A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
Little Peggy, afterwards the famous Mistress Woffington, was down
at the shores of Liffey drawing water for her mother, when Madame
Violante, a rope-walker, met her, and taking a liking to the girl, made
terms with the parents and obtained possession of her. Madame Violante
walked the rope with a child tied to her feet, and lovely little Peggy
for a while assisted in this way at her mistress's entertainments.
When the Madame got to Dublin she found a juvenile company playing
"Cinderella" there, and at once began the organization of a class of
children, who appeared in the play with Peggy as one of the bright
luminaries. This was her introduction to the stage, which she trod with
such brilliant success in after years. Nor was she the only one of the
famous old English actresses trained to the drama from childhood. All
through the history of theatricals, from and before Woffington's time,
children were made participants in the play, and the seeds planted
thus early ripened into the richest fruit. Until a very recent date
it was not deemed the duty of anybody to interfere with this kind of
training--not even with the barbarous treatment to which children
training for the circus ring were submitted. Less than a half century
ago the Viennese children went through the country dancing, and were
unmolested by any philanthropically inclined body or any excessively
humane individual. The juvenile "Pinafore" companies of two seasons
ago were regarded kindly by press and public; and, indeed, until
quite recently no extraordinary war was made against presenting the
talents of a child actor or actress to the people. The Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children has, however, organized a stubborn
resistance to the employment of little ones in stage representations;
and while it may be well to exercise some authority for the protection
of infants and for the preservation of the stage from a deluge of
child-talent, there can be no justification in allowing that authority
to run riot in plucking every blossom from the tree of histrionism,
and erecting a permanent barrier against the development of native
talent, when any happens to exist in a child of tender years. The
experience of more than two centuries shows that the best training
is that which begins earliest, which begins slowly, and widens only
with the slow progress of the years. There are very few actors or
actresses who have walked out of private life into the glare of the
foot-lights with anything like success. The amateur may sometimes be
suddenly metamorphosed into a full-fledged professional, with a bit
of reputation to help him along the road he has chosen to travel, but
this happens very rarely. Only those who begin early and study hard,
and who have often to wait a long time for recognition, gain a place in
the Thespian temple, and it is to those whose infant eyes open almost
upon the mysteries and wonders of the mimic world, whose little limbs
grow to strength behind the scenes, and whose lives are identified
completely with all that have place or being behind the foot-lights,
that it is given to hope for position in the profession into which they
have been born instead of kidnapped.
[Illustration: MISS CONNOLLY IN ENCHANTMENT.]
I think the society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children did a
very good thing when it took Little Corinne from the stage. The child
was overtaxed far beyond her years; there was nothing very clever about
her any more than there would be about a school-girl of the same age
who had been taught to speak her piece and did it boldly, but awkwardly
and inartistically. It was more painful than pleasant to sit out a
performance of "Cinderella" with this offspring of the Kemble family in
the role of the heroine of the glass slipper, and it was a temporary
blessing to the public while the little thing was kept out of the way.
Like all the precocious ventures on the stage, Corinne will gradually
fade from memory, and the only thought left of her will be a painful
recollection of her childish efforts to please the grown people who
were foolish enough to go to the theatre to see her.
[Illustration: LITTLE CORINNE.]
The young man or the young lady who has given years of study to
preparation for the stage finds the debut night one fraught with
fears and hopes. There are friends behind the scenes and friends in
the audience willing to overlook faults and exaggerate excellencies;
but there are cold, stern critics, too, anxious to puncture the new
candidate for public favor in every tender spot their cruel eyes can
search out, and there is the great public, that fickle body whose
applause or condemnation often depends upon the whim of the moment. The
effort is an enormous one to the new player; the suspense, frightful. A
whole life's work may be swept out of sight in a moment, and the life
itself blighted forever. But when the moment of success arrives--what
a thrill of joy the triumph sends to the heart of the actress, if
actress it be! What a dream of glory she already begins to live in!
How her brain throbs and her heart bounds, and all the world seems a
paradise, beautiful and fair as Eden was when it left the hands of the
Creator! Friends crowd around, the house is ringing with applause, and
she tears away from the congratulations and kisses and hand-shakings to
step out before the curtain, and, with glowing face and tears in her
eyes, kisses her hand and makes a profoundly thankful obeisance to the
audience. Then she returns to her crowding friends on the stage, from
the manager down to the call-boy and scene-shifters, and her ears ring
with praise and encouraging words until it is time for the curtain to
go up once more.
The debut of Emma Livry, an artiste who promised to lead a very
brilliant career, but who was suddenly and early cut down by death,
is described in a very interesting manner by one who was present. It
was at the Grand Opera House, Paris, and the theatre was filled from
parquette to dome with an extraordinary audience. Louis Napoleon was
there, and the Empress Eugenie; princes and dukes filled the boxes,
and the nobility of France, representative Americans and prominent
Englishmen were in the audience. Emma Livry was then only sixteen. From
her earliest childhood, says the writer, she had been devoted to the
art of dancing--though this was no extraordinary thing, for there are a
large number of girls always in training for the Grand Opera in Paris,
who are taken at the age of four years, and kept in constant practice
until they reach womanhood, when they appear in public. But this girl
had shown extraordinary genius. In her later years the celebrated
dancer, Marie Taglioni, Countess de Voisius, hearing of the new dancer,
left her villa on the Lake of Como, and her palace in Venice, to come
to Paris to give the girl lessons. Her improvement was miraculous.
Taglioni said she would renew the triumphs she herself had won in
former days.
And now she glided upon the stage. The brilliant audience ceased their
chatter as she appeared. The occasion took the character of what it was
afterwards called in the newspapers--"a great solemnity." She was very
young and was just at that period in the life of a girl when her figure
is apt to be what old-fashioned people call raw-boned. She was tall,
thin, and pale. Her face was not handsome. Her form gave no evidence of
physical strength.
She was received in a hush of silence. "Let us see," this great
audience seemed to say, "what you really can do in this poetic art."
Any one who could have connected sensuality or grossness with this
girl would have been baser than a sybarite; and yet her dress was the
conventional dress of ballet dancers--short to the calf of the leg but
thickly clad above.
She began. O Grace, you never found a prototype till now! O Painting,
Sculpture, you paled before this supple, elastic, firm, yet dainty
tread. At the conclusion of her first movement, when with a gush of
sweet music she sprang like a fawn to the foot-lights, and extending
her slender arms and delicate hands towards the audience, as if to
ask, "Come, what is the verdict on me now?" a burst of enthusiastic
applause, loud shouts of "Brava!" and "Bravissima!" "C'est magnifique!"
waving of perfumed handkerchiefs, a deluge of sweet flowers formed the
response.
The whole evening was a series of triumphs. The Emperor and Empress
sent an aid-de-camp behind the scene to offer her the Imperial
congratulations. Marie Taglioni, accompanied by her noble husband,
sought the girl also, and taking from her breast a magnificent diamond
star, which had been given her in former days by the Emperor of Russia,
"Here," said she, "take this the queen of dance, Marie Taglioni, is
dead--long live the queen, Emma Livry!"
[Illustration: TAGLIONI CONGRATULATING EMMA LIVRY.]
As I passed out amongst the dense crowd, the writer continues, I saw a
woman of middle age, and respectably dressed, leaning against one of
the marble columns in the vestibule. Her face was flushed and she was
wiping tears from her eyes.
"You weep, Madonna?" said a gentleman who was passing.
"Yes, Monsieur," she replied, "but it is with joy. Who would not be
proud of such a daughter, and of such a tribute to her genius?"
There are few favorites of the public to-day who have not fought their
way to the front inch by inch, who have not sacrificed everything for
their art, toiling through the day that the work of the night might
show improvement--very few who have not served years of apprenticeship
on the stage before the moment of success arrived. And this has been
the rule always. Nell Gwynne, the fish-girl, whose beauty and bright
repartee attracted the attention of Lacy, the actor, and who peddled
oranges to the audience before she began to amuse them on the stage,
managed without much trouble, and during a short stage experience, to
win the heart of Charles II., who made her his mistress and retained
her while he lived, his parting words to those around his death-bed
being, "See that poor Nelly doesn't starve;" but Nelly did starve. She
died in poverty and left a line of dukes to perpetuate her plebeian
blood in royal veins. She died in November, 1687, in her thirty-seventh
year.
Lola Montez, the pretty Irish girl who in her fourteenth year eloped
with one Capt. James to avoid a disagreeable marriage, accompanied him
to India, where they got mutually tired of each other and returning
to England studied dancing and went on the stage, was another of those
fortunate and unfortunate fascinating women whose lives fade away fast
and who after a brief hey-day of luxuries lie down in rags and poverty
to seek a needed rest that is never broken. She won the hearts of
kings, led a revolution in Poland, and finally, after being driven from
her Bavarian castle where, as Countess of Lansfield she had ruled, and
strutting a brief hour in London in male attire, died in this country
January 17, 1861. Her ashes rest in Greenwood Cemetery, but she was
saved from a pauper's grave only through the charity of some friend.
During her life she had thrown away millions. Fallin, the husband of
Maude Granger, is the son of the man with whom Lola Montez had her last
escapade, Fallin, Sr., deserting his family in New York to accompany
Lola to San Francisco. Her real name was Marie Dolores Eliza Rospanna
Gilbert.
Another child of genius whom waywardness and frailty brought to an
early grave was Adelaide McCord, better known to the world as Adah
Isaacs Menken. She was born near New Orleans, June 15, 1835, and when
still young went on the stage as a ballet dancer in one of the theatres
of the Crescent City. She had been expelled from school, and tiring
of her native village, where she had created a sensation by embracing
the Jewish faith, she made the journey to New Orleans, and as I have
said went on the stage. Her career there was not a very brilliant one
until she began playing _Mazeppa_, the part with which her name has
since been identified. Prior to her time men had appeared in this
role. Her first appearance was on Monday night, June 17, 1861, in the
Green Street Theatre, New York, then under the management of Capt.
John B. Smith. On the first attempt to go up the run the horse after
making one turn fell, crashing through the scenery with the Menken on
its back. Horse and rider were picked up, and after some delay the
ascent was made amidst a great deal of enthusiasm. The appearance of so
beautiful a woman as Menken in the scarcity of clothing that _Mazeppa_
requires created a furore, and from that time her success was assured.
She fought spiritedly in the combat scene, breaking her sword and
otherwise won the good opinion of her first audience. Previous to this
she had married Alexander Menken, a musician in Galveston, but by this
time also she had obtained an Indiana divorce. While in New York she
met John C. Heenan, fresh from his victory over Tom Sayers, and after
a brief courtship married him. Another Indiana divorce soon dissolved
this knot, as it did a third time in the case of Orpheus C. Kerr (Robt.
H. Newell). All this time her fame was growing. She went to London, and
after setting the English metropolis on fire with her beauty returned
to New York, where she married James Barclay, a merchant, in whose
mansion she and her friends held such wild orgies that Barclay was glad
when she fled to Paris, where she was stricken down in the midst of her
mad career, in 1868. The brief but expressive epitaph, "Thou knowest,"
is carved upon her tomb.
Mary Anderson, the tragedienne, is the most phenomenal success of late
years. She was born July 28, 1859, in Sacramento, California. Her
parents removed to Louisville when she was one year and a half old,
and there she was educated in the Ursuline Convent. She had a longing
to be an actress from her earliest years, and all her readings tended
in the direction of the stage. She was taken away from school at the
age of thirteen, to pursue her studies for the profession to which
she seemed to be so strongly inclined. At the age of fifteen she went
to Cincinnati to see Charlotte Cushman act. While there she called on
Miss Cushman, who said she could give her only a five-minute audience.
Miss Anderson recited passages from "Richard III.," Schiller's "Maid
of Orleans," and "Hamlet." She remained with Miss Cushman three hours,
and the great actress had such confidence in her talents that she told
her to study a few hours each day for a year and then she might go on
the stage. This Miss Anderson did. An accident of some kind or other
left Macauley's Theatre in Louisville with a Saturday night for which
there was no attraction. Macauley knew Miss Anderson's desire to go on
the stage, and meeting her step-father, Dr. Hamilton Griffin, in the
street, told him the girl, who was then only sixteen, might have the
theatre that night. Miss Anderson was overjoyed. She chose _Juliet_ for
her debut, got a costume hurriedly together and after one rehearsal
and three days' preparation, appeared before a large audience, and
made a decided hit. This was on November 27, 1875. Macauley was so
pleased with the debutante that he gave her his first open week at
starring terms. She then went to St. Louis, in March, 1870, and added
greatly to the reputation she had won in her home city. Mr. John W.
Norton supported her. Ben De Bar sent her to his New Orleans Theatre,
and while in the Crescent City she was presented, by the citizens,
with a check for $500, and the Washington artillery presented her with
a jewelled badge of the battalion. Returning to Louisville again she
continued her studies through the summer, began starring the following
season, and has been before the public ever since. She is a young
lady of remarkable personal beauty, intelligent and accomplished, a
hard student, and one of the noblest and fairest of her sex that ever
adorned the stage.
[Illustration: LOTTA.]
Lotta Mignon Crabtree, another of the very successful women on the
stage, and one of the brightest soubrettes that ever delighted a
public, was born at No. 750 Broadway, New York, on November 7, 1847.
In 1854 her people removed to California, and Lotta made her first
appearance on a stage at a concert given at Laport; her second
appearance was at Petaluma, in 1858, when she played _Gertrude_ in
"The Loan of a Lover." She starred, they say, for two years as La
Petite Lotta. Before she made her appearance in New York we hear of her
in San Francisco at Burt's New Idea and Gilbert's Melodeon--concert
saloons--where Joe Murphy, Barnard, Cotton, Pest, Burbank, Billy
Sheppard, Backus and other prominent minstrels were engaged. The
Worrell Sisters, Maggie Moon (now Mrs. Williamson) and Lotta were in
the company, and there was great rivalry between them at the time. The
theatre was crowded every night up to the close of the first part in
which there was a "walk around," in which the girls entered into the
liveliest kind of a competition. Each did her utmost to out-dance the
other. Each favorite had her host of admirers and the demonstration
on the part of the audience was intense. After the "walk around"
the house became almost empty, showing that this was the attractive
feature. Lotta was very ambitious, and whenever she failed to score a
triumph she would retire to her dressing-room and cry bitterly. From
San Francisco her parents took her to New York, where she gave her
first performance at Niblo's Saloon, June 1, 1864. She wasn't a success
in New York, so she went to Chicago and played "The Seven Sisters" at
McVicker's. Fortune began to smile on her there, and her success dates
from this point. One night during this engagement an unknown admirer
threw a $300 gold watch and chain upon the stage. Lotta cannot sing any
more, but she kicks as cutely as of yore, dances neatly, and is as
vivacious as a girl of sixteen.
[Illustration: MAGGIE MITCHELL.]
Maggie Mitchell, who has been a great favorite ever since she produced
"Fanchon" at Laura Keene's Theatre, June 9, 1862, was born in New York
in 1832, of poor parents. She began to play child parts at the old
Bowery and in 1851 had advanced to responsible business. She made a hit
at Burton's Theatre as _Julia_ in "The Soldier's Daughter," and then
began starring in "The French Spy," "The Young Prince," and like plays,
but did nothing remarkable until, as I have already said, she made a
hit in "Fanchon," an adaptation of George Sands's novel "La Petite
Fadette." Following this came "Jane Eyre," "The Pearl of Savoy," and
"Mignon." Miss Mitchell has amassed a fortune by her efforts. Her name
off the stage is Mrs. Paddock, she having married Mr. Henry Paddock, of
Cleveland, Ohio, in Troy, New York, October 15, 1868.
[Illustration: EMMA ABBOTT.]
Emma Abbott, the finest of American lyric artistes, after the usual
freaks of an ambitious childhood and the trials of an operatic training
in Milan and Paris, was given a London engagement by Mr. Gye and made
her debut at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, on May 2, 1876.
The debut was a success, and with the congratulation of friends, the
best wishes of all who knew her, and the predictions of the best judges
of vocal music that she had a brilliant future ahead of her, she set
out on a tour of the provinces, singing through England and Ireland
and everywhere winning the love and applause of the people. Returning
to her own country the artiste gave two seasons of concerts, and began
to sing light opera. She has created the role of _Virginia_ in "Paul
and Virginia," and _Juliet_ in "Romeo and Juliet," both which operas
she introduced here. Her repertory includes, besides the two named,
"Mignon," "Maritana," "The Bohemian Girl," "Martha," "Il Trovatore,"
and "Faust." She has a sweet, clear, crystalline voice, which she uses
to great effect, is a charming lady personally, a careful, pure, and
energetic artiste, and altogether wholly deserves to be called, as she
is, "Honest Little Emma."
Marion Elmore, a charming little soubrette who is looking after Lotta's
laurels, is a native of England and has been on the stage since her
third year, having then played _Meenie_ with Joe Jefferson in "Rip
Van Winkle." She was born in 1860 in a tent on the gold fields of
Sandhurst, Australia. She came to this country with Lydia Thompson in
1878, and played in burlesque until the season of 1881-2 when she took
a soubrette part in Willie Edouin's "Sparks." She is now starring under
the management of Hayden & Davis in "Chispa," a California play.
Edwin Booth, the illustrious son of Junius Brutus Booth, was born
at Belair, near Baltimore, Maryland, in November, 1833. He was his
father's dresser, accompanying him on all his tours, and receiving from
him lessons in histrionism. On September 10, 1849, he made his first
appearance at the Boston Museum as _Tressel_, in "Richard III.," and
on May 22, 1850, appeared at the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, as
_Wilford_, in the "Iron Chest." In 1850 he distinguished himself by
playing "Richard III.," at the Chatham Theatre, New York, in the place
of his father, who had disappointed. His first independent appearance
in the metropolis, however, was made on May 4, 1857, as _Richard III._,
at the Metropolitan, afterwards the Winter Garden Theatre. In 1851 he
went to California and thence wandered to the Sandwich Islands and
Australia in 1854. In 1857 he returned to New York. He was known as an
actor of ability, but it was not until his famous engagements at the
Winter Garden that he succeeded in making a really profound impression
on the public. During this revival "Hamlet" ran one hundred nights and
Mr. Booth at once stepped to a foremost position before the public. His
disastrous investment in the theatre that bore his name in New York is
well known. It compelled him to go into bankruptcy in 1872, since which
time he has been the most successful of American stars. He has been
twice married--to Mary Devlin, an actress in 1861, who died in 1862,
and to Mary McVicker, daughter of J. H. McVicker, of Chicago, who died
in 1881. His _Hamlet_ is the finest interpretation of that character on
the American stage, and this with _Bertuccio_, in "The Fool's Revenge,"
and _Brutus_, are his best impersonations.
John McCullough, though born in Ireland, came to this country when very
young. He was poor and an orphan, and poverty had been "looking in at
the door" of the humble home where he passed his boyhood for many a
year. Yet the tenant farm which his father held was once the pride of
all the country round, and the child's earliest recollections called to
mind a happy time which too soon, alas, passed away. His mother had
died when the son was a mere lad, and misfortunes came not singly but
in hosts after that bereavement. Sir Harvey Bruce, the landlord of the
estate, though a kindly man, as Mr. McCullough testified, claimed his
legal rights, and all that appertained to the estate held by the family
was taken possession of by law, and father and son driven out from
their home.
"How well I recall the time," said Mr. McCullough, "and every scene and
incident of that eviction--as it would, I suppose, be called now. I was
a boy of about twelve years or so, and the greatest trial to me was the
sale of a pony which I prized most highly. I couldn't bear to part with
the pony, and Sir Harvey Bruce, who saw my grief and knew its cause,
kindly arranged matters so that before long I was able to call the
animal once more my own. It was an act of goodness which, of course, I
have never forgotten."
Not long after the eviction the father died, and the boy was left in
the care of an uncle. But, like thousands of others, young McCullough
had heard of the land of freedom beyond the Atlantic, and it was not
long before he decided to leave kindred and friends, and seek a home
in America. With all his earthly possessions in a bundle the young lad
landed at New York, and with characteristic pluck and energy began
the battle for existence. He followed various callings, but soon felt
within him the desire to become an actor. Fortunately the foreman of a
chair factory in Philadelphia, where he was employed, sympathized with
the aspirations of the future actor, and often studied with him the
great Shakespearean tragedies in which McCullough afterward attained
such renown.
[Illustration: CALLED BEFORE THE CURTAIN.]
It was in the winter of 1857 that the young aspirant for Thespian
honors first stood upon the stage; and he began in Philadelphia his
professional career at the munificent salary of $1 a week. For several
seasons he acted the "heavy villain" line in the Shakespearean
drama, and made steady improvement in his art. A great event in his
career was his engagement to support the great Forrest in 1862; for
it gave him opportunities which such a man as McCullough was not slow
to improve. The grand qualities which marked Forrest's acting were
made the subject of careful study by the young actor, and to-day John
McCullough is recognized everywhere as the successor to the famous
American tragedian. His career as an actor, interrupted only by a
brief managerial experience in San Francisco, has been one of steadily
increasing success.
John McCullough's starring experience dates from only a few years back;
yet his impersonations, with peerless _Virginius_ at the head, have won
fame and fortune in all parts of the country, and gained for him also
the highest honors on the English stage.
J. K. Emmett, or Joe Emmett, as he is familiarly called the world over,
was born in St. Louis on March 23, 1841. He early had a penchant for
the stage, and could rattle bones, play a drum or do a song and dance
on a cellar-door better than any of his companions. He began life as
a painter, but soon left the pot and brush for the stage of the St.
Louis Bowery, where his specialty was Dutch "wooden-shoe business." He
could sing finely, and was as graceful as a woman. So popular did he
become in his line that Dan Bryant engaged him for his New York house
in 1866. Two seasons later Charles Gayler wrote "Fritz," a nonsensical
play without rhyme or reason, and Emmett opened with it in Buffalo. His
success was indifferent at first, but within a short time "Fritz" and
Emmett became the rage, and for fifteen years the people have actually
run after this star. His name and play will fill any theatre in the
United States, and in many places outside of the United States. He is
the great pet of the public. Time and again has he disappointed them,
but it makes no difference; the next time he announces himself ready to
play they are there in throngs. Joe Emmett has friends the whole world
over, and he is welcomed and admired everywhere.
John T. Raymond's real name is John T. O'Brien. He became stage-struck
while clerking in a store, and after a brief amateur experience made
his first appearance on the professional stage as _Lopez_, in "The
Honeymoon," on June 27, 1853, and played comedy with varying fortune
until 1874, when "The Gilded Age," which had been dramatized, was
brought out at Rochester, New York, on August 31st, and he made an
immense hit as _Col. Mulberry Sellers_. Next to _Colonel Sellers_,
John T. Raymond's enduring popularity rests upon his impersonation
of _Fresh, the American_, in the drama of that name, which he is now
impersonating throughout the country. In connection with both his best
known parts Mr. Raymond may be said to have "made" the plays they are
framed in. Without them those plays would be flat, and in any other
hands than his the characters which relieve them of that odium would
be insipid. It is the actor's art and personal magnetism alone which
make them what they are--successes. A good story, whether it be true or
not, is told about Raymond and John McCullough. The latter was asked to
appear as _Ingomar_, with Miss Anderson as _Parthenia_, at a benefit
performance for a friend. As an additional inducement the beneficiary
asked Raymond to play _Polydor_. "Certainly, with great pleasure," said
Sellers; "I will travel one thousand miles any time to play _Polydor_
to McCullough's _Ingomar_." The happy man ran off to tell his good
fortune to McCullough; but the tragedian, in his deepest _Virginius_
voice, answered him: "No, sir, never, never again! Once and out." The
explanation of Mac's refusal to have Raymond in the cast is given as
follows:--
It seems that at a certain benefit in Virginia City, "Ingomar" was the
play, Mr. McCullough sustaining the title role and Mr. Raymond played
_Polydor_. _Polydor_, it will be remembered, is the old Greek duffer
who has a mortgage on _Myron's_ real estate, and presses for payment
in hopes to get _Parthenia's_ hand in marriage. The performance went
beautifully, and the applause was liberal, for McCullough was playing
his best. Raymond was the crookedest and most miserly of _Polydors_,
and the savage intensity he threw into his acting surprised all who
imagined he could only play light comedy. All went more than well
until _Ingomar_ offered himself as a slave to _Polydor_ in payment
of _Myron's_ little account. "What, you?" screamed _Polydor_, and,
apparently overcome by the thought, he "took a tumble," and fell
forward upon _Ingomar_. _Ingomar_ stepped back in dismay, when
_Polydor_, on all fours, crept nimbly between his sturdy legs and
tried to climb up on his back. The audience "took a tumble," and the
roof quivered and the walls shook with roars of laughter. "D--n you,"
groaned _Ingomar_, _sotto voce_, "if I only had you at the wings?"
But _Polydor_ nimbly eluded his grasp, and, knocking right and left
the dozen supes, who were on as the army, he skipped to the front of
the stage and climbed up out of reach of the projecting mouldings of
the proscenium. Here he clung, and, to make matters worse, grinned
cheerfully at the pursuers he had escaped, and rapidly worked the
string of a trick wig, the long hair of which flapped up and down in
the most ludicrous fashion. It was impossible for the play to proceed,
and the curtain was rung down, leaving _Polydor_ still on his lofty
perch, while the audience laughed and shouted itself hoarse. And this
is the reason why Mr. McCullough said, "No, sir, never again!" to Mr.
Raymond's offer.
[Illustration: FAY TEMPLETON IN "BILLEE TAYLOR."]
I may add that among the young people of the stage who are possessed of
that personal magnetism that makes them popular, is Fay Templeton, who
is not only pretty, but thoroughly original.