The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1889-03-17

stage. She was a step daughter OF DE- Hal
lock, a very bland and genial physician,
now dead and gone. She moved in a lit
erary circle, wrote pleasing poetry, had
considerable skill as an elocutionist, and
INDUCED in dramatic ambition. In those
days Augustin DAILY was tempting fortune
lessee OF three New York theaters.
His operations soon afterward made
him q bankrupt but just at that luncture
he had many projects on hand, DIR; Hal
she would like to go on the stage. What he
meant was that she should be engaged to
appear in dramas at the Fifth-avenue The
alter, which was Days chief establishment.
the contract required her to take whatever
roles he might assign to her. What was
her dismay, week later, to be ordered to
assume a role in King Carrot" a spectacu-
lar extravaganza to be brought out at the
Grand Opera-house The manuscript of
the part sent to her contained about hum
dred words. and it vast quite unlntelligi-
BILE. She went to DAILY for instruction, and
there learned that she was to drive a char
lot in one of the gorgeous scenes.
But am little afraid, Mr.. DAILY" she
said. in mild protest, that ! am hardly
suited to that. / prided myself especially
upon my elOcution, and hoped to make
debut In an emotional character"
She was told that no first appearance
could well be more striking than to drive
two real horses into public view. She as
sented. partly because she was very anxious
to appear anyhow and partly because she
tract. Then she experienced a second and
worse shock upon seeing a sketch of the
character as represented in the Paris pro-
duction of the piece, for she was
i H'' The pol iSn''i belle a Of lit
erary coterie. the authoress of sweet verses.
the dainty recitatiOnist, to wear tights as
chariot driver! But she did it. / don't be-
ieve that her album contains photograph
of herself in King Carrot but l remsm-
Der the picture wildly, and shall recall it
when see the lady, graceful, suave and
dignified, presiding at Sorosis dinner.
*"~
The other afternoon met little round
shouldered old man in yellow ulster. His
thin hair was white as snow, his face pale
and old-looking. He might pass unnoticed
to the casual stranger. save as q somewhat
eccentric gentleman over whose head about
seventy years had journeyed. He was
leaning on the arm of a semi-young woman
with blode hair and pleasing countenance.
She was Louise Thorndyke. He, her hus-
band, Dion Boucicault, the actor and
dramatist. They had been married the
day before, as q "clncher" to a ceremony
performed some four years ago in Australia
Boucicault has exhibited throughout his
H sne S; art ana OF genius
away from dukes and all sorts of royal
things. His fluent love-making conquered
her. He stuck to her with cOmmendable
tenacity for period, but the time came
manded change He took sew
eral When acting in 1.-THE Shaughraunv
at the Boston Museum, some years ago, a
creature rejoicing in undoubted charms of
E. Al ~ l.
and consented to make him cOntented un-
der certain conditions. They passed to-
gether gi1ded but brief existence, and
then Dion struck out for new fields in Aus
tralia, while the creature came to New
York, caught millionaire Cuban, vanished
with her prey, tired of him, came back,
acted for a time, and has now sailed away
from view once more. But here is BoucI-
cault, remarked, teaching youngsters how
to act. retouching other peoples plays,
together an emphatic refutation of the
three-scOre-years-and theory. In his
own words, there is plenty of blood in the
old man yet" But he has, let us hope. got
to the last of his matrimonial ventures.
There is one thing that has destroyed the
first charm of the girl in New York-the
charm of simplicity-and that is her educa-
ton up to a routine observance of what she
terms good FORM" There is scarcely any
thing more disagreeable than a young
woman who is constantly guarding every
movement she makes, and by no accident
ever evincing the naturalness of youth.
This geometric propriety of living has be-
come mania with many girls. No matter
what their moral disposition may be or
their mental calibre, they dare to base
their claims for attention. and even love,
on the grounds of their absolute knowledge
of good FORM" They know just the proper
clothes to wear on all occasions; they know
parel, of household furniture, of the use of
words. of methods of hair-dressing,
of walking. of eating-they know it all.
And. of course, they are to be. admired
for knowing it all; but the fact that
from morning till night that they know it
all is what makes them unpleasant compan-
ions. Etiquette and form are their gods
and they worship at those shrines to the ex-
Sood Their preciss gestures their CON- CON-
scious attitudes, their assurances to you
that so-and-so Whom you are especially
fond of is such lawfully bad form" makes
you hate them. You get so you delight in
the company of a girl who is bad form, and
almost long for one who will wear cameo
bracelets, and say darn it." and walk like
a baseball player. While the refining in
fluence of modern society in this city has
undoubtedly reared for us some of the
most delightfully."- sweet and magnificent
girls on the face of the earth, nevertheless
there is among them very large
contingent which couldn't stand the strain,
who were, in fact, of quality not fine
enough to absorb gentility and have it an
unconscious part of themselves. So this
class goes about making an exhibition of
good manners. They are what used to be
termed in old times nasty NICE" They
serve "good form" up with soup, with the
coffee, with their songs, with their dogs,
and with their men. They. indeed, fall in
love with man because he knows all the
niceties of elegant life, and if a man gets a
reputation for leading cotillions and driv-
ing a tandem, never forgetting all the while
to wear exactly the tint of gloves requisite
for each exercise, he is a hero fit to rave
about, because he is ''such awfully good
form, don't you know"
All of which, as any sensible person will
admit, is very, very tiresOme.
copyright, 1889. CLARA BELLE.
POPULAR SUPERSTITION.