ears.

In Philadelphia we had a very ludicrous interruption during the last act
of "Man and Wife." The play was as popular as the Wilkie Collins' story
from which it had been taken, and therefore the house was crowded.

[Illustration: _Clara Morris as "Odette"_]

I was lying on the bed in the darkened room, in that profound and
swift-coming sleep known, alas! only to the stage hero or heroine. The
paper on the wall began to move noiselessly aside, and in the opening
thus disclosed at the head of the bed, lamp-illumined, appeared the
murderous faces of Delamain and Hesther Detheridge. As the latter
raised the wet, suffocating napkin that was to be placed over my face, a
short, fat man in the balcony started to his feet, and broke the creepy
silence with the shout:--

"Mein Gott in Himmel! vill dey murder her alreaty?"

Some one tried to pull him down into his seat, but he struck the hand
away, crying loudly, "Stob it! stob it, I say!" And while the people
rocked back and forth with laughter, an usher led the excited German
out, declaring all the way that "A blay vas a blay, but somedings might
be dangerous even in a blay! unt dat ting vat he saw should be stobbed
alreaty!" Meantime I had quite a little rest on my bed before quiet
could be restored and the play proceed.

I have often wondered if any audience in the world can be as quick to
see a point as is the New York audience. During my first season in this
city there was a play on at Mr. Daly's that I was not in, but I was
looking on at it.

In one scene there stood a handsome bronze bust on a tall pedestal. From
a careless glance I took it to be an Ariadne. At the changing of the
scene the pedestal received a blow that toppled it over, and the
beautiful "bronze" bust broke into a hundred pieces of white plaster.

The laughter that followed was simply caused by the discovery of a stage
trick. The next character coming upon the stage was played by Miss
Newton, in private life known as Mrs. Charles Backus, wife of the then
famous minstrel. No sooner did she appear upon the stage, not even
speaking one line, than the laugh broke forth again, swelled, and grew,
until the entire audience joined in one great roar. I expected to see
the lady embarrassed, distressed; but not she! After her first startled
glance at the house, she looked at the pedestal, and then she, too,
laughed, when the audience gave a hearty round of applause, which she
acknowledged.

A scene-ha