of man. The fruit remains fair a while longer, but it is never perfect again. You miss always that faint, fragrant breath of utter purity, the dew of life's morning. Bohemia buries this in her wine-cellars. Why then should the innocents wish to venture into that dangerous life? What is the fascination for a decent girl? Is it a peculiarity of her sex to be pleased by vulgarity? They are pleased, you know, by Bohemian vulgarity. They look, and are dazzled. They touch, and are thrilled. They sip, sip again, and once more do they sip, and then they are primed for impromptu bliss. The good word is sent round, and comes back a bad one. No one is looking except those who can forgive. We can step out of it all afterward into the pure air, and renovate our souls. The pleasure throbs on, the hot air breaks in waves of song and the spray of intoxicants is blown through the rolls of smoke. No tears, no sighs, no heartaches, but joy, the joy of absolute recklessness, knowing no to-morrow or yesterday, but only to-night. Is that the charm? It is Bohemia. Any woman that I controlled would have to stay out of it. The best girl that ever breathed can be ruined by its debasing influences.

When the amateur actress joins forces with the really good part of the profession, she may be sure of her ground, and no immediate harm may come to her from it. But the raging sea is just at her feet. She is tempting fate.

C. M. S. McLellan.

EARLY next month the New York Mirror will issue an Annual" for 1888, which will be an endeavor to provide the contemporary stage with a complete and accurate record. The features comprise a chronological history of all dramatic and musical productions and other events during the year 1887, with the casts and plots of all new works brought out in this country, England, France and Germany; a necrology embracing biographical sketches of all professionals that died | in the countries named; and the dramatic bibliography of the year. A complete actors' directory, and good portraits of the leading players mentioned in the necrology will also be included in the " Annual."

ART CHAT.

THE WATER-COLOR EXHIBITION.

II.

THE number of well-painted water-colors of minor importance in the Exhibition are utterly beyond enumeration. There are hundreds which are charming in themselves, but do not make a prominent showing on the walls of the Academy side by side with the masterpieces of Homer, Tiffany, La Farge, Weir, Freer, and others.

De

MR. C. Y. TURNER has several drawings of a pretty model which are charming. Hopkinson Smith, a scene or so of Mexican scenes, which are full of sunlight. W. Hamilton Gibson, some dainty wood interiors, and other scenes. Wm. J. Wittemore, several dainty studies from Nature. Lancey W. Gill, the same done in the most perfect manner. Hamilton Hamilton, a large, ambitious work, not altogether a success, but praiseworthy because a step in the right direction. Walter L. Parmer's snowscene In the Dell" (134), is far ahead of his oils, being full of luminous quality. Carleton Chapman signs some picturesque marines. Harry Fenn's "The Washing Ground of Madrid" (199), is picturesque and odd in the extreme, and handled with masterly judgment. W. H. Ranger's New York street-scenes are all full of feeling for color in the ensemble; for color effects and for values they are fine in execution, which is a charm in works with architectural elements.

T. F. CHURCH this year has a tiger drinking in a stream upon which floats a waterlily; it is called "Beauty and the Beast (204). You can look at the lily and get the first half of the title, or take it for a puzzlepicture, a companion for Frank R. Stocton's story, "The Lady or the Tiger"; the question being, Has Mr. Church's tiger swallowed the lady?

As Mr. Church's work always attracts us on account of its subject, the work of Irving R. Wiles attracts us on account of its technic; but, as a general thing, there is great lack of anything like a meaning of beauty or of story in his composition; he has made a step this year beyond last, and the large work a girl's figure, "Alone" (344), comes very near being a picture. As soon as Mr. Wiles will paint pictures, he will be one of the leading American water-colorists.

FREDERICK DIELMAN'S woman's figure, "In October" (5), is one of the most earnest efforts in the exhibition.

Percy Moran, whose work is very weak as water-color art, has produced a charming picture called “Autumn” (31), which is way ahead of his other attempts in the collection, which are only nicely colored drawings.

C. C. Curran develops the tendency we noted in him some time since to seek fresh fields and pastures new. His "Roses" (72), is like nothing he has ever exhibited before, and is strikingly original; the treatment of this girl's hair might be challenged, but the color otherwise is pure and fresh.

T. De Thulstrup's "Reinforcements' (259), is one of the best works he has ever exhibited in water-color. Walter Satterlee's The Breton Ferry" (225), is one of the most prominent figure-pictures in the East Gallery.

I

received the prizes at the Water-Color Exhibition.

W. M. Chase is also included in the American branch of the school.

THIS number of the Review should certainly be called the musical number, as Mr. Trumble follows in the footsteps of Mr. Van Kyke, and talks for a paragraph or more about the "weakness in the higher notes' in this Dutch water-color method. Mr. S. R. Koehler's paper on "The New School of Wood-Engraving" I have not read (I have put it by for future reference, when I know I may turn to it as authority on that subject); but I see that he, too, has made some comparison, on page 80, with "wordmusic" and "the sound."

MR. ALFRED TRUMBLE knows a great deal about modern art, and he is a sympathizer with the younger artists in America. He is well fitted to be their spokesman in favor of any "new movement.' His is the second paper in the Art Review, and he writes on "The New Movement in WaterColor Painting."

His argument is that we are strongly influenced by the Dutch school in this art; that they excel all other nations in this field. He says:

"To artists the names of Israels and Mauve are talismans, at whose touch a new gateway for artistic ambition yields; and Israels and Mauve represent a school, or rather a national identity in art, small in numbers, but greater than armies in its strength. It is to them that our vigorous young talents, weary of hackneyed expedients and ineffectual results of the conventional water-colorist, turn for incentive and encouragement."

* **

AMONG the American disciples which Mr. Trumble mentions as leaders are, R. W. Ranger, T. Alden Weir, and Horatio Walker. That Mr. Trumble is a critic for the hour may be seen by the fact that, although this paper was written some months ago, the two latter artists have just

ON Saturday afternoon, Feb. 18th, toBeethoven String Quartette, Mr. Goodyear, late curator of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, lectured upon the "Lotus in Historic Art," and Mr. J. Ward Stimson gave an address on behalf of "A New York University for Artist-Artisans." The Rev. R. Heber Newton introduced the speaker, and Mr. Stimson laid before the audience his plan for a university which should not be a private institution and which would have sixteen departments.

The invitation to make this address was signed by the following persons: E. C. Moore, of Messrs. Tiffany & Co.; Messrs. Cottier & Co.: Mrs. C. Wheeler, head of the "Associated Artists;" Richard Watson Gilder, of the Century Magazine; Fred. S. Church, Wm. M. Chase, C. Y. Turner, Thos. W. Ewing, J. Alden Wier, Fred'k Dielman, Frank Waller, Carl Hirschberg, and others.

* **

THERE was a mistake in last week's "Art Chat" about the Spencer Collection. The collection will be sold to-morrow evening, Tuesday, Feb. 28, and the dates mentioned should have read dates of exhibition and not sale.

The Spencer Collection is a perfect collection of French art of the Barbizon School. The works of Rousseau are suberb. The Fromentin "Arab Falconer," is a characterist specimen of great value.

The two Daubignys represent that painter at his best. The Millets. without being great pictures, are all valuable specimens of this popular artist. The Meissonier" Standard Bearer" is a precious piece of technique;

the Gerome is characteristic, while the Bréton "Lé Soir" is a chef-d'œuvre, which we hope will bring the highest price of any picture in the collection. The Troyon "Drove of Cattle and Sheep" has a rare piece of sky-painting in it.

THE Water-color Exhibition closed on Saturday, Eeb. 25. The sales and atten

dance being unprecedented.

THE Salmigundi Club gave its first reception on Thursday, Feb. 16, at 123 Fifth Avenue. An exhibition of works was shown.

Ernest Knaufft.

MONEY vs. ART.

THE career of some actors, now before the public, is the plainest evidence of the struggle between money and art, which is now going on upon the stage. It is needless to state which is usually the victor. The desire of wealth causes the manager of one of the best-known stock companies in America to turn his theatre into a combination house, and, clumsily disguising his true reason for doing so, to disband his company. Mr. Abbey seems to have ignored the fact that such a place as the Star Theatre existed in New York when he declared to the reporters that his reason for acting as he has done was that he needed the house at Thirtieth Street for his stars. Mr. Irving seems to like the Star, and if he can stand it, it strikes me that Mr. Abbey's luminaries could. It is a pity that Wallack's should have fallen into the hands of a speculator, who, not satisfied with great artistic success and a fair financial profit, wishes to gain a hundred per cent, on every investment. This is the most poignant example of the sacrifice of art for gold that we have at present before us; but laying aside all questions of managerial greed, let me call your attention to some actors now before us who have done the same thing. Take that much-puffed young man, H. E. Dixey, for instance. A few years ago he was called upon to decide which he should choose, money or art; and we all know which he took. The outside observer might

think that art studiously followed might bring money with it, and as a rule, he is right. But the actor of to-day does not think of making money slowly during the progress of artistic success. Not a bit of it! Dixey showed, by his work in "Confusion," that he had a good chance in genuine comedy, but he did not avail himself of it. He preferred to rush into prominence at once as a sort of glorified song-and-dance man. Herbert Gresham and Sadie Martinot were in the company also, and they both left hard and artistic work in refined comedy for the delights of burlesque and comic opera. There is one thought that occurs to the play-goer that tempers the anger which he feels at the thought of talent going to waste, merely to gratify an all-absorbing greed. The memory of men like John Gilbert and William Warren will be honored the world over when Dixey and players of his ilk have sunk into oblivion. Perhaps some one will object that Mr. Gilbert never was placed in a position to choose between art and money; that in his career the two have always been pleasantly blended. Think of the chances that he has had to star, and I fancy that objection will be readily disposed of. A few years ago, in "La Vie at the Bijou, I noticed a very pretty girl who played a diminutive part because of her pretty face and refined manner of speaking, as distinguished from the coarse voices and ponderous beauty of the rest of the female portion of the company. I wondered at the time if she would keep on in that line, or whether she would develop into something better. She chose the latter course, and has had solo parts in the American and German operas, besides appearing at the Thomas concerts and the Symphony's. I suppose Louise Montague receives a larger salary and has less work to do than this ex-chorus-girl, but one is following an artistic career, and the other is not. Richard Mansfield was in the cast also, and by his acting alone made the piece the partial success that it was. Can you fancy him playing The Baron von Wiener Schuitzel now? J. N. Long played a large part in “La Vie," and plays small ones now with Modjeska, but is sure to rise. Richard Mansfield, J. N. Long, and the young lady I spoke of, deserve more credit and money for the action they have taken than does the man who has made his reputation by an imitation of a greater actor than himself. The old motto-Palmam qui meruit ferat-will yet prove its truth, even though it seems obsolete in these days of horseplay and vulgarity.

John Reginald Blake.

MELODRAMA.

MELODRAMA in its primary and best sense was a high form of dramatic art. About the year 1770 Opera had made serious inroads on the popularity of the regular drama in Germany and in France. Upon its first introduction melodrama designated a regular dramatic performance in which instrumental music was intermixed here and there to the accompaniment of snatches of song. "Singspiele,' these plays were called in Germany. But soon the French introduced a species of serious dramas, never very popular in Germany, in which the spoken words were interrupted at proper places for short pauses by appropriate strains of music to heighten their effect. These pauses were then filled out by the players with suitable plastic poses and picturesque movements about the stage. But the French dramatists were not long in finding out, that the effect of deliberately spoken words in romantic or passionate passages was materially increased by accompanying them with low strains of instrumental music. All this was found more artistic when applied in plays treating ancient, historic and poetic subjects, in which the drapery of the antique costume, judiciously handled, could be used to embellish the scene, enhance the situation, and impress the language upon the auditor.

French dramatists soon began the writing of a high order of plays in which portions of the dialogue were written so as to be

spoken to specially arranged music. This was a fascinating complex and composite product of tragedy and music.

The

The first regular melodrama of this sort in Germany was Brandes' "Ariadne," or Gotter's "Medea." In France it was Rousseau's "Pygmalion," from which Gilbert took his "Pygmalion and Galatea." "Corsican Brothers" and "The Lyons Mail," the latter, though still holding the stage through Irving, not of a very high order, are of the best of those of past years. Sardou's "Patrie," not the Kiralfy abortion, is the best of those now occasionally produced on the stage of the Theatre Francais.

No English author of the present day can conceive one, unless it be Mr. Wells. It requires poetic virility, not slum fustian. The form at present in vogue is nothing but a species of blood-curdling, literary carpentry in which dramatic interest becomes merely the stalking horse. For such to receive praise from the critic and applause from the public, is driving a huge nail in the coffin of the better order of legitimate melodrama in its best form. Otto Peltzer.

knew him, loved him. It is proper that those who were unacquainted with him should know that this great joker had the tenderest heart and the most resolute and upright character that one could find. But his superior qualities were clothed with so much wit and good-humor that a little reflection was required to discover them. With us the conception of virtue is acompanied with some austerity and even a little pedantry.

Now Labiche was the reverse of a pedant. He led, with his wife and son, whom he idolized, a patriarchal life sown with laughter and witticisms. On the eve of his first communion his son entered his study to ask his blessing.

"I was upon the point," he told me, “of placing my hands upon his head, as they do in tragedies. I restrained myself and embraced him-with tears in my eyes."

During the war of 1870 he was upon his estate in Sologne. An officer of the Uhlans entered his yard.

"You are the Mayor of Souvigny?"

Labiche laughed heartily when relating that.

He found again before death the firmness of mind that he had possessed in the presence of danger. He felt that the end was approaching, and greeted it with a sad smile whenever he was allowed any respite from his sufferings.

Having received a visit from his curate, he said:

"He is on the watch for me."

On the last day, his sufferings ceased; he died without pain, without the pangs of the last separation; he fell asleep.

No one will bear away more loving regrets than this virtuous man of genius. Ever since I took up my pen the words have scorched my fingers; I am relieved by writing them down.

Emile Augier.

THE REVOLT.

I

We have been in business together many years my partner and I. He is the showy member of the concern, I am known as "the drudge." Everybody knows him. He is smart, sociable, a man of affairs-some say of genius; his name is constantly in the newspapers, in brief he is a noted man. never appear. I am kept out of sight. I am not brilliant, nor specially gifted, and I am perfectly contented to stay, where everybody seems to think I should be, in the background. I like my partner, although he often growls at me, and accuses me of little derangements in our domestic economy, for which I am quite sure I am in no way to blame. My partner I believe likes me, and I have often overheard him admit that he could not get along without me. And of that fact I am, myself, thoroughly convinced.

When we first went into business together we got along nicely. There was what I may call a fair division of labor, at least I was not called upon to perform, in unreasonably short periods of time, and in a perfect satisfactory manner, tasks which in the nature of things could never be satisfactorily accomplished if one worked at them through all eternity. There are some things that are impossible. I have discovered, that I have, for the fast few years, been frequently called upon to perform the impossible. I have borne it as long as I can. I shall bear it no longer. I am determined to rebel. Let there be no mistake when the world is called upon to pass judgment between us. It is not the nature of my work of which I complain, nor am I lazy. Every

one who ever had a chance to look behind the brilliant achievements of my partner and observe my habits, will testify that I conscientiously, laboriously, and constantly address myself to my daily work, without the slightest disposition to shirk.

I have at last come to the conclusion, however, that in my case, at least, forbearance has ceased to be a virtue.

My name is A. Stomach, Esq., and my station in life is about midway between the heels and the head of society. As I said before, I don't appear, and yet what society would do without me I don't know. I believe in the establishment of what may be termed a physical equilibrium in society, —that is, in a fair division of labor, As it is now my brilliant partner, T. H. E. Brain, Esq., gets all the glory and I do all the work. I have sometimes thought my partner had come to the conclusion that I knew nothing. I convinced him to the contrary the other day, and I have no doubt astonished and distressed him at the same time. He brought into the house, I suppose because he got it at a bargain, the most heterogeneous bill of goods imaginable, sent it down stairs to me to pack away and properly dispose of in an incredibly short time. Had there been twelve of us, instead of one, we could not have done it. I revolted then and there. I sent the whole bill of goods up again, quicker than they came down, saying, "I wouldn't have such stuff in the house." I know it distressed my partner, for I heard him moaning as though his heart would break. I rather pitied him, but I had peace for a time; it was several hours before anything else came down.

My partner is very fastidious in some respects. He is quick to detect unpleasant odors, and sometimes accuses me of a lack of care in this respect. I should like to tell him that its all his fault. If he had to work all day handling, sorting, and disposing of the things he sometimes sends down to me, he would not always remind one of the perfume of roses.

I am naturally peaceful. In fact, I dislike a quarrel-it is painful to me, and above all I dislike to quarrel with my old partner. But lately I have been obliged to assert myself, and when I do so he is good for nothing. He goes home, throws himself on the lounge or bed, finds fault with his wife and children, and growls like a sick bear all day, till I, in sheer pity, give in. After our quarrels, and especially when I take occasion, as I have several times of late, to send up a bill of goods, with a point blank refusal to keep them in the house at