THE END OF THE SEASON. THE HE May days, which are usually supposed to usher in the first warm breath of summer and grace the earth with bright blue skies, and gentle zephyrs, were rather tough upon poor humanity for many weeks; and instead of genial spring, misty, raw and drizzly weather prevailed. Spring fashions are scarcely to be seen at all save in the shop windows, looking hopefully out, but strangely inharmonious with the steady down-pour which old Father Jupiter Pluvius is so lavish of at a time when we could joyfully spare his watery gifts, and welcome sunny skies instead. The arrival of spring visitors has also been delayed to a great extent, except those whom custom or necessity make slaves of. The professional brethren, whose black broadcloth and white neckties made them conspicuous around the Metroplitan Opera House, in strong contrast with the fashionable toilets of both sexes who are the usual habitués of that immense temple of music, seemed by their solemn demeanor in harmony with the leaden skies and bleak east winds; while the Thespian Bohemians who arrive in droves, par nécessité, from far and near, are the only beings upon whose faces seems to sit a joyful gladness at getting home again, although "the season is over," and perchance a long summer of enforced idleness is before them. They love to meet their fellows upon "the Rialto," or in the more dignified places of resort "up town;" and with new spring suits and springy gait exchange the pleasant greeting, and 'enthuse" over the season just past and speculate upon the one which is to come. There is a genial bonhomie among the craft which is delightfully refreshing upon such occasions, and I don't think the coming Presidential election, with its customary antagonism to "good business," can dampen the actors' ardor; for the Micawbers of the stage (and they are legion) will, if they get half a chance, find some splendid scheme which looms up resplendent in their eyes, and will afford intense satisfaction in its contemplation, be it ever so insubstantial in its reality. At this season of the year, familiar faces appear at every other corner, with the usual greeting of "Ah! How d'ye do, old fellow-where d'ye come from? Had a good season?" and so on through the whole category of professional enquiry with the usual varied rejoinders of "First rate, thanks. Came in from Kalamazoo. Busted? No, sir. Made a barrel of money. You don't say? Yes I do. The piece caught on every time. You ought to see that scene of mine with Jack Simmonds;-well, there, if he wasn't such a chump we could have carried away the play. But then, you remember how I used to hog 'em in The Bag o' Tricks,' we played the season before last? Well, this part I've got in The Tin Gasometer,' is just like it, only more so. Gives me a chance to get in my fine work every time. Why, you are looking first rate; on the Morning Call still? Yes? Now do you know, I got some splendid notices I'd like to show you. See here," producing a memorandum-book and selecting some newspaper cuttings, and reading, "A remarkable production which really seems to have no more resemblance to a comedy than a No, that isn't the one. That's a paper that goes for everybody, if they don't give 'em a big ad. This is it Mr. Jim Cummings that appeared in the Farcicial Comedy Extravaganza, at the Opera House last night, made the hit of the evening in his local remarks in the topical song of the play, in which he hit off the usual eccentricities of Happy Jack Jones, who is well known to our citizens as a loafer of the first water. Mr. Cummings bids fair to become one of the first comedians of the day, and we admonish Mr. Joe Jefferson and W. J. Florence to beware of their laurels.' Say, isn't that a stunner for a send-off? I struck the old man for an advance, and he ponied up like a bird. Yes, sir. He don't get me for no twenty-five a week next season, not if I know it. Why, there's a man out West, a millionaire, that keeps a coal yard and is sheriff of the county-why, he's offered to put up the rocks if I can get a piece to star Wouldn't you if you was me? Certainly, why not! That's what I was saying to Emma, and see what a hit she's made this season, with her pigeon wing cuts. Why, I'll back her against Jenny Yeamans or any one in the business. Why, she got three calls every time and ten encores. Say, couldn't you get me a line in your paper about our success? Thanks, awfully, old fellow. Let's go and take a beer over to Harry Alder's, jolly good fellow. No? All right, some other time." And I turn into the Morton House to meet Mr. Gaston Effingham, just returned from a tour with the great Mrs. St. Hilliers, the English actress, who has been travelling with her own private railroad cars. "Hello, Wayne-got anything new for next season in my way? No, I'm not going to waste my time with Hilliers any more. A fellow may as well be buried. She hogs all the piece. She does n't want a leading man who has any go in in. him. I've had an offer to star next season, and if I find a play that suits me, why, I'll have a shy at fortune. I don't see why I shouldn't catch on. I've got an idea of a part, if I could get an author to write it up to my way of thinking, that there's a barrel of money in-for him, and for me, too. Ah, there's Mary Shannon; excuse me a moment," and off goes our would-be star, who has been on the stage but three seasons, and has had no experience outside of two characters, which he drifted into by the merest accident; and being rather a handsome figure and a good dresser, fits the part he has been engaged for, although he is a very tyro in his profession. Numerous faces of really good fellows and good actors flit by, with a pleasant greeting, and a short chat about the past and future seasons, but merging more frequently into the pleasant days in the immediate future, in some quiet nook at the sea-shore or mountain side: full of that sanguine hopefulness which the children of Thespis hold more dearly to their hearts than the mischances they have passed through. And so the human tide rolls on. H.Wayne Ellis. ART CHAT NOTES. WE E only have space in this number to give a list of the recipients of the medals at the Prize Fund Exhibition at the American Art Galleries. They were given respectively to a figure painting, marine, landscape and piece of sculpture. Percy Moran's single figure jeure, an old-fashioned girl standing by a piano, entitled “A Forgotten Strain," (212) is a very pretty picture indeed, though it cannot claim as much praise as if it were more solidly painted. It is too much of a tinted drawing. J. C. Nicoll's Sea,” (220) is more spirited than most of the works of that artist, and is good in color. We object to Mr. Charles Harry Eaton's Landscape" (116) on the ground of its lacking simplicity. It is very bad in composition, being a series of broken-up objects. Trees, clouds, herbage in light, herbage in shadow, all thrown together with little reference to each other. 66 The Ch. F. Adams" (81); F. S. Church's “The Mermaid" (76) and "An Idyl" (77); W. M. Chase's five landscapes and marines, R. Cleveland Coxe's Good Night" (87) and two other marines, and the paintings by Frank Fowler, C. C. Curran, F. D. Millet and D. F. Hasbrouck. Alexander Harrison's nude "“In Arcadia" (158) is a very wonderful piece of painting per se, but from a pictorial point of view, very objectionable and much out of place in a public exhibition in America. AN important exhibition of paintings has just been opened at Yandell's Gallery, Fifth avenue and 19th street. E. K. THE NEW SPRING. SPRING is in the air, and the old sun To shed new summer rays; our dearth has won Our summer flowers, their emerald hues; the coy And fragile forest joys are loaned us, be And when within his heart, he brings the mirth, The gladness of new light, when our desert fright And wintry sighs of care, before the palm And flowers of that new spring shall go, and calm Shall reign, and life be as a holy psalm. Daniel Spillane. TE THE title is certainly inter esting, inasmuch as a variety of meanings may be left to the imagination. At first sight I was at a loss, whether the "Queen's Mate" were a lady in waiting or a game of chess which terminated in a peculiar manner, and upon which perhaps grave matters of state depended; or whether, in some diplomatic problem, a fair ruler had found her more than equal. So, in order to solve the problem of this hidden meaning, I followed the example of the inquiring multitudes, and went to see the opera at the Broadway Theatre. We arrived (there were two of us) in time to derive the pleasant satisfaction afforded by the announcement on the drab-colored drop that it was a Fire-Proof Curtain." In addition to this reassuring information, we enjoyed the rare luxury of being able to understand the diagrams on the programmes explaining the fire-escapes. As a rule, one finds mere blurs in the form of horseshoes, and were it not for the traditional laws respecting the printing of plans on the bills, one would never realize that they purported to be keys to the various means of egress. And here I must say that the unusually modest announcement of the managers, that the theatre is "practically fire-proof," has always annoyed me, for, with all the precautions against the origin of fire, and still greater against its spreading, it seems strange they do not claim for their structure an absolute non-combustibility. A moment later, and this iron life-preserver ascended, revealing one of the most beautiful act drops I have ever seen, at home or abroad, thus showing that beauty has been combined with utility. This work of art is well worthy of closer inspection, for it is a copy of a celebrated French painting, "The Arrival of the Bride," in which the adapter, Mr. Arthur Jule Goodman, has ingeniously introduced the portraits of several of his friends. The incidents on which the opera is founded are supposed to take place in the Canary Islands shortly after the demise of the ruler of that region. Inez is the heiress to the throne. She and her friend Anita have married two brothers, Pedrillo and Inigo, who keep a country inn. General Bombardos, uncle of Inez, in order to secure for her the public recognition of her rights, disguises as a miller Roderigo, and takes the young ladies off with him from time to time in a very mysterious manner. This Melusina-like character of their young wives annoys the inn-keepers not a little, and they remonstrate, but in vain. In the meantime, General Pataques, leader of the rival political faction, has put Prince Guzman in power. The plots and counter-plots that are concocted to place the rightful ruler in command constitute the hinges on which swings the action of the piece. Of course, Inez is at last made Queen, and Pedrillo becomes "THE QUEEN'S MATE." Miss Lillian Russell plays Inez. Who is not familiar with her features? We have them preserved in photographs and engravings of every sort. All know what an additional flavor is imparted to a cigarette when one of airy, fairy Lillian's pictures is found in the package. In fact, she might be termed the Patron Saint of the Knights of the MISS LILLIAN RUSSELL. (Copyright by Falk.) Tobacco Leaf. The queer thing about it is that no photo ever fiattered her. But her merits are by no means confined to her looks, for she sings the song to Pedrillo in the first act with much taste and feeling, while the "Toreador Song" (a sprightly thing, without suggesting Bizet) goes with a zip which elicits frequent recalls. The part of Anita is taken by Miss Camille D'Arville, who, although not long in this country, is fast making friends. Her voice is fresh and clear, while her execution is very good, indeed. She makes a charming companion piece to Miss Russell, and they seem to take turns very pleasantly in giving the encores. I wonder what the effect would be if one made up as a brunette by way of contrast? Messrs. Frederic Darrell and Harry Paulton (the author of the English text) make two very amusing brothers-Pedrillo and Inigo. Their struggle to out do each other in apologizing is quaint, while their puns-in which they indulge somewhat freely-are for the most part funny; and when a thing is funny, I see no harm in laughing at it-every one else does. Gen. Bombardos is well sung by Mr. W. H. Clark, while his hated rival, Gen. Pataques, is admirably acted by Mr. J. H. Ryley. The duet, "My excellent friend BombarDOS!" with How I wish I its jerky, irregular rythm, is a most comical thing, and well rendered, too. could get it out of my head! As I go down Broadway, there it is, with its jerky, irregular rythm utterly demoralizing my normal gait. Mr. A. Holbrook makes a pleasing Prince Guzman. He retires from the field with a becoming grace. The Hans of Mr. Clifton is a good bit of burlesque. The chorus is well trained, and their groupings are picturesque and graceful. Their costumes are beautiful. I was a little delicate about alluding to them when the curtain rose on the first act, in speaking to the companion at my side, and was relieved when she asked me if I had noticed that some of the girls wore decorations of music staves, notes, sharps, flats, and the like, and on their heads were tambourines for hats. The music, which improves on acquaintance, is bright and sparkling, as might be expected from M. Lecocq. The Bolero, at the end of act first, the choruses in act second, and the numbers already alluded to, are especially pleasing and written in a musicianly manner. The "Queen's Mate" is the most successful work produced by Mr. J. C. Duff's Comic Opera Company, for a long time, and it may well be doubted if they have ever mounted anything in a manner equal to this. MISS CAMILLE D'ARVILLE. The musical direction is in the able hands of Signor De Novellis. The scenery, by Messrs. H. E. Hoyt and Harley Merry, is certainly as elaborate as one |