"Remark," he says, "there never was a success continued where a play was entirely re-costumed. The public interest began to flag always in some mysterious way from the time the new dresses came on. It is the old story of old wine in new bottles. The wine will burst the bottles. There's going to be no burst with my wine. I stick to my old clothes as long as they will stick to me." [Illustration: CATHERINE LEWIS.] He has also a lucky $5 gold piece, which he always carries in his vest pocket on the stage, whatever part he is playing, and when he is nervous and fearful of lack of appreciation he has only to rub his magic coin to make everything lovely. In getting out of bed he will not slip out with the left foot first, lest he may have bad luck all the day. His dreams decide his acceptance of a play, and when he is puzzled between two methods of working up a "point," he is perfectly satisfied to settle it by the toss up of a cent. Joe Jefferson is also impressed with the magical potency of old clothes. He has never changed his first "Rip Van Winkle" suit, but he has been forced to have it patched and renovated. His hat, wig, beard and "trick" rifle--the one that falls to pieces after his long sleep--are the same that he used when he made his great success in the part in London fifteen years ago. He mislaid this gun last season, just before he played at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and was forced to get another. That engagement was his first failure, and a bad one. He has found the old rifle, and, the charm being now complete again, he has opened the season with a very successful week in Brooklyn. Joe would break an engagement in any theatre if a dog were to walk across the stage at the first rehearsal. That is a sure sign of death, loss, or fire, as every actor knows. A cat parading the coulisses or walking with dainty tread across the scene, however (even at an evening performance), would be hailed by him and colleagues with delight as an unfailing sign of prosperity, health and renown. Sothern felt that he was sure to fail with his audience if his valet, by an accident, handed him his wig before his coat was on, while, if he put it on his head at the last moment, and not before the voices of the call-boy was heard summoning all on for his first scene, he had "got 'em dead to rights." Florence, like Raymond, carries a lucky $5 gold piece, and believes the charm of his popularity reposes in the fact that he always puts on his costumes in a never-varying order, and never changes his old brushes and articles of "make-up." He, too, is afraid of the necromantic powers of the evil-omened dog, and believes in the magic spells of fairy grimalkin. If the orchestra plays a waltz between the first and second acts of his piece, success is more likely than ever to seal his efforts of the evening.