n during his combat scene, and," says Miss Morris,
"my pride of bearing was unseemly, and the other girls loved me not at
all, for, you see, they, too, knew he was six feet tall and handsome."

The theatrical company of which Clara Morris had become a member was
what was called by the profession, a "family theater," in which the
best parts are apt to be absorbed by the manager and his family, while
all the poor ones are placed with strict justice where they belong. At
that time, outside of the star who was being supported, men and women
were engaged each for a special line of business, to which "line"
they were strictly kept. However much the "family theater" was
disliked by her comrades in the profession, it was indeed an ideal
place for a young girl to begin her stage life in. The manager, Mr.
Ellsler, was an excellent character actor; his wife, Mrs. Ellsler, was
his leading woman--his daughter, Effie, though not out of school at
that time, acted whenever there was a very good part that suited her.
Other members of the company were mostly related in some way, and so
it came about that there was not even the "pink flush of a flirtation
over the first season," in fact, says Miss Morris, "during all the
years I served in that old theater, no real scandal ever smirched it."
She adds: "I can never be grateful enough for having come under the
influence of the dear woman who watched over me that first season,
Mrs. Bradshaw, the mother of Blanche, one of the most devoted
actresses I ever saw, and a good woman besides. From her I learned
that because one is an actress it is not necessary to be a slattern.
She used to say:

"'You know at night the hour of morning rehearsal--then get up fifteen
minutes earlier, and leave your room in order. Everything an actress
does is commented on, and as she is more or less an object of
suspicion, her conduct should be even more correct than that of other
women.' She also repeated again and again, 'Study your lines--speak
them just as they are written. Don't just gather the idea of a speech,
and then use your own words--that's an infamous habit. The author knew
what he wanted you to say. If he says, "My lord, the carriage waits,"
don't you go on and say, "My lord, the carriage is waiting!"'"

These and many other pieces of valuable advice were stored up in Clara
Morris's mind, and she made such good use of them that they bore rich
fruit in later years.

There was great consternation for m