The Love Letters of an Actress.

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 293, 8 December 1923, Page 24

The Love Letters of an Actress.

a, Bert// Bens ford

AN ANONYMOUS LETTER.

Melbourne, February 26, 19— Dear Miss Beresford, — A3 one who hates to see a girl throw away good chances, I am writing to say what a silly juggins I think you are for giving the cold shoulder to Clarence Thurston, as you are doing. Do you know what he is worth? Perhaps you don't. Well, it isn't far short of twenty thousand a year. Have you thought of the good time a Johnny like that can give you? He's awfully mashed on you, too. Of course, Clarry gets mashed on every new girl, but you seem to have got him extra good and hard. I've heard that you are a prude, although you've been on the boards for over a month. It's certainly taking longer to knock the corners off you than it does most girls. They tell mc you were a sort of private secretary to some old joskins with a bald head—and yet you object to a little love-making! You are certainly the limit.

Here's another tip—get into some better clothes than you are now wearing—it counts a lot with the management. Ton should be more showy to maintain the position of the star girl of the company. You don't show any diamonds, and your furs are evidently relics of your typewriting days. Why, even that old frump, Alice Fraser, has you licked to a frazzle in the matter of clothes. And you don't seem to mind! Girl, you are a phenomenon— a theatrical monstrosity.

Don't do it any longer. What do you think you were given good looks and a scrumptious figure for? Take advantage of your chances while your charms lack They don't last for ever, you will some day discover to your sorrow, if you don't make hay while the sun shines.

I would to God that I had your chances—and your looks. I was a show girl myself once. What lam now doesn't matter. At any rate, I didn't let opportunities like those you have slip. Youth is the time for making hay —and you don't yet seem to have bought a pitchfork.

I would like to meet you and give you some advice. I've been through the mill, .and I ought to know. I don't suppose you'd want to talk to mc if you "knew who I am, so I won't press for a personal interview. I could show you a lot of interesting stuff that was written about mc twenty years ago. 1 saved my press notices—just vanity, I suppose.

Remember, the stage isn't a place for the prude. Don't make a foolish mistake. Take advantage of your early opportunities, and you may avoid becoming—wejl, what I am. YOUR WELL-WISHER.

FROM HER SWETHEART.

Quoopna Station, February 27, 19—, My Darling Beryl,— Still no reply to my letter. Daily I waited for an answer. Have the attractions of the stage proved so strong that you have forgotten the man whose wife you are pledged to become? There may be some explanation for your silence, but I am at a loss to comprehend it. If you still have any love for mc you will not keep mc on the rack like tr'-. I cannot believe that the stage, soul-destroying as it undoubtedly is, could kill love as true—l believe on both our parts—as love ever was.

I am downhearted and dispirited. I cannot throw off the feeling that you are in some way or other changed." I am haunted by the fear that your new life, with its tinselled glitter and cheap notoriety, is sapping your love for mc. My darling, if you love mc write at once to say that it is not so.

Your devoted, but distressed lover, CHAKLIE.

TO HER SWEETHEART.

Melbourne, March 1, 19—. My Poor Old Boy — Perhaps it was cruel of mc to keep you waiting so long without a letter, but I felt that in, a w_y> you deserved it. You lectured mc so shockingly in your last that I felt quite hurt about it. You seemed to infer that because I had gone on the stage I had lost every decent attribute I ever possessed. Don't imagine that I'm made of putty, to he fashioned into shape at will. You used to give mc credit for possessing a will of my own. Do you think that I have entirely lost it in a month or two ?

No, Charlie, dear, I love you as much as ever I did. My letters may not be as long as they used to be, but formerly I typed them. You know how I hate writing by hand. However, I now hereby solemnly promise to be good. You shall have quite long screeds, as full of news as a newspaper.

Talking of papers, I've met several city journalists .since joining the company. I find them most interesting. Some of them are weird. One man who writes brilliant leading articles for a popular paper is an Anarchist at heart. Another, an editor, hates Scotchmen like an understudy hates the leading lady. He says the Scotch aren't human beings at all, but a distinct branch of the animal kingdom that started when men lost their tails. Another is interested in psychical research, and communes with the soul of his dead aunt. I'm sure you would like them if you met them.

I am getting along splendidly with the company, and everyone is good enough to predict a big future for mc. I had no idea that the members of the profession that—according to you and other critics—kills the finer qualities of human nature, could show such genuine unselfishness and bigness of heart.

There are, of course, mean and jealous people on the stage, just as there are in shops and offices and other places, hut as a class they are people to be admired, and I count myself lucky to be permitted to be associated with them. How are the sheep? You haven't mentioned them for quite a long time. Give .mc all the news when you write again. Cheer up, darling, all is well with Your loving little sweetheart, BERYL,

FROM HER FRIEND VIOLET.

Brisbane, March 4, 19—. Dear Old PalSo you've started kissing strange men who get mashed on you! There's no doubt you are making rapid strides in your profession. What would Charlie say if he knew? Would you like a small wager? 11l bet you a pair of silk stockings that you will have broken with Charlie within a year. Is it a bet? I know you will call mc names for suggesting such a thing, but—well, just wait and see. The reason I am so confident is that I never thought that you and Charlie were matched to run in double harness. He is so serious and you are bo —so full of life. Can you recall how you shocked him when you wore Billy Adams' suit at the Stevenson's' dance. It took mc quite an hour to convince him that you hadn't committed one of the gravest sins in tlie calendar.

As I said before, Charlie should have been a parson and married an old maid, instead of engaging himself to a girl who loves life as you do. Can't you imagine you see him taking tea with Mrs. Jones, and inquiring in his most sugary tones if the twins have thrown off their whooping cough? Or advising Mrs. Brown on the danger of flannelette nightdresses? Or condoling with Mrs. Robinson ■in the loss of her dearly beloved ? Or delivering pretty little speeches to the young ladies at the annual bazaar?

I'm awfully interested in your new Johnny—the hero with the allowance, who, after writing Elbert Hubbardy letters, goes away on the raging main so that he may prove worthy of you. What a lot of romance you are crowding into your brief theatrical career! Consider all the fun you are having, and then think of my dull, drab existence, with 'nary a hero an 'nary a romance! It's really too bad. If I come to Melbourne, do you think you could share some of your excitement—you surely have enough for two.

Im glad you're getting on so well, anyhow. Fancy your latest Johnny being interested in reincarnation and, all that kind of drivel. You remember that old Jorkins used to talk the same sort of stuff—how he proved with the aid of Roman history, four sheets of foolscap, a footrule, a square and compass, and a bottle of red ink that he used to be a soldier under Alexander, a princess in the planet of Mars, a mandarin at Tsing Tsong, and one of the great horned toads of Peru?

He attributed his slip back to the animals to the fact that while a mandarin he stole a house from the aunt of the woman who did his washing. It's a wildly exciting pastime, this digging up of previous existences. I'm never game to tackle it for fear of being horribly humiliated.

By the way, what's the game of this Clarence Thurston who lends you motor cars and expensive things like that? Like the dark cigarette smoking gentleman whom the hero strangles under the sofa in the fifth act, I say, "Beware!" Somehow or other I don't fancy Clarence Thurston, Esq., Distributor of Motor Cars, etc. rYe never seen him and don't know him from a bar of soap, but again I say, "Beware!" -v

Be sure to write soon and tell mc all the news. Love.—Yours as ever,

FROM J. BYSON BREDIE.

Melbourne, March 17, 19—. My Dear Miss Beresfprd,— I sawyou for the first time last night in Miss Molly Mischief, and I am taking the first available opportunity of writing to ask you to become my wife. You may be surprised at my abruptness, but it is characteristic of mc. Whenever I want anything I say so" without beating about the bush. It saves time and worry. I have made up my mind that you are the one girl .n the world for mc, and I want you to marry mc. I have searched for my ideal for years, and now I know that I have found it. I never make a mistake in matters of the heart. •I want you to take tea with mc to-morrow at four. Then I am sure I shall be able to satisfy you as to my credentials. Please drop mc a line saying that you will come to Menzies' at tne hour stated.

Allow mc to state that I am a bachelor, 32 years of age, tall, dark, and clean-shaven, and considered good-look-ing. I have a private income of £680 a year and am capable of considerably supplementing it if the woman of mv cboi* gave mc an incentive to work In asking you to be my wife, I do so subject, to the following conditions:— (1) That after marriage you shall be free to continue your theatrical career if you wish to do so; (2) that neither shall pry too closely into one another's affairs—by this I mean that if you wish to go out at any time you may do so, and no questions will be asked, while the same privilege shall be extended to me—(3) that if you. remain on the stage we shall pool our joint incomes and share them equally; if y ou leave the stage you shall have half of whatever I receive.

In each case, of course, we shall each be responsible for our own personal expenditure—the amount to be devoted to housekeeping to be mutually agreed upon.

This is purely a business letter on a purely business subject. Don't mistake mc when I say that. I have been attracted by you, as I have never been attracted by any girl before, but I am not so sure that it is love. (I am not quite certain—never have been, in fact —what love is, but let mc say that you look so good to mc that I wish to marry yon.) Need I say more? Please meet mc to-morrow. Without prejudice, Yours very sincerely, J. BYSON* BREDIE.

FROM J. BYSON BREDIE.

Melbourne, March 19, 19 —. My Dear Miss Beresford, —

Your failure to reply to my letter surprised mc. I made you a straight-for-ward, honourable offer, and I certainly expected the courtesy of a reply.

Will you please reconsider my proposition ? Will you marry mc ?

Yours very sincerely,

J. BYSON BREDIE. (To be continued next Saturday.)