et for 食 The t!, ser! verbial grain of salt. Her noble and powerful voice is peculiarly fitted to interpret the music of Verdi. That is fortunate, as two of his most renowned interpreters, Mesdames Stoltz and Waldmann, who have made such a success in "Aida" and the "Requiem," are, it is said, about to quit the stage, the latter to marry and to retire into the shades of domestic life. It is to be hoped that they will sing in "Aïda" at Les Italiens before taking this final step. Two of the blond beauties of the Parisian stage are about to espouse or have already given their fair hands to barytone singers: Mademoiselle Reichemberg, of the Comédie Française, having married M. Bouhy, of the Opéra Comique, and Angèle Moreau, the fair and sympathetic creatrix of Louise, in "Les Deux Orphelines," being engaged to M. Caron, of the Opéra. I think I mentioned this latter report to you before, but it has just received official confirmation. Neither of the two lovely ladies will quit the stage. The sixth and last volume of Taxile Delord's "History of the Second Empire" is announced to appear on the 7th of this month. This volume treats of literature, science, arts, and the press, under the Second Empire, as well as of the last events of the reign of the third Napoleon. Glady Brothers continue to largely advertise their forthcoming edition of the "Imitation," by Thomas à Kempis. Their last advertisement contains the announcement that they are going to reproduce for it the celebrated plates relating to Madame de Maintenon, but when the work is to be published they do not yet state. The historical novel being no longer in Vogue, M. Elie Berthet is about to try his hand at a prehistorical novel, or, rather, series of novels. Inspired by the recent discoveries of science, M. Berthet intends to revive, for the benefit of his readers, the man of the lakes and caverns, and to show us, in the midst of antediluvian landscapes, the combats of the uncouth and monstrous animals of the period. If well done, the novels will certainly be very curious, but how they can contain any human interest it is hard to imagine. The first one, which is to be called "The Parisians of the Stone Age," is to appear in a few days, and is to be succeeded by "The Lacustrian City" and "The Founding of Paris." A comedy, in one act, by the lamented Amédée Achard, is shortly to be produced at the Gymnase. It is entitled "The Boar of Ardennes." Gérôme, the celebrated painter, is studying Turkish architecture in Broussa and Constantinople; it is said that he is going to try his band at painting marine views - a complete change of style, and one that I should hardly ancy would prove beneficial. The "Respha" of Georges Becker, the huge picture which at the alon caused so much controversy, has been urchased by the government, probably for he Luxembourg. The price paid for it was aly three thousand francs (six hundred dolrs), which, considering its size and the labor stowed upon it, seems marvelously little. owever, the painting, by reason of its size d subject, was totally unfit for any private llery. It is an exasperating fact that two the finest pietures of modern days are tolly lost to the public by reason of their bein the hands of a wealthy member of the mi-monde. I allude to the "Vicaria" of rtuny, and the celebrated "Salomé" of anri Regnault, which now ornament the galy of a superb hotel near the Arc de Triaphe, It is a singular fact that the world res the latter picture to the suggestion of rtuny. In the spring of 1870, Regnault, Fortuny, and some other artists, were talking over the approaching Salon. "Why do you not exhibit this year?" asked Regnault of Fortuny. "Because I am not a Frenchman," made answer the Spanish artist, "but why do not you?" "I have nothing ready," replied Regnault. "Nay," said Fortuny, "take that head which you sketched lately and put a body to it; nothing could be better." His advice was taken, and the result we know, and the universal sensation and excitement which were created by that weird and striking picture. It confirmed the fame of Regnault, and was the last picture ever exhibited by him. Before a year had expired, his brief, brilliaut existence, too, had closed. How sad is the story of these three gifted artistsZamacois, Fortuny, and Regnault-friends and compeers, not one of whom attained the age of forty! Zamacois was only twenty-nine when he died. The remains of the old Opera-House have at last been cleared away, and the ground has been sold, but for what purpose still remains a mystery. It was hoped that the government would take advantage of the vacancy left by the fire to complete the Boulevard Haussmann by prolonging it to the Rue Drouot, but that project seems to have been definitely abandoned. Next it was reported that the Hôtel des Ventes, on the Rue Drouot, was to receive a very necessary addition in the shape of a supplementary salle, on the other side of the street, with a gallery connecting it with the main building. That rumor, too, has proved false. The Rue Chauchat is to be prolonged over part of the vacant ground, and that is all that government means to do in the matter. As to the rest of the lot, it is to be left to private speculation. There is talk of erecting a new theatre there, but the theatres existing already in Paris are not getting along so well that any more need be erected. For the fact has recently come to light that half of the Parisian theatres are in a failing condition. The Ambigu Comique, the Châtelet, and the Lyrique, all lost heavily during the past season, and it is probable that the first two will not be reopened in the fall. The Vaudeville went from failure to failure till it was on the verge of ruin. The Gymnase also has sustained heavy losses, none of its new plays during the past season having attained to more than a half-success. The Gaîté made money with " Orphée," but the money thus made was swallowed up in producing "La Haine" and "Geneviève de Brabant." This theatre is owned by a stock company, and the stockholders, who never get a penny of dividend, no matter what the receipts of the theatre may be, have in disgust sent Offenbach to the right-about, and have installed his stage-manager, Vizentini, in his place. The public will suffer by this change, for Offenbach did things royally; such scenery and costumes, such masses of supernumeraries, and such a corps de ballet, never before adorned the stage of the Gaîté, and I fear never will again. The Comédie Française, the Porte St.Martin, and the Odéon, have all done well this "Reine Indigo," is at work on a new operetta for the Renaissance. Sardou is to furnish the pièce de résistance for the coming season at the Gymnase, in the shape of a comedy bearing the thrilling title of "Remorse." As to Alexandre Dumas, the Comédie Française is henceforth to possess him entirely. And, à propos of Dumas, here is a criticism which he recently pronounced upon Alfred de Musset. Some one remarked in his presence that De Musset had something Shakespearean about him. "Yes," replied Dumas, "De Musset was a compound of Shakespeare, Mauvaux, and a strolling player!" Which, leaving out the first, was probably correct enough. And now that I am on anecdotes, here is one of Théophile Gautier: There exists in the Champs Elysées an hotel belonging to a lady of undoubtful reputation, the steps of the main staircase of which hotel are composed of precious stones, such as malachite, lapis-lazuli, carnelian, sardonyx, etc. Three wealthy lovers were ruined in order that this staircase might be finished. The proud proprietress of this ill-bought splendor was one day displaying it to Théophile Gautier, and asked him finally what he thought of it. "Madame," he said, "you have just proved to me the fact that the successive steps of Vice are far more dazzling than are those of Virtue !" The poet is dead and buried, but the staircase and the owner thereof still adorn the Champs Elysées. The Temps recently published quite an interesting article about Stendhal, containing many anecdotes and personal reminiscences. He was very severe toward his contemporaries. Of Victor Hugo, when young, he says, very unappreciatively: "The talent of M. Hugo resembles that of Young, the author of the 'Night Thoughts'— he is always coldly exaggerated. Nor can it be denied that he does not know very weil how to write French verse." Among Stendhal's papers, after his death, was found a paper headed "My Wishes." Among these was to be found the singular and prophetic phrase, "I should like to die of apoplexy at the corner of a street!". The same idea is expressed in his correspondènce: "It seems to me that there is nothing ridiculous about dying in the street, if it is not done on purpose," he writes. His death was exactly that which he had desired. He fell dead of apoplexy one day while passing through the Rue Neuve des Capucines. It is reported in Paris that the Princess Girgenti, the oldest daughter of Queen Isabella of Spain, is about to be married to a Prussian prince. Considering the lady's maternal and grand-maternal autecedents, and the fact also that she is as thin as a rail and as plain as a pikestaff, and that her first husband, Count Girgenti, is said to have committed suicide on account of the intolerable shrewishness of her disposition, I am inclined to look upon this alliance as the beginning of the avenging of France. LUCY H. HOOPER. OUR LONDON LETTER. MR. ROBERT BUCHANAN seems to delight in getting into hot water; he is even worse in this respect than that other well-known member of the genus irritabile, Mr. Mortimer Collins. In the last number of the New Quarterly-a young magazine which, I am sorry to say, is not doing so well as it might and ought—Mr. Bu chanan has an article on "The Modern Stage," which is full of personalities. He falls foul of our dramatic critics; he falls foul of more than one of the London managers—for instance, he declares that Nature clearly intended Mr. Chatterton to manage a hippodrome instead of a theatre; and he falls foul of certain of our dramatists. The playwright for whom he has the greatest admiration is seemingly Mr. Wills; him he rightly calls "an exceedingly clever though undoubtedly careless writer." No; after all he has a greater admiration for Mr. Gilbert; him he describes as the English Aristophanes, adding-and I believe you will agree with the remark-that "no living writer has his" (Mr. Gilbert's) "originality, and no living writer has his quiddity." Mr. Gilbert's burlesque of the "Happy Land," Mr. Buchanan further believes to be "the primest political satire of this generation." Of Mr. Tom Taylor, too, our critic speaks kindly, but holds that, though he is the author of some of the very brightest pieces of the day, he is ofttimes "too consciously theatrical." So far, praise in the main; but our poet does not go on in this strain for long. When he comes to consider Mr. Boucicault's claims to be called a dramatist, he grows angry indeed. "It is clear," remarks he, "that when the stage secured a Boucicault, literature lost a Close;" the famous bald-headed actor-author can only be described, in short, as "the Shakespeare of the New Cut and Seven Dials." As to Mr. John Oxenford, the dramatic critic of the Times, our irascible poet belabors him soundly, certain as he is in his own mind that he (Mr. Oxenford) has no wish to raise the drama, for, if he had, asks Mr. Buchanan, would he be a "producer of stuff merely written for the market? Mr. Oxenford," continues he, so that there shall be no possibility of his being misunderstood, "writes too many worthless plays to be a trustworthy reporter of the modern theatre for the leading newspaper in the kingdom." There is a good deal more of a similar kind anent other notabilities, the result of all which is that Mr. Buchanan is being "hauled over the coals" by the whole of our periodical press. Fortunately, he is used to that kind of thing, and bears it in the coolest way possible. But I opine that when his next play is produced (he mustn't ask Mr. Chatterton to bring it out!), he will be paid back with inter est. I mentioned the "poet" Closo just now. What an eccentric old man he is! Lord Palmerston, you will remember, got him placed on the Civil List, when up came a dozen people-many of them disappointed authors themselves to prove that Mr. Close was not a poet at all-that, in fact, he could not write half a dozen lines grammatically. And so it really is. His verses are the merest doggerel, yet he makes money out of them by chronicling notable events and praising (in print) the loveliness of the rich ladies and the generosity of the rich lords who visit him at the little bookstall which he keeps at Kirkby-Stephen, near Lake Windermere. He is constantly forwarding a minute account of his movements to me for publication; poor mun! he seems to think all the world is interested in them. Now it is to say that Lady Broadacres has given him a sovereign; anon to announce that he is about to dedicate some verses to my Lord of Woodsland. His last letter is to the effect that he is writing "a grand epic poem " (the words are his own) on-whom do you think? Why, on Captain Boyton, who, it appears, is about to visit the lakes. Further, he assures me that, though in his sixtieth year, he is (horribile dictu!) "composing impromptu verses every day !" Here is an anecdote anent Mr. H. J. Byrou -whose "Our Boys" and "Weak Women" are still running merrily at the Vaudeville and Strand respectively-which has never appeared in print: Years ago a new piece of his (I forget the name of it) was produced at Liverpool. It was somewhat "slow," for at that time Mr. Byron was trying his "'prentice-hand." The audience began to show signs of impatience, and just as a few hisses were becoming audible, a sawing sound was heard. "What was that, Byron?" asked the manager, who was standing beside the young dramatist, at the side-wings. "Oh," replied Mr. Byron, "I suppose it's the carpenters cutting down the piece!" Mr. Byron, by-the-way, is always saying witty things in conversation—just as Mr. Albery is. If their remarks were judiciously taken down, I have no doubt they could be made to contribute not a little to the success of some new comedy. The Pall Mall Gazette (which is edited, I may tell you, by Mr. Frederick Greenwood, the brother of James Greenwood, the "Amateur Casual") has just done a very kindly thing. It has called attention in glowing terms to a little volume of patriotic verses written by a humble Irishman, one Mr. O'Conor. Mr. O'Conor is, it seems, a working-man settled at Deptford, and is at present trying to gain a very minor post in our school board. That he has considerable poetic instinct is certain. Take, for example, his "Backwoods Song: "We camp beneath the tall pines, "The shades of night are falling, And be our boast, our backwoods toast- "For God and Country! For God and Country! Boys, be our toast and proudest boast, Is not that very inspiriting? I can fancy I hear that chorus given by half a dozen brawny Irish immigrants. How it would echo among the pines! Again, the following lines on "The Vanithee," a good old housewife, have surely the true lilt: "Let some go praise our maidens fair- "Come, fill we to the brim each cup, I don't think I ever mentioned that Mr. William Black, the novelist, is a most ardent sportsman. He is, though, and your readers may like to know it. There are few better shots. Almost every year he hies to the Scotch moors, and does terrible execution among the feathery tribe. Mr. Irving made a rather telling speech on the occasion the other day of the thirtieth annual festival of the Royal General Theatrical Fund. He presided, and was supported by Signor Salvini among others. After telling his audience that some twenty years ago he, then quite a boy, might have been seen standing by the door of the London Tavern (where the present festival was held), watching eager ly the guests as they assembled for the Fund's dinner, he candidly admitted that he could not make so eloquent an appeal for the charity as had many of his predecessors. "I am unable to draw gold by my glowing words," added he. "Eloquence such as theirs, the true philosopher's stone, I don't possess.' Then he went on to show that "actors are a proverbially benevolent and open-handed race. They certainly have a great temptation to live well," remarked he, “and I remember a famous comedian once saying to me, 'Sir, when I play Charles Surface I dine off the liver-wing of a chicken, moistened by a bumper of sparkling Burgundy.' Artistic instincts," he continued, are frightfully opposed to business habits. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, I am not speaking of the fortunate London actor with his snug room here, his comfortable cottage there, and a handy little sum at his banker's. I am speaking of the poor country actor who, on twenty-five or thirty shillings a week (when he can get it) to fulfill an engagement, has to journey from Aberdeen to Plymouth, who has to play lords, dukes, and electors and Counts Palatine, and dress them all himself; who has, perhaps, to exist four, five, or six months out of the twelve, chameleon-like, on air, and perhaps with a wife and several small children. How is this unfortunate being to put by for the rainy day? And if the man be earnest and a student, he must spend money in artistic work. He wants a wig for this, and shoes and buckles for that; in short, every thing that has been worn since clothes were invented. And all this on twenty-five shillings a week! He must try and look the character he acts, and the more artistic the man's mind, and the more fastidious his taste the more is be tempted to be what the thought less call extravagant." Mr. Irving's words had much effect, as wa shown by the large sum subscribed then and there for the institution. A right modes man is he; but he is by no means a good after dinner speaker. Like Miss Cushman, he car ries the theatrical intonation into private life. WILL WILLIAMS. success of this venture, that the story to its Fig. 1 represents the swimmer or shipminutest details has already been made pub-wrecked passenger in full outfit, and ready lic. In addition to these descriptive accounts, to jump or be cast overboard; while the secmany of our contemporaries have published tional view given in Fig. 2 best illustrates picturesque illustrations of this living sea- the peculiarities of construction, the method craft-now battling with the rough sea, now of inflation, etc. Referring to this latter reposing for rest on the very crest of the figure, it will be observed that the rubber waves, and again dashing along under full suit is in reality two suits, the one inclosing sail before the wind. Even the "noontide the body closely, while the other, fitting over meal" was partaken of by the swimmer, this loosely, leaves at intervals open spaces with his head resting upon an inflated cush- or air-chambers. These, when inflated, are on, and his paddle fastened at his side. sufficiently buoyant to sustain the inclosed body upon the surface of the waves. The suit, which is of stout rubber cloth, consists of two parts-jacket and pantaloons, secured at the waist by a belt. Besides these two grand divisions, there are, in the jacket, several lesser ones, formed by the stitching or fastening together of the outer and inner coats. By this means separate air-sacks are formed, one in front and the other behind, while that portion extending along the back of the neck and head is also separated, and when inflated acts as a pillow. While these illustrations were truthful, no loubt, and served their purpose in conveying o the reader the possibilities of the life-savng dress, they yet failed to present any clear dea of the peculiarities of its construction, ts actual form, and the method of its adjusthent. For these reasons we are prompted to efer, after this lapse of time, to the subject, order to lay before our readers, aided by uitable descriptions, the accompanying outne drawings of Boyton or any other swimher equipped in the Merriman suit. Origially prepared for the English Mechanic, hese drawings are so clear as hardly to ending in a suitable cock and mouth-piece, is attached. By means of these the wearer can inflate all or any of the desired sections. The inflation is simply a process of blowing up. Hence, should there be any slight escape of air, it can be readily replaced even in the water. As the only exposed portion of the body is the fuce, or at least that small part of it which includes the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, the only line where there is any need of compression is that which marks the boundary of this space. This is effected by means of a light but strong elastic band, which fits closely over the space indicated by the dotted lines in Fig. 2. Should it be deemed advisable to leave the hands exposed, a similar band about the wrists accomplishes this result. As it is not improbable that an assortment of these suits will soon become a feature of every steamer's furniture-as are now the well-known though rarely - serviceable cork life-preservers-a careful examination of their form and methods of use may yet prove of practical value to our readers; and, as we are instructed, as a feature of wise statesmanship, that in times of peace we prepare for war, so it may not be amiss that the hour of safety be made, by means of this and like observations, to serve us in preparing for that danger which awaits all who << go down to the sea in ships." THE following facts, as given by the Virginia Enterprise, will doubtless prove suggestive to those who are interested in certain problems in the department of terrestrial physics. We were permitted to present recently certain interesting facts regarding the retention of frost by rocks and along rocky strata, and, in the following facts, it seems demonstrated that when unexplored, or under pressure, rocks may be made to retain heat for great periods of time: "On the 30th of October last, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the large, new air-shaft of the Belcher mine, then completed to the one-thousand-foot level, took fire and was destroyed. The timber of the shaft all burned out and the rock fell in and blocked it up. After mature deliberation, it was thought that it would be better and cheaper to sink a new shaft than to try to clear out the old one, so badly were the sides caved and so great was the quantity of rock that had fallen into it. The new shaft was sunk a short distance to the west of the old one. It has now reached a point near the one-thousand-foot level, where it will be continued down an incline. The incline was started at the one-thousand-foot level, and carried up to meet the vertical por tion of the shaft. The course of this incline carried it through the remains of the old vertical shaft; but, as soon as it was tapped, the men found that they could do nothing in it on account of the ashes, burnt earth, and rocks, that poured down into their incline. A tunnel was run until it had reached a point a short distance west of the old shaft, when a vertical upraise was made to the line of the proposed incline to be run up to meet the new shaft. The men then began to work down on the incline in order to reach the point from which they were driven in trying to come up. They have succeeded in getting into the bottom of the old shaft, where, much to their surprise, they found the rock still red-hot. In trying to The process of inflation is a simple one. put in timbers they were set on fire, and in To each division or air-sack a rubber tube,order to work at all it is found necessary to bring a line of hose into the place and play a stream of water upon the rocks wedged in the bottom of the old shaft. There is no timber on fire among the rocks. They seem to have been heated to a degree so intense at the time of the fire, that they have remained red-hot ever since. When we find so small a mass of rocks as can be contained in the bottom of a shaft remaining hot for over five months, after having been heated to whiteness, should we be incredulous on being assured by scientists that the centre of the earth, once a molten mass of rock, still remains in a molten state after untold ages? Nearly three years after the great fire in the Yellow-Jacket mine, places were found in the lower levels where the rock was still red-hot." ganized as a geographical society, it is the evi- THE increase in the number of "gas-wells' THE dreaded Colorado beetle, the history, forin, and habits of which were made the subject of a recently - illustrated article in the JOURNAL, has at length, as then predicted, made its appearance along our Eastern coasts. In New Jersey and Eastern New York this pest is now actively at work, and one of the attractive features of a Fulton-Street seed-store is a little glass cage of the beetles, alive and active. In all respects they correspond with our description, and, guided by that, no reader need fail to recognize the presence of the invaders. "It is an ill wind that blows no good," however, and hence the manufacturers of Parisgreen are driving a brisk trade in this dangerous poison, regarding the efficacy of which opinions are divided. In the mean time the march is still eastward, and already our English neighbors have taken fright, and are starting measures to repel the invaders should they succeed in landing on their shores. The President of the Entomological Society, in his recent anniversary address, directs attention to the subject as follows: "The Colorado potatobeetle is an enemy whose rapid advances toward the shores of the Atlantic are a menace to Europe. When once established on the seaboard, they may wing their way to vessels in port, being accustomed to fly in swarms, and may thus be borne over to found a colony in this country, irrespective of conveyance with the tubers themselves. Agricultural and hor-ploring and supply ship. Though he anticultural societies should make provision for the dissemination of correct information respecting these insects; and specimens of the beetles themselves should be obtained for distribution, with the view to familiarize persons with their aspect, and to prevent their diffusion." It will be seen that the English authorities advise a course of proceeding which we have already adopted, and should our readers have listened to the warnings already given them, we doubt not they have been aided in an early recognition of the enemy. THE Egyptian Geographical Society, recently organized under the patronage of his highness the khédive, with Dr. Schweinfurth as president, has entered at once upon an active and promising career. The khédive has placed at the disposal of the society a handsome suite of apartments, furnished in suitable style, including a valuable library, having also headed the subscription-list with an endowment-fund of two thousand dollars a year. In his inaugural address, Dr. Schweinfurth referred to geographical research as follows: "It has become an immense domain, the meeting - place of all branches of human science. The geography of the present does not aim at merely describing the form of the earth or the vesture which it has assumed; it seeks to show the chain of hidden causes of which this form is the expression." It thus appears that, though or Mr. Macleay, whose zeal and generosity in the cause of science we have already commended, has entered actively upon the organization of his projected expedition to New Guin ea. For this purpose he has fitted out at New Sydney a four-hundred-ton man-of-war, which vessel will be transformed into an ex nounces as his chief object the enriching of Ir is announced that Seth Green, having IT is stated that eggs may be preserved for a long time by simply dipping them in paraffine. Great care must be taken to procure fresh eggs, as this treatment will not serve to check decomposition after it has once begun. As the main purpose of this and all kindred processes is merely to exclude the air and protect the surface from the approach of spores, it is surprising that this method has not before suggested itself. Paraffine is an article so readily obtained and applied that a test of this statement might readily be made. M. VON HULLE, chief gardener of the Botanical Gardens at Ghent, having observed the buoyant power of the leaves of the Victoria regia, was led to test this power, which he accomplished by loading one of the leaves with bricks. By this means he found that the single leaf was able to sustain a weight of seven hundred and sixty-one pounds. ALREADY the honors of a discoverer and public benefactor are being granted to M. De la Bastie, the inventor of the process of toughening glass, recently described in the JOURNAL. The jury of the French Central Society of Horticulture have awarded to him a large gold medal " on account of the services his discovery is likely to render to horticulture." IN a brief communication in Silliman's Journal on the "Rate of Growth in Corals," Professor Joseph Le Conte advances the opinion, supported by personal observation, that the annual growth of madrepore-points in the Gulf of Mexico is not more than three and one-half or four inches a year. THE two new asteroids discovered by Professor C. H. Peters on the night of June 3d last, have been christened "Vibilia" and Adeona," "Nos. 144 and 145. The magnitude แ of the former is estimated at the 10th, and of the latter the 11.5th. PROFESSOR BAEYER, of Strasburg, has been appointed to the professorship of Chemistry at Munich-a post which has remained vacant since the death of Liebig. Miscellany: NOTEWORTHY THINGS GLEANED HERE ROM a volume by George Henry Lewes, FROM just published in London (being in the main, however, a collection of papers that have appeared in the periodicals), we derive the following just comments on a well-known complaint current among actors: It is thought a hardship that great actors in quitting the stage can leave no monument more solid than a name. The painter leaver behind him pictures to attest his power; the author leaves behind him books; the actor leaves only a tradition. The curtain falls-the artist is annihilated. Succeeding generation may be told of his genius; none can test it. All this I take to be a most misplaced sor row. With the best wishes in the world cannot bring myself to place the actor on level with the painter or the author, I canno concede to the actor such a parity of intellect ual greatness; while, at the same time, I an forced to remember that, with inferior abili ties, he secures far greater reward, both pudding and praise. It is not difficult to as sign the causes of an actor's superior reward both in noisy reputation and in solid guiness He amuses. He amuses more than the mos amusing author. And our luxuries alway cost us more than our necessities. Taglion or Carlotta were better paid than Edmun of the to! Kean or Macready; Jenny Lind better than both put together. But while the dramatic artist appeals to a larger audience, and moves them more forcibly than either painter or author, owing to the very nature of his art, a very slight acquaintance with acting and actors will suffice to show there can be no parity in the rank of a great painter and a great actor. Place Kean beside Caravaggio (and, though I select the greatest actor I have known, I take a thirdrate painter, not wishing to overpower the argument with such names as Raphael, Michel Angelo, Titian), and ask what comparison can be made of their intellectual qualifications? Or take Macready, and weigh him in the scale with Bulwer or Dickens. The truth is, we exaggerate the talent of an actor because we judge only from the effect he produces, without inquiring too curiously into the means. But, while the painter has nothing but his canvas, and the author has nothing but white paper and printer's ink with which to produce bis effects, the actor has all other arts as haudmaids; the poet labors for him, creates his part, gives him his eloquence, his music, his imagery, his tenderness, his pathos, his sublimity; the scene-painter aids him; the costumes, the lights, the music, all the fascination of the stage-all subserve the actor's effect: these raise him upon a pedestal; remove them, and what is he? He who can make a stage-mob bend and sway with his Teloquence, what could he do with a real mob, no poet by to prompt him? He who can charm Thus with the stateliest imagery of a noble mind, when robed in the sables of Hamlet or in the toga of Coriolanus, what can he do in coat and trousers on the world's stage? Rub off the paint, and the eyes are no longer brilliant! Reduce the actor to his intrinsic value, and then weigh him with the rivals whom he surpasses in reputation and in fortune. If my estimate of the intrinsic value of acting is lower than seems generally current, it is from no desire to disparage an art I have always loved, but from a desire to state what seems to me the simple truth on the matter, and to show that the demand for posthumous fame is misplaced. Already the actor gets more fame than he deserves, and we are called upon to weep that he gets no more! During his reign the applause which follows him exceeds in intensity that of all other claimants for public approbation; so long as he lives he is an object of strong sympathy and interest; and when he dies he leaves behind him such influence upon his art as his genius may have effected (true fame !) and a monument to kindle the emulation of successors. Is not that enough? Must he weep because other times will not see his acting? Must we weep because all that energy, labor, genius, if you will, is no more than a tradition? Folly! In this crowded world how few there are who can leave even a name! how rare those who leave more! The thor can be read by future ages? Oh, yes, le can be read: the books are preserved; but he read? Who disturbs them from their epose upon the dusty shelves of silent librajes? What are the great men of former ages, ith rare-very rare-exceptions, but names the world which shelves their well-bound olumes? The illustrious mathematician Jacobi, in his age, was once consoled by a flattering disciple ith the remark that all future mathematicians ould delight in his work. He drew down the mers of his mouth and said, despairingly, "Yes; it to think that all my predecessors knew nothof my work!" Here was vanity hungrier than at of the actor. Unless some one will tell me in sober gravity (what is sometimes absurdly said in fulsome dinner-speeches and foolish dedications) that the actor has a "kindred genius" with the poet whose creations he represents, and that in sheer intellectual calibre Kean and Macready were nearly on a par with Shakespeare, I do not see what cause of complaint can exist in the actor's not sharing the posthumous fame of a Shakespeare. His fame while he lives surpasses that of almost all other men. Byron was not so widely worshiped as Kean. Lawrence and Northcote, Wilkie and Mulready, what space did they fill in the public eye compared with Young, Charles Kemble, or Macready? Surely this renown is ample! and called in Tate and Colman to give him a lively ending for "King Lear." The grand days of the drama are often talked of with reverence, when Johnson, Burke, and Goldsmith, were the frequenters of the theatre, and Garrick was the tragedian; but they were actually the grand days of the player as opposed to those of the poet. If Garrick's taste is to be judged by the tragedies brought upon the stage during his time, it must be pronounced low, indeed. Before this period there had been at least a great deal of literary merit engaged in dramatic productions which prevented them from being totally worthless. Eminent authors, although they did not prove themselves to be eminent dramatists, yet scattered through their plays some sparks of talent: it would be impossible to read Addison's "Cato" without the conviction that its writer was no common man-singularly accomplished even in tedium; or to peruse Rowe's "Jane Shore" without regretting that its author had not sufficient sensibility and imaginative power to produce as good a drama as he could a stage-play; but there is nothing to hope or fear from Garrick's pet writers. If Macready share the regret of his friends, and if he yearn for posthumous fame, there is yet one issue for him to give the world assurance of his powers. Shakespeare is a good raft whereon to float securely down the stream of time; fasten yourself to that and your immortality is safe. Now, Shakespeare must have occupied more of Macready's time and thought than any other subject. Let fruits be given. Let us have from him an edition of Shakespeare, bringing all his practical experience as an actor to illustrate this the first of dramatists. We want no more black-letter. We want no more hyperboles of admiration. We want the dramatic excellences and defectserable play of "Virginia;" and the industriillustrated and set forth. Will Macready undertake such a task? It would be a delightful object to occupy his leisure; and it would settle the question as to his own intellectual claims. The foregoing was written in 1851. This year (1875) the "Reminiscences and Diaries of Macready" have been given to the world by Sir Frederick Pollock, and they strikingly confirm the justice of my estimate, which almost reads like an echo of what Macready himself expressed. In those volumes we see the incessant study which this eminently conscientious man to the last bestowed on every detail connected with his art; we see also how he endeavored by study to make up for natural deficiencies, and how conscious he was of these deficiencies. We see him over-sensitive to the imaginary disrespect in which his profession is held, and throughout his career hating the stage while devoting himself to the art. But, although his sensitiveness suffered from many of the external conditions of the player's life, his own acceptance by the world was a constant rebuke to his exaggerated claims. He was undeniably a cultivated, honorable, and able man, and would have made an excellent clergyman or member of Parliament; but there is absolutely no evidence that he could have made such a figure either in the church or senate as would compare with that which he made upon the stage. LADY POLLOCK, in Temple Bar, in an article entitled "The Poet and the Stage," has something to say calculated to disabuse some of the current theories in regard to the great ness of past dramatic periods: Garrick, independently of his special art, was a clever, cultivated man, but the fever of a restless self-love was in his blood, and he sacrificed his authors on all sides. He killed the living and mutilated the dead. In "Hamlet" he cut down whatever scenes he thought ineffective for his glory, and took into his own part favorite passages belonging to the other characters. In the same spirit he degraded "Richard III." to a series of stage-clamors, Among these, William Whitehead, the laureate, produced his feeble "Roman Father; then Mr. Crispe, known in Madame d'Arblay's diaries as "dear Daddy Crispe," made a mis ous Murphy suspended his labors in classic translations and borrowed learning to struggle with his "Zenobia" and "Orphans in China.” At this time Henry Jones, the bricklayer, left his trade to manufacture plays, and Glover invented new Medeas, and Mallet Elviras and Alfreds. Dramatic literature, crushed out by Puritanism during the time of the Commonwealth, had blossomed again into the full-blown sin of the reactionary movement under Charles II. It borrowed classic rules from the French in bombastic tragedy, and took to itself all the licentiousness of the court manners in its comedy. To humor audiences impatient of seriousness, the tragic authors of that time apologized for the pathos of their subject, as soon as the curtain fell, by indecent epilogues; and this fashion, with some modification of its grossness, was carried on into the eighteenth century. Garrick was looked to as a master in this species of composition, and did his best to encourage it; his literary talents were precisely of that kind which luxuriated in the short compass of a prologue. Here they were at home; here there was just a sufficient demand for easy rhyme, confident, unfettered fancy, and bold, unexpected meanings, which looked like wit. Nor did Garrick in these compositions forget his managerial tricks; so great a quantity of stage-business was given by him to prologue and epilogue that at last few actors but himself were accomplished enough to do them justice. He was always ready with some ingenuity to divert his public. Sometimes a bewildered country boy wandered on to the stage with a prologue to his supposed master's play, or a tipsy sailor rolled forward, reading the play-bill for the night, or a charming actress, after having drowned the stage in tears, sprang from behind the curtain as the Comic Muse. All these contrivances prolonged the custom of prologue and epilogue; but the better judgment will in the end prevail against a bad fashion; and first condemned by Thomson, and next sternly rejected by Home (the author of "Douglas "), other critics afterward ventured to protest, and gradually these things ceased to be. One of the principal causes of the rapid de |