There is a great deal of romance in the life of a circus performer; and as the theatrical world is often penetrated in search of subjects rich in fiction, so, too, romancers enter the circus ring to find a hero or heroine for an o'er-true tale. In a Western paper I found the following pretty and touching story, which had evidently been copied from some other paper without credit, and which, as it deals with circus life, and particularly that feature of it we have just left—equestrianism—I believe it will be found interesting, and in reproducing it regret that I am unacquainted with the source whence it came, as the publication in which it originally appeared certainly deserves mention:—
The North American Consolidated Circus was to show in Shadowville. Shadowville was named after a legend of a haunted shadow that envelopes the town after sunset; and long before the canvas flaps were drawn back and the highly gilded ticket-wagon, with the "electric ticket seller" was ready to change greenbacks for the red-backed "open sesame," the ground and two streets leading to the lot were crowded with an anxious, expectant, peanut-munching, chewing-gum-masticating collection. The large posters and handbills announced in highly colored style the arrival of "Miss Nannie Florenstein, the most wonderful bareback rider in the known world!" while the little "gutter snipes" simply begged the people to "wait for Miss Nannie Florenstein."
The "doors are thrown open," and in less than twenty minutes the immense canvas is rising and falling with the concentrated respirations of five thousand people. Such a crowd! Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope, or Bret Harte would have been in ecstacies at the curious collection of faces, costumes, and vernacular, not to mention the expressions of genuine enthusiasm or surprise at the entries into the ring of even the sawdust rakers.
The band has ended its attempt at one of Strauss's waltzes, and the master of ceremonies, Mr. Lunt, walks consequentially into the ring, bowing to the vast concourse, who applaud at—they scarce know what.
"This way, Mr. Oliphant."
"Aye, aye, sir! 'Ere hi ham. Ah, sir! this bevy of smiling faces is refreshing even to the sawdust. [Applause.] What shall we have now, sir?" asks the jester (?) as he throws his hat in the air and catches it on—the ground.
"Mr. Tom Karl."
"Not the tender singer, sir?"
"You mean tenor singer! No! The pad rider, sir."
"It's all the same, Mr. Lunt; but time's flying. Ah! here is Karl! Now, then, Mr. Karl, that's the way I used to ride—(aside) in my mind."