I was privileged to be one of a box party some years ago witnessing the performance of a play which I very much desired. I had seen it perfectly performed in Paris by a man who knew everything pertaining to our art, whose pictures were painted with all the delightful lights and shadows that form a background for those capable of portraying comedy and pathos. This play gave an actor every opportunity of portraying all the emotions--comedy, tragedy, farce and sentiment. The character ran the dramatic gamut, but it required most deft handling, the dividing lines being as fine as silken threads, the transitions requiring the art of a master. It was a great success in Paris, but failed both in London and New York. The Englishman and American to whom this character was entrusted were direct opposites in their respective qualifications, one being a pronounced low comedian, the other a character actor with little, if any idea of humor. The Frenchman combined all the gifts of these two men together with the versatility which this character required. His success was as pronounced as these gentlemen's failures. As I sat in the box with the star's wife at my right I waited with some anxiety and fear the result of the performance. My forebodings became realized as the character assumed its first serious aspect. The audience failed to differentiate and a slight titter passed through the house as he arrived at his first dramatic, sentimental climax. As the play progressed I could see the audience manifest its displeasure and move uneasily as the plot developed. When the crucial moment came--the grand, tragic, culminating scene of the play in which the Frenchman held his audience as in a vise the American audience simply smiled, looked bored and relaxed. Instead of applause coming as it should have come at the end of the act, the curtain was raised only through the appreciation of the ushers at the back! The star's wife turned to me and asked, "What is the matter? Why can't ---- do this?" "It is very simple, my dear friend," I replied. "He hasn't solved the problem. He has failed to change his method." _Chapter XXV_ THE SKATING RINK It was some time after, I forget the exact date, that I became associated with the late Frank Sanger in the production of a farcical comedy, called "The Skating Rink." We surrounded ourselves with a capable company, including Henry Donnelly, Fanny Rice, James Ratcliff, the Fletchers, a trio of trick skaters, Major Newall and others. We opened in Buffalo (where I had the misfortune to meet the second lady who bore my name).