was a leading ii-glut’ in the musical world ,amd too much haste on my part in interviewing the Bureau would protab’y destroy ttat impression. I decided, therefore, 'to write a plain acknowledgement, and I did, adding that I would cad as soon as my engagements pevmitked. I could not help smiling IronivnKy as I wrote the last phrase. On the following Wednesday I went to the office. There I was ushered Into a sniu.. room, 'littered with papers, where a young man sat writing. He rose to receive me with much deference, ■ Good morning, sir,” he said, as he p.aced a choir for me. “Sit down, i m very sorry that Mr. Kent isn't here to arrange matters wfi'th you; but as I told you in my totter, he has been summoned away. He heard you sing Thursday nlight ait the big conemit nit —deflndde Htoil, and he decided alt once tn'a'. you should be among our baritones flor our winter nnd (spring shows, xiiat ’s, of course,” he added quickly, “if we can come to terms.” As he said these words, i-e solution <•- vue mystery flashed'across my mind, uiiigti tad handed my card to the Ameiilcwn to whom I had seen him tatang after I toft him, believing in the hurry of uie moment tluat the card wiais bis own. The American had Chen leflt the card with his people, telling taem ddu'bt.ess (in the off-hand manner In which our trans-Atlantic cousins manage these affairs) to eng'ge the dinger named on that card. Yes,. That was the secret Of the mystery. My last card had turned up trumps indeed. Wtait followed at the Interview I need only touch upon In --*e briefest possible manner. The terms offered me were sue- as made me fed inclined to jump from my went w joy, bitt naturally I did nothing of the sort, and behaved as much liae a sane person as my delight would allow me. Before I left the room I had signed i-.e contract flor tue whole series of concerts. The first concert came off three weeks later. How I lived through the excitement preceding i't I hardly know. My excitement was Simply overwhelming, for I knew now that the great chance of my career, eagerty walto.*l for, longed for and prayed for, had come alt Inert. Monday night, the nlgnt of the first concert, would decide my fate for me.

It came at leuigl'h. I trenVb’.ed vlolemtfly until the moment arrived for my appearance, and 'then a'l my fears leflt me, ami I faced the lur'ilkian’t am) mighty audience w’ltih steadfast heart. I sang my first song. When I to— baca upon that night, I look -.-w upon the ..applewt nlgnt of my fife. After my first song, the enlthuHlaism Was intense, and after my second, - was recalled five times. My 'triumph was complete. LH'tSe remain's ito tefll. My progress from that night on was a trlumplin/l ntardh—'engagements poured In, the newspapers cbronlieled my successes day aiter day. By one lucky stroke, 1 nad acliieved flame aml fortune. IJaiter on, of course, the whole 'truth came out; but Luigi, strangely enough, instead of being furious, seemed raa.ier amused. He met me one day In i .ecadllly long afterward, and Itoldlng oul his hand, eaiid: “Congratulate you with all my heart, Mr. Lennox. Funny thing that 1 shouT-d have given your card in mistake for my own, wasn't ft? The fact Is, I couldn't have accepted tire engagement in any case, for I was full up. Glad you’re doing so well. Have a cigar?” I accepted h'is invitation, aud as I did so I could not help contrasting the manner in which i>cople treat' you when you’re down on your luck, am] when you’re making a fortune. Fun. ny, Isn't It? But I owed I't all -to that liJiile piece of pasteboard found by my landlady In a corner of a London gur-relt—Tid-Bi'te.