Litchfield enquirer., 1880-01-08

satisfactory: t. @
 DEAR JIM: Iwish you luck with your theat ricals Dld | not tell you that ciafade would be ''the small end of the wedge?' I've got { began with adulteration. It's the same story
 1Ours anectlonately, JACK.
 II. THE THICK END.
 don't deny that Jacks letter gave me an uncomfortable impression of having been so tC speak, taken in and done for" by my wife and the girls; but it was not the first time (nor the fiftieth) that the thing had happened, and 1t only remained for me to keep the damage within limits. In this there was however. some difficulty, as could not but agree with the argument that ''it was pity so admirable a play should be witnessed by only a score of people, and those ones own relatives and be- longings, who are notoriously the least appre- clative of audiences" And yet, the larger the number of spectators the more extensive must needs be the preparations to receive them I Somehow or other, a hundred and fifty got in- vited, although 1 objected to them literally inch by inch; 7; for if they all came, it seemed to me that there would me much less room for them than is usually allotted for the adult human body -..
 ''Oh, I'll manage that" cried Julia confi- dently, Eff the expense does not alarm you You would not wish them to have stanC-up supper, suppose ?"
 | ''No," said l simply, certainly not they will come here for an intellectual qualification. Give them tea and toast, and perhaps some | coffee and ice."
 Tea and toast !" echoed Julia disdainfully ''l am really astonished at you, my dear James. We have always had some name for hospitality. They must have supper, of course. The question is, whether it should be only standing one.'
 Why, they can't have a lie-down one, surely, like the Romans, as Jack would say,'' was my simple and classical reply.
 "Now, my dear James, this is serious l question, !" said my wife repTovingy. "Peo- 1 pie think nothing of stand-up supper, where l everybody is reaching over everybody ese's | shoulder, Good heavensl !" thought I, "what picture ?"] land scrambling for legs of chicken and scrapes of pie. My advice is, if | you do give an entertainment of this kind, it should be good one"
 Well, 1 suppose it's only a question of 1 chairs, " said l. ''Let them have chairs" ''Very good then you consent to sit-down supper"
 And I may here say at once that this was | not ''the small end of the wedge," but the oth- CT end. That supper cost me E7O. "4ou will give champagne, of course?" continued my wife indifferently Supper without champagne would be an anomaly" linen our supper will be an anomaly, my dear." said decisively. "You may put it on the cards of invitation, if you please; Private theatricas at B. anomaly at 11;3O. It will be a novelty, at all events ?
 Well, all can say, James, is, that nobody ever praises anything, however good-and am sure your play is ercetlent-unless they have champagne afterward. I should be ex- ceedingly sorry that your talents failed to be appreciated for the sake of few bottles of champagne"
 But at the theatres people praise what they see; and yet-except, perhaps, in the case of newspaper critics-the managers don't give them champagne after it."
 "That is true, my dear ; but theatres are not a private house. What will be said in our case, Cor rather in yours, for don't care what they say about me: it is your reputation that 1 am jealous about) what will they say when they see only claret and sherry on the table, and no long glasses? Why, What pity it is that man of such transcendent abilities should be so meann" g. -7s -.a- | So the champagne was agreed upon. This was mere detail, though rather an expen- sive one. The proceedings in other respects were wholesale. The house was literally pull led to pieces. Doors were taken of their hing
 
 where to supply their place. The drawing room, which was to be the theatre and audto- rum, was wrecked and on the desert waste thus created raised seats were erected. The stage was put up by ''skllled WOrkmen," with their usual disregard for the all-paper, and the chief mirror was smashed by ladder. They also dawdled over their work to that ex- tent that it got whispered in the neighborhood, among the people that were not asked to the play, that they were obliged to work on Sun days and that my daughters played sacred airs on the harmonimum to drown the noise of the hammers and saws. 1 was at church myself, and can't say. Indeed, l was very seldom in the house at all, for it had become unbearable. Anarchy reigned everywhere, even in the kitchen, and 1 . was compelled to take my meals at the club
 But all this was nothing to the rehearsals Miss Rose Symonds, whom we had fixed upon for our leading lady, had temper of her own and drove Tom, who was stage manager, quite frantic with it. She had professed herself willing ito make herself useful in any part" we'll knowing that she was to act the chief one, bat it was found that this meant she wanted to play them all She wished to cut all the good ''bits'' out of the speeches of the others and put them into her own, on the ground that they ''dwarfed the heroine" Considering that she stood five feet ten in her satin shoes, this assertion was ridiculous. She appropriated even the prologue and the cpl logue, which had secretly intended to have spoken myself. Her egotism was so tremend- ous that the others quailed before it, like ani- mals before the human eye. Magnificent as she was to look at, the three young men (and of course the two young wOmen) would have wished her size or two smaller, and a few degrees less beautiful. if by that means she would have become what the stage people called practicable" Her mother. was ian honorable, and she never forgot it. ... ,.
 After one terrible scene (not in my play) Tom came to me in my dressing -room-the only apartment Icould now call my own and protested that he couldn't stand it any longer. He must get somebody else.
 Nonsense" said |; Miss Symonds is a splendid. creature, and exactly corresponds I with my conception of the part with which she is intrusted" - ...l
 That's all very wel," said he; 'sbut you have not got to rehearse with her. Now, if you'll allow me, know young lady--an ad- mirably conducted girl--who is professional actress her father is an architect" s'I don't care what her father is, Sir, :" inter- rupted I, with indignation. '.Do you suppose will allow aprofessional actress to appear l under this roof with my daughters ?" e l ''She would do your play deal more justice | than this giantess. r "Well, we'll, that may be; but we mustm l some sacrifice to principle, Tom"
 ''Then there is Miss Kemble daughter of your old friend the Canon, at Exeter, and great grand -niece to the immortal actor of the | same name, she has hereditary talent for the stage, you know; and I think could persuade her to help us. She is a quick study" "A what !'' A 'tF ''
 Learns her part rapidly, I mean. Now, if could get her." sss .sf ,sa5 te ''No, no; it's not to be. thought of, Tom 1 Consider how angry the Symondses would be; and your aunt has a great regard for them. We couln't give any reason for packing the girl off. except that she was too tall. You. must do the best with her you can. did carry my point there, and the profes- sional services of Mss Rose Symonds were re- 1 tained It.L .t.tt. Ea.lsl< tlIss .E-nl ]