Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Then would they be missing,
Surely the girls went round about
So long it took them finding out.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Till something like kissing,
Told as plainly as could be
Where were he and she.
Miss Lewis at one time while in New York was freely advertised in both meanings of the word, because she sold tickets for her benefit in her room at the hotel, where all could apply to purchase them.
Maggie Duggan, a young lady until recently comparatively unknown, has suddenly made herself famous by nightly kicking her slipper to the top of the Bijou Theatre, New York. She is a comic opera singer. This is lofty limb work that Mlle. Sara, the original high kicker, might envy.
SLIPPERS FOR FREE PUFFS.
Emilie Melville, an operatic star of California, in looking over her stock of presents could think of nothing more suitable or anything that would prove more acceptable to the dramatic critics of San Francisco and her friends than to give each one of her slippers. So she held a reception; and, dressed in Oriental toilet, she presented each as he came with one of the tiny silken slippers in which her tootsies used to slumber on the stage. It was such a novel proceeding that Miss Melville got more gratuitous puffing than she could have paid for with the profits of one of her best seasons.
Henry Mapleson, whom I know has no fear of the newspaper man, but rather courts his society and wooes the columns of his paper, made the following ridiculous statement (to a reporter) concerning the manner in which he and his wife, Marie Roze, were pestered by reporters on the road: "They began early in the morning. When I first opened my bed-room door I was sure to find one or two outside of it. No detail was too small for them. They would follow us around and give scraps of our conversation, and one fellow even sat at the same dinner-table with us in Kansas City and printed a list of all the things my wife ate, making it about five times as long as the truth called for, and adding such trifles as four oranges, six pieces of cake, etc. My wife was so angry when this account appeared in the afternoon paper that we determined to have our supper in our room, and, as the landlord would not consent to that, I bought a steak during the evening, and Marie Roze, still dressed as Helen of Troy, began to cook it over a spirit lamp. We were congratulating ourselves that no reporter would know anything about that supper, when a knock was given on the door. 'Who's there?' I called out. The answer came back through the keyhole: 'I am a reporter of the Morning Buzzard, and I want to know what you had for supper. That Evening Crow fellow got ahead of me on the dinner, but I'll fetch him on the supper.'"
A story that illustrates, in an exaggerated way, though, the tricks of the dramatic profession, is told of a shrewd agent who found himself in Mansfield, Ohio, with a company on his hands and pursued by bad business so relentlessly that he began to have doubts that he would ever see Union Square again. In this strait he called his never-failing wits to his aid and devised a plan straightway that led him out of the difficulty, as had happened to him many a time before. He went to the room of his star—his leading lady—and knocked. He was admitted. "Why, Sam," said she, "what do you want at this hour?"
"I want your ear," said he.
"Oh, is that all," said the leading lady, recovering from her pallor; "I thought—but no matter; go on."