ART CHAT.

THE ACADEMY EXHIBITION,

II.

WINSLOW HOMER'S "Undertow " (393) can not possibly be done justice in the small space at our disposal. Heroic in treatment, suggesting the antique in the contour and modeling of the figures, grandly true in the blue shadows of the flesh, perfect in composition, and vivid in its story, it is indeed the chef d'œuvre of the exhibition.

EASTMAN JOHNSON holds a high position among our genre painters. Of late years he has devoted most of his time to portraiture. (An effective full-length of his wife hangs in the South gallery.) A single portrait alone represented him in the exhibition of '86, also '85, and I think in '84 there were two portraits (one of Dr. McCosh. The worthy Doctor was again portrayed by Mr. Alexander in the exhibition of '86, and this year by Munkacsy,-"next!")

He is welcome again as painter of American every-day life. His subject of Old Whalers of Nantucket" (328), smoking and spinning yarns in a cobbler's shop, is, to use a theatrical phrase, a "fat" subject. Mr. Johnson has treated it in a free, simple manner, which is refreshing, but one cannot help feeling that the work could have advantageously been carried further. It has an unfinished look withal.

F. D. MILLET'S single figure, "The Click of the Latch," (398) ranks next. It is decidedly pretty. There is some masterly touches in Thomas Hovenden's negro genre, "The Watched Pot Never Boils," (345). J. G. Brown is J. G. Brown again for the thousandth time in No. 261, a bootblack holding up a shoe he has successfully polished, called Professional Pride." Mr. T. W. Wood, "Curbstone Politeness," (173) is well conceived. "The Lace Makers" (323), Edgar M. Ward, is a carefully painted but somewhat stiff composition.

T. W. DEWING is yet a young painter, and year by year he steadily and surely makes steps ahead. He has never done better than in his decorated panel, "The Days," (313), which receives its inspiration from Emerson's poem of that name, beginning,

Daughters of time-the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb, like barefoot dervishes,
And marching, single in an endless file.

OUR illustration is a head, by Miss Florence A. Francis, who is a pupil of the "Art Students' League," and of William Sartain. The picture is well painted and extremely graceful. The color lacks purity somewhat, but the artist has been careful to pay good attention to the values.

NOTES.

THE small collection shown for the last two weeks at Reichard's Gallery, of some of the pictures of the late George Fuller, of Boston, did not contain the best examples of that gifted painter's work. "Winifred Dysart," "The Turkey Pasture," Psyche," and "The Romany Girl," were wanting.

The nude figure, "Arethusa," was disappointing. The picture does not seem to fit at all the fable of the nymph of Elis, who was pursued by the river god.

The blind girl, "Nydia," is a much more pleasing picture, being extremely graceful in its lines. Mr. Fuller was an erratic genius at times (as in " And She was a Witch "); his pictures' charm lies entirely in the lines of composition-their drawing is entirely ignored and color only appeals to us. With the exception, I think, of the "Turkey Pasture," the only works of Mr. Fuller's which will live are those which contain his ideal faces, full of mystery and dreamy thought, as "Winifred Dysart

and "The Romany Girl." Of the few pictures shown at Reichard's, the "Ideal (boy's) Head," (No. 7,) was as a piece of painting a most masterly work.

The memorial volume, containing a life of Mr. Fuller, by W. D. Howells, and papers by F. D. Millet, W. J. Stillman, Thos. W. Balĺ, J. J. Enneking and W. B. Closson, and a poem by J. G. Whittier, and a number of choice illustrations engraved by Closson and Cole, is published for the benefit of the artist's widow.

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WHEN I was in the gallery last week, Mr. Reichard kindly showed me one of his latest importations, not yet exhibited, which he thought would be of interest to the readers of THE THEATRE. It was a picture of "Yum Yum," painted by the celebrated Berlin artist, Conrad Kiefel, whose picture, "The Fair Critics" (those long-figured girls in a studio looking at a book of sketches) is widely known. Kiefel's "Yum Yum" is not a Japanese; she is either a German singer or one of his models; her eyebrows are straight and her face rather long than round. She is standing, leaning gracefully against a cushion; she holds a partly opened fan over her forehead, which casts a faint shadow over half of the face. Her slim figure is tightly incased in a reddish, tight-fitting, Japanese costume, which is beautifully managed. The pattern on the stuff and the color of the gown itself is low in tone, and rich, rather than splendid. There is nothing loud or gaudy about it. It is refined and artistic.

A very clever piece of realism is in the outer gallery, it is "Le Camerade de l'Atelier," ("The Comrade-model, not a mere hired one, but one who poses for the honor of the thing-of the Studio") a handsome young man, in the costume of the Directoire, leaning against a studio wall, with a pipe in one hand. The picture was in the last Salon.

Mr. Reichard thinks that I was mistaken in supposing there was any surprise in Knaus' "Children's Party" bringing $21,300. And he very justly calls my attention to the fact that a picture with but two figures, at the Morgan sale, brought $15,000.

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MR. HENRY PROBASCO, of Cincinnati, was one of the best known art collectors of the West. The pictures which formed his collection will be sold by the American Art Association, at Chickering Hall, this (Monday) evening. They have been on exhibition for the last week. The collection is remarkable for the fact that it contains Millet s celebrated "Peasants Bringing Home a Calf born in the Fields," a clumsy work in the painting but a poem in design. It also contains a fine Troyon, "Landscape and Cattle-Approaching Storm," painted in a

larger, broader manner than most Troyon's we see over here. An early Gérôme (1867) represents a "Syrian Shepherd" riding across a plain followed by his flock of goats, a dog and a camel, and one of the finest skies Gérôme ever painted, above him. The color in this work is delicate, and the composition unique and striking. There is a very mixed up affair by Delacroix, entitled "Clorinda Delivering the Martyrs." Besides these there are examples of Fromentin, Rousseau, some poor Diaz's, Dupré, Rosa Bonheur, Auguste Bonheur, (original study (?) for the "Environs of Fontainebleau ' in Stewart collection), Calame, and Virat Cole, John Linnell, Englishmen. The most attractive picture of the collection is a beautiful Breton, "The Colza Gatherers, Effect of Sunset with New Moon," painted in 1868, and full of fine sentiment, not equal to "The Communicants," nor yet" Evening at Finistere," but noble and true in its poetry and simple and pure in its treatment. A strong example of Couture, a boy blowing soap-bubbles called "Day Dreams," is very interesting and technically a work to be studied. Alfred Stevens, Piloty, Bonnat, Aubert, Albert, and a large Kaulbach, Maternal Love," a second-class painting, but a pretty composition, attracted attention at the exhibition.

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IT will, I hope, be no news to my readers to hear that the gift by Mr. Vanderbilt of Rosa Bonheur's "Horse Fair," to the Metropolitan Museum, was followed by the presentation of twelve paintings (valued at $40,000), by Mr. George I. Seney, to the same institution ; among them Le Rolle's large Organ Rehearsal," two examples of Josef Israels, a George Inness, F. D. Millet, A. H. Wyant and a C. H. Davis. And then fulfilling the adage, It never rains but it pours," came the grand donation through the will of the late Miss Catherine Wolfe, of her valuable collection of paintings, the treasures of which to name would far overrun my space. The Museum closed on Saturday the 9th, and will open about the first of May for the summer season. It is doubtful, however, if the Wolfe pictures can be hung then as the Museum is at want for room.

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FEW of our younger painters have had a much harder time in asserting themselves on the picture admiring and picture buying public than Mr. R. Cleveland Coxe, one of our most talented marine painters. I am glad, however, that at last this young artist's talent is being recognized. Not only are his paintings in demand, but the public has found out that in his etchings Mr. Coxe has carved out a new path for himself. Ernest Knaufft.

IN THE LIMELIGHT'S GLARE.

I WANT just a little space this week in which to ventilate an opinion. It will not be a criticism. I shall not say "This is so,” or, "We will not have this in New York." I put it in this way:

On last Sunday evening, at the Bijou Theatre, N. C. Goodwin recited a dramatic poem called "My Uncle," in a way that could not be excelled by Edwin Booth, could not be equalled by Henry Irving or Lawrence Barrett. This is a rich and resonant assertion, and he who reads will surely think it the extravagance of an untutored fancy. On Sunday afternoon I should have looked upon it in that light myself, had I seen it written. I have doubted Nat Goodwin and his popularity on more occasions than one. When he was laying out a course for Dixey to follow behind in, seven or eight years ago, I liked his style, and believed that his smile, his brogue, his dance and his imitations were better than ought to be sold for the small price of a dollar and a half. Since then he has fluctuated and has played so persistently in imbecile pieces that I have often come near to thinking that

may be this excellence which I once thought I recognized, was accidental, or imagined by my youthful perception. "Hobbies" was so funny, and I have laughed at it scores of times. But to see Mr. Goodwin in "Turned Up" almost made me doubt that he ever did anything amusing in "Hobbies." However, let me get back to the benefit performance of last Sunday night. The house was filled with a most miscellaneous audience. There was respectability there, for James Lewis and his wife were there. But there were so many gamblers and bookmakers in the house that I am astonished the roof didn't fall and snuff out their fat, stupid leers, just to prove that some occult influence despised that sort of thing.

Nat Goodwin received his usual nice welcome with his usual half-angry, half-jovial expression. Then he said: "If you will kindly listen, I will deliver a recitation called 'My Uncle." Now believe me when I assure you that there then was heard a great, grand, wonderful rendering of a poem, which told of a man who killed his brother for winning the girl that they both loved. Ah, the intonation, the intense passion, the frenzy that Mr. Goodwin instilled in those lines, they surely could

not be bettered by any one, for they reached every part of all who heard, satisfying completely, leaving nothing to be wished for. As far as I am concerned, I now see that Mr. Goodwin is a greater actor in a different way than most of his admirers are aware of.

Jennie Yeamans was on the stage that same night. She was just as cunning as possible, and all three of her selections showed how immeasurably superior she is to Lillian Grubb or Pauline Hall, the two queens of popular taste.

Some of the Celtic persiflage of Harry and John Kernell was good. John always looks very angry and talks in a loud brogue:

If oi shud freeze to death," he observes, "oi'll niver wear ear-muffs agin. Oi was down in the Hoffman House barroom to-day, an' a man kim in there, asked everybody to drink, an' oi didn't hear him."

"So Cinders was telling me," puts in Harry in his quiet, neat way.

"There was a burglar broke into moi barn last week," says John, "an' shtole wan av moi two chistnut horses. I wint to the minister an' told him about it, an' he sez to me, sez he, if you'll pray to have that burglar sent back, the Lord will hear your prayer.' Oi prayed

stiddy for four days."

"Why?" asks Harry.

Because oi haven't got any."

Then John tells about going out on a horse in a Saint Patrick's day parade, and finding out that the horse belonged to a hose wagon. The fire-bells begin to ring and the horse makes a bolt and backs up against the nearest hydrant, and waits for somebody to turn the hose on.

"So Cinders was telling me," observes Harry. John says if he could get anything better to do he would leave Macy s. He was selling stockings one day to a woman who was quite six feet tall. "How much is this pair?" Seven dollars." "Oh, they come very high, don't they?" "Not very, you're a tall woman." So Cinders was telling me."

66

C. M. S. McLellan.

THE STAGE.

IS IT A PUBLIC EDUCATOR?

At

A handful of people at McVicker's-crowds struggling nightly for admission to the Chicago Opera House. McVicker's Genevieve Ward; at the Chicago Opera House, Henry Dixey.

What a rebuke it is to the cant so prevalent to-day which extols the stage as a public educator, and which makes its heroes and its heroines the pets of fashion. It is about as much of an educator as the circus was to the ancient Romans. The truth is that, like the circus, it is merely the plaything of the people, never seriously considered by the mass, who in their spasmodic periods of strictness treat it

with contumely, and in the intervals of relaxation honor it like Nero's horse. As a mirror of the manners and a representative of the tastes of a community it possesses a certain value, offering the present an opportunity of studying its own features, and preserving the picture for the edification of posterity.

If one of the happy accidents of fortune had not com pelled the greatest of poets to earn a living by becoming an actor and a dramatist, what pitiable reading would be the history of the English speaking stage for the last three centuries, from the ridiculous miracle plays that astonished gaping superstition to the still more frivolous farces that flatter modern vulgarity. A few impecunious men of genius condescended to write brilliant comedies about the time of the Restoration because they saw no other way to replenish their purses; but since that day literature has looked more and more askance at the boards, until no pen that can be effectively used in any other branch of letters is now dedicated to the service of the stage. Were the subject worthy of treatment at length it might be interesting to give a list of the popular dramatic authors of the present time just to show the stamp of intellect that is at present "educating" the public through the medium of the stage.

**

I clip the above from the dramatic column of a recent issue of a leading Chicago daily newspaper. The dramatic editor of this paper, judging him from his usual work, is an able critic whose opinion one is bound to respect on many-very many-occasions. And yet this outburst of cynical asperity comes from his pen, and this may be taken as a fair sample of the general opinion of the stage entertained by the writers on the daily press.

A majority of the human race, measured by generations, is undeniably but little removed from primeval savagery in judgment, in taste, in inclination and in desire, when left to follow its own natural instincts. Civilization has not succeeded and never will succeed in entirely weeding out of this continuous majority the inherent brutal instincts of barbarism. This majority would prefer to witness for its amusement bull and prize fights, gladiatorial shows, the vulgar antics of the buffoon and the exhibitions of open licentiousness, were they only permitted by the police to do so.

The advanced civilization of the minority, of course, frowns on such shows, but the dormant common sentiment of the majority would patronize and enjoy them, if public opinion and the authorities did not cow them down and restrain them. This is the same majority which gloats over recitals of brutality or stories of salacious fiction, and which prefers to look upon the illustrations of vulgar monstrosities or lewdness rather than peruse the works of literary masters or dwell on masterpieces of pictorial or sculptural art. Ignorant bullies, who can knock the staffing out of some rival" bruiser," can draw more money by their exhibitions than can the most renowned scholar. The former will have a larger following to the grave than will the philanthropist or the states

man.

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What does the Chicago critic think of the

newspaper as a public educator? Is the truth of the matter that, like the circus, "it is only merely the plaything of the people," etc., etc.? Of course it is less a question of what it is than what it ought to be, both as to the stage as well as the press. The London Era lately asserted that the production by Irving of Goethe's "Faust" at the London Lyceum Theatre "is making a host of English people better acquainted with the greatest poet-in fact, the Shakespeare-of Germany; people who have hitherto had little idea of the other works of that remarkable writer." Here is an admission by the theatrical organ of England. Is the stage a public educator, indeed? Of course, not the "We, Us & Co." stage.

There is also before me a picture of the pulpit, and it is drawn by a prominent preacher in about the same bold colors of castigation as the one exhibited above of the press. Another, drawn by an able writer, on the vicious influence of the works of fiction of the present day. Yet not one of these authorities, except the critic of the Chicago paper, goes so far as to descry or question the general educational influence of the mediums which they criticise whenever they were properly directed.

**

It has been insisted by me before in these columns that in morals as in life there is no such a state as unimpressionableness, either for good or for evil, from things which interest us. To view the beauties of nature or of art, to read a book, to hear the strains of music, to listen to an oration or lecture, or to a play, all these enjoyments, if such they are to us, educate us. Such opportunities, one and all, inform and enlighten us-they train our mental powers-they aid in forming our principles and character, and they assist in fitting us for activity and usefulness in life. In which direction they do this depends upon their moral or immoral tone and subjects.

If the theatre or the press in reality is a circus, the Chicago critic is unquestionably right when he insists that like the circus it is" only the plaything of the people, never seriously considered." But it is not the "circus" theatre I am writing about. It may be reasonably insisted I think that it is not necessary to revolutionize human nature, and entirely reverse the influences of fashion and habit to make the theatre average what it ought to be-in fact, what it always largely has been, until within recent years.

Does this Chicago critic insist that neither the counting-room nor the arena of politics is a public educator, because hundreds have there been trained until they became defaulters, cor

ruptionists and fugitives from justice? Our most prominent merchant princes and our greatest statesmen passed through them. True, so did Ferdinand Ward and the New York · Aldermen, now doing service in Sing Sing.

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I hope your space will permit you to embody in this contribution a portion of a late editorial from the Chicago Times, as it applies with the same force to the stage as it does to the "novel." Here it is:

That the novel has been employed as "a means of grace" is evident from the large number of juvenile religious romances to be found in Sunday-school libraries. Most of the adults in this country contracted their love of fiction from the pious novels they obtained from Sunday-school libraries and read while they were children. A writer in a Glasgow paper, in reviewing the publications issued in Great Britain during last year, and the book trade during the same period, observes that the books for which there was the greatest demand were novels in which religious matters were discussed. They were strictly religious, sometimes denominational works," sugar-coated" to suit the popular taste. authors wished to discuss theological subjects, but, thinking they would not secure many readers for books that seemed by their titles only fit for the libraries of clergymen, wrote novels in which the characters are made to discuss matters pertaining to various religious beliefs and their influence on life and character. By adopting this course they obtained numerous readers and made their literary ventures financially successful.

The

George Eliot did this in a very skillful manner-so skillful indeed that her purpose is not detected by the average reader of her works. Dickens is credited with reforming the chancery court practice and the workhouse system in England by his novels, and the works of Mrs. Stowe doubtless did more to bring about the abolition of slavery in this country than all the sermons ever delivered from pulpits and all the speeches ever made in congress.

That many young persons have become greatly interested in natural science from reading_Captain Marryatt's novels and that remarkable book "The Swiss Family Robinson" is certain. They found that there was vastly more in the great book of nature that had long been open before their eyes than they ever had an idea of A work of fiction was the means of introducing them to the great truths of science. The novelist who will inter st the people of this country in the study of unpartisan politics will do a good work.

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