Yvetto Guilbert, the one and inimitable, now on a tour through Central Europe, has broken out in a fresh place. She has written a book, if you please, oF has put her name to one, which' is almost the same thing and pleases the reader quite as much. Yvette has always been a good business woman, and it must have pleased her to find another way of turning her name into money. Her hook ly a romance of music-hall life. As a literary effort it is not very great, but as a curiosity it was bound to sell. An enterprising Manchester paper has secured the English serial rights, but book publishers are fighting shy of Yvette's prose, feeling, no doubt, that the English language could hardly do it justice. Yrotto recently came across a copy of her work in a shop at Budapest, but she indignantly declined to buy anything written by "one of those dreadful actresses," and walked out laughing in her sleeve. That is Yvette all over. She has had a delightful tour, she writes, and was quite spoiled in Germany. A few years ago she declared that, nothing would induce her to perform in that country, but her business instincts have evidently got the better of her patriotism.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.