racious record, but it is true that she made a hit with her
men's clothes and became an authority in the yellow journals on masculine
attire. But the banting process was not to her liking, so that Miss
Templeton finally decided to seek the sort of parts where her avoirdupois
would cut no figure in the artistic results. In this way she came to join
Weber & Fields's, entering upon the second phase of her career as a
burlesque actress of the first rank.

Her imitations of Irene Vanbrugh in "The Gay Lord Quex," of Ethel
Barrymore in "Captain Jinks," of Annie Russell in "The Girl and the
Judge," were all of them wonders in their way, and possibly had she been
content to remain at the Twenty-Ninth Street music-hall for more than a
season after Lillian Russell's advent, the two partners might never have
split. But quit she did, and went up to the New York, where her imitation
of Fougere in "Broadway to Tokio" was called by one of the critics a
classic.

Incapacity of authors to provide the proper sort of vehicle is responsible
for Miss Templeton's passage to her third stage of triumph. This has just
been reached in "Forty-Five Minutes from Broadway," that classless
concoction of George M. Cohan which shows her as a sedate housemaid of
somber clothes and repressed demeanor. But so subtle is her art that she
fills the huge New Amsterdam Theater as only Mansfield has ever succeeded
in filling it before. There is no tinsel, no dancing, not a single
imitation, but in an entirely new field Fay Templeton has blazed a path by
the sheer finesse of her skill in attaining results by the simplest
means.

WHEN WE OLD BOYS WERE YOUNG.

LONG AGO.

I once knew all the birds that came
And nestled in our orchard trees;
For every flower I had a name--
My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees;
I knew where thrived in yonder glen
What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe--
Oh, I was very learned then--
But that was very long ago.

And, pining for the joys of youth,
I tread the old familiar spot,
Only to learn the solemn truth--
I have forgotten, am forgot.
Yet here's this youngster at my knee
Knows all the things I used to know;
To think I once was as wise as he--
But that was very long ago.

I know it's folly to complain
Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree;
Yet, were not wishes all in vain,
I tell you what my wish should be;