"THE MERRY GENTLEMEN OF
JAPAN"

"THE MIKADO"

FOR CHILDREN

The Favorite
Gilbert and Sullivan
Classic Opera

adapted by

H. W. Reiter and Shepard Chartoc

With many beautiful color illustrations

by Philip Gelb

CLOTHBOUND $1.75

"THE GILBERT AND SULLIVAN OPERAS"
A Concordance

By FREDERICK J. HALTON

CLOTHBOUND - PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED - $2.00

"THE AUTHENTIC LIBRETTI OF THE GILBERT & SULLIVAN
OPERAS"

THE MIKADO, THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE, H.M.S. PINAFORE,
IOLANTHE, THE GONDOLIERS, PATIENCE, PRINCESS IDA
RUDDICORE, YEOMEN OF THE GUARD, each 25¢.

TRIAL BY JURY .................................................. 15¢

The above-listed Operas, complete with 12 Musical Selections, Clothbound in One Handy Volume .................................... $2.00

GILBERT AND SULLIVAN "AT HOME" including over 120
popular melodies from the operas and interesting summaries
of the stories .................... $1.25

THE BASS PUBLISHERS

509 FIFTH AVENUE - - NEW YORK CITY

GILBERT AND SULLIVAN

POSTER CONTEST

CONDITIONS

The illustrations represent characters from Gilbert and Sullivan operettas; "THE MIKADO", "PIRATES OF PENZANCE", "H.M.S. PINAFORE", etc.

The contest is open to everyone. Simply copy one or more of the figures, using your own arrangement, in any medium--pencil, pen and ink, crayon or water color. Your entry blank should be made on paper measuring about 17x24.

Prizes--Tickets for these immortal plays, now at the Majestic Theatre, will be awarded to the student whose drawings are selected for exhibition at the theatre. These prize tickets will be for two orchestra seats at any matinee or evening performance during the current Gilbert and Sullivan season. The decisions of the judges will be final, and no drawings will be returned.

Entries for this competition should be addressed to CAROLINE COREY, CONTEST DIRECTOR, MAJESTIC THEATRE, WEST 44TH STREET, NEW YORK.

Chicago, March 29- To the Editor of the Tribune- There are some things "no fellah" can understand. I threw myself on your compassion. In "Pinafore", for instance, if the Captain and Ralph were changed while on the farm of Buttercup, then, of course, they would be about the same age, and Josephine falls into an awful state with a man who is as old as her father, and yet the youngest of the crew. Then, again, if Ralph and the Captain were "farmed" by Buttercup, she would naturally be about twenty or thirty years older than either of 'em, which would make the Captain in love with pretty little Buttercup, say 70 years old.

HARDLY EVER.

MUSIC TRADE REVIEW, April 5-1879.

Does lack of cash cramp your style?

When I, good friends, was called to the bar,
I'd an appetite fresh and hearty,
But I was, as many barristers are,
An impecunious party.

So runs the gay Gilbertian lyric and it aptly sums up the problem facing a student or a graduate newly launched upon a professional or business career. With this in mind we developed the Rannoch Shop. A shop of modest prices where a young fellow may equip himself with the correct wardrobe demanded by the conventions of polite society. Town suits 35.00 to 44.50. Country tweed suits from 35.00 to 44.50. Odd sports jackets from 25.00. Sports trousers from 6.50. A camel's hair coat from 35.00. A reversible coat from 35.00 and a good trench raincoat from 15.00.

SAKS FIFTH AVENUE

49th to 50th Street • Sixth Floor

Gilbert and Sullivan Cross Word Puzzle
from the London Times Book Supplement
(sent by Katharine Etz)

ACROSS

1. A poor man-o-war's man

5. No believer in one man one job

9. She is what is called a silly,
But she answers pretty well.

10. To-day I carry off Rose Maybud
and atone with a _________

11. With beat of drum and a _________
to wed the Lord High Executioner

12. The 22 are seen on this green

13. Wit of Macauley who wrote of her

17. One of the three little maids from
school

18. Only idle _________ of a transcendental
kind.

20. Women of _________, fair neophytes

22. See 12

25. What Strephon becomes is enclosed

26. The Monday"pops" are not up this

27. This 3 seems unregenerate, but he
was a faithful servant

31. Elsie's sort of singer

33. Zest

35. Man, according to Psyche

34. Also man, according to Psyche

DOWN

1. Maid of all work

2. Frederick's was effective, but
alarming

3. See 27

4. The vicar of Floverleigh for instance

5. She preferred the commonplace
young man

6. Fateful end of the 22

7. Ten in one play tho eight are
merely 14s

8. A peppery kind of king

14. Sideways

16. She sings "Poor wandering one"

19. Their king was Paramount

21. The jester follows his father back

23. Daughter of the professor of
abstract science

24. See 11

28. Everyone became a fairy

29. Those of Strephon and Iolanthe
seemed inconsistent with their
relationship

30. See 33

Excerpta

FROM THE CRITICS' OBSERVATIONS

Gilbert and Sullivan Operas. "As for those old frauds who show up on every G. and S. occasion, some of them carried in on the arms of their nurses, others carefully guarded by uniformed attendants from the neighboring asylums for the mentally deficient, their mirth was so unrestrained and excessive ... that the actors themselves periodically stopped dead in their tracks and wonderingly scratched their heads." —GEORGE JEAN NATHAN (Es-quire).

St. Helena. "It made me sorry for Napoleon, and, although Napoleon does not know this, that is quite an achievement."—ROBERT BENCHLEY (New Yorker).

Reflected Glory. "Miss Bankhead is probably as *nearly* a play as anybody could be, but that isn't quite enough, except for her own peculiar public, which, I'm sure, would be enchanted to spend the evening just watching her knit a sock."—WOLCOTT GIBBS (New Yorker).

So Proudly We Hail. "I commend it as an earnest and provocative play." —DOUGLAS GILBERT (*World-Tel-egram*).

So Proudly We Hail. "It neither convinces your reason nor sweeps your emotion. It is, in briefest brief, just dull."—JOHN ANDERSON (*Journal*).

Night Must Fall. "... the audience is said to weary with monstrous anticipation, like Byron's old maids in the sacked city, who kept asking why don't the ravishing begin." —STARK YOUNG (*The New Republic*).

St. Helena. "It restores playgoing to civilized practices in this community." —JOHN ANDERSON (*Journal*).

Laughing Woman. "Helen Menken ... behaves like a cross between a Swiss milkmaid and a dryad in the dell." —BROOKS ATKINSON (*Times*).

Hamlet (Gielgud). "For one of the few times in your life you are able to associate yourself with Hamlet, weep, fight, philosophize, and die close by Hamlet's side." —GILBERT W. GABRIEL (*American*).

Night Must Fall. "In the last act some of the front rowers were apprehensive over what smelled like burning insulation, but their apprehension ended when it turned out

to be the show."—WALTER WINCHELL (Mirror).

White Horse Inn. "... a dozen Rioño City Music Hall prologues laid end to end." —RICHARD WATTS, JR. (Herald-Tribune).

Reflected Glory. "Miss Bankhead ... is the new season's Molly Pitcher. It is she who took Mr. Kelly's place last night and fired its first gun, not once but many times." —JOHN MASON BROWN (*Post*).

And Stars Remain. "... the real heroes of a dull evening are Mr. Webb and his sofa." —JOHN MASON BROWN (*Post*).

Reflected Glory. "Certainly no one can touch Miss Bankhead's impersonation of Miss Bankhead. Perhaps it is time, however, that she had a chance at some other character." —RICHARD LOCKRIDGE (*Sun*).

Mimie Scheller. "The suspense grew almost as tense as a tennis racquet left out all Winter." —JOHN ANDERSON (*Journal*).

Hamlet. "I do not know enough to find a disturbing flaw in the play." —DOUGLAS GILBERT (*World Teleregram*).

White Horse Inn. "The real heroine of the evening is the wardrobe mistress." —JOHN MASON BROWN (*Post*).

Bright Honor. "The dress uniforms are sort of pretty." —RICHARD LOCKRIDGE (*Sun*).

St. Helena. "The mightier adjec-tives are tossed about so loosely in these days of Hollywoodian ecstasy over nothing at all, that there are no words left to describe performances of rare quality such as this." —WILELLA WALDORF (*Post*).

Arrest That Woman. "I venerate it as an antique even as I kick it in the pants. Mr. Woods opened, I vow, not a play so much as a museum of theatrical tricks." —JOHN ANDERSON (*Journal*).

Hamlet (Gielgud). "... a Hamlet that you will remember—intelligent, sensitive, and at times inspired to the point of lifting your orchestra chair a few inches off the floor with you in it." —ROBERT BENCHLEY (*New Yorker*).

Night Must Fall. "You can't yawn and have your teeth chatter at the same moment." —JOHN ANDERSON (*Journal*).

We
cordially
invite
you
to see
and
hear
the
NEW
1937
CAPEHART
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450 Madison Ave. at 50th St.

10 E. 59th St. (Savoy-Plaza)

795 Madison Ave. at 67th St.

New York City

254 Worth Avenue
Palm Beach, Florida

86

Johanets

MEN OF THE DAY. No. 24.

CAPTAIN EYRE SHAW.

CAPTAIN SHAW is so much the fireman of London that he is the first thorough fireman we have had in a city which requires one, perhaps, more than any other in the world. He has organised the Metropolitan Fire Brigade so intelligently, and with such completeness, that it is now incomparably the best force of that kind existing in any country; and with a network of electric telegraphs all over London, he can from his office despatch all the engines in the town to a fire in two, or at most three, minutes after it has first been reported, and in a quarter of an hour more would be throwing tons of water upon the flames.

When, a few days ago, the news arrived that Paris was burning, Captain Shaw, with the readiness that distinguishes him, offered at once to take over his best engines and a large body of his men, with whom he could have dealt with the fire in a way that would have astonished the wretched Parisian *pompiers*. His offer was at first gratefully accepted; and when the French Government changed its mind about the necessity for further help, Jules Favre telegraphed his thanks for the aid offered in terms which are the latest, though not the highest, tribute made to Captain Shaw's eminence in his profession. He is, besides being the first fireman, one of the most popular men in London, and he well deserves his popularity.

WILLIAM F. HALL

YARN OF THE MANAGER BOLD

[Speech of William F. Hall (popularly known by his pen name, "Biff" Hall) at the fortieth dinner of the Sunset Club, Chicago, Ill., January 7, 1892. The Secretary, Joseph B. Mann, acted as Chairman. The general subject of the evening's discussion was, "The Modern Stage; its Mission and Influence."]

GENTLEMEN :—I must confess that I have never regarded the drama in a very serious light. As to its purpose and mission, if I was trying to find out, I should consult the pleasant-faced young man who sits in the box-office. He knows how these things stand with the public. Perhaps the reason I do so regard the matter may be found in my early experiences. The first theatrical performance I ever saw was in this city twenty-five years ago, and one of the prominent features was our old friend, Billy Rice.* Billy Rice never gives rise to a serious thought on any occasion. Why, the other night I went to hear Billy Rice, and I heard him tell that same old story that he told in the same old way twenty-five years ago. It really gave me the idea that the drama is not progressive. [Laughter.]

I consider that the theatre and the newspaper are brother and sister; they are always together. Wherever two or three are gathered together in the wilderness some venturesome individual starts a newspaper, and then immediately through its columns induces some other equally venturesome individual to build an opera-house. The people who act there are called turkey actors, for the reason that they hibernate during most of the year and only appear when the turkey is ripe for plucking in holiday time. They then go out and redeate the country. They have a wonderful repertoire, from Howard's "Shenandoah" to Hood's "Sarsaparilla."

* The Negro minstrel,

581

582

WILLIAM F. HALL

They play everywhere; it is called the kerosene circuit.
If there is nothing else available they let the water out of
the water-tank at the station and play in that. [Laughter.]

Gentlemen, these are the pioneers of the drama. They
convey to the rural mind what knowledge it has of real fire-
engines and the triumphs of the scenic artist, and I think we
should give to them the credit of spreading through this
land those beautiful dramas, "Jim the Westerner," and "The
Scout of the Rockies." I do not know what their influence
may be; I don't care to touch upon that part of the subject;
but I think I cannot better illustrate the straits they are in
sometimes than by reciting a little parody on W. S. Gilbert's
Bab Ballad, the "Yarn of the Nancy Bell." It is entitled :—

THE YARN OF THE MANAGER BOLD

It was near the town they call Detroit,
In the State of Mich-i-gan,
That I met on the rocks, with a property-box,
A gloomy theatrical man.
His o. p. heel was quite worn off,
And weary and sad was he,
And I saw this "fake" give himself a shake,
As he croaked in a guttural key:
"Oh, I am the star and the manager bold,
And the leading and juvenile man,
And the comedy pet, and the pert soubrette,
And the boss of the box-sheet plan."

He wiped his eye on a three-sheet bill,
'Twas lettered in blue and red,
He cursed the fates and the open dates,
And I spoke to him, and said :
" 'Tis little I know of the mimic show,
But if you will explain to me—
I'll eat my vest if I can digest
How you can possibly be,
At once a star, and a manager bold,
And a leading and juvenile man,
And a comedy pet, and a pert soubrette,
And a boss of a box-sheet plan."

He ran his hand through his dusty hair,
And pulled down a brunette cuff,
And on the rocks, with his property-box,
He told me his story tough :
"It was in the year of eighty-three,
When a party of six and me

# MURAT HALSTEAD

## OUR NEW COUNTRY

[Speech of Murat Halstead at the 126th annual banquet of the Chamber of Commerce of the State of New York, November 20, 1894. Alexander E. Orr, President of the Chamber, in proposing this toast, said: "I now have the honor of introducing to you that eminent journalist, the Hon. Murat Halstead, who will respond to the toast, 'Our New Country.'"]

MR. PRESIDENT:—In the Orkney Islands there is a cathedral described by the guide as of two parts—the old and the new. The story is glibly told that when it had stood for five hundred years a storm beat down the tower and did other damage, making reconstruction necessary; and that tempest was six hundred years ago. On the road from Geneva to Chamouni there is a point of which Bædeker says: "The rocks on the left are seven thousand feet high." In the Orkneys a tower six hundred years old is new, and in the Alps a precipice seven thousand feet high is a moderate bit of scenery. The standards of the measurement of time and space may be exact, and yet are comparative, affected by the atmosphere of history and the scale of landscapes.

In that portion of this country which was the West a generation ago, a farm was old when the stumps had rotted in the fields, and the land was improved when the trees were cut. New ground was that which had not been ploughed. Once a man of varied experiences accounted to a pious woman for an unhappy bit of profanity by saying that when a boy he had ploughed new ground, and the plough caught in the roots, and the horses balked, and his feet were torn with splinters and thorns, and the handles of the plough kicked and hurt him, until depravity was developed. The lady said she would pray for his forgiveness, if he never

584

“Max”

455

pleasures of adding to his ever-increasing collection of individuals transfixed and transformed. It is a passion which has little to do with that of the collector. It is truly productive. For one sketch that he publishes there are a hundred others in his portfolio.

True caricature is an esoteric art,

people, but, she added subsequently, the people are really quite like the caricatures. It is the art of the magician. After glancing at his masterly efforts, it is impossible to see the living victims otherwise than through his own formula.

There is a wizardry in the art which

MR. GEORGE GROSSMITH

N.Y. CRITIC Nov. 1901

and there are many who cannot appreciate it. The unkindest criticism I have heard is that his caricatures are nothing more than mere comic valentines. Not the least flattering criticism is that of a lady who remarked to him that his caricatures were not like the

can express in a few lines of real beauty the "melting candle" appearance of Mr. Lecky or the essential hunger of Mr. Chamberlain, although one is sometimes tempted to believe that when "Max" has flung humanity into the cauldron of his enchantments, the

456

The Critic

Yet the writer is not alone in the belief that the black-and-white work of Max Beerbohm is the truest expression of the whole art of caricature. What should be the measure of the achievement? The artist has said:

> The perfect caricature (whether of a handsome man or a hideous or insipid) must be an exaggeration of the whole creature, from top to toe. Whatsoever is salient must be magnified, whatsoever is subordinate must be proportionately diminished. The whole man must be melted down, as in a crucible, and then, as from the deposit, be fashioned anew. He must emerge with not one particle of himself lost, yet with not a particle of himself as it was before.

These are, indeed, counsels of perfection. It is for those best able to appreciate artistic methods and effects, as well as what is demanded of caricature, to judge how far the author-artist has attained his ideal. There is but one point of contact between portraiture—a term which covers a great deal of caricature, so called—and real caricature. Both aim at intensifying the essential, but the selection of the essential is approached from points of view as remote as the poles. Caricature is the art of parody, the last word of the jester, the artistic form of the epigrammatic.

The caricatures of Max Beerbohm need no aid from letterpress. Their quality is purely artistic, and the appeal does not depend upon anything of political or literary significance. They are the last word of comment, truly creative efforts, projected on paper with a simplicity of method which certainly does not detract from the potency of this phase of Mr. Beerbohm's artistic expression.

THE RT. HON. WILLIAM LECKY, P.C., M.P.

results must occasionally surprise him. One feels that he must be an inhuman Frankenstein if he is never saddened or terrified by the general aspect of some of the beings which his art has created.

40

THE HARVARD LAMPOON.

Cambridge, April 11, 1879.

NOTHER! The
management of
the Boston The-
atre promises a
Pinafore which
shall out-Pinafore
all other Pina-
fores!

Time was when
we regarded Mr.
Gilbert as a benefactor of his race, and had placed
the author of the "Bab Ballads" in the same category
as Washington, Comstock, and other philanthropists.
The man who could conceive and give to the world
the romance of

"Haz Baz Ben and Hezakiah, too,
And Solomon and Zebulon
The buss-directing Jew,"

we regarded as little less than divine. When there
emanated from his brain that exquisite portrayal of
the career of the "Bishop of Rum-ti-foo," we looked
daily for the resignation of Mr. Tennyson as Poet
Laureate. We applauded the magnanimity of "Cap-
tain Reece"; we were delightfully horror-stricken at
the temerity of the abandoned curate who expressed
himself as only too willing to

"Wear all my hair in curl,
Stand at my door and wink — so —
At every passing girl?
My brothers, I should think so!"

and our cries for "More" were as enthusiastic as
those which echo through the Yard on a June even-
ing when the Glee Club vouchsafes a few songs under
the trees.

But an evil day came, and Mr. Gilbert gave Pinafore
to the world, — nor can all his previous "Babs" alone
for that offence. As a result of this ill-judged kind-
ness on his part, we live and move and have our
being in a Pinaforic atmosphere. Our conversation
is weighed down with Pinaforia. Our most casual
question is answered "officially." Our aphorisms
are met by a laconic "Yes, I know that is so," and
our truisms find a like fate in "Frequentlee I agree":
while the formerly inoffensive adverb *never* is now
shunned by all well-regulated minds as productive of
an inevitable fusillade of Pinaforic repartee.

In view of his "Lost Chord" and other musical
gems, we had intended to exempt Mr. Sullivan from
the inundation consequent upon the uncorking of the

vials of our wrath. But as we write the man over-
head informs us, through the medium of a one-finger
piano solo, that he is "called Little Buttercup,"
he is not called any such thing in our sanctum; the
name we apply to him is not so pastoral and much
more emphatic. There is a chorus of "Sisters and
cousins and aunts" booming from somewhere below,
while the hireling who brings our daily coal imparts
the information — vocally — that "he is an English-
man"; which is not only exasperating, but is a lie,
for a more unmitigated son of Erin never wore the
green. Our small sisters alleviate the tedium of five-
finger exercises by an occasional lapse into the Cap-
tain's song or "the merry cat-o'-nine-tails," — per-
formances in which inaccuracies of time or tune only
heighten the pleasure of the performers. And so,
Mr. Sullivan, the court holds you equally guilty with
Mr. Gilbert, the partner in your crime. Sentence is,
however, reserved. But if at any future time thy
melodies are wafted to our ears by the peripatetic son
of Italy with his hand-organ and his — by Darwinian
courtesy — younger brother from the Brazilian forest,
then, Sullivan, get thee to a tannery, — or a hennery,
— for nowhere else wilt thou escape the vengeance
that is ours.

TO THE LAW SCHOOL EIGHT.

THROW down Coke and Chitty and Stephen,
A fig for dull questions of law;
Let the Pow Wow go to the D-v-l,
And lustily take to the oar.

To your "form," if it lacks of the substance,
Let your trainer in fury demur;

There 's health in ash and salt water,
Though Charles' muddy bottom you stir.

Shut your eyes and dip deep, O my hearties,
And bring the blade out with a jerk;

Let others grind "Equity Pleading,"
They'll find the old thing will not work.

Like eight judges sitting in banco,
Along the bright waters you'll glide,
And grateful indeed is the woolsack
To one from a seat with a slide.

If you're beaten, the prize will be yours, sirs,
You lawyers are quick at a shift;

You can prove, by a weighty decision,
"The race is not to the swift."

THE HARVARD LAMPOON.

47

THE BALLAD OF THE BOSTONIAN.

the hupper classes goes

And has their reglar blows in that line;

At Delmonico's I waits, and I always changes plates

For the Harvard graduates when they dine.

I would mention, if I durst, what it took to quench their
thirst

February twenty-first, ultimo; —

For when getting ready each is with his sentiments or
speeches,

Gents gets as dry as leeches doing so.

When a sentiment's complete, some swell gets on his feet
And gives 'em something neat in response ;

So this Honorable gent, when the Chairman for him went,
Had to give some idees vent from his sconce.

Very dignified his way is as he stands upon the dais,
And what he's got to say is good enough,

For "The Board of Overseers" is a toast which gets no
cheers,

And to answer it appears rather tough.

But this noble Boston swell, getting on uncommon well,
Told all he'd got to tell with aplomb ;

Very stately down he sat; — but what happened after that
Must have knocked him rather flat, — like a bomb.

For some gents upon the floor, who had heard the
PINAFORE,

Set the table in a roar singing thus : —

(And I think we may excuse the victim they abuse
If he let his feelings fuse in a cuss.)

For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit,
That he's Bostonian !
For he might have been a Roosian,
A Frenchman, Turk, or Pvoosian,
Or perhaps Ital-ian !
But in spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations,
He remains Bostonian !
He's a true Bostonian ! !

Now they came it rather strong with this most houtrageous
song,

And I wondered right along (so to speak)

That a gent in Boston nusst should n't certainly have bust
With horror and disgust at their cheek.

And I hopes on many dates to be changing of the plates
For the Harvard graduates, one and all;

But I never shall forget how houtrageously upset
Was the Hon. L—t S—l.

A Wonderful Sight

To the casual observer, a fish-cart can be seen almost
any day in Cambridgeport, having the following superscrip-
tion in big letters: "John Dugan smoked and pickled fish
dealer." The poor gentleman has our warmest sympathies
for his sad state; but we would suggest that he let himself
out to Barnum to be exhibited under the heading: A
QUEER FISH.

THE Massachusetts Total Abstinence Society have received the following communication from the First Parish Congregational Church of Readville: "Is the use of sweet cider, unfermented, fresh from the press, prohibited by your pledge?" To this they have answered "Yes." (Well, we don't want any of it in ours. —EDS.)

— Two damsels of ancient Thermopylæ

Went to sail when the sea was dashed chopply,
With no chaperone

They went, quite alone.

They were sick — and it served them quite properly.

THE HARVARD LAMPOON.

EDWIN H. LINCOLN,
Landscape Photographer.

INTERIOR WORK A SPECIALTY.

18 HOWARD ST., . . . CAMBRIDGEPORT.

Mr. Lincoln solicits an examination of his work.

GEO. M. JOLL,
Fashionable Hair-Dressing Rooms,

HAIR CUTTING A SPECIALTY.

Over Ramsay's Apothecary
Store,

HARVARD SQUARE,
CAMBRIDGE.

Razors honed and concaved.

H. P. WHITCOMB,
Merchant Tailor,

would call your attention to his recent importations of SPRING SUITINGS, DIAGONALS, and staple goods. Especial attention given to STUDENTS' TASTE in style of work and the selection of fabrics from the latest English Novelties.

CHAMBERS, 46 TEMPLE PLACE.

WILLIAM READ & SONS,

13 FANEUIL HALL SQUARE, BOSTON,
Agents for

W. & C. SCOTT & SONS'

BREECH-LOADING GUNS.

We have brought out this season a grade at $50.00 of above pattern, favorite top-snap action,— the handiest, safest, and strongest of all movements. Also, Sharp's, Remington's, Ballard's, Wesson's, and all other Sporting and Target RIFLES, REVOLVERS. Tourist's Knap-sacks, etc. etc. Fine Trout and Salmon Rods, and everything in Fishing-Tackle.

C. F. HOVEY & CO.

HAVE A FULL LINE OF

Gentlemen's Furnishing Goods.

SHIRTS MADE TO ORDER.

33 Summer Street, . . . Boston.

ESTABLISHED 1798.

The subscriber respectfully solicits an inspection of his
collection of

China and Glass.

He has many articles specially adapted for WEDDING and COMPLIMENTARY GIFTS.

All purchases delivered free of expense in Cambridge.

RICHARD BRIGGS,
287 WASHINGTON STREET,
Corner School Street,
BOSTON.

CROSBY & FOSS,
Jewellers and Silversmiths,

Manufacturers of the H. P. C., H. A. C, and other Medals.
421 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON.

Established 1845.
GENTLEMEN'S FASHIONABLE

PREMIUM BOOTS & SHOES.

Prize Medal, Diploma, and Certificate awarded us at the U. S. Centennial Exhibition.

(THE ONLY ONE OF OUR CLASS IN NEW ENGLAND.)

REPORT OF THE JUDGES: "For superiority in style; for correct proportions, —thus insuring comfort to the wearer; and for great superiority of workmanship, as well as for excellence of material used, we make an award."

Thomas Power & Co.,
CUSTOM MANUFACTURERS AND RETAILERS
OF ALL THE LEADING STYLES,

10 SCHOOL STREET, . . . BOSTON.

FISK, TOMLINSON, & CO.,

Tailors and Importers,

Invite the attention of the students of Harvard to their
freshly imported stock of fabrics for the

SPRING AND SUMMER,
at prices adapted to the times.

37 TEMPLE PLACE,
BOSTON.

WHEN the pious shepherd Cowley wasn't praying, Wasn't praying, He loved to boat his "lambs" upon the head, 'Pon the head; When the winter winds were round his "Fold" a-playing, Fold a-playing, He lodged them with one sheet for every bed, Every bed. When with aching fist he could no longer pound them, Longer pound them, The cat-o'-nine-tails caused a powerful sting, Powerful sting, Oh, take things generally as it found them, As it found them, Life at the "Fold" was not a happy thing, Kingston Freeman.

Samp Jus. Feb. 18. 1860

WHEN the enterprising swindler isn't swindling, isn't swindling— When the "sinner" isn't occupied in sin, —pied in sin— He loves to watch the big bank assets dwindling, —as it's dwinding— And calculate the sum that he is "in", —he is "in".

Samp Jus. Jan. 14. 1860

Pinafore.

PINAFORE is degenerating—its Ralphs are winning to themselves the subbicquet of "Sing-bad, the sailor." —Yonkers Gazette, Dec. 18. 1879

SULLIVAN. Sir Arthur Sullivan had to leave ondon and retire into the country for a short me, to finish his cantata, promised for the Leeds Festival. It is impossible to work in ondon. —Exchange, So! Musical Record Boston June 1886

GERMANIA THEATRE.—"Ihrer Majestät Schif Pinafore." In producing a German version of the irresistible, the irrepressible, the inevitable "Pinafore," Mr. Neumannorf has shown that he is not behind the age, and his company, by their excellent performance, have proved that they are in no way behind the best renditions of the operetta, not even that *Standard* by which all are gauged. More surprising than the good representation, is the remarkably faithful and clever translation, with which it seems no less a person than the enterprising manager is to be credited, to whom we are likewise indebted for a fuller and better instrumentation of the score, than any yet heard in New York. "Pinafore" proves quite as powerful a magnet at the Germania as at the other theatres, and has attracted large audiences. The revival of Schiller's "Maria Stuart," on three different benefit nights, has been attended with the most satisfactory results; a thoroughly good performance, and an over-crowded house. Angier's *Fourchambault*, and Suppi's celebrated *Opérette Fatinita*, are in preparation.

Art Interchange April 23/39

RUDOLPH, future Emperor of Austria, promises to be an accomplished and scholarly sovereign. He is an excellent linguist, a good scientific student, and has fine literary abilities. —Exchange.

Yes, Rudolph, it's all very fine, but unless you can walk your five hundred miles in six days and whistle "Pinafore" correctly, your chances of bossing successfully the Austro-Hungarian Empire are pretty slim.

Samp Jus. May 6. 1879

April 14. 1879

“*AESTHETE*” DESIGN FOR
“TIDY.”

THE foundation is ivory-white Zulu cloth, fringed at each end, the dimensions being thirty-one by seven inches. On this design is outlined in washing silks. In working the border is outlined in the squares being olive, the blue and white sections alternately in two shades of blue and five sections alternately in two shades of scarlet, the dots being in yellow. For the vase dark garnet is used; the forget-me-nots are blue, with olive-green leaves, and the sunflower is yellow with brown centre, and leaves in dark olive-green. The faces and hands of the figures are outlined in black, the crown of the female being done in blue, and the title of male in dark garnet. Occasionally these designs are worked in monochromatic with browns, but an infinitely prettier effect is produced by using washing silks in several colors.

The Art Interchange, SEPT. 27. 1921

STANDARD THEATRE.—On the occasion of the centenary of "Pinafore," a new opening piece was presented, and bids fair to share the popularity of its composer's most successful work. The title of this latest musical trifle is "Cox and Box," and suggests the far from usual "Pinafore." It is full of pretty airs, and affords a Mr. Whiffen a better opportunity for the display of his vocal ability than the role of *Sir Joseph*, in which he is unrivalled. On the same evening "Pinafore" was reconstructed, a new scene substituted in place of the old one, and it set off again with a new lease of life. It may be of interest to some of our auditors, to learn that from latest accounts there were only 370 a 

Art Interchange Apr. 30. 1921

THE ART INTERCHANGE.

DRAMA.

PARK THEATRE.—Mr. Gilbert's lucky star is, at present, plainly in the ascendant; and while his earlier works, especially "Pigmalion and Galatea," at Wallack's, "The Wickes' Island," at the Union Square, and "The Palace of Truth," at the Fifth Avenue, failed to make any lasting impression, his latest play seems likely to achieve the same success as his "Pinafore." There is some uncertainty as to whether Mr. Gilbert intended "Engaged" as a clever satire, or simply as an extravagant piece of openally declare their thoughts, which originally found expression in *Punch*, by means of those remarkably clever sketches entitled, "Perfect Sin- cerity, or Thinking Aloud," has been treated by the author in one of the plays alluded to—"The Palace of Truth"—and possibly with better effect; for in the older piece the main idea is never lost sight of, and is more consistently carried through than in the later. However, the new "burlesque comedy," as it is called, is cleverly handled, and what is more, ex- cellently acted; and certainly crowded houses, fre- quent applause, and uproarious merriment are signs that the play has met with public favor.

And then another thing. When the American Philological Society get the language reformed and the spelling perfected and simplified, what will they do with the letter R? Will they make it a silent letter as Harvard teaches, or give it its full force, as Brown instructs? Will they call General Sheridan's charger a "wah-horse" or a "wor-hors?" And will "Pinafore" be quoted "hardly ever" or "hawdy evah?" These reformers are going to have no end of trouble unifying the spelling of this country, after all.—Hawkeye.

Puck Dec. 31, 1879

FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE.—"Whims" having failed to prove an attraction, it has been very sensibly decided to place the "Trial by Jury," and "Pinafore," on the stage again, until Suppe's opera-etta "Fatinita" is ready for production. The former works are interpreted by the same artists who appeared in this theatre a month ago, and are done with the same care that characterised the earlier representations. "Trial by Jury," which, musically, is superior to "Pinafore," was replaced on Monday night by Offenbach's "Rose of Auvergne." "Fatinita" comes to us after having achieved a very great success abroad; it is in every respect one of the best works of its kind, and ought to become as great a favorite here as it has been in Vienna, London and Brussels, and now is in Paris.

Art Interchange April 14. 1921

FIFTH AVENUE, LYCEUM, and NUNO'S.—The "Pinafore" is never performed at any time except last week, when the piece was performed at four different theatres, but only to mention a trace to the atelier at the Nittscheh. The representations of this wonderfully popular operaetta at the above named theatres, were all equally poor, and it was withdrawn from Saturday last, leaving that well-rigged and smoothly sailing craft at the Standard, to be replaced by a new one, which, in spite of all successful courses, was unimpressed and alone.

The FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE has never had, since it has been in existence, such audiences as nightly crowd it. "The Pirates of Pemance" will prove a veritable gold-mine to its manufacturers, Messrs. Gilbert & Sullivan; for everybody who has seen it once must see it again, and everybody who has seen it, must at least see it once; and there are nearly fifty millions of people in the United States. Miss Roosevelt, as *Matiné*, General Stapley's youngest daughter, is charming. —Puck, May 14. 1921

"Pinafore" is on the wave at the FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE, and Messrs. Gilbert & Sullivan are about launching forth on the ocean of public opinion their newest creation.—The Pirates of Pemance.

Puck Dec. 24. 1921

"Have you ever seen "Pinafore"? Mr. Sullivan?" "No, never." "What never?" "Well, as Mr. Gilbert said once when asked the questions and he did not see what I was laughing at.—Very seldom." "N.Y. World Interviewer." —Puck, May 14. 1921

WILLIAM F. HALL

YARN OF THE MANAGER BOLD

I consider that the theatre and the newspaper are brother and sister; they are always together. Wherever two or three are gathered together in the wilderness some venturesome individual starts a newspaper, and then immediately through its columns induces some other equally venturesome individual to build an opera-house. The people who act there are called turkey actors, for the reason that they hibernate during most of the year and only appear when the turkey is ripe for plucking in holiday time. They then go out and depredate the country. They have a wonderful repertoire, from Howard's "Shenandoah" to Hood's "Sarsaparilla."

* The Negro minstrel,

581

582

WILLIAM F. HALL

THE YARN OF THE MANAGER BOLD

He wiped his eye on a three-sheet bill,
'Twas lettered in blue and red,
He cursed the fates and the open dates,
And I spoke to him, and said :
"'Tis little I know of the mimic show,
But if you will explain to me—
I'll eat my vest if I can digest
How you can possibly be,
At once a star, and a manager bold,
And a leading and juvenile man,
And a comedy pet, and a pert soubrette,
And a boss of a box-sheet plan."

G. AND S.

England, O England!

We thank thee very much for Magna Carta,
Of subsequent democracy the starter;

We thank thee, too, for Messrs. Crosse and
Blackwell,

These many years they've filled a long-felt
lack well;

We thank thee for Burgoyne and Lord
Cornwallis,

Whose visit in our need was such a solace;

We thank thee, Britain, we don't mind con-
fessing,

For many another truly unmixed blessing.
And, 'twere nothing short of hateful,
Yes, contemptible and petty,
Were we not supremely grateful,
Far beyond all other boons,
For Sir William's gay libretti
And Sir Arthur's golden tunes.

Pound the drum and sound the tuba,
Usher in the haughty Pooh-Bah;

Clash the cymbals, crash the chords,

For the dashing House of Lords
(And for General Stanley's wards).

Welcome, sweetly as you can, the
Sadly fated Iolanthe;

Listen to that witty thing

Brightly sung by Pitti-Sing,—

Bright as blooming flowers in Spring.

By MELVILLE CANE

Praise and cherish at a high rate
Every conscience-burdened pirate;
Meet with pleasure unalloyed
Buttercup and Murgatroyd.
(Katisha you can't avoid.)

Contemplate the fragile Phyllis,
Cheer unagile Private Willis;
Blow the oboe, toot the flute.
Isn't Phoebe Meryll cute?
Bah! for Shadbolt—he's a brute.

Greet the gallant gondolieri,
Hail each semi-mortal fairy,
Pity, O! the hapless nurse,
Who, by carelessness or worse,
Infant charges did reverse.

Spurn the esthete, sham and childish,
In a setting Oscar Wildeish;
Warbling: "Every rose has *one* thorn,
Every rose at least has *one* thorn,"
Or some masterpiece by Bunthorne.

See the spurious and pompous
Blown to parts beyond the compass.
By the subtle stab of satire
Pose is pricked—the merest flat tire—
By the point of Gilbert's satire.

For Sir Arthur, special laurels,
For his carols and his chorals,
For his facile melometrics
Matching Gilbert's nimble pet tricks
(Patter-songs bring out their pet tricks).

Here's every kind of fantasy
For any maid or man to see,
All proper for your aunt to see,
Who winces when she's shocked.
And here's a cornucopia
Of lenses from Utopia,
Corrective of myopia
Just dying to be mocked.

Here's a heaven to believe in
With an equitable god,
Who provides a perfect even
For each corresponding odd;
Where His Reasonable Highness
Quite without the slightest fuss
Mates each uncompleted minus
With a satisfying plus.
(Nothing's really so divine as
When a minus joins a plus.)

Hurray! for the shepherds and sailors,
The coolies and jailors.
Heigh ho! for the various series
Of bobbies and yeomen and peris,
The sisters and cousins and aunts,
The sinister coast of Penzance.
Ah me! for the maidens in vapory
Mystical Burne-Jones drapery.
Huzzah! for the heavy dragoons
And the Venice lagoons.

And so, bless
The jeu d'esprit, the rare noblesse
Of G. and S.

Now the final curtain falls,
While, responsive to our calls,
Still they caper and coyly dart,
All in the mode of D'Oyly Carte.

A la mode and a la Carte,
Savoy fare served a la Carte.

PICTURES COURTESY OF
RANDOM HOUSE

14

fortable days of the Lady of Shalott. In the
novel, the woman's-world-lies-within-a-man's-
arms theme is a recognized piece of bogus
sentiment, exploited exclusively by Kathleen
Norris and similar rental fiction practitioners.
Must all the bright and intelligent modern
values that we pick up from the Best Books
be left in the checkroom when we enter the
portals of a theatre? In his most courteous
and deprecatory tones Mr. Van Druten seems
to murmur "Yes."

I can conceive of only two other reasons for
*The Distaff Side*. One is that Mr. Van Druten
is frankly fond of the tea-table buzz of female
conversation and doesn't care how many peo-
ple know it. The other is—I think particu-
larly of Liz Frobisher and Alex—to demon-
strate that some women just don't know their
own minds, no matter how rigidly you limit
the field of research.

Within the Gates has me up a tree, because O'Casey and I both think he is a great playwright, only O'Casey thinks he has just proved it, whereas I feel he proved it some time ago. In other words, *Within the Gates* is a lapse from magnificence. Some of the character bits are acutely humorous, the staging and scenic conception are moving, and the Down and Outs are effective. The rest eludes me. The verse sequences, which have been highly praised, seemed windy, vague and rhetorical, though quite sincere, like the play itself.

There is nothing more perilous for a writer
than to get up and praise Life in general
terms. He usually starts by sounding like
Ralph Waldo Emerson and ends by sounding
like Ralph Waldo Trine. Whenever one talks
about Life (and such conversation is an oc-
cupational disease with O'Casey's moral
marionettes), one must first establish a whole
set of points of reference. No morality with-
out a metaphysic, should be the rule.
O'Casey's points of reference are dismayingly
simple: Life is better than Death, Candor
than Hypocrisy, Courage than Cowardice,
Love than Lust, and Gallant Sin than Conve-
nional Virtue. What are we of the twentieth
century to make out of these medieval ab-
stractions? The question is bound up with
O'Casey's basic esthetic problem: Is it pos-
sible to generate a transformation formula
which will re-establish the old Morality Play

the answer is No. If it's Yes, O'Casey hasn't
found the formula.

The fact is simply that O'Casey is trying
to symbolize modern life in terms that are
largely irrelevant to us. Some of us are re-
ligious and some of us aren't; but the great
rifts in the modern mind, the terrible chasms
and abysses that separate us as human beings,
are not religious in nature. We are not wor-
ried about the problem of sin, but the prob-
lem of wealth and poverty and suffering. All
O'Casey's boring symbols—The Scarlet
Woman, The Evangelists, The Disputants,
The Bishop—do not touch the heart of our
troubles. They are hold-overs from the nine-
teenth century, they reek of Bradlaugh and
Ingersoll and debased Nietzsche. The idiocies,
the tragedies of our civilization are, to be
sure, symbolized in the Down and Outs, but
not O'Casey's Down and Outs, those vague
literary abstractions "who turn the struggle of
life into a whine."

O'Casey's intentions were noble and his
heart is certainly in the right place. But it is
not sufficient to be on the side of the angels.
Pity is not enough. The Dreamer is not
enough. It is not enough to raise one's arms
to Life like one of Rockwell Kent's sun-loving
supermen. There must be actual content to
one's pity. The Dreamer must rebel against
more than stupidity, against more than hypoc-
risy. Today's battles are not being fought
either by the Salvation Army or the Hosts of
Joy.

I am flabbergasted. How could the man
who wrote *Juno and the Paycock*, so hard and
final and deeply poetic, also be responsible
for these puerilities, this unreflecting surren-
der to the capital letters? Does old Johnson's
phrase about MacPherson furnish the key?
Can any man do this sort of thing, if he will
only abandon himself to it?

It would be convenient to conclude on the
standard, form-fit mellow note, but I regret
to report (though the fact is of highly local
interest) that *Merrily We Roll Along* gave
me less pleasure than any of the plays above
mentioned. The others may have been merely
decorative, or slight, or confused. But they
were not pretentious, even O'Casey's Dio-
nsian rhapsodies being marked by a certain
wide-eyed integrity. *Merrily We Roll Along*,
on the other hand, seemed flashy with the

surface sheen of the Broadway which it claims
to show up. Its slick smartness is brought into
greater relief by the fact that the authors are
apparently offering us a Sunday School homily
on the tragic rewards of slickness and smart-
ness.

Parenthetically, it may be remarked that all
the hullabaloo about the reverse chronology is
a deep mystery. In the first place, the obvious-
ness of the trick becomes more apparent with
every scene. In the second place, it is a con-
venient way of avoiding difficulties in motiva-
tion and the filling in of psychological detail.
In the third place, if you will pardon the
shop-talk, it is a regularly accepted technique
among novelists. I might mention a few titles
published during the last year or so which
employ the reverse chronology and manipu-
late it in every case—though not a single one
of the novels is more than third-rate—more
intelligently than Messrs. Kaufman and Hart.
Skeptical? Look into any of the following, the
first that occur to me: *The Begonia Bed*, by
Elisabeth Kyle; *The Woman She Was*, by
Lance Sieveking; *Bright is the Morning*, by
Mona Williams; *First Love and Last*, by
Howard Coxe. So much for the "technical
innovation."

Lots of people I respect seem to think
*Merrily We Roll Along* strong stuff and I
wish, therefore, I didn't find it quite so of-
fensive. But I do. It's offensive because the

WITHIN THE GATES

PACH STUDIO

In the booklet is the fact of its being cast in a cathedrals form. This may be all very well, and appropriate enough, for the juveniles for whom the work is ostensibly written; but a treatise on such excellence should have a wider sphere of usefulness, and appeal to those children of a larger growth who have not been taught to "lisp in numbers." In the *Theory of Music* we have a compilation of facts the knowledge of which is indispensable to the pianist, the vocalist, and the general scholar. In fourteen short chapters able explanation is given of the notes and their value; rests; dotted notes and rests; the various clefs; the position of the hands, arm, and fingers when playing on the pianoforte; the separate kinds of time, and table of signatures; triplets, rhythm, accent, emphasis, and syncopation; ornamentation and embellishment such as the *appoggia-tura* and *acciaccatura*, turn and shake; marks of expression; intervals consonant and dissonant, major and minor augmented and diminished, and table of intervals with their inversions, diatonic and chromatic; scales, transposition, fingering, melody, and harmony. We may point to the chapter on clefs as a very simple and excellent elucidation of one of the subjects which has hitherto formed a stumbling-block in the way of aspiring young musicians; but, indeed, what is true of this section, applies with no inconsiderable degree of force to the whole work. We see that it has already been adopted at the South London Musical Training College, and at other schools for girls in London and the provinces, and we see no reason why its value as an educating medium should not be still more widely recognised. Miss Gibson does not let the subject rest here, and her second and third books, treating of melodic and harmonic progression, sequences, suspensions, &c., and dissonant harmony, or chords of the 7th and 9th, &c., will doubtless be found quite as worthy of commendation. A couple of shillings could not be better disposed of than in the purchase of Miss Gibson's *Theory of Music*.

D. L. R.

## A Wail.

*(For Music.)*

TO A. S. SULLIVAN, ESQ.

My heart is chill, my bosom drear,
I droop with grief like a willow tree;
My hopes are dark that once were fair,
For my love has turned out false to me.
Her looks were love, her smiles delight,
Her breath with the wind made melody;
Her eyes, as they gleamed in the pale moonlight,
Spoke all that her bosom felt for me.

Her gentle voice made my warm blood dance,
As she murmured unchanging truth to me;
My weak frame quivered beneath her glance,
The sun of its over-much troubled sea.

"I love thee," she said, and my pulse stood still,
My thoughts then did listen most eagerly;
"I love thee now, and ever will,
For thou art all the world to me."

She wept, and her tears were as April showers,
My thirsty lips kissed them with passion away;
And I thought not then that such bright flowers
By the winds could ever be wafted astray.

* Copyright.

Dphis.

BOLOGNA.—The Archeologico-Musical Exhibition, which was to have taken place here next summer, has been postponed for a twelve-month, so as not to clash with the Paris Exhibition.

Rubinstein has come among us, once again. Now, in 1876 and 1877, the enthusiasm of crowded audiences has crowned the laudable persistence of our artist. The welcome and glory denied to tones singing with youth is lavished upon tones worn out with years of labour. Success is a problem difficult to solve.

Although the zenith of the great pianist and composer is past, he was never heard to better advantage than on Saturday last at the Crystal Palace. His second concerto, though perhaps least interesting of the five, abounds, particularly in the *finale*, with difficulties impossible to less than stupendous power; but in the hands of its composer, these difficulties seem a sport, and only recur to the memory of the hearer as a species of mental puzzle.

As conductor, M. Rubinstein proved his right to claim among the greatest. On no occasion has the Crystal Palace orchestra been heard to higher advantage than under the simple but majestic sway of his *bâton*. The *Ocean* Symphony, a musical poem so suggestive that each movement would demand a separate essay, was rendered with a grandeur, precision, and refined delicacy which would have been impossible had not the sympathies of the musicians been as utterly at the command of their illustrious leader as were their instruments to his beat. The ordinary languor of a hard-worked orchestra seemed to have given way to a restless energy . . . but is this surprising? *Flamingo*.

Crystal Palace, April 21st, 1877.

Doubtless, august August (manns of men!) will forthwith deliver his conductor's stick into the hands of the terrific Moldo-Wallach. *Flamingo!* *Flamingo!* O! why art thou not Cassowary?—or at least Cassiopea—as brightest of the Stars Thirteen?

—o—

Post Rubinsteinum.

1618

PALL MALL BUDGET,

Oct. 12, 1893.

## "UTOPIA (LIMITED)" AT THE SAVOY.

For the public the pith of the production of "Utopia (Limited)" will be the renewal of the old alliance. The sight of Mr. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan wringing each other's hands in front of the curtain will move them to a rapture that has nothing to do with taste, discernment, or logic. Gilbert and Sullivan did delightful work of old in unison; it therefore follows, as the night the day, that Gilbert and Sullivan must do delightful work again when they unite after an interval of some years. Those who are content with the simplicity of this mental process may rejoice over "Utopia (Limited)."

Mr. Gilbert has left a great deal too much to the imagination of his spectators. He has, it may be said, drawn the outline of a comic opera, but he

signs of promise was the acting of Miss Edith Johnston as the Utopiah maiden Salata, which showed an intelligent animation not always characteristic of the well-drilled subordinate.

### THE MUSIC.

We are ready to confess gladly that for coherence and unity of design, for a continuous level of refined excellence, for an interminable inspiration of fine humour, the new opera has not its equal in the whole range of the Sullivan and Gilbert series. From start to finish there is the same inimitable abundance of fancy ever restrained to the same due gaiety of level. Humour is, indeed, the pervasive note, a fine humour that never fails in its mode of expression; and the edge of that pervasive humour is gilded as it were by the occasional but not too frequent lapses into pure sentiment. Before we heard the music of the new opera we had thought that Sir Arthur Sullivan had approached as nearly as possible to the ideal which he had set up for himself. We were mistaken; he has never done anything of this kind so well before. As we have said, he has solved his own problem, and we shall be content if he never writes more music of this kind upon a lower level of achievement.

To come to individual numbers of the opera, we naturally turn first to the second act, for the composer has artfully built up his effects in the fashion of a climax. And in that act we would principally select for praise, "Then I may sing and play," a number which, being perfectly un conventional and unexpected in its melody, nevertheless has a gaiety, a graciousness, and loveliness in it which rank it among the most charming passages of Sir Arthur Sullivan's work. And, in view of that praise, we hesitate the less to say the only apparently deliberate bid for mere popularity in the opera will be found in the song that immediately precedes this delightful composition—the song of "The bright and beautiful English girl." The melody is melodramatic, and the refrain too obvious and commonplace, and this in a particularly uncharacteristic manner. The tenor song with which the second act opens is an example of wonderful humour and fun. The air is fine and swinging, for itself; but the passages which indicate that, through love, the tenor cannot do himself justice, are really conceived in a gust of musical humour. As an example of a peculiar kind of fascinating and flowing melody in which the phrases seem to mount over one another in a very easy and fluent motion, set to an accompaniment that reminds one strongly of Gounod, we recall with particular pleasure the duet in the same act between Zara and Fitzbattleaxe, "Words of love too loudly spoken." Goldbury's song of the first act, "Some seven men form an Association," with a delightful change in the accompaniment, is another interesting example of this composer's fresh and morning humour, expressed now by some jolly counterpoint device, now by the sly introduction of unexpected orchestration, and now by some grotesque reminiscence, as in the sham Christy Miustrel song, where a sudden outburst of "Johnny get your gun" has a laughter all its own in store for the audience. There is no necessity further to limit or expand the general criticism of this notice over separate and individual pieces. Some are below this recorded mark; thus one early song for the King, "A King of autocratic power we," is almost a failure; but with this exception all may be considered rightly to fall within this general description. It only remains to add that in orchestration Sir Arthur Sullivan has never

MISS MACINTOSH IN "UTOPIA (LIMITED)."

has left it to the beholders to fill in all that he meant to put in, that he might have put in, that he most certainly should have put in. Even the most extravagant fantasy is bound to have a certain order, a certain sequence, a certain coherence of purpose if it is to be regarded as a work of art. And "Utopia (Limited)" has no coherence, no ordered sequence. Nothing comes of anything. Characters appear that promise to amuse or to amaze, and then tail feebly off like an unsuccessful firework. The idea of two ludicrous old men being in love with the pretty princess affords opportunity for a fresh variation upon a theme that has amused mankind from the dawn of time. But the idea is but suggested to be forgotten. Mr. Gilbert has blown his bubble into the air, and lets it burst while he blows another. His different types of progress in England offered, one might think, ample chance for his rarest humour. But he has done nothing with his types: you could hardly tell one from another, the soldier from the speculator, the admiral from the county councillor.

It is not surprising that the players suffered from the unfortunate conditions of the play. Mr. Barrington's pomposity of manner and unctuousness of utterance seemed more mechanical than usual in the part of King Paramount. The Lady Sophy of Miss Rosina Brandram was only a pale reproduction of earlier and happier triumphs in the interpretation of the elderly lady. According to Mr. Gilbert this was not the fault of the actress. All that the part allowed her to do she did, but neither grace nor cleverness can accomplish the impossible. Even Mr. W. H. Denny, who is an actor of much expression and varied humour, could not make the formalized fantasy of Scaphion congruously incongruous. He had his flashes of fine eccentricity, but they were inevitably infrequent. Curiosity was, of course, centred on Miss Nancy McIntosh, who played the leading part, the part of the Princess Zara, who revolutionizes the Island of Utopia by the introduction of English civilization. Of Miss McIntosh's singing others shall decide. That she is a pretty woman, and so far an attractive addition to the stage, was patent the moment she appeared. But she has a great deal to learn before she can be taken seriously as an actress. Even when the nervousness of a first night and the inadequacy of the part are allowed for liberally, it is impossible as yet to guess whether she has any gift for acting. A number of actors and actresses did their best with parts that were meant to be effective satires, excellent caricatures, but which were little more than outlines, or, at the best, distorted shadows. In the lesser parts the only work that gave any special

motion, set to an accompaniment that reminds one strongly of Ground, we recall with particular pleasure the duet in the same act between Zara and Fitzbattlexe, "Words of love too loudly spoken." Goldbury's song of the first act, "Some seven men form an Association," with a delightful change in the accompaniment, is another interesting example of this composer's fresh and morning humour, expressed now by some jolly counterpoint device, now by the sly introduction of unexpected orchestration, and now by some grotesque reminiscence, as in the sham Christy Minstrel song, where a sudden outburst of "Johnny get your gun" has a laughter all its own in store for the audience. There is no necessity further to limit or expand the general criticism of this notice over separate and individual pieces. Some are below this recorded mark; thus one early song for the King, "A King of autocratic power we," is almost a failure; but with this exception all may be considered rightly to fall within this general description. It only remains to add that in orchestration Sir Arthur Sullivan has never

MR. LE HAY.

MR. PASSMORE
AS THE PUBLIC EXPLODER.

"He shall go up"!!!

MR. DENNY
AS SCAPHION.

before so well proved his skill, his refinement, above all, his quick instinct. All the singers in this opera well filled their parts; but in this connection one must particularly select for praise the chorus, Miss McIntosh, Miss Brandram, and Mr. Charles Kenningham.

Miss ELLEN TERRY, the great actress, writes: "I have used 'KOKO FOR THE HAIR' for years, and' can assure my friends that it stops the hair from falling, produces its best pleasant dressing imaginable. —833, Recent street, W. (send 3 stamps for book on 'The Hair') and of all Chemists, 2s. 6d. and 4s. 6d. a bottle.

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GOOD LITERATURE

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been
drinking,
And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

" 'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the Nancy's men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain
bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig."

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be
stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.

" 'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,--
I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I.
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook me,
While I can—and will—cook you!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped
shalot,
And some sage and parsley too.

" 'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
' 'Twill soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his
squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And—as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a vessel in sight I see.

"And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play,
But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have—which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

Book Trails

THE CRAB FAMILY

ILSIEN NATHALIE GAYLORD

OF ALL the big ocean's smaller children, the crabs behave the very worst. They are fierce little fighters, always ready for a battle with anyone. At least most of them are. They are "smart as whips." Such tricks as they play on the other poor little sea-folk!

You will find little hermit fellows on almost any beach. Up in Alaska, over in Maine, in sunny Florida waters, on English beaches, in the tropics, and even deep down in the ocean the hermit crabs find a home.

Of one thing about these hermits you may be sure. Wherever

"A wonderful combination of literature, story-telling, nature study and art."

MOLLIE WILLIAMS, Grade Principal
Independent School District
Nederland, Texas

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