He murmured, impatiently hunting,
"It's strange that I cannot find—
There! I've looked in every corner;
It must have been left behind."
The miners were stamping and shouting—
They were not patient men;
The clown bent over the cradle—
"I must take you, little Ben!"
The mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near;
She lifted her baby gently,
"You'll be very careful, dear?"
"Careful! You foolish darling—"
How tenderly it was said!
What a smile shone through the chalk and paint—
"I love each hair of his head!"
The noise rose into an uproar,
Misrule for the time was king;
The clown, with a foolish chuckle,
Bolted into the ring.
But as with a squeak and a flourish,
The fiddles closed their tune,
"You hold him as if he was made of glass!"
Said the clown to Pantaloon.
The jovial follow nodded:
"I've a couple myself," he said;
"I know how to handle 'em, bless you!
Old fellow, go ahead!"
The fun grew fast and furious,
And not one of all the crowd
Had guessed the baby was alive,
When he suddenly laughed aloud.
Oh, that baby-laugh! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring,
And the roughest customer there sprung up
With "Boys, it's a real thing!"
The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
For "A shot at holding the baby—"
The baby that was "alive!"
He was thronged by kneeling suitors
In the midst of the dusty ring,
And he held his court right royally—
The fair little baby-king—
Till one of the shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk of miles of the country,
And the terror of the place,
Raised the little king on his shoulder,
And chuckled, "Look at that!"
As the baby fingers clutched his hair.
Then "Boys, hand round that hat!"
There never was such a hat-full
Of silver, and gold, and notes;
People are not always penniless
Because they don't wear coats.
And then, "Three cheers for the baby!"
I tell you those cheers were meant;
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.
And there was a sudden silence,
And a gruff old miner said:
"Come boys, enough of this rumpus!
It's time it was put to bed."
So looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright,
The audience, somewhat lingeringly,
Flocked out into the night.
And the bold-faced leader chuckled,
"He wasn't a bit afraid!
He's as game as he is good-looking—
Boys, that was a show that paid!"
The public at large has but a very vague idea of how a circus is run, and the people, besides the managers and regular employees, who make a living by it. When the tenting season is about to open, a class of people, who in the winter hang about the saloons, variety theatres and gambling hells of the large cities, start for the circuses to bid for what are known as the "privileges," which are, as a rule, understood to embrace not only the candy and lemonade-stands and the side-shows, but all sorts of gambling devices by which the unsuspecting countryman is fleeced out of his earnings, or borrowings, as the case may be. Monte men, thimble-riggers, sweat-cloth dealers, and all classes of gamblers and thieves who have not yet risen to the dignity of "working" the watering-places and summer resorts, look upon the route of a circus as their legitimate field of operation. The circus proprietor who rents the lot upon which his tent or tents are pitched has the right to sublet such portions of the ground as he does not use, for such purposes as he deems proper, and which will not make him personally amenable to the laws for whatever crimes may be committed there. It has been shown that in many cases the managers not only sell to gamblers the privilege of locating on the ground and robbing the patrons of the circus, but also receive a share of the ill-gotten wealth.