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“Typifying the Fleeting Beauty of Nature, weaken Him by lulling Him to Rest in lieu of awakening Him to Action.”


“Typifying the Permanent Ugly Forces of Nature, weaken Him by compelling Him to wage Useless Battle against Them.”


“Typifying the Familiar Environment of Formalism, weaken Him by their inability to support Magda in her Hour of Unwonted Trial.”

“The story illustrates the efforts of a bell founder, an artist who has lived and worked with contentment in the valleys, and who is moved to attempt a masterpiece which shall ring forth gloriously on the heights of life. His effort fails ; the great bell he has cast, during the labor of raising it high above, where its clear tones will be heard far and wide, breaks away from those who are moving it up the mountainside and falls to the bottom of the lake. Crushed though the artist is by the catastrophe, he finds new health and strength in the love of a beautiful spirit of the mountains, for whom he forgets wife, children, and the lowly duties of the vale. He dreams of a splendid temple he will build on the heights for a worship that shall free and not enslave mankind. But lacking the firm basis of duty his art fails him, and when he seeks consolation in the love of the beautiful spirit that awoke him to the higher ideal, remorse (typified by the sound of the sunken bell, rung by the dead wife) overpowers and paralyzes him. The phantom forms of his two children appear to him toiling painfully up the mountainside, and, conscience-stricken, he casts off and flees from the 'elfin creature.' Heinrich, the bell founder, the part played by Mr. Sothern, is a symbol of humanity, struggling painfully toward the realiza

tion of its dream of the ideal truth and joy and light and justice. Rautendelein, the part played by Miss Marlowe, stands for nature, or rather for the freedom and sincerity of nature, missing a reunion with which Humanity can never hope to reach the supreme truth and the supreme bliss of which the sun is the emblem.”

Most readers will, I think, agree that drama and acting which require diagrams, charts, blue-prints, footnotes, etc., are bad art and a long way from “the purpose of playing.”




'Thou foole!' said Love, 'know'st thou not this

In everything that's sweet she is!
In yond carnation goe and seek,
There shalt thou find her lip and cheek;
In that enameld pansie by,
There shalt thou have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.'
"Tis true,' said I, and thereu pon
I went to pluck them, one by one."


IN musing over the fragrant, evergreen pages of Cibber's delightful “Apology," and especially in reflecting upon the beautiful and brilliant women who, drawn by his expert pen, dwell there, perpetual, in life, color, and charm, the reflective reader may perhaps be prompted to remember that the royal line of stage beauties is not extinct, and that stage heroines exist in the present day who are quite as well worthy of commemoration as any that graced the period of King Charles the Second or of good Queen Anne. Our age,

indeed, has no Cibber to describe their loveliness and celebrate their achievements,—but surely, if he were living at this hour, that clever, characteristic, sensuous writer, who saw so clearly and could portray so well the peculiarities of the feminine nature, would not deem the period of Ellen Terry, Marie Wilton, Ada Rehan, Mary Anderson, Sarah Bernhardt, Genevieve Ward, Clara Morris, Jane Hading, Blanche Bates, and Julia Marlowe unworthy of his pen. As often as fancy ranges over those bright names and others that are kindred with them,—a glittering sisterhood of charms and talents,the regret must arise that no literary artist with the gallantry, susceptibility, and sensuous appreciation, the insight, and the pictorial touch of old Cibber is extant to perpetuate their glory. The hand that sketched Elizabeth Barry so as to make her live forever in a few brief lines, the hand that drew the informing portrait of Susanna Mountfort (“Down goes her dainty diving body to the ground, as if she were sinking under the conscious load of her own attractions”),—what might it not have done to preserve for the knowledge of future generations the queens of the Theatre who are crowned and regnant to-day! Cibber could have caught and reflected the elusive charm of Ada Rehan. No touch less adroit and felicitous than his can accomplish more than the suggestion of her peculiar allurement, her originality, and her enchanting, because sympathetic and piquant, mental and physical characteristics.

Ada Rehan, born at Limerick, Ireland, on April 22, 1860, was brought to America when five years old, and in girlhood she lived and went to school in Brooklyn. No one of her progenitors was ever on the stage, nor does it appear that she was predisposed to that vocation by early reading or training. Her elder sisters had adopted that pursuit, and perhaps she was impelled toward it by the force of example and domestic association, readily affecting her innate latent faculty for the dramatic art. Her first appearance on the stage was made at Newark, New Jersey, in 1873, in a play entitled “Across the Continent,” in which she acted a small part, named Clara, for one night only, to fill the place of a performer who had been suddenly disabled by illness. Her readiness and her positive talent were clearly revealed in that effort, and it was thereupon determined, in a family council, that she should proceed, and she was soon regularly embarked on the life of an actress. Her first appearance on the New York Stage was made in 1873, at Wood's Museum, when she played a small part in a piece called “Thorough-bred.” During the seasons of 1873-'74-'75 she was associated with the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia,—that being her first regular professional engagement. (John Drew, with whom, in the theatre, Ada Rehan, in after years, was long associated, made his first appearance in the same season at the same house. She then went to Macaulay's Theatre, Louisville, where she acted for one

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