sonation of the two brothers, Fabien and Louis. The difference of character between the two brothers,-polished ease in the one, and natural frankness in the other, -was skillfully brought into prominent contrast. Mr. Mantell's powerful, fervid acting was somewhat marred by that peculiar mannerism or affectation of speech, which has clung to him through the successive characters of Loris Ipanoff, Raymond Garth, and Monbars, and which, I suppose, he has adopted as his distinguishing theatrical trade mark. The supporting cast, including Mark Price, Archie Lindsay, B. T. Ringgold, Marie Sheldon and Charlotte Behrens is sufficiently strong.

The only other novelty is the first performance of the English melodrama “The Right Man," which is said to have enjoyed a European run of two thousand nights. The action of the play transpires in a mining region, and, as a matter of course, a mine explosion is included in the highly sensation incidents of a plot which does not differ essentially from the familiar lines of recent imported melodramas. Edwin Thorne, as Henry Trueworthy, the right man, accomplishes the inevitable triumph of virtue over vice; Jacques Kruger as D. P. Sprouter confines his attention to the humorous possibilities of the piece, and the people who would not be satisfied with the result of this combination are few and far between.

"The Queen's Mate" has been drawing well at the Broad street theatre. An unexpected change in the cast was necessitated by the absence of Lillian Russel, who is said to have taken a pleasure jaunt of indefinite duration, without consulting manager Duff. Her part was taken by Marie Halton, who will be relieved later in the week by Lillie Post,the Titania, of the Midsummer Night's Dream Company, which has been playing at the Grand Opera House. The opening of Jeannie Winston and her company at the Grand Opera House was satisfactory, artistically and box-officially. The popular vocalist has never been heard here to better advantage, and there is every indication that her engagement will be a success. Mr. E. Cholmely-Jones, the active manager of the Grand is congratulating himself and the public on the fact that, he has secured an

NOTES OF THE WEEK.

MR. EDMUND C. STANTON, Director

of the Metropolitan Opera House, is, says the Sun, a New Yorker by birth, a son of a Wall street financier, a lawyer by education-his legal studies having been carried on after a long period of schooling in Paris-and an impressario by force of circumstances. As he is now in his thirtyfourth year, he was not thirty when placed in charge of the business of the Opera House. When Dr. Damrosch died the directors of the Metropolitan gave Mr. Stanton full control. How earnestly and satisfactorily he has fulfilled the many functions of his high office need not be rehearsed at present, but it can do no harm to state that if a recognition of his efforts has not always been accorded him on this side of the Atlantic at least a portion of his work has called forth comment and praise abroad. A recent number of the Berlin Borsen Zeitung, for example, prints a long biographical sketch of Mr. Stanton, paying special attention of course to his labors in behalf of Wagner's music. "Few persons are aware," observes the Borsen Zeitung, "that Mr. Stanton has been the sole motive power; that without his continuous endeavor it would have been impossible to present to the American public in a comparatively brief period the whole Wagner repertoire, and with such conscientious insight into the master's intentions and such

The most successful part of this performance was the comedy of "Blue and Cherry," a delightful old peice. Mr. George W. Nicholas, an intellectual veteran in the ranks of amateur actors was exceedingly good. His make up was most excellent. The Misses Lawrence distinguished themselves by some clever work. In the "Comical Countess Mrs. Bloodgood appeared in regal costumes, and was very charming in face and figure. There were two professionals in the casts: Henry Miller and W. F. Burroughs.

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HARRY BRANDON.

[AVING stepped before the footlights in his novel sable role, may we not venture an opinion upon a boy—a genius, who for many years until recently has attracted widely the church and concert goer and caused a flutter among that portion of humanity designated as the Upper Ten in our midst. Harry Brandon has been singing before the public for the last eight years. Ever since he was thirteen years old. I remember hearing him at his height some four years since almost, in a little uptown unpretentious church, with the early sunlight falling through the cathedral stained windows and staining his crisp, spotless color with a thousand soft hues, the flickering of altar tapers and the faint odors of fresh flowers well befiting the scene : The seraphic voice, the upturned fair, handsome face, and the almost solemn gaze of the large brown eyes. This was Harry Brandon; and as the great solo, " Come unto Him," from the Messiah, floated away with the hush of organ pealing, the beautiful aria seemed not so much a work of vocal art or musical composition for the boy had made it a revelation! Such a voice I never heard!

In conversation with him about six months afterward I said, "Do you always expect to sing this way, Harry?" In his usual modest fashion he replied, "They say boys singing until they are eighteen keep their soprano voice." "You eighteen, Harry?" I exclaimed." He laughed gently, raising his eyebrows-his fashion-which is the one way he has of indicating surprise. "Didn't you know that?" he replied. "I have never believed it until you said so," I answered, and neither had I. Scarcely two weeks off a European steamer, in strollup Broadway not long ago, my attention was arrested by the bill-board sign of Dockstaders at 29th street. "Master Harri, Dockstader's lastest vocal acquisition." I had heard something of Harry Brandon becoming a "burnt cork canary," etc., but gave it no credence, for the last time I heard him just before I sailed two years ago, in Washington, singing before Mrs. Cleveland, the voice indicated then its first signs of needed rest. However, I bought my ticket and entered the cosy little parlor of wit and humor and waited, after a merry laugh, for Master Harri, who appeared in Part II in Robert Le Diable. He came the same almost shrinkingly modest Harry, and the disguise was complete, until he opened his mouth. The

same marvellous tones in the upper or head register through which his genius is so definitely revealed, were there, the worse for wear and continual strain; coarse, sharp, void of the soft, bell-like quality of their early and natural charm. The middle register was gone and instead-the puny falsetto the weakly "efforty" tones or sounds bespoke the misuse of a once matchless gift, which he was spinning out in the guise of a negro minstrel. I was sadly disappointed, and longed to tell him so, but Harry has reached an age, according to his own assertion, which should at least indicate some reason and definite action for a future. It was time long ago to allow the adult voice some chance, and although it has been said that great boy singers have never been celebrites in after life, still this fallacy is all the more marked as such when you consider that Gallassi and Alvary and many others were just the same Harry Brandon in their time, but were refrained by their guardians and the exercise of their own judgment from misusing their rare gifts. It is a great fallacy. The throat is perfect. The organ is there -rest, and Nature will with pen scope complete her charms-accomplish her end. Howard Curry.