Miss Abbott says that she was particularly fortunate in having secured Mr. James W. Morrissey for her manager.  This young man was full of energy and of device; moreover, he was personally acquainted with many of the journalists throughout the country.  He was with Miss Abbott three years, and she acknowledges herself under great obligations to him.  “It is pleasant,” she writes, “to feel that our friendship still exists, as hearty and as generous as ever; and that it will abide to the end I doubt not, for, by naming his little son Abbott in honor of me, my dear, good, kind Jimmy Morrissey has simply welded more closely the bonds of friendship uniting us.”  These words are characteristic of honest Emma Abbott’s candor.

In these memoirs there is a chapter devoted to the newspaper critics, and it is interesting to note the good-nature with which the sprightly cantatrice handles these touchy gentlemen.  Not an unkind word is said; occasionally a foible or a trait is hit off, but all is done cleverly and in the most genial temper.  Considerable space is devoted to the Chicago critics—­Messrs. Upton, Mathews, McConnell, and Gleason—­who, Miss Abbott says, have helped her with what they have written about her.  Messrs. Moore, Johns, and Jennings, of St. Louis; R.M.  Field, of Kansas City; William Stapleton, of Denver; Alf Sorenson, of Cincinnati, are prominent among the western critics whom she specifies as her “dear, good friends.”  She calls upon heaven to bless them.

There is a chapter (the thirteenth) which tells how a public singer should dress; we wish we had the space for liberal quotations from this interesting essay, because this is a subject which all the ladies are anxious to know all about.  Miss Abbott ridicules the idea that the small-waisted dress is harmful to the wearer.  Women breathe with their lungs, and do not enlist the co-operation of the diaphragm, as men do.  So, therefore, it matters not how tight a woman laces her waist so long as she insists that her gown be made ample about the bust; nay, the fair author maintains that the singer has a better command of her powers, and is more capable of sustained exertion, when her waist is girt and cinched to the very limit.  Of course, knowing nothing whatsoever of this thing, we are wholly incompetent to discuss the subject.  It interests us to know that Miss Abbott’s theory is indorsed by Worth, Madame Demorest, Dr. Hamilton, and other recognized authorities.

Of her married life the famous prima donna speaks tenderly and at length; she is evidently of a domestic nature; she says she pines for the day when she can retire to a quiet little home, and devote herself to children and to household duties.  An affectionate tribute is paid to her husband,