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life in the great cities, instead of being a blessing and a delight, as it should be, becomes a burden and a bore. Many are driven by considerations of health and comfort out of social life altogether, and those who remain rely upon the rest of summer to restore them sufficiently to stand another campaign. We submit that this is an unexaggerated representation of the present state of things, and protest that it demands reform.

Every hour that a man spends out of his bed after half-past ten at night is a violence to nature. They have learned this in Germany, where, in many towns, their public amusements terminate at half-past nine, and, in some cases, even earlier than this. It is in this direction that a reform should be effected in America, so far as every variety of public and social assembly is concerned. An invitation at eight should mean what it says, and be honored in its terms. In this way social life would be possible to many to whom it is now practically denied, and become a blessing to all.

It is not hard to institute a reform of this kind.

All it wants is a leading; and half a dozen of our social queens could do the work in a single season. It used to be deemed essential to a social assembly that a huge, expensive supper be served at its close. and this at an hour when no man or woman could afford to eat a hearty meal. We have measurably outlived this in New York. It is "quite the thing" now to serve light and inexpensive refreshments. The man who dines at six needs no heavy supper before he goes to bed. He not only does not need it, but he cannot eat it without harm. Its expensiveness is a constant bar to social life; and let us be thankful that this abuse, at least, is pretty well reformed already. Other abuses and bad habits can be reformed just as easily as this, because reform is in the line of the common sense and the common desire. The leading, as we have said, is all that is wanted, and when we commence another season such leading ought to be volunteered. Something surely ought to be done to make social life a recreative pleasure, and not a severe tax upon the vital forces as it is at present.

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THE OLD CABINET.

IT strikes me that honesty is a thing which we should not too finely discuss with ourselves. It is one of those subtile, evanescent elements that are not friendly to analysis.

It may not be unwise, however, to listen to its discussion by others; as I did the other day when Abraham put in a plea for the Frenchman's (and his own) method of saying "no," in order to hide the truth and give the impression of "no;" in preference to the Englishman's (and Isaac's) method of saying "yes" in a manner which equally hides the truth and gives the impression of "no."

The conversation was interesting.

"Suppose,"

said 'Abraham, "I am asked an impertinent question which, to answer evasively, is to answer affirmatively -namely: according to the facts. Suppose not only that the person has no right to ask me the question, but, further, that great harm would be done to others, if I should answer it according to the facts. Abraham, under these circumstances, would think he did well if he actually deceived his interrogator, without actually denying the facts. But I deal in a plain, straightforward manner with the difficulty, and Isaac calls me hard names.

"Furthermore," continued Abraham, "I have known Isaac to tell a lie when he thought he was telling the truth. For it is impossible to show things as they are, and, sometimes, telling what is called the truth, is simply giving currency to the most unfortunate falsehood."

That is a pretty fair statement of the case. I happen to know that Isaac would make little scruple

at living a lie. On the other hand I know Abraham to be genuinely conscientious and to have a downright detestation of falsehood and deception.

And yet, though I do not like Isaac's way, I cannot approve of Abraham's. In fact I am inclined to think that Jacob's views on this subject are more satisfactory than those of either of the others. They are not exactly a compromise, but they indicate a method lying between the two above noted; a method having in it I know not what strange mixture of frankness and obscurity. Really, however, I find myself quite at a loss to describe just the difference; or to report any easily adaptable example.

Only those, of course, who think themselves thoroughly honest can be startled by looking into the matter. There are a great many of us who are quite aware of a certain habit of evasion, that may never reach the point of downright deception; such of us will not be so extremely surprised, perhaps, at discovering the dangerous ground on which we have sometimes stood. But those of us who have a great deal of conscientiousness, and, in order to keep our mental powers in good working order, must not allow ourselves the luxury of dissimulation: we, I say, may be startled in finding how often we have wanted in perfect fairness of front.

I said at the outset that it might not be well to inquire too curiously into these things. I mean that it may be best to trust to our instincts, if our instincts are not warped. For, really, one is in danger either of becoming morbid or of becoming Jesuitical.

I knew a young person once, who became morbid. He would never even say "It is so;" but-"I think it is so." Of course there were times when this sounded like idiocy; but he knew there was doubt about pretty much everything in the world, and he considered that he was merely consistent in embodying that doubt in relation to everything in the world about which he was asked a question. I need not say that life was very dreadful to this young person.

I knew a young person who became Jesuitical. He began in analysis, and ended in bribery and corruption.

There is, however, one benefit to be derived from moral and psychological studies of this kind. If we are alive to our own shortcomings, we will not be likely to make such outcry at other people's, Dear Mr. Theological Controversialist; you say that the gentleman on the other side is not honest; that he dare not tell the world just what he believes. But are you, yourself, quite frank, my friend? Have you, yourself, made your full confession in print? Dare you say now, just where you suspect your own cogitations are carrying you? Amico mio! remember the house of glass and the dweller therein.

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Amateur Theatricals.

HOME AND SOCIETY.

So much interest is felt in amateur theatricals, even by those little acquainted with the best manner of presenting them, that a few practical hints in this regard may be found of service.

THE PLAY.

Of course, the first step is to choose the play. The preference of the performers, as to the kind of piece to be enacted, having been definitely ascertained, a committee should be appointed to select the particular piece, and no change of programme should then be permitted. This course is essential, because, if it be not strictly followed, everybody will be offering suggestions and insisting on plans which can only have the effect of destroying all concert of action. The chief trouble with amateurs is that they aim too high; that they want to do more than they have the mind or means for doing. They have an ardent prejudice in favor of Shakespeare or Schiller, when Robertson or Boucicault is fully up to their level. As a rule, historic dramas are to be avoided. They require scenery, costumes, and properties, both difficult and expensive to get. Moreover, historic characters are hard to portray-quite beyond the intellectual range of an average amateur company. Contemporaneous pieces, especially light comedies and farces, are comparatively easy of representation, and the actors and actresses are all more or less at home in them, from the fact that the mimic scene is but a variation of their own lives.

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Among the simplest and easiest pieces of this sort are "The Conjugal Lesson," "The Morning Call," Love and Rain;" these require but a single scene and two characters; or, "Box and Cox," 'Delicate Ground," " Winning a Wife," " A Cup of Tea," "The Victor Vanquished," for three characters; "Betsy Baker," "Bombastes Furioso," "Villikens and his Dinah," need four persons; while "Perfection," "Cool as a Cucumber," "To Oblige Benson," "Poor Pillicoddy," "Popping the Question," "Two Bonnycastles," "Woodcock's Little

Game," "Everybody's Friend," "Faint Heart never won Fair Lady," "The Loan of a Lover," "Too Much for Good Nature" and "Checkmate" require from five players upward; are all good, and perfectably practicable.

Many amateurs are so ambitious that they will not rest content with less than a five-act or at least a three-act play. Their ambition is often in an inverse ratio to their ability (it is an adage of the greenroom that every supernumerary thinks he knows how to render Hamlet and Othello to perfection); but it is well sometimes to give them an opportunity to see how much or how little they can accomplish by their lofty soaring. They can take, for example, "A Cure for the Heart Ache," "The Heir at Law," "The Honeymoon," The Rivals," "Road to Ruin," "She Stoops to Conquer," "Sweethearts and Wives," The Wonder," "Fazio," "Ingomar," "Clandestine Marriage," "Jealous Wife," "The Inconstant" or "Belle's Stratagem." These, however, demand, for anything like effective rendering, a regular stage, with a variety of scenery, costume and properties, beside marked talent and large experience in acting.

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THE STAGE MANAGER.

After the play has been decided upon, the stage manager should be chosen. He ought to be the one who has most acquaintance with the stage, and he ought not to be a performer. His will must be law; there must be no appeal from it. If he be a performer, other members of the company may take exception to his ruling, under the impression that his opinion as a manager is influenced by his interest as an actor; and thus suspicion and discord may be engendered. He must have entire and absolute charge of the stage business, which means everything belonging to the action of the play. He must be present at every rehearsal; assign to every actor or actress his or her position; tell each how to enter; how to go off; what intonations to give ; what gestures to make. He should indicate the

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facial expression and by-play; should carefully instruct in regard to dress, and every particular of the character assumed.

If the players be dissatisfied with his directions, they may mention the fact to him in private, but during the rehearsal they should yield to him implicit obedience. Should he feel inclined to act upon their suggestions, he can do so at the next rehearsal. It is his duty, likewise, to cast the parts, and for this he should use his best judgment and discrimination. When the parts are once cast there must be no demur. Nevertheless, should he, after one or more rehearsals, discover that he has made a mistake in assigning any of the characters, he should rectify it at once. Those who may be changed ought not to complain, even if the change should wound their vanity a little, since their private feelings must give way to the general good. Nothing is more disagreeable or difficult for the stage-manager than the arrangement of the cast. Each person is apt to think that he or she is especially fitted to be the hero or heroine; and as it is hard to find a drama made up of heroes and heroines, some of the performers are unavoidably doomed to disappointment. Those chosen for the minor characters should remember that they are as necessary to the proper production of the piece as their histrionic superiors. If a man or woman has dramatic talent, it can be shown anywhere, and it often happens that one who takes a small part wins more laurels than the leading players.

The performers should not forget that the position of stage manager is as thankless as it is arduous. Upon him rests the entire responsibility; he receives none of the honors of triumph, and gets all

the blame of failure.

THE PROMPTER.

Next to the stage manager, the prompter ranks in importance. Sometimes the two offices are combined in the same person, but this is not wise, as each has quite enough to do. The prompter's position is usually on the left hand of the stage, near the green-room, where he takes his stand in full view of the actors, though unseen by the audience, with the text before him. He should be at every rehearsal as well as at the regular performance, so as to familiarize the amateurs with the sound of his voice and his manner of prompting. Learning when, where and how much to depend on him at rehearsal, they will not be at a loss when the trying

hour comes.

One thing for the prompter to guard against is hurrying the players, who should have ample time not only to speak their lines, but to complete their stage business. Any haste on the part of the prompter renders the actor nervous; nervousness affects the memory and mars the acting. For instance, if the player, after repeating a line or two, desires to cross the stage before continuing, he should have full leisure to do so, instead of having

the muttered words hurled at him again and again, as if he had forgotten them. Let the prompter be sure that the actor's memory has failed before he prompts.

It may be mentioned here that haste is one of the evils to which amateurs are exposed. They seem to be afraid that they won't advance fast enough, and the result is they rush on at such a rate as to impair the sympathy of the audience and the symmetry of the play. They should always bear in mind that the greatest haste is the worst speed; that they not only lose nothing but gain much by deliberation and repose.

It is the province of the prompter to see that the actors are called in time to make their entrance on the stage. He should, also, have ready anything that they may need as part of the business, whether going on or while on the stage. If a servant have to carry a letter to his master, the prompter must have the letter at hand, and deliver it to the servant at the proper moment; and so, if he have occasion to take in a bottle of wine, or a newspaper, or a basket of flowers. Should the curtain rise upon a dinner or supper table, the prompter must have everything to set the table with before the scene begins. If swords, guns or pistols be needed, he must supply them in the nick of time. At the regular theaters this devolves upon the property man; but at amateur entertainments the prompter generally adds the duties of the property man to his own, and so simplifies the matter.

REHEARSALS.

The success of any dramatic representation will depend very largely on rehearsals, which cannot be too often repeated or too accurately given. The enthusiasm with which amateurs begin is liable to ooze out with the study and hard work that their enterprise demands. They make a great mistake who imagine that creditable acting of any sort is easily achieved. No one can hope to gain a histrionic crown, even in private circles, without severe and unremitting labor. Amateur theatricals ill rendered are too dull for pastime and too inane for improvement. The actors must, from the start, anticipate many vexations and disappointments, and devote themselves to earnest effort. They must work not only hard but harmoniously, aiming at a rounded whole rather than at individual distinction. They must rehearse with strict conscientiousness, and punctuality of attendance must always be observed. They must go over their parts again and again, until they be perfect in business as well as in text-until, in a word, they are entirely accustomed to their character, and to every detail thereof.

When practicable, it is better, generally, to rehearse on the stage where the play is to be given, so that all sense of strangeness shall be removed. At least, two dress rehearsals should be given there and as many more as convenient. At these the stage should be set, and everything arranged pre

cisely as it is to be at the regular performance. The number of rehearsals required will depend on the aptitude of the actors, some of whom will evince an order of talent that others must hope to approach by severe study alone. It is the privilege of the stage manager to call as many rehearsals as he deems necessary to insure a successful performance.

THE STAGE.

A genuine stage in a public hall is very desirable, for then and there the facilities for effective representation will be far ampler than in a private house. Many halls have scenes, curtains and footlights, always difficult to improvise, and in small towns still more difficult to get. In New York and in all the large cities, scenery can be bought or hired, sometimes borrowed,—and be forwarded by express without much expense. If the unprofessionals be obliged to depend on themselves, they must choose simple pieces, for nearly all of which two scenes will suffice-one that of a wood or outdoor scene, and the other an interior, that may be converted at will into a library, bed-chamber, dining-hall, or drawing-room. No town that would aspire to theatricals can fail to furnish some one capable of painting the little that may be needed under such circumstances.

Any piece that is to be presented in a parlor should be confined to one scene, and that an interior, The furniture of the household can readily be utilized, and the curtain and foot-lights can be managed without much trouble. One of the hardest things to arrange in a parlor is the exits and the entrances, which, in a hall, are usually provided for. French windows, closets and piazzas may be turned to good account in private houses, where the ingenuity and invention of women invariably reveal unexpected resources. A little book called The

Amateur's Guide, contains much valuable and practical information, with many details for which we have no space.

THE COSTUMES.

Historic and character dresses can be hired nowa-days from professional costumers in large cities, who will send them to any place or person on receipt of order and the required deposit. When convenient, it is well for the amateur to select personally such garments as he may wish, because by such selection he may the better suit his stature, form and complexion. Generally it is cheaper for him to patronize costumers than to devise or have elaborate dresses made, not to speak of the likelihood of their greater correctness. The advantage of contemporaneous dramas is that the private wardrobes of the players will serve every purpose.

The dresses should not be chosen by each individual, but decided upon by a committee of taste, who should see that the colors blend properly, that inharmonious hues be not brought into juxtaposition, and that anachronisms of raiment be not introduced. Such faults are not seldom committed at the theaters, though this is no reason why they should be repeated by amateurs. Let it be left to professionals to present Norma in kid gloves and crinoline, and Claude Melnotte in the court garb of Louis XIV. Ladies portraying noble Venetians of the Middle Ages, should not appear in French boots, and gentlemen wearing perukes should have artistic conscience enough to sacrifice side-whiskers.

Persons far removed from social centers and costumers, need not despair of mere domestic resources. A little patience, reflection, and mother wit will reveal to them undreamed-of possibilities; while necessity will fashion from cast-off garments fantastic raiment and sartorial splendors.

CULTURE AND PROGRESS.

American Water Colors.

PICTURES, a delight at all times, are never so much so as when they are in marked contrast with their surroundings. We enjoy landscapes more when we are shut up in great cities than when we are free to wander among the woods and waters, and we enjoy them most in winter.

"Summer's never half so bright,

As thought of on a winter night."

So sings the poet, and the truth of his airy couplet never struck us so forcibly as when we lately lingered about the cozy rooms of the National Academy of Design, where the American Society of Painters in Water-Colors held their Seventh Annual Exhibition. It was snowing and blowing; the wind whirled the

fast-falling flakes up and down the silent streets, where whitening figures plodded grimly along. It was winter at its worst without; it was summer at its best within. There were visions of its beauty on the walls-here the depths of a forest sleeping in light and shade; there the undulation of valleys and mountains; yonder gleaming brooks, quiet lakes, and the never-resting sea; and everywhere glimpses of birds and flowers. Nature triumphed for once, through the glamour of Art,

"And brought back the hour
Of glory in the grass, of splendor in the flower."

That we were not alone in this conviction was evident from the number of visitors at the Exhibition, which was large, and from the pleasure which most

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of them derived from it.. It was a success, and it deserved to be. The Society had one advantage which it did not have last year. We refer to the absence of an expected collection of English watercolors, by which comparisons, and possibly invidious ones, could have been drawn. With few exceptions, it was American Art which we saw, and which we criticised. These exceptions, however, were important, in that they included some of the best pictures in the Exhibition. Foremost among them was "Normandy Coast," by Paul Marny, one of the finest marine pieces that ever came to this country. Not far from it on each side were two flower pieces, by Francois Rivorie, painted with great breadth and vigor, and in a style that our artists would do well to study. We have flower painters in abundance, but, with the exception, perhaps, of Mr. La Farge, none who could have painted these. There were excellent specimens of color near the pictures just named, in the shape of two figure sketches, by Putrasanta, and in "Costume of the Fifteenth Century,” and “The Prisoner," by | Gioja. La Petite Marguerite,” by Auguste Bouvier, was delicately rendered. "The Duke's Page," | by Vaini, the figure of a little boy in blue velvet, holding the sword of his master in an ante-chamber, was a charming study of child-life. "The Card

Players," by C. Detti, was noticeable for delicacy, and vigor, and Lambert's "Kittens" were as alive with frolic as the little creature that Wordsworth has painted for us in his imperishable verse.

The pictures that attracted most attention were, "Prussian Soldiers," by Edouard Détaille, and "The Great Lady," by G. J. Pinwell. One needs but glance at the first to see why France was overpowered by Germany; the hardy personality of these soldiers, and their at-homeness in an enemy's country, decided the conflict before it commenced. Détaille is a pupil of Meissonier's, but he has improved upon his master in this picture, and upon a theme, too, which must have been distasteful to him as a Frenchman. 'The Great Lady" was a strange work, to say the least. The subject was not agreeable, and the treatment was faulty, we venture to think. We can understand why the artist should wish to make the figure of the lady the most prominent one, but, surely, he could have done this without slurring over the rest of the figures, which represent, we suppose, the poverty and squalor of the Middle Ages at their worst. There must be some happy middle-ground

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between the minute and the obscure, but Mr. Pinwell has not found it.

What one noticed most in going through the Exhibition and comparing, as he could not help doing, the works of our artists with the works of foreign artists in their midst, was the different methods em

ployed by each. The European water-color painters, as a rule, are content with effects; the American water-color painters, as a rule, are anxious about

details. The influence of the latter method are nowhere more apparent than in the works of our flower

painters, which, for the most part, are mere photographs of form and color. They are often pretty, they are frequently grouped well, but somehow they are not alive. A good, rank, live weed is worth a whole gardenful of them.

The most rememberable water-colors there were painted by A. F. Bellows, W. T. Richards, R. S. Gifford, L. C. Tiffany, J. D. Smilie, A. T. Bricher, and Miss F. Bridges. Mr. Richards always reminds us of himself: Mr. Bricher generally reminds us of Mr. Richards: Messrs. Gifford and Tiffany remind us of each other, with differences: Miss Bridges reminds us of no one. Mr. Richards's work is always good, but his range is limited, and his manner a little monotonous. Mr. Gifford and Mr. Tiffany improve with every picture they paint; but we begin to tire of their Egyptian scenes and figures, as, no doubt, we should tire of their originals. Mr. Bellows still confines himself to English rural landscapes; they are picturesque and pastoral, and, for just what they are, are lovely, though a little overfinished. His "Old Mill on the Thames" is, probably, the best thing that he has yet done. The most unique pictures were those of Miss Bridges, who has found an untrodden walk of art in which she is gathering treasures. It is ostensibly upon earth, among the grass, along the hedges, and the edges of salt beaches, but it is really in Fairy Land. She paints a little land-bird on a twig, a sea-gull swooping on the water, or a pond of lilies, in a way that is at once winsome and truthful.

"Bianca Cappello."'*

THE famous Venetian adventuress escaped her deserved place in the Inferno by living three centuries after it was written. Her portraits, the author of this poem says, represent her style of beauty as more classic than Italian. Nevertheless, that by Bronzino, in the Uffizii at Florence, of which a copy exists in the Royal Museum of Berlin, gives her a florid complexion, and this peculiarity agrees with her appearance and habits, as curiously described by Montaigne, who saw her at the Grand Duke's table. "The duchess is beautiful, according to Italian taste, with a pleasing but imperious countenance, a full bust, and-" the detail is as well omitted. "The Grand Duke diluted his wine freely; she took hardly any water at all." Whatever its style, her beauty was undoubtedly brilliant-fatally fascinating. It was to her charms and station, not at all to her virtues, as we may well believe, that she owed the flatteries addressed to her by Tasso

in madrigals, and in the dialogue sent to her from his prison in the hospital of St. Anne. Apart from its marvelous elevation, and its horribly tragic end,

apart from the crimes she really committed, and

those others she was thought wicked enough to be charged with, there is nothing in the career of Bianca

*Bianca Cappello. A Tragedy. By Elizabeth C. Kinney. New York, Hurd & Houghton.

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