been prominent stars when both were young, "and thereby hangs a tale."

Although this dear woman told me word for word what I am about to relate, I feel no compunction in repeating it for she told it to any one she might choose to and most of it is public knowledge. Above all, it can only serve to show her in a most sympathetic light and emphasize the true condition of things theatrical.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CHARACTER WOMAN'S STORY AND A SUrprise.

Mrs. Actwell married when very young an exceedingly handsome and brilliant actor. She also was a clever and beautiful artist, and they made a great success in a drama which had a vogue for many years. Several children were born to them, and although they had ups and downs in a financial way they were ideally happy. For many years they starred and made considerable money. Then it became hard always to get a play which was successful, and, the children growing and needing her attention, Mrs. Actwell left the stage for a time, and her husband starred alone.

Somewhere on the road, a young married woman "to honor and to fame unknown," joined his company and soon became his leading lady. Various stories reached Mrs. Actwell in her pretty home in the country, but she was of a happy disposition and let them pass as idle gossip.

Mr. Actwell would return to his home in the summer and his welcome was always sincere.

After a time it appeared her husband's seasons were poor, money to maintain the country home became scarce and it was found necessary to sell it and also

for Mrs. Actwell to return to the stage. Naturally, her theatrical acquaintance was large, and she found no difficulty in obtaining a position. Mr. Actwell and his leading woman were an old story by now, but this staunch woman said no word.

One day she received a telegram at the theatre where she was playing, from a small town, asking her to come and get the child she and her husband had carelessly left in the hotel two days before. On the following Sunday, she went, but the proprietor, when he met her, said: "Why, you are not the Mrs. Actwell who was here with the show."

"I am Mrs. Actwell, however," she answered, "and I will take the baby home with me."

A beautiful little child about two years of age was brought to her, and she took it to her heart and with it returned to New York. This child has never known another mother, and at the time I met Mrs. Actwell it was with her and perfectly devoted to the woman who had given it a mother's love.

Only a few months after the desertion of the baby, the real mother disappeared from the arms of the father, with probably a younger, handsomer man, and the prodigal returned home. He was welcomed as if the past had never been, and a general family reunion took place; not only privately, but in a business sense as well, for a company was formed in which both Mr. and Mrs. Actwell were to play and also their children, now grown to maturity. For several moons this man taught his little child to call the good woman who had

adopted it "mother" without a qualm, without a blush. But the "mother" minded not; she loved the child, and she loved this wayward father of her children.

Peace reigned supreme until-oh, fatal West! In a metropolis of the far away, a young girl of only nineteen years applied to the manager for a position. There were, of course, no vacancies, but she came again and again and finally insisted that Mr. Actwell only hear her read. He did and told her she had talent which needed directing and developing and that he would give her the very first opening there was in the company. As such an opportunity meant the removal of one of the members of his own family the chances of this young woman seemed rather small, at least so thought the wife of Mr. Actwell. So absolutely did this lady consider the matter settled that she dismissed the girl from her mind. As the company was leaving the city the following Sunday, what was this good woman's consternation on seeing the buxom miss of nineteen, patrolled by her mother, enter the car.

Passing deliberately by Mrs. Actwell with heads well up and an airy fluttering as if every ruffle and tuck in their gowns were bristling with triumph, this mother piloted her ambitious progeny straight to Mr. Actwell who was standing near the door opposite the one at which they had entered.

"There," proclaimed the proud mother, "there, Mr. Actwell, I leave my daughter in your care, feeling

sure you will do all for her which you have been so kind as to offer to do." With a peck at the girl's face, which served for a kiss, and with one great glance of victory toward the astonished Mrs. Actwell, she sailed out of the car, happy and jubilant at having launched her young hopeful upon the sea of fame.

Mr. Actwell evidently did all he had promised. In three weeks this girl was playing the leading part, and the female members of the Actwell family were on the train bound for New York.

The young woman who took this man from his family, at the instigation of her mother, is now, and has been for many seasons, a star of somewhat doubtful radiance. Mr. Actwell is still "doing for her all he promised," that is, he is her Svengali, she his Trilby. He is a most brilliant artist and excellent teacher, and she has a faculty of inducing innumerable men to expend thousands of dollars upon her each season, thereby keeping her name constantly in large type and giving her aged benefactor (?) and herself some sort of living.

At the time I had this story from Mrs. Actwell she was in fairly good circumstances, as her health was good and her work in demand, but at present writing I was shocked only the other day to read that she was ill and in want and had applied to her fellow actors for aid. God bless and help her! She lived, as she thought, a good Christian life, but she lived it in an atmosphere where it made no impression. She was no more highly esteemed, or rather courted