“All’s well that ends well.”  It ended very well.  She spoke as exquisitely as she sang.  She was one of the first to offer her services for my jubilee performance at Drury Lane, but unfortunately she was ill when the day came, and could not sing.  She had her dresses in “Faust” copied from mine by Mrs. Nettleship, and I came across a note from her the other day thanking me for having introduced her to a dressmaker who was “an angel.”  Another note sent round to me during a performance of “King Arthur” in Boston I shall always prize.

“You are sublime, adorable ce soir....  I wish I were a millionaire—­I would throw all my millions at your feet.  If there is another procession, tell the stage manager to see those imps of Satan don’t chew gum.  It looks awful.

“Love,

“MELBA”

I think that time it was the solemn procession of mourners following the dead body of Elaine who were chewing gum; but we always had to be prepared for it among our American “supers,” whether they were angels or devils or courtiers!

In “Faust” we “carried” about six leading witches for the Brocken Scene, and recruited the forty others from local talent in the different towns that we visited.  Their general direction was to throw up their arms and look fierce at certain music cues.  One night I noticed a girl going through the most terrible contortions with her jaw, and thought I must say something.

“That’s right, dear.  Very good, but don’t exaggerate.”

“How?” was all the answer that I got in the choicest nasal twang, and the girl continued to make faces as before.

I was contemplating a second attempt, when Templeton, the limelight man, who had heard me speak to her, touched me gently on the shoulder.

“Beg pardon, miss, she don’t mean it.  She’s only chewing gum!”

One of my earliest friends among literary folk was Mr. Charles Dodgson—­or Lewis Carroll—­or “Alice in Wonderland.”  Ah, that conveys something to you!  I can’t remember when I didn’t know him.  I think he must have seen Kate act as a child, and having given her “Alice”—­he always gave his young friends “Alice” at once by way of establishing pleasant relations—­he made a progress as the years went on through the whole family.  Finally he gave “Alice” to my children.

He was a splendid theater-goer, and took the keenest interest in all the Lyceum productions, frequently writing to me to point out slips in the dramatist’s logic which only he would ever have noticed!  He did not even spare Shakespeare.  I think he wrote these letters for fun, as some people make puzzles, anagrams, or Limericks!