ner by Mr. William Sampson, an actor trained in a good school, following in the wake of that true artist and humorist, James Lewis, and bettering the instruction he received from Augustin Daly and in the companionship of Charles Fisher, Ada Rehan, and Mrs. Gilbert. Mr. Sampson is not a leader; his abilities do not tend, so far as known, toward great characters; his style is hard, and his acting is somewhat colored with a selfcomplacency which lessens its effect; but he is an artist; he can assume character and sustain it; and he can indicate deep feeling.

The character of Madison is a distortion of Nature. The conduct of the man is improbable, to the last degree and he is offered as natural! Madison has lived a profligate life. Profligate men do not select their wives from the demi-monde. If they do not know much, they know better than that. An idolatrous passion might, perhaps, overwhelm such a man; but, if it should do so, he would never, at the last, suffer the wretched courtesan to be tossed back upon the dunghill of depravity. Such a man as Madison is shown to be would have used his pistol, would have shot both the liars who had tricked him, and, very likely, would then have shot himself.

Brockton is well drawn, though involved in an absurd situation. He represents one of the vilest and most detestable classes in modern society-the vicious, licentious, cynical business men, who accumulate wealth by

all means of acquisition that they can employ without being sent to prison, and who live for the gratification of their sensual desires. The theatrical community saw that ideal made terribly actual in the late Richard Mansfield's great, but loathsome, impersonation of Baron Chevrial. Mr. Joseph Kilgour's embodiment of Brockton was truthful, and it was commendable equally for art and truth. It exhibited self-control, poise, authority, and the right kind of physique with which to "look the part." The actor used a hard voice, with nasal tones, characteristic of this climate and that class, and he sustained the character evenly and more than well-so well as to be revolting.

The character of Laura Murdock incorporates innate selfishness, inordinate vanity, contemptible weakness, and a consenting disposition toward treachery and vice. Her experience is hard and her condition becomes pitiable, because woman in trouble is always pitiable; yet she never awakens pity. In all respects her conduct is vile. Miss Frances Starr acted the part and showed vivacity and energy. The actress has profited by Mr. Belasco's instruction. In him she has a teacher possessed of great knowledge of life, of the Stage, and of the art of acting. Her performance was consistent, varied, and sustained, while neither sympathetic nor impressive. There was a wealth of photographic detail in it, which is not authoritative as acting, though sufficiently useful as ornament.

The drama of "The Easiest Way" was produced with excessive attention to detail. The rooms were reproductions of fact. Nothing in the matter of surface detail was forgotten,-from the rickety wardrobe, with doors that will not close; the disordered sheets of music and other truck piled on top of it, in the boardinghouse chamber, to the picturesque, discreetly restrained, disorder of the opulent apartments, the signs of a drunken orgy, and the artfully disclosed and disordered bed. All that stage management could do to create and deepen the impression of reality, in the presentation of a vicious play, was done. The result was a deformity magnificently framed to look like nature. Many thousands of persons have seen the play; no person is the better or the happier for having seen it. There is nothing in it to be enjoyed; there is nothing to be learned from it. There was nothing in it but some technical merit in acting, and the creation of atmosphere,and the better those things are, when applied to an offensive subject, the more reprehensible becomes its theatrical representation: at the very best, only another thing done well that ought not to have been done at all.

"THE THUNDERBOLT."

In his play of "The Thunderbolt,"-first produced in America at the New Theatre, New York, November 12, 1910,-in some respects the best play that he has written, Pinero provided an absorbing story of actual

life, diversified and strongly contrasted types of character, situations of suspense, and dialogue which possesses the authentic sound of truth and which is adroitly and effectively interblended with action. The scene is laid in an English provincial city of to-day. The persons essentially concerned are, for the most part, members of one family, named Mortimore. It is premised that a wealthy member of that family has died, and that his relatives, the "next of kin," are eager to inherit his large estate. Search has been made for a will of the deceased, but no will has been found,-the reason being that a member of the family, Phillis Mortimore, wife of one of the deceased man's brothers, has stolen and surreptitiously destroyed it. The heirs-at-law, most of whom are persons of common, selfish, sordid character, are pleased that no obstacle should exist to their acquisition of a valuable inheritance, and they prepare to take possession of it. Phillis Mortimore, overwhelmed by remorse, confesses to her husband the crime that she has committed, and he, in turn, taking her fault and shame upon himself, apprises the expectant heirs that their deceased relative did, in fact, leave a will, bequeathing his entire estate to his illegitimate daughter, and he narrates to them the particulars of the theft and destruction of it, as having been effected by himself. That disclosure is the Thunderbolt, shattering a structure of many expectations and selfish plans.

Discrepancies in the confession, however, are detected by two lawyers, who are among the auditors of it, and by means of their incisive questioning the identity of the actual criminal is disclosed. In the sequel the estate is conceded to the rightful heir, a lovely girl, who, with startling magnanimity, shares her inheritance with her father's relatives and connections, incidentally bestowing a portion upon a charity hospital,— her motive being one of compassion and extreme benevolence.

The several characters in this play are discriminated with peculiar and eminently felicitous skill. James Mortimore is a sturdy, honest, blunt, matter-of-fact, self-sufficient, dominant, coarsely animal Englishman of the lower-middle class, acquisitive and uncouth, but conscientious. Stephen Mortimore is a greedy, peevish, querulous, narrow-minded, narrow-minded, insincere, consequential, shrewd, grasping, utterly commonplace person. Thaddeus Mortimore is a kindly man, of a far finer fibre than that of his brothers, honest, affectionate, capable of sentiment, and made strong, at a crisis, by love for his wife, Phillis, the weak woman who has stolen and destroyed the will. Ann and Louisa, the wives, respectively, of James and Stephen, are reputable, insufferable vulgarians, of the domestic dullard order, addicted by nature to mean, petty, malicious views and spiteful gossip. Rose Mortimore, wife of Colonel Ponting,a bumptious, perky, ruthless self-seeker,-is an addle