It was evident to everybody on the stage that she could never get through the act, and so the stage manager, after another abortive attempt on her part to say her lines, sent on the boat with the rescue party and the finale of the act was reached. Never was such a scene between a pair of stage lovers so horribly mutilated as this; never was an act so fearfully and unintelligibly abbreviated as this one, and never did a rescue party arrive more opportunely. It plucked the "star" from immediate disgrace, an embarrassed actor from despair. It was no wonder the audience remained for the last act, for they had before the end of the fourth act divined the true state of affairs and they stayed, curious to see how it would or could end. The last act was a court room scene and the star had to sit on the witness stand. She did not make a very intelligent witness but sat there with a bright green silk gown, with a face flushed to redness, and looking the picture of helplessness. How we got through that act, I don't think anyone engaged in it could have told, but with the prompter's assistance reading most of Miss Western's lines, we blundered through and the final drop came on the most inglorious and trying performance I ever had part in. The manager promptly cancelled Miss Western's engagement, although she had one more night to play. The following night "Arrah Na Pogue" was put up with Mr. Herne in the part of "Shaun the Post," but as if the fates had decreed that this Herne-Western engagement should end disgracefully, if not disastrously, this last night went on record as losing one for the managers and a discreditable one to the solitary remaining star. Owing to the fiasco of the night before, a rather slender audience was in attendance to witness Mr. Herne's last appearance. Whether this fact had to do with the sudden indisposition and collapse of Mr. Herne on this occasion, there is no means of knowing, but the writer has ever been of the opinion that it was the very perceptible falling away of the patronage and his chagrin and vexation over Miss Western's conduct of the night before that wrought upon the actor's nervous system to such a degree that he declared himself unable to appear. The writer's dressing room was so situated that he could not hear what was transpiring on the stage. When the curtain time arrived and I came down to the stage all made up for "Michael Feeney," to my great surprise I was informed there was to be no performance; the audience had been dismissed owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Herne. Herne was seated on the big curtain roller and a number of the company around him, offering sympathy and assistance to the disabled star who appeared to be in great agony. I returned hastily to my dressing room and divested myself of Michael Feeney's habiliments, and resuming my own attire, was soon back to Mr. Herne's side and proffered my assistance to help him to his hotel. In the