American Opera company, honorable as that position happens to be. Down from the Second Ward the thrifty neighbors of Lucas Ellsasser trooped to see once more "our little Pauline," who has grown to be such a famous woman in this great big world. They seemed as was their right-to assert a special interest in the songstress. The grand folks had been able to pay the fancy price to hear her in "Lakme last spring, and now they thought it was their turn. the vast crowd of expectant listeners was on common ground in paying tribute to the worth of the plucky little girl who has made the name of Syracuse sound familiar in the ears of the musical universe.

There was a touching incident.

But

At the left hand of the stage, more than half-way down the hall, were seated a little party in mourning, whose position allowed them the opportunity to overlook the entire scene. It was the family of the cantatrice, including the father, mother, the aged grossmutter, and the coy sisters, who were there to see what is vouchsafed few families to see in a world like ours. When they cried, as cry they did, hundreds of people who saw the beautiful spectacle felt like shedding a tear of joy, as, indeed, it is probable many did unobserved.

But the coy sisters were nothing compared to the fair Pauline:

She was so flurried by the sight of the fairyland into which she was transported on a fog of delightful perfumes from great masses of flowers, that she forgot the music of her song, and was obliged to run off and get it. The pianist, too, was all awry in his work, and though his practised hand was always to be relied on, he stumbled over the first notes of Payne's melody. But Madame l'Allemand caught the tender strain, and it crept into the inmost soul of every listener.

There is nothing like a local habitation and a name, and a conscientious reporter.

* **

THIS same paper, in reporting the performance of Mr. Roland Reed, said:

Mr. Reed is not unctuous or mellow, like a damson plum which has hung in the sun, but he is crisp and dry like a Saratoga chip. The fun he makes does not make the mouth to water, but it rests pleasantly on the palate, and is swallowed with zest.

This is a new sensation evidently. Yet a Saratoga chip could rest pleasantly on the palate.

A CORRESPONDENT sends me this item: "A curious instance of the difficulty which some persons experience in believing that an actor of a villainous rôle need not necessarily possess some of the evil qualities he depicts is to be found in the conduct of an elderly lady named Nokes, whose portrait now forms part of the Loan Collection at the Folkestone, England, Exhibition. Her sympathy was excited by Edmund Kean's forlorn condition, when he appeared on the stage at York in his thirteenth year, and she afterwards visited him and his wife in London. She made no secret of her intention of bequeathing a considerable sum in his favor in her will; but, on accompanying Mrs. Kean to the theatre to see Kean play Luke, she was so horrified at the cold-blooded villainy of the character that, attributing the

effect produced by Kean to his possession of the fiend-like attributes he so consummately embodied, she left London next day, and dying soon afterwards, it was found that she had altered the will made by her in Kean's favor, and left the sum originally destined to be his to a distant relative of whom she knew nothing but the name."

MR. JOSEPH DERRICK wrote the piece called Confusion," which has been very successful. It was played at the Third Avenue Theatre two seasons ago with Harry St. Maur, H. E. Dixey and Florence Gerard (now Mrs. Henry E. Abbey) in the leading parts, and made a great hit. Since then Mr. Derrick has tried his hand at another play which is called "Curiosity." But it has been condemned on these reasons: First, the title of the play as having no connection with its plot; secondly, no plot at all; thirdly, its bad construction; fourthly, its unpleasantness of plot-i.e., as regards a tooth and a corn; fifth, its indecency of situation; sixth, its poverty of characterization; seventh, its baldness and vulgarity of dialogue. Now, here is the story of the plot as furnished by the author:

In a few lines I will sketch the plot. In a select boarding house the wife of one boarder has the toothache, and wishes her tooth extracted unknown to her husband, who has great admiration for her beautiful teeth, and is unaware of the faulty one. The mistress of the establishment has a corn, and does not wish the fact known to her elderly lover, as he has a great admiration for her graceful walk and carriage. On the expected departure of the husband and lover to town, a note is dispatched to a friend, a chiropodist, to come in company with a dentist to relieve the ladies of tooth and corn respectively. Through an accident its contents are made known to the husband and elderly lover, and misunderstandings commence, which are kept up until the arrival of a detective in the third act. This is due to one of the characters who, complaining in act one that his boots are not polished to his satisfaction, has gone to town to secure some of his own specialty in blacking. Returning, he has at the railway station placed the tin of blacking in a black bag, and this proceeding has been viewed by a detective inspector, who is on the watch for a notorious dynamiter. The inspector jumps at hasty conclusions, and follows the individual back to the boarding house, where, naturally enough for farce, seeing more suspicions in the concealment of one of the characters in a clock and another under a table, he locks the whole househo'd in the conservatory, releasing them on receiving an answer to a telegram he has dispatched to the next police-station, the answer stating that the household is exceptionally respectable.

SPEAKING of the Japanese Village now exhibited at Knight's Bridge, the London Era says that in Japan both sexes bathe together in a state of nudity without any sense of shame — in fact, decency, as we understand the word, is unknown, in this respect at least, in that quaint

191778B

country. It happened on a Sunday morning that one of the young ladies from the refreshment department of the Japanese Village was taking a lesson on the pianoforte in the hall from a companion whilst the male Japs were taking their usual morning "dip" in the fine bath connected with the establishment. Presently one of them, who may have been deputed by his companions to convey their lack of appreciation of English music, emerged in puris naturalibus (“and not even that," as the old lady said) from the bath-room, and, approaching the horrified pianists with that 'child-like and bland" expression peculiar to his race, remarked, plaintively, "No likee noisee."

name of Indiana is that of the heroine, an American girl, who visits in England. After the engagement of "Indiana," in November, Mr. Sims Reeves will appear in opera at a series of matinées, at the first of which "The Beggar's Opera" will be performed. The Christmas extravaganza at the Avenue will be called Arthur Roberts-on-Crusoe." Mr. H. B. Farnie will undertake the stage management, and Mr. D'Albertson will preside over the front of the house.

THE authorities of Turkey have interdicted Dante's "Divine Comedy," because it is a work, according to their profound ideas, which tends to cast ridicule and contempt on different religions.

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THE Olympic Theatre, London, has been taken for twelve months by Miss Grace Hawthorne, the American actress, who proposes to open on Thursday, the 21st inst., with "The Governess."

**

MR. LABOUCHERE says: "Lord Gerald Fitzgerald, who died last week at the age of sixty-four, was best known to music lovers as conductor of the Wandering Minstrels,' an excellent amateur orchestra, which occasionally gave public performances for charity, but which regularly played at the smoking concerts in the music-room adjoining Lord Gerald's residence in Sloane street. The minstrels were at the zenith of their fame about twenty years ago. At that time an important feature of their entertainment was an oyster supper. The meal was abandoned when the mollusca which the average penny-a-liner delights in calling the succulent bivalves' reached famine prices. Lord Gerald Fitzgerald was a capital musician and conductor, and a fair amateur double-bass player."

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LORD LONSDALE'S IDEAS. THE Sunday newspapers that are published in New York are nearly always interesting. Their immense bulk is carefully adjusted to popular taste. They present a remarkably large number of articles which are valuable and suggestive. But it is seldom that an editor has the opportunity to print anything so important as Lord Lonsdale's recent contribution to the New York Sun. Mr. Dana's paper is always enterprising, and just eccentric enough to be stimulating. It was a brilliant stroke of enterprise to secure, for the readers of the Sun, an entirely new and original discussion of stage ethics from the pen of one of the Cecils.

We are tempted to add that, as our esteemed contemporary had denounced the vagaries of Lord Lonsdale with righteous wrath and a powerful aggregation of moral ideas, and had also described his adventures with Miss Violet Cameron and Mr. De Bensaude rather copiously and attractively, it was only fair to permit Lord Lonsdale to have his say in the same paper. But we venture to intimate that no one expected from Lord Lonsdale the sort of article to which his name was attached.

This community has learned from the newspapers (which advertise Lord Lonsdale at their own risk and then pitch into him for letting them advertise him) that the noble gentleman is a very wicked and objectionable person; that his relations with a pretty English actress are at least open to objection and censure; that he cherishes a rabid contempt for American customs and social laws, and that he is actually the useless and un-Christian tail-end of a woman's show. To a large extent, Lord Lonsdale must blame himself if this impression has gained ground. The public mind is curious, and certainly not guileless. Our English friend knows the world, and must clearly be aware of this fact. Gentlemen of high position and with an income of £60,000 a year are not accustomed to manage the affairs of young actresses for strictly business and moral reasons. Therefore, Lord Lonsdale can hardly blame us if we take the worst view of his case. If he were anxious to have us take a more lenient and charitable view of it, he should have remained in London and permitted Miss Cameron to get her advertisement in the usual way.

But the world, inclined as it is to be censorious, is sometimes wrong. We may be mistaken. It is possible that Lord Lonsdale regards his enterprise as a perfectly natural and mercantile one. It is possible that even a member of the British peerage may be attacked with the mad ambition to manage a company or run a theatre. At any rate, Lord Lonsdale is a free citizen, and no one can question his right to shine as haberdasher, bootmaker, or impre sario. And after reading Lord Lonsdale's

contribution to the Sun, the conviction is forced upon us that his code of ethics is so much better than other people's, that other people lack the proper balance of mind and generosity of heart to appreciate it.

Lord Lonsdale's article is not, by the way, a defense of Miss Cameron. When he menaced the newspapers of this city with libel suits he defended her in a practical and effective manner. On the contrary, he has written to prove that the stage is, above all, an abode of refined sentiment and moral sincerity, and that a gentleman of excellent family and with a ponderous income cannot do better than associate himself with it. In other words, Lord Lonsdale came to the stage as one takes up a lofty ideal. He is a missionary in the cause of art, a man who is willing to put his shoulders and his moneybags to the wheel of theatrical progress. Instead of denouncing him we should praise and exalt him. The managers of the Casino have fallen unawares on high art and holiness.

We shall allow the noble gentleman to speak for himself. Time was," he says, when the actor and his art were regarded as immoral. Time was also when literary men were mere lackeys. But that is all changed now, and deservedly so. My own experience is that actors and actresses are received in the most cultured and worthy society of England to-day. Everywhere gentlemen of good birth and solid learning are entering the dramatic profession for life. It is no longer in England, any more than it is in America, a stigma upon a man that he is connected personally with the theatre. The moral tone of standard actors and actresses will compare well with the moral tone of the best and most exclusive society in the world." This is clear and to the point, and it shows how Lord Lonsdale happens to be a manager. He goes on: "I can say with all my heart that there is nothing demoralizing about the stage or its associations either for a man or a woman. Of course, as in any other profession, there are people who come into it bad and who remain bad. The profession itself is not to blame for this. What I wonder

at is the readiness of the public to believe almost anything cruel that is told about an actress without a color of evidence."

That, we believe, is worthy of verdant and ingenuous youth. But we do not contradict his lordship. He may be quite right, and there is always manliness in the defense of women who make their living on the stage. Verdancy and ingenuousness are not vices. We are glad that Lord Lonsdale possesses those gentle qualities of character. In regard to the stage "as a field for gentlemen of birth and education," Lord Lonsdale says: "There is none better unless one has a special training. Take my own case, if I may be pardoned for being

personal. With the present depression of business throughout the world I found that men in all grades of society were seeking the means of building up their incomes. The business of my life had practically been fox-hunting. What line of work could I take up? I could not, with my outdoor habits, endure captivity at a desk. I had no training for the bar or for medicine. I could have gone to the stock exchange, but what sort of a career would that be? To make even an ordinary income one must gamble almost to the extent that you would on a race course. As between my present profession and stock gambling I think no man ought to hesitate for a moment. One is a straightforward occupation." Charming, charming! Such candor exhilarates one, and renews one's faith in humanity. Lord Lonsdale as a stock-gambler! Assuredly he is better off as a manager and a priest of art - sculpturesque

art,

as it were. Besides, in "the present depression of business," everyone knows that Lord Lonsdale needs to build up his income.

But we come nearer to Lord Lonsdale's peculiar mission when he informs us that, "aside from its power to entertain, and to inculcate a love of heroism, the great mission of the stage is to teach manners and morality by mimic example. That it has had a powerful influence in this direction is admitted by the world to-day. If men and women would give their support only to theatres that recognize a high standard of public morality, the world would be so much better off, and dramatic art would be greatly strengthened and elevated. The trouble is that the average man or woman prefers to think of the scandal which idle and malicious tongues have scattered about the private life of an actress, than to see the actress upon the stage, and judge of her by her art. It is across the footlights that the public should see the actress or the actor, where she or he embodies all that is good, and noble and delightful.”

Precisely. And, rather than merely teach by precept, Lord Lonsdale teaches by example. The great mission of the stage is to teach manners and morality. Miss Violet Cameron teaches manners and morality. Men and women should support theatres that recognize a high standard of morality. Lord Lonsdale means the Casino. Dramatic art should be elevated and strengthened. Miss Cameron elevates and strengthens it, with the sympathetic support of Lord Lonsdale. The actress embodies, on the stage, all that is good, and noble, and delightful. Miss Cameron is that sort of an actress. After such an explanation by Lord Lonsdale, it would be cruel to attack him as an enemy of the stage.

In fact, until we read Lord Lonsdale's article, we did not suspect how much morality might be concealed in a pair of pink tights.-G. E. M.

STAGE BEAUTIES.

THE tenor of contemporaneous criticism would make the average person suppose that beauty without brains was a modern innovation. As a matter of fact, or rather of history, beauty has apparently been able to discount brains from time immemorial. King Solomon, the wisest man of all ages, bent his royal knees at the presence of the Queen of Sheba, who, so far as history records, had nothing but her good looks to recommend her. Even Homer does not claim any intellectual powers for Helen of Troy, and yet she divides honors with the mother of mankind.

Cleopatra induced Marc Antony to make a foolish person of himself, and no historian that I can recall attributes Antony's collapse to anything but the beauty of the Queen of Egypt. Tasso in his wildest wanderings never claimed brains for his beloved Leonora, and it is notorious that Abelard held the intellectual attainments of Heloise at a very low standard. The brothers Lanciotto and Paolo loved Francesca da Rimini, but it was not because the beautiful Italian charmed them with her wit and genius. In all these historical cases it was beauty, and beauty alone, that enslaved the highest and lowest of mankind.

The historical figures I have conjured up were not stage beauties" in a literal sense, but they have made history, and perhaps have done more for literature than the warriors and poets who worshiped them. If Tasso had not loved Leonora he would probably have been unknown to-day. He was not among the poets who "lisped in numbers because the numbers came." He wanted an inspiration and he found it in Leonora. Ferrarra was saved from extinction, not because Tasso wrote about it, but because Leonora lived and bloomed in it.

The mediaval age was not a practical one. The beauties of that time found their reward in inspiring poets and dramatists. "Filthy lucre," at least so far as I can discover, had no place in their thoughts. But with the nineteenth century came the practical age. Beauty used to be a worshiped and envied inspiration, now it is a protested trade-mark.

"If I am beautiful and rich," says a nineteenth century girl, "I go into society and

conquer the social world." "If I am poor but beautiful," says her indigent sister, "I go on the stage and capture the ducats of the public." "If I have made conquests and have seen princes and nobles at my feet, every such act of homage is not a feather in my cap, but a five per cent. per annum mortgage on my neighbor's property.' "If I have been jilted and heartbroken, and have successfully carried my woes to the Court of the Exchequer, I am not content with such a solatium as a tenderhearted jury gives me. By no means! I have a simple, tender-hearted public throughout the English-speaking world who will pay anything from fifty cents to two dollars to see the 'broken flower' and sympathize with the sorrows of the bruised reed.'"

As the American public are the most sympathetic, sentimental and generous in the world, the "broken flowers and "bruised reeds" all find their way here. Their advent is as certain as that of the Irish politician who comes to tell us that the potato crop has failed in Kerry or Galway, and that the only hope of a starving but industrious population is American subscriptions.

I have not wandered into this pseudo philosophy for its own sake. I have been driven to it by noticing the tone of current literature towards those dangerous invaders of the modern stage, the professional beauties. To read the criticisms of the average writer, one might suppose that beauty without brains was an innovation in the dramatic world.

Now let me see how this supposition is borne out by historical criticism. Addison speaks of actresses of his time who hadn't enough brains to comprehend their authors, but who conquered their audiences by the magnetism of their beauty and the music of their voices. A contemporary of Mrs. Bracegirdle says she couldn't act a little bit, but that she could draw the gallants out of their seats by the flash of her eye and the vocal velvet of her tones. Even Peg Woffington is said by her coevals to have had a most minute allotment of brains. Mrs. Siddons seems to be universally accepted as the embodiment of brains and beauty, but her successor, Miss O'Neill, had her claims to beauty generally allowed, but her pretensions to intellect were disputed by the highest authorities.

Coming to very recent times, I find that when Adelaide Neilson first blossomed as a star the critics and public forgot her want of genius in ad niration of her beauty. She had more brains, however, than she was credited with, and by dint of a keen natural intelligence and study she became a fine, if not a great actress.

Our own stage has shown just as many examples of beauty eclipsing brains. Very old play-goers will remember Mrs. Anna Cora

Mowatt, of Virginia. She took the United States by storm. Criticism was blinded by the beauty of her face, the sweetness of her voice, and the grace of her manner. She had for her support that great actor E. L. Davenport, then in the pride of his youth and vigor. Davenport's genius fell on eyes and ears enthralled by Mrs. Mowatt's beauty, and one of the best actors of modern times was neglected in his native land, because his foil was a frail creature with wonderful eyes and a voice that rivalled Orpheus's lyre.

When Mrs. Mowatt went to London the more experienced critics there recognized Davenport's genius and hailed him as the successor of Kemble, Kean and Macready. Mrs. Mowatt took a second place and soon retired in dudgeon from the stage.

One of the most beautiful women of the modern American stage was Helen Western. But she was devoid both of natural intelligence and the imitative faculty that is found even in little children and the lower order of animals. Her acting bore no more relation to art than did the posturing of Adah Isaacs Menken and the "ladies" of the poses plastique exhibitions on Broadway. Yet she drew the whole country after her and made, but unfortunately did not keep, a considerable fortune.

Well, the moral of all this is that on the stage beauty and brains are separate factors. The first requires no sympathetic intellect to appreciate it, while the other does. The beautiful woman's season is brief, but the great artist defies time and decay. Mrs. Langtry, for instance, has a career of a few years, and Charlotte Cushman, whose face and form were almost repulsive, took a decade to conquer public aversion, and found herself in her old age a goddess of her people.

Sarah Bernhardt is supposed to be the greatest actress of the present day, and the man who could fall in love with her would get enamoured of a telegraph pole. Matilda Heron was the greatest actress of her time, and off the stage she was the libellous caricature of an Avenue C laundress. Clara Morris is not cursed with the fatal gift of beauty, but she moves an audience of average men and women more than any actress of her time.

Mrs. Kendal, the leading actress of England, prides herself on her homeliness, and with justice, too, but she can make beautiful women weep and move cynical mankind to ill-disguised expressions of emotion. For ages the stage has been the race-course of beauty and brains, and, though beauty has nearly always been the favorite at the start, brains has proved winner whenever the stakes have been the verdict of the unprejudiced and thoughtful.

John M. Morton.