Oh my Maria! Alas! She married another. They frequently do. I hope she is happy—~because I am~.——Some people are not happy. I have noticed that. A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with tears in his eyes. I said “Why these weeps?” He said he had a mortgage on his farm—and wanted to borrow £200. I lent him the money—and he went away. Sometime after he returned with more tears. He said he must leave me forever. I ventured to remind him of the £200 he had borrowed. He was much cut up. I thought I would not be hard upon him—so I told him I would throw off one hundred pounds. He brightened—shook my hand—and said—“Old friend—I won’t allow you to outdo me in liberality—~I’ll throw off the other hundred~.” As a manager I was always rather more successful than as an actor. Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living American Skeleton for a tour through Australia. He was the thinnest man I ever saw. He was a splendid skeleton. He didn’t weigh anything scarcely——and I said to myself—the people of Australia will flock to see this tremendous curiosity. It is a long voyage—as you know—from New York to Melbourne—and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had never been on the ocean before—and he said it agreed with him.—~I thought so!~——I never saw a man eat so much in my life. Beef—mutton—pork——he swallowed them all like a shark——and between meals he was often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs. The result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton weighed sixty-four pounds more than I did. I thought I was ruined——but I wasn’t. I took him on to California——another very long sea voyage——and when I got him to San Francisco I exhibited him as Fat Man. This story hasn’t anything to do with my entertainment, I know——but one of the principal features of my entertainment is that it contains so many things that don’t have anything to do with it. I like music.——I can’t sing. As a singist I am not a success. ~I am saddest when I sing.~ So are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am. The other night some silver-voiced young men came under my window, and sang—“Come where my love lies dreaming.”——I didn’t go. I didn’t think it would be correct. I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in Utah——and I was very ill——I was fearfully wasted.——My face was hewn down to nothing—and my nose was so sharp I didn’t dare stick into other people’s business—~for fear it would stay there~—and I should never get it again. And on those dismal days a Mormon lady—she was married—~tho’ not so much so as her husband~—he had fifteen other wives—she used to sing a ballad commencing “Sweet bird—do not fly away!”——and I told her I wouldn’t.——She played the accordion divinely—accordionly I praised her.