ers.

est amount of intelligence amongst its worshipIt is a fact that it has used pomp and show 10 lure the ignorant and superstitious into its fold; and a church which can grant indulgences for sin for a few dollars, would not be inconsistent in combining recreation of any kind, before or after its services, with all the stage appliances necessary to "hold and exercise a great power over the naturally religious inclinations of mankind!"

One word more, the two " celebrated preachers" who stepped from the pulpit to the stage did so under "peculiar circumstances," a slight pressure being used to assist them out of the pulpit. The fact is, the church is well rid of men who, like the two "celebrated preachers" -find the church too narrow for their very liberal views. Preachers, more than any other class of public men, are expected to be true to their vows, taken solemnly when they are ordained to preach, and the two "celebrated preachers" showed a wonderful lack of manliness when they clung so tenaciously to churches whose doctrines were not in sympathy with their very liberal teachings. They certainly knew the value of newspaper advertising and theatrical clap-trap by submitting to church trials, not for the purpose of determining their errors- -these they admitted, but not till they were put outbut solely for the purpose of catching the popular support of all those who have little or no sympathy with church work. In this they succeeded, but at what cost! The stage is welcome to all such acquisitions. The church is not weakened by their disaffection.

It will take better reasons than those given by Mr. Peltzer to convince thinking men and women that the church is declining, and the stage advancing.

The church has never descended to caricatures of fallen humanity—it was reserved for the stage to grovel in the mire of immorality, filth and sin. The sensational plays of to-day are the best answer as to the immoral tendency.

The church and the theatre can never go hand in hand. The origin and teachings of the church are divine-the theatre is an invention of man. The church is distinctly a religious institution,the theatre is a place of ¡recreation and amusement.

There is ample room for the improvement of the theatre as an educator, but to expect it to be the means of leading mankind to purer and nobler lives by the presentation of biblical and devotional dramas, is to turn the teachings of the Bible into burlesque and ridicule, without accomplishing the desired object.

The fate of "The Passion Play" in New York and San Francisco is yet too vivid in the recollections of the people to permit the presentation of dramas founded on the Bible.

[F

Chicago, Jan. 19.

Critic.

SOME RANDOM THOUGHTS.

the author of those works known to the world in the word "Shakespeare" could see the result of his labors pictured in modern stage spectacles, he would no doubt blush an oldfashioned blush.

Stage equipment he would see placed above the educational or graphic value of the text and with his marvellous faculty for estimating human motive, one glance would show him that the majority of modern Shakespearean "stars" are actuated chiefly by a desire to please themselves before the public under conditions most favorable to the exhibition of grandiloquent declamation, classical posing and novel dressing; and incidentally to gratify a certain form of spacious vanity.

Shakespeare's record of incident, passion, love and what-not, comes in as secondary to effect. Nothwithstanding that all eminent people committed to Shakespearean drama, would get up a show of eloquent indignation when confronted with the charge intimated, facts go further than any amount of denial.

It is an open question among scholars whether many-or the majority, of the great poet's writings have any eminent degree of value at all as dramatic works when sized up by the possibilities of the present stage. This is especially applicable to "Antony and Cleopatra," and "A Winter's Tale." As Miss Anderson and Mrs. Potter have presented the two works named, the best had necessarily to be altered to suit the exigencies of the moment. Shakespeare of course suffered, but he was only casual. The star" had to be the "star" at any sacrifice.

People enthuse themselves into a state of semireligous transport over what is to be gained by going to hear Shakespeare's works. They worship the great master whether inverted, protracted, "cuffed" or otherwise, without giving a thought to the why and wherefore of the whole business. They forget that Shakespeare can be communed with and interpreted on paper, oftentimes with more benefit and pleasure, than when enveloped in stage realism, which realism may or may not at times be worthy of its position.

Drama of the heavy order, particularly the Shakespearean, has two values; one a book, and the other, a dramatic value. It is for us to choose, between. The dramatic poem in which Mrs. Potter is now appearing with such success contains far more merit and elemental good as a piece of literature, than in the stage form as Mr. Bellew has set it out; or in any stage form whatever for that matter. I would rather have the "imagining" of Cleopatra.

* **

Dramatic value is one thing and strictly literary value is another thing. It is fair to assume that Shakespeare never thought of having those drama-poems of his interpreted for the pleasure of the few who patronize the drama during his lifetime. Everything goes to prove that he merely thought the dramatic verse form the best vehicle for displaying his knowledge of human nature, and for deploying his general bent of genius. This is why he wrote plays. Novel writing was little known at that period. He was at one time an actor and casually adapted some of his works to the stage. In any case he had not foreseen the important part the drama was destined to play in our civilization, or he would probably be careful about giving nineteenth-century ladies the opportunity for investing themselves, at his expense with the sensuous, voluptious suggestiveness indicated by some of his figure paintings. Yet he would have found it hard to reconcile this craze among a certain section of ladies, for airy custumes with true female modesty. In the drama proper where nature is supposed to be depicted or represented, this method of thrusting *forth a particular "star" for the purpose of emphasizing her desire to give the public a free exhibition of her person tends to lower the tone of drama.

In Shakespeare's time women had not yet been recruited into the service of the stage. If women were during his time on the boards probably those grossly indelicate passages which occur in "A Winter's Tale" would never have been written. The belief is still left us that the work named was never seriously intended for the stage, or at least not for our present stage with its faculities for "realism." If William could arise from his tomb, and see some of his work being played now, he would go back thoroughly conscience-stricken.

Boys alone essayed female characters during the time the Stratford poet existed. If the custom was in vogue now it would afford us, methinks, very little gratification to see Mr. Nat. C. Goodwin rigged out as Cleopatra with an artificial embonpoint; even though the imitation was good, and the circumference severe. Mr. Goodwin is good enough for us as a comedian, or in other words as he is.

Shakespeare little imagined in his humble effort to win bread money as a whiledom literary hack that a halo of immortality was imperceptibly edging on toward him. He wrote his works for the period and not having the faculty of seeing ahead of his time; he never therefore intended his plays, or a least some of them to be presented on the stage of this time. How could he? And if the presentation of some of them with all the modern equipment for combating, and beating out nature, show us pictures of sensuality and other vices in a manner not likely to elevate the ideals or morals of the public it would be better for the sake of the drama, at least if we saw little of certain Shakespearean revivalism. William Shakespeare in the text can always move us at his pleasure, to pity, love, hate and fear. He can stimulate the imagination, and at the same time by his all-forceful reasoning methods check overindulgence; but why attempt to paint the great poet's power! It is still an open question for scholars to decide, apart from the question; whether Shakespeare was Bacon, or Bacon, Shakespeare, if the presentation of many of the plays indicated is merely a question of private taste, sanctified in no degree by the traditions of the stage.

not

Daniel Spillare.

In your judgment, if I understand you, Portia, should appear as a partisan of the defendant Antonio, and should seem conscious of the presence of her husband, Bassanio. The Portia who did either of these things in the Court Scene, would do what I have never seen a Portia do during my long career as a theatre goer.

In your judgment, Miss Warren was "hard, stiff and amateurish," and in speech she was, you say, "painfully correct." Miss Warren did not so appear to me. I thought her easy, dignified and deliberate, at all times mistress of the situation, and instead of being painfully correct I thought her delightfully correct. Her handling of the text I thought truly masterful; never have I heard the language more naturally and intelligently spoken. Indeed I doubt whether the thought could be more clearly or effectually presented. If Miss Warren can play the whole part as well as she plays the trial scene, which is not probable, she is the best Portia in America.

As for Mr. Ayres's Shylock, I will only say that it impressed me much more favorably than it seems to have impressed you. What you most object to, his clean cut delivery, was precisely what I thought especially commendable. His mode of delivery is just the mode that makes the classic drama enjoyable.

all nations are touched by his pen's sharp point. Alfred Trumble is now forty odd years old. He is a Virginian by birth.

For years an artist on various illustrated papers in this city, he travelled extensively both in this country and abroad.

dailies soon demonstrated that he was as clever His work on metropolitan and out-of-town with the pen as he was with the pencil.

He can dash off a prize fight with as much piquant grace as a swell society crush.

He can tear a book to pieces as readily as he can build a quatrain or indite a humorous ode. Trumble is gifted with a marvellous memory. He forgets neither names nor faces.

Whether he treats of club life or theatre life he seems to have all the facts about the dramatis personæ carefully, accurately pigeon-holed in that big head of his.

For Mr. Alfred Trumble, in spite of his slight, diminutive stature, has one of the "biggest heads " you ever saw.

I have often felt inclined to apply to him what Sidney Smith said of Jeffrey.

His brains are indecently exposed.

Mr. Alfred Trumble is a collector of books and pictures.

His library is especially rich in books on art and his walls are dotted with original pictures by some of the best artists of the day.

I remember to have seen on those walls black and white or crayon work, or etchings, by Moran, Volkmar, Chapman, Brown, Mike Woolff, Loop, Whittemore, Louis Muller, Wharton Edwards, J. S. King, Julian Rex, Pruett Share, Frank Bellew, F. Opper, J. Lauber, Alfred Kappes, George Maynard, Harry Eaton, William Lippincott, and they are all artistic specimens, signed and with personal dedications.

But Alfred Trumble is one of the few art critics who buys pictures, just as he is one of the few dramatic critics and first nighters who buy

seats.

Independence is one of the dominant traits of his character.

He is a good friend and relentless enemy. The scandals, rumors, personality of our highest society, he knows them all.

None more keen to puncture foibles, follies

Not even Nathaniel Parker Willis, prince of chroniquier, was better equipped to send the shafts of satire, banter, irony against the Fifth Avenudity of intelligence that permeates drawing rooms of fashion.

Alfred Trumble has a great fund of anecdote. "You may impugn my motives and dissect my arguments," Labouchere said one day, "but pray do not say my anecdotes are old. They may not be true, but they are surely new, for I always make them myself."

That's what Trumble says too.

And whatever he writes, he writes in a light and elegant style, a style that is sure to banish from your elbow:

"Ennui, the Dowager lady nee Pleasure.”

As I dash off these lines, I hear a newsboy calling :

"Lies! Just out! Lies!"

There's Trumble's new paper.

I think I'll buy a copy.

It may tell more truths than many sheets that profess to do so.

The Rounder.

WHAT MY LOVER SAID.

This poem was printed in the Argonaut some eight years ago, with a note explaining that Barton Hill had read it at one of his "Evenings with Unknown or Forgotton Poets." Mr. Hill stated that it was given him by a friend who declared that he had clipped it from an old copy of the New York Tribune, where it was credited to Horace Greeley. During all these years there have been many newspaper controversies as to its authorship, but Mr. Homer Greene has always declared that he is the sole author of the poem, that he published it in the Tribune, and is willing to wager fifteen thousand dollars that no one can produce an authentic copy of the poem of earlier date than his clipping from the Tribune.

By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom,
In the orchard path, he met me-

In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume,
And I tried to pass but he made no room;
Oh! I tried, but he would not let me.

So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red,
With my face bent down above it,

While he took my hand, as he whispering said-
How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head,
To listen to all that my lover said!

Oh! the clover in bloom, I love it!

In the high, wet grass went the path to hide, And the low, wet leaves hung over;

But I could not pass upon either side,
For I found myself, when I vainly tried,
In the arms of my steadfast lover.
And he held me there, and he raised my head,
While he closed the path before me;
And he looked down into my eyes, and said—
How the leaves bent down from the bough o'erhead,
To listen to all that my lover said!

Oh! the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!

Had he moved aside but a little way,

I could surely then have passed him ;
And he knew I never could wish to stay,
And would not have heard what he had to say
Could I only aside have cast him.

It was almost dark, and the moments sped,
And the searching night wind found us;
But he drew me nearer and softly said-
How the pure, sweet wind grew still, instead,
To listen to all that my lover said!
Oh, the whispering wind around us!

I am sure he knew, when he held me fast,
That I must be all unwilling;

For I tried to go, and I would have passed,
As the night was come with its dew at last,
And the sky with its stars was filling;
But he clasped me close, when I would have fled,
And he made me hear his story,

And his soul came out from his lips, and said-
How the stars crept out, where the white moon led,
To listen to all that my lover said!

Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!

I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell
And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover,
Will carry his secret so safely and well,

That no being shall ever discover
One word of the many that rapidly fell
From the eager lips of my lover.

And the moon and the stars that looked over,
Shall never reveal what a fairy.like spell,
They wove round about us that night in the dell,
In the path through the dew-laden clover;
Nor echo the whispers that made my heart swell,
As they fell from the lips of my lover.

We place music higher in the arts than either painting or sculpture, as both of these are imitative, the greatest artist being the one that comes nearest the best models and reproduces in color or stone-the beauties-and otherwise-of nature. Music is not imitative. To be a real "composer" requires original talent, inventive ability, a soul, and a mathematical head. It also appeals to a larger number than painting or sculpture.

at the Fifth Avenue Theatre last Monday night in which Mrs. Langtry figured as Lady Macbeth and Charles Coghlan as the husband. The cast contained a number of well-known names and there was a generous but not always an artistic display of scenery, and there was an audience at once large, fashionable, critical, and somewhat enthusiastic. Mrs. Langtry has given much study to this character and her performance of it deserves the greatest praise. Her most flippant critics will not deny that her acting is full of power that is sustained with proper comprehension, and with an investure of womanliness that is decidedly acceptable after beholding the detestable pictures of human depravity as shown by a Cushman. The fact of it is we have gone on making the enchanting distance of Shakespeare's existence become a screen against any decent humanity he may have intended. To be sure Mrs. Langtry's face is too sweetly beautiful to make it possible to realize that she could be guilty of such terrible connivance, but yet as we have seen that the most beautiful of women have often figured as the worst of criminals we can certainly allow Mrs. Langtry's loveliness to fall into the lines of Macbeth. There is nothing in Shakespeare to indicate that this woman-murderer is entirely devoid of tenderness. Neither is there anything that indicates there should be a lack of fascination. Lady Macbeth is a strange exhibition of woman's love and woman's wickedness; she is a magnificant example of a wife's loyalty, and she is a monumental display of woman's subtle power. She is a wife to Macbeth in every sense of the word: a passionate, constant woman who is willing and brave enough to be in at his death no matter what the circumstances be.

* **

I do not believe that Lady Macbeth was altogether the rotten thing that Cushman made her.

If she had been such, a lunatic asylum would have gotten her long before Banquo's ghost had

walked.

Once stirred into the crime, it became

an exhilaration, and the man and woman were whirled in the bloody pool of ecstatic passion as well as its remorse.

But students do not seem to agree regarding the personality of Lady Macbeth. Most of them prefer her to be a fiend.

I prefer her as Mrs. Langtry gives her. I cannot doubt the possibility of woman's best intincts cropping out even among her crimes. I can understand, through Mrs. Langtry, the husband's enthrallment; I can understand how he is overwhelmed by his own ambitions through the instrumentality of his wife. She shares. his misery with superb fortitude; she protects him during the banquet by the rarest woman's skill and braveness.

Fancy the value of such a wife to a man if the conditions were different! With Lady Macbeth transformed into angelic virtues, marriage would not be a failure, and many men would be braver than they are.

Mrs. Langtry's acting is full of force and hardly any evidence of "amateurishness" remains in her manner. Very few women on the stage now could equal her in the part. No doubt had there been a Langtry and a Terry in Shakespeare's company he would have chosen one of them to play Lady Macbeth and I have a confidential idea that he would have first chosen Mrs. Langtry for her physique, then alternating nights with Terry for her interesting characteristics. But he would certainly approve of many of Mrs. Langtry's methods.

I am not writing this as a panegyric; I am writing about a new style of Lady Macbeth on the stage that deserves to find its place, as other ideas are changing since we loosen many bonds of superstition.

I would like to see Fanny Davenport play the part, and best of all Modjeska. I saw Clara Morris play it at Booth's Theatre and it was stamped a failure. The same piece of acting now would be well considered.

Mr. Coghlan's Macbeth suggests suppressed power and great mental strength. He is always picturesque, and there is altogether much that is very agreeable and striking in his impersonation. Mr. Wheelock's Macduff is well known and invariably pleases. In the scene where he re