% ..^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ii^ap.. (BojujrigP !f n.. Sbelf...^.:).^6 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. HELEN POTTER. HELEN POTTER'S IMPEBSONATIONS BY. / HELKN POTTER -^^mmj) NEW YORK 3 ) r 1 W 1891 VC^ fw^ Copyright, 1891, By Edgar S. Werner. CONTENTS. PAGE. lUuPtrationa vi Studies of Persons and of Pieces vii Author's Preface ix How to Pi-epare Impersonations xi Care of the Voice, Health, etc xv The Artist's Make-up and Toilet , xviii Explanation of Sig-ns, Abbreviations, etc xxiii After the Ball. Samuel Minturn Peck 148 After the Wedding-. William L. Keese 200 All. Francis A. Durivag-e 174 American Art. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 17 American Feast, The 33 Apostrophe to the Watermelon , 199 Ballad of the Lost Bride , 150 Ballet Girl, The 68 Battle-Hymn of the Republic. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 18 Beatrice. As rendered by Adelaide Neilson 179 Blunders. John B. Goug-h 1 Brutus's Address. As rendered by E. L. Davenport 129 Camp-Meeting Hymn, A 11 Cardinal Richelieu. As rendered by Edwin Booth 62 Cassius to Brutus. As rendered by Lawrence Barrett 125 Chemist to His Love, The 58 Chinese Sketch 47 Cleopatra. As rendered by Helen Potter 112 Declaration of Rights of the Women of the United States. Eliza- beth Cady Stanton 91 Dogberry and Verges. As rendered by Helen Potter 175 Dona Sol. As rendered by Sarah Bernhardt , 108 Evening, At. J. T. Newcomb 194 For Your Own Sakes. Anna Dickinson. . . 190 Fourth of July 77 iv CONTENTS, PAGE. From the Sublime to the Ridiculous 107 Girls. Olive Logan I49 Hamlet. As rendered by Edwin Booth 158 Ike Parting-ton After the Opera 198 I Told You So .*.'.'* 117 Jakey and Old Jacob 140 Jubilee Song 119 Juliet. As rendered by Adelaide Neilson 78 Katharine of Aragon. As rendered by Charlotte Cushman 23 Lady-Killer, The. Frederic Maccabe 69 La Musica Trionfante. T. W. Parsons 178 Large and Small Bosses I43 Lecture on Art. Oscar Wilde I95 Literary Curiosity, A 188 Lord's Prayer in Welsh, The 40 Mary Stuart. As rendei-ed by Helen Potter 136 Meg Merrilies. As rendered by Charlotte Cushman 152 Michael Angelo. William Parsons 41 My Own Native Land 19 Negro Boatman's Song, The 118 Newspapers. Rev. T. Dewitt Talmage 95 Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii. Lord Lytton 34 Oh! Rest Thee, Babe 153 On Trial For Voting. Susan B. Anthony 12 Ophelia. As rendered by Mme. Helena Modjeska 165 Othello. As rendered by Tommaso Salvini 216 Passions, The. William Collins 203 Peter Gray and Lizianny Querl 182 Pious Punster, A 189 Portia and Nerissa. As rendered by Mrs. Mary F. Scott- Siddons 98 Portia at the Bar. As rendered by Miss Ellen Terry 103 Prince Arthur. As rendered by Helen Potter 183 Queen Elizabeth. As rendered by Mme. Adelaide Ristori 132 Reading-Class, The 86 Rosalind. As rendered by Mme. Helena Modjeska 72 Russian Soldier, Rest. Robert J. Burdette 131 Scenes from *' The Tempest." As rendered by Fanny Kemble. . 50 Sea Bird's Fate, The. John Boyle O'Reilly 181 Sermon on Lincoln. Henry Ward Beecher 120 CONTENTS. V PAGE. Silent Letters. A Study of Visible Expression ; A Study of Audible Expression ; Tripartite Expression 212 Sisters, The. John G. Whittier 192 Sleep- Walking Scene. As rendered by Helen Potter 83 Song. Aubrey De Vere 22 Speech of Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg 115 Tableaux, A Series of. Arranged by Helen Potter 207 Tale of Two Cities, A. 0. E. Melichar 144 Temperance. John B. Gough 7 Ten Commandments in "Welsh, The 39 Ten Sevens, The 71 Toast, A 151 Tramp's Soliloquy, The 16 Trial of Queen Katharine, The. As rendered by Charlotte Cushman 20 Two Good Points Ill Vision of War, A. Robert Ingersoll. (With tableaux.) 122 Wolsey's Soliloquy. As rendered by George Vandenhoff 28 Women All At Sea 59 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE. Beecher, Henry Ward. Port rait. 120 Booth, Edwin. Costumed as Uamlet 158 Dickinson, Anna. Portrait 190 Ing-ersoll, Robert G. Portrait 122 Kemble, Frances Anne. Porti-ait GO Lincoln, Abraham. Portrait 115 Modjeska, Helena. Costumed as Rosalind 72 Oplielia 165 Neilson, Adelaide. Portrait 78 Parsons, William. Portrait 41 Potter, Helen. Portrait Frontispiece " *' Costumed as John B. Gough 8 " " ** a Chinese Mandarin 47 '< ** " Lawrence Barrett as Caserns 125 '* " " Sarah Bernhardt as Dona Sol 108 ** '* ** Charlotte Cushman as Meg Mer- rilies 152 " " " Susan B. Anthony 12 ♦' ♦♦ ** Cleopatra 112 " " " Queen Katharine 20 Ristori, Adelaide. Portrait 132 Scott-Siddons, Mary F. Costumed for reading- 98 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady. Portrait 91 Talmag-e, T. Dewitt. Portrait , 95 Terry, Ellen. Costumed as Portia 103 Wilde, Oscar. Portrait 195 STUDIES. OF PERyONS. PAGE. Anthony, Susan B. : Speech, " On Trial for Voting-. " 12 Barrett, Lawrence : As Cassius 125 Beecher, Henry Ward : Sermon on Lincoln „ . „ 120 Bernhardt, Sarah : As Bona Sol. (French and English text).. . . 108 Booth, Edwin : As Hamlet. (With music) 158 " " La Richelieu. (Li two parts) 62 Cushman, Charlotte : As Queen Katharine. . 20 " " As Katharine of Aragon 23 " " As Meg Meirilies. (With music) 152 Davenport, E. L.: As Brutus 129 Dickinson, Anna : Lecture, " For Your Own Sakes." 190 Goug-h, JohnB.: Lecture, ** Blunders.".. 1 " *< *< ''Temperance." 7 Howe, Julia Ward : Lecture, "American Art." 17 Ing-ei^oll, Robert : Speech, " A Vision of War." 122 Kemble, Frances Anne : Readings from *' The Tempest." 50 Lincoln, Abraham : " Gettysburg Speech." , 115 Logan, Olive : Lecture, " Girls." 69 Maccabe, Frederic : Lecture, " The Lady-Killer." 69 Modjeska, Helena : Ka Rosalind 72 " " As Ophelia. (With music) 165 Neilson, Adelaide : As Juliet , 78 ** ** Ks Beatrice 179 Parsons, William : Lecture, *' Michael Angelo. " 41 Ristori, Adelaide : As Queen Elizabeth. (Italian and English text) 132 Salvini, Tommaso : As Othello. (With music) 216 Scott-Siddons, MaryF.: Reading, "Portia and Nerissa." 98 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady : Address, "Declaration of Rights." — 91 Talmage, T. Dewitt. Lecture, " Newspapers." 95 Terry, Ellen. As Portia 103 Vandenhoif, George. In " Wolsey's Soliloquy." 128 Wilde, Oscar. Lecture, "Art." 195 viii STUDIES. OF PIECES. ANALYZED BY HELEN POTTER. PAGE. Chinese Sketch. Music by Edgar S. Kelley 47 Cleopatra 112 Dog-berry and Verges 175 Mary Stuart, in the '* Garden Scene. " 136 Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii 34 Passions, The. William Collins. (With tableaux.) 203 Prince Arthur 183 Silent Letters. A Study of Visible, Audible and Tripartite Ex- pression 212 Sleep- Walking Scene 83 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. In all ages we have had artists and orators ; people who held the " sacred fire " as their inheritance among men — an inheritance more powerful than gold, or wonderful jew- els, or landed estates. These men and women were leaders of their time, and even unto this day are held in great ven- eration and esteem. And the works of artists in clay, marble, and iron, and on canvas are enduring, and eagerly sought for. But the most wonderful of all, the power of the human voice, goes to the winds and is lost forever. Seek as we may, the winds tell us not of these masters of oratory and song. Their master tones reach not our ears, and we know of their power only by tradition. Now, with what skill we have, we will endeavor to per- petuate some of the work of our own time. The work of a few of the best orators and artists of this age and people, we will record, as accurately as our methods of annotation will allow. Yet, work as we may, our works perish to the outer senses. But there is an inner sense that supersedes all other senses, as far as mountains excel molehills. This sense is sometimes called " intuition ; " sometimes " the sixth sense." That we have this sixth sense can be proven ; but the power is dumb from neglect and abuse. If we seek for it aright, we may reasonably expect it to become mani- fest, and serve us as a guide in after years. Truth is eternal. That we do not know the truth is our misfortune and affects it not at all. The blind may doubt the existence of light, but the fact remains. So with our latent powers — that we are wholly unconscious of them proves nothing. That we have dormant faculties which may yet become factors for X AUTHORS FREFACE, untold pleasure and pain, is more than possible. Who can say after the advent of the phonograph, that we may not yet be able to extract music from the walls that surrounded the great masters of ages past. Then what a privilege would be ours ; then could we go, as did the students of old, and receive their lessons again and again. As yet, we are a young nation, and, heretofore, our op- portunities for special training in artistic work have not been all that we could desire. Hence our native talent has been largely thrown upon its own resources for develop- ment, and crude work has often been the result. But if our artistic work has been crude, it has been full of life and vigor. The natural current, untrammeled by ancient cus- tom and conventional processes, has been left free to flow out, and develop its own individuality. Tlien, too, the public has been good-natured and indulgent, for which we are truly thankful. The writer, although unusually well received and sus- tained by both the public and the press of this country, has never reached her ideal in her platform work ; and it is with a sincere desire to be of service to students of dramatic art and oratory that she has been led to prepare this oft- solicited volume of " Impersonations." Other matter, relat- ing to oratory and dramatic art, and still more practical hints to beginners, will probably follow. The students of to-day have many advantages over those of a quarter of a century ago. Then we knew nothing of the great master, Frangois Delsarte, and his wonderful science and art of ex- pression. We had no " Werner's Voice Magazine," devoted exclusively to vocal culture, and filled with finely illustrated articles from our ablest teachers and critics. For all these things we should be grateful, and apply ourselves dili- gently to attain " the heights." THE AUTHOR. TO STUDENTS. HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSOHATIOHS. TO STUDY A LECTURER. Provided with a smail note-book and several sliort, sharp pencils, repair to the lecture-room, and take a seat in the middle of the hall, and directly in front of the speaker. 1. Note his entfance upon the 'platform. — Does he come on hurriedly, and nervously arrange his desk and papers ; or does he enter deliberately, and be seated ? Does he recog- nize his audience before or after he arrives at the desk ? Is the recognition formal and dignified, or off-hand and familiar ? 2. Ohserw the general characteristics of the speaker. — Note his dominant controlling spirit, before you begin taking notes. Is he modest or pretentious ; self-conscious or lost in his theme ; does he reason or assert ; is he master of his sub- ject or is he bandying words ; is he earnest and sincere in what he says, or is he practicing upon the credulity of his hearers ; is he transparent or concealing his true motive ? Having obtained some definite notion of the speaker as a whole, jot it down briefly. A few explicit adjectives will prove sufiicient, and save time for a more strictly analytical study of him and his peculiarities. 3. Note his dress, and make some sketches. 4. Note his attitudes and gestures. — Does he stand with a wide or narrow base (i. e., with his feet close together, or far apart) ? Does he stand firm, with his weight on both feet, or limp and aesthetic, or is his position easy and firm, without being either ? As to his gestures, are they varied or stereotyped ? If stereotyped, what are they ? Are they xii HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSONATIONS. up and down, oblique or horizontal, with closed fist or index finger ? Does he pound the desk, or shake his hand, with spread fingers, high above his head ? And, finally, is he all action, or no action ? 5. Notice his peculiarities of mice, etc. — Is his voice nasal or pure, sharp or flat, heavy or light, metallic or liquid, rough or smooth, high-pitched or low-pitched, agreeable or disa- greeable ? Then, does he hold the vowels or the conso- nants ? Are they the nasal-continuants [m, w, ng) only, or do they include r, I, and other consonants (e. g., opening nasal-continuants, mmovcy nno, rrise, lUfe, wwdste ; closing nasal-contiiuiants, hldmme, hegdnn, singng, thrilll, rdshsh, miUe, etc.) ? Holding vowel-sounds is far more common and more easily detected ; as w^e-ful, wr-«-th, M^-ses, arrf-val, p It may be necessary to see the play three times. The first time, for the plot or story, and to discover the strongest situations, cli- maxes, etc. ; the second time for the costumes, special walk, attitudes and gestures ; the third time for the peculiarities of the artist's elocution, his voice, pitch, force, time, etc. Sometimes it is necessary to take all your notes at a single performance. In that case, you should procure a copy of the play beforehand, if possible, and select one or more monologue scenes to study. Sketch the costumes, and write the colors and materials upon the sketches before the artist arrives at the monologue text, dividing your attention between the play-book and the stage. At this point, cease all writing and sketching, and concentrate your mind upon the stage, and follow the artist you are studying every mo- ment until the scene is over. Let his every expression, atti- tude, gesture, voice, and all, enter your brain to stay there ; let it be "burnt in." As soon as he has finished the text selected for the monologue, write out all you can recall of the manner, action and elocution of the artist, and number the notes to correspond with numbers you will place upon the text where the notes apply. After the performance, retire to some quiet place, and go over the notes and text, adding such notes of action, voice, and manner, as may have been omitted in the hurry of the performance. Do not fail to do this while it is fresh in your mind ; to-morrow the pictures Avill not be so vivid, and the day after they may be faded nearly away. Afterward, copy and elabo- rate your work for use, and file away the original text or play-book for future reference. Next comes the costuming of the impersonation. In buying material, it is economy to buy goods made of a single material ; i. e., all silk, or all wool, etc. Mixed goods, as a rule, soon look shabby and mean. Of one thing xiv HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSONATIONS. be assured at the outset, and that is, that the prettiest cos- tumes are not necessarily the most expensive. Taste and judgment in selecting colors, styles and combinations, complementary to your own individual self, is the key to charming attire. 8oft, delicately-tinted cashmeres, draped in antique style, are exceedingly becoming for evening wear, and with simple ornamentation are quite inexpensive. Young persons should avoid velvets and heavy silks, as they detract from the youthful appearance, and make one look heavy, dull, and uncomfortable. And, again, if you select characters suited to your youth — which it is sincerely hoped you will — you will not require them. Do not, while young, try to impersonate old or disagreeable characters. There will be time enough for that when your youth is past ; and, beside, the world delights to look on youth, and prefers to carry away from an entertainment only thoughts of gladness, joy, and sunshine. Therefore, however much you may desire to do heavy tragedy, or raving maniacs, " Don't ! " and be persuaded to do only bright and agree- able things, and comedy.^ The dress should be the setting and not the gem. A golden angel could not sing, or thrill us with eloquent dis- course, though set with diamonds, rubies and sapphires ; it is the living angel, with the living voice, that wafts us from earth on wings of eloquence or song. Therefore, let your voice be attuned, your text well committed, your costumes suitable and artistic ; then, forgetting all these things, let your soul shine forth. This is the conclusion of the whole matter. * Tlic writer, with scores of others, made this mistake, and also the mistake of putting too much money into costumes. The most expensive things were not found available, and lie a dead investment even to this day. CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. 1. Avoid exposure, sudden changes of temperature, draughts, lake winds, damp linen, cold or damp extremi- ties, etc. Keep the body at as even a temperature as possible. 2. Do not abuse the voice. Use but not abuse it, and protect it at all times. It is said that Adalina Patti car- ries a tablet, and communicates only by writing, on the day she is to sing in opera. And this extraordinary singer is the wonder of the world, because of the continuity of her powers ; after years of use, her voice is as fresh and clear as ever. Singers appear and disappear; to-day, "Won- derful;" to-morrow, "Her voice is gone." Yet here comes the well-preserved and matchless diva, year after year, with her beauty, her smiles, and her songs. 3. Do not sit in cold rooms. In going from heated rooms to cold places, keep the mouth closed, and put on extra wrappings ; also in fog, rain, wind, etc. 4. Avoid singing or reciting in damp or cold night- air, driving, boating, serenading, etc. (8ee 11.) 5. Breaths through the nose. This is most important. A great artist gave that alone as the key to his fine voice and its marvelous preservation. When dying, he be- queathed the secret to a dea.r friend, saying : " You can support yourself by selling this information to artists." And so, indeed, he did for many years. There is also a volume written, advocating this as a prevention to throat and lung-troubles, and setting forth various means of ac- quiring the habit of breathing through the nose while asleep (e. g., a bit of plaster across the lix)s to keep them closed, etc.). xvi CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. 6. Avoid indigestible food, strong tea and coffee, cake, pastry, confectionery, candies, etc. 7. Avoid stimulants, drugs, tonics, and medicines generally. 8. Avoid lozenges of all kinds. 9. Avoid drinking "while singing or speaking. Es- pecially avoid cold drinks, iced-water, ices, ice-creams, etc., at or after vocalizing. (See 11.) 10. Do not partake of heavy food before a concert. When abont to use the voice (in the evening), dine before five p. M., and refrain from heavy and late suppers. If you dine early, and require it, take a light supper of food that is easily digested before, and a similar lunch after the concert, such as unbolted wheat gems, bread and milk, cream toast, a raw Qgg in a glass of good, pure milk, or in unfermented wine, poached eggs on toast, fresh raw oysters. Uncooked oysters are very easily and quickly assimilated, and will not interfere with the immediate use of the voice, nor keep one from sleep. On the contrary, fried oysters are hard to digest, and a properly prepared roast or stew is seldom found ; usually the oysters are shriveled and tough, the broth greasy and poor. 11. Keep the mouth closed, en route to and from the lecture or concert-room. Especially when going from the auditorium close the mouth, and cover the lower part of the face and throat with a silk scarf, or firm texture of wool. This warms the air before it reaches the vocal organs, which, being in a heated condition from recent use, should not be cooled too suddenly. There is always an unusual flow of blood to the throat when considerable vocalization is going on, and congestion is imminent unless it is cooled slowly. This is why iced-Avater, ices, etc., are to be avoided at and after concert or lecture ; also, why one should avoid using the voice, to any great extent, when driving, boating, or in serenading, etc. (See 4.) 12. Drugs and stimulants never build up, but, on the contrary, destroy natural power. Awid. them all. They do not make blood, nor purify the blood which you have ; they only set it in violent motion, to try to throw olf the poison. And, again, when you work under the lash of spirits or CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC xvii drugs, you are not conscious of your true condition, and, hence, are liable to overdo. Your chosen work is a suffi- cient strain upon the nerves, without whipping them into unnatural action. If the artist finds stimulants (even strong tea or coffee) necessary to his or her work, then he needs rest and recreation.'^ Professional singers and speakers are often tempted to do themselves violence in order to " make a voice," or to present a " lively appearance." If you value life and health, set your mind strongly against extreme m.easures ; and do not hastily submit to surgical operations. 8ome physicians have a mania for using the knife. " Your pal- ate is too long, and should be trimmed ; " or you are told you need a solution of carbolic acid injected into the head or throat ; and you are lumbered up with instruments of all sorts, for spraying, gargling, steaming, etc. Before con- senting to any of these things, consult a conscientious sur- geon or physician, one who has no hobby. Nine times out of ten, the trouble can be met by simpler and less heroic treatment. Hot water com^Dresses, homoeopathic and hy- gienic care will not reduce you or confine to a sick bed, as powerful nostrums and drugs are likely to do; and then you will be able, under favorable circumstances, to continue filling your engagements without interruption. Some simple suggestions are herein given, in the hope that youth and inexperience may escape unfortunate mistakes. In case you are not within reach of a competent physician, you can often tide over a difficulty by proper knowledge of the means, t The Throat. — For a constant desire to " hem," or scrape the throat, persist in swallowing instead of hacking or scraping. This is an opera trainer's rule, and well worth observing. If the throat is congested after a concert (dark red and * The writer has ti-aveled every day, and spoken six evenings a week, for nine consecutive months, and is happy in being able to say, in verity, that not once, in all that time, nor in the period covering the eighteen hundred evenings she has given to platform work, has she ever taken a dose, however small, of the drags and stimulants called opium, morphine, laudanum, hashish, valerian, cocaine, quinine, etc. In case of extreme prostration, a spontre bath of warm water, with a little alcohol or ammonia, has been taken with good effect. This, with massage, will prove quite refreshing, and has not the deleterious effect upon the vital organs that internal stimulants have. t The writer, in fifteen years' travel, never called a physician but oncg. xviii CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, swollen'i. apply a warm water compress before retiring. Cover it well with dry woolen cloth to keej) it moist and warm. In the morning, remove the bandages and bathe the throat in cool Avater ; rub with dry hands until it feels dry and comfortable ; then dress as usual for the da}". For a rough or hoarse voice, instead of taking a trochee, before a concert or lecture, take a little glycerine, or honey, or raw Q%%^ or loaf sugar saturated with lemon-juice. The Eye. — If you have a cinder in your eye, refrain from rubbing it, but, in absence of an eye-glass, pull the upper or lower lid (as the case may be) over the other lid, by means of the eyelashes, and let it slide back ; this will often remove the particle from the inner surface. Failing in this, wink the eye in water ; this will cause the tears to start, and thus help to was^i out the obstruction. If these do not answer, press the end of a pencil into the lid (over or under the eyeball) and twist it around, rolling up the lid, so that the inner surface is outside •; remove the speck Avith a soft handkerchief. To save the eyes, avoid exposing them to uneven light ; ^. e., with the bright glare full upon one eye while the other is in shadow. Shade the eyes, if possible, from strong or flickering light. If no other means can be found, cut out a semi-circle of paper and fasten about the brow. The Artist's Make-up and Toilet. The better the workman, the fewer the tools. So with an artist, the better the artist, the less number of things is re- quired to make up the face, etc. White, red and brown powder, grease-jjaint to blend the wigs to the forehead, and to line the face, Indien farde for shading about the eyes and brows, and oil (cold cream or cocoa butter) to remove cosmetics, are the staple articles for a make-up. The soft tip of a finger will answer in ])lace of a hare's foot to apply rouge, and a bit of soft chamois is better than a puffer to apply white powder, since one can touch up in lines and spots, "when required, much better with the former than the latter. The puffer sifts the powder all over the face, and costume as well. The grease-paint comes in CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC xix sticks, and can be used in that form. Indien farde re- quires a pointed stump or roll of kid (which can be bought wherever artists' materials are kept) to make a narrow line next the lashes and darken the brows. India ink is better than Indien farde where quick changes are to be made, since it is easily removed with a moist cloth, while the farde can scarcely be removed with soap or oil India ink, if used, requii'es a sable brush, such as is used in painting in water-colors. Before beginning to make up, oil the skin and wipe with a soft cloth; after the performance, clean thoroughly with oil (or very fine soap and oil after). In this way only can you hope to keep a fine complexion. Ladies prefer flesh cream to grease-paint, as it is of finer material and blends readily Use as little as possible to cover a given surface ; a bit the size of a pea, taken in the palm of the hand, will cover the entire face.* Violets. — For a warm bath, equal parts of wheat bran, orris powder and castile soap, sewed in a bag and used in place of a sponge, will soften the skin and leave an odor of violets. Protection from Wind and Sun. — For boating, driving and other exposure to wind or sun, anoint the face and apply rice powder freely, making a coating over the face and neck. Remove with soft, hot water, and Coudray's glycerine soap, followed by cold cream. Vaseline should not be used upon the face, as its tendency is to stimulate the growth of hair, and will cover the face with a soft dowm. To Remove Wrinkles. — Before retiring, wash the face with soft water, as hot as you can bear, in which a small bit of bi-carbonate of soda has been dissolved; wipe with soft linen and apply cream, or cold cream. The soda cleanses the pores, the hot water puffs the skin, and the oil keeps it so. Another method of removing wrinkles is : The white of an ^g^ beaten up, and applied to the face over night, and washed off with tepid water in the morning. A Hand-"wash, and fragrant disinfectant : \ pint of rose-water; 2 teaspoonfuls best glycerine; 5 drops each * For special information, address tUo author, in caro ol" Vf jerxer's Voice Magazine, New York City, XX CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, of camphor and carbolic acid. If this recipe is followed exactly, the odor will be of rose-water only, and no oil ap- preciable. Cleanse the hands with warm water and tine soap ; then apply the w^ash. Cold Cream for the Complexion.— 2 oz. oil of sweet almonds; \ oz. spermaceti; 1 dr. white wax. Melt to- gether, and stir while cooling, vM hoil. Add two oz. rose- water, stirring it in a little at a time. The value of the cold cream as a beautitier depends largely upon the oil of sweet almonds. This oil, being expensive, is rarely found, even at wholesale druggists, in its genuine pure quality. To Stop a Cold Sore. — At the first indication of a cold sore, press the spot with a thimble or other hard substance, and apply tincture of camphor ; repeat every tive minutes until the swelling is controlled, that is, until it ceases to in- crease; in a few hours it Vvdll go aw^ay. Gloves. Draw and stroke them on, for if they are pushed on in wrinkles they will never after tit smoothly over the joints. When the tingers of left glove are w^ell on, pull back the hand of the glove, and insert the thumb. Before fastening it, slide the thumb of the right hand far into the palm of the left, and, turning it tow^ard the little tinger, slide it outward and downw^ard to the waist, thus stretching it with the thumb and forefinger, and bringing it to place. Fasten, and reverse the process for the right hand. To re- move the gloves, unfasten, and turn them off" (wrong side out) until you come to the middle of the fingers : then take them off" by the tips, and, while warm, smooth and straighten them. If the gloves are cold before putting them on, or when smoothing and stretching them to place in the glove- box, blow breath into them until they are warm and soft. Hose. If the feet and ankles are likely to be cold in silk stockings and slippers, wear a pair of fine lisle or cotton hose imder the silk ones. It will make no difference in the general effect, and will save a deal of discomfort and colds. Many opera singers wlio have to match the stockings to CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. xxi each costume, put on two or three pairs at the outset, and remove the outer ones as they proceed. It saves time, and is not uncomfortable. Of course, the bare-foot or toed stock- ings cannot be put on over other hose, but other hose can be put on over them, provided the bare-foot scene comes last in the order of costumes. It has been found that some people cannot wear colored stockings, as the ordinary dyes seem to irritate and cause the feet to swell.* * Bare-foot Sandals. — The nearest effect to bare feet can be produced by sole-leather cut the shape of the bot- tom of your feet, and fastened on with flesh-colored elastic bands, garter width. To obtain the pattern, stand with the w^eight on the right foot, and, with a pencil held upright, draw a mark around it. Reverse the x)attern for the left foot. When you have the soles cut, have also a pair of thick white kid duplicates cut for linings, and have eight small holes punched in the margin of the leather soles, and a groove pressed in, connecting them in pairs. The holes are for the wire to pass through to make fast the elastic bands, and the grooves to sink the wire into the leather. Put the kid linings in after the elastic bands have been made fast, and ilnir^h by connecting the bands on the instep with the sole beneath the toes. This is done by passing the silk tape between the big toe and the next one, and fastening it above and below. This keeps the sandal from sliding back ; if it slides forward, a small band of the same color as the hose should be put around the heel. These home-made, inexpensive sandals, when worn over flesh-col- ored toed stockings, give the effect of bare feet, and at the same time serve to keep the feet from the floor. It is conforming to true art to dress the feet to correspond with the race, person, and time which are being represented. French heels and satin slippers on an Indian or Arab is dis- tressing to an audience. Dress, also, according to the necessities of the occasion ; if fishing, dress for fishing, not for a ball. It must be exceedingly trying for the actors in a play like the "Danites" (a very strong, historic play, which will be better and better appreciated as the years roll by), to have to pretend ignorance of the fact that the boy stranger is really a woman, when every child in the au- dience recognizes the fact from first to last. To wear * Bathe tired or swollen feet in alcohol and -water, equal parts. xxii CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, corsets and exaggerate the distinctive form of woman when disguised, is as al3surd as it is inartistic. Lights. — The experienced artist is aware, that the poorer the light on a platform or stage, the fresher and better must be gloves, slippers, and, indeed, everything she wears ; and the brighter the lights, the less conspicuous will be any im- perfections in the outfit. Please bear this in mind, and if there is scanty or feeble light, no foot-lights, wear your freshest, newest gown, gloves, etc. It is like a daylight matinee ; the usual evening make-up, or an excess of pow- der, becomes grotesque and ridiculous. An artist should not approach the footlights within a distance equal to his or her height. ABBRKVIATIONS, ETC.^ Sounds of Letters. Units. 1 e as in eve. 8 e as in met. 14 tli as in this. 2 a as in ale. 9 a as in at. 15 n, as in no. 3 a as in arm. 10 o as in not. ^g ^^ ^^ ^g i„ | ink. 4 a as in all. 11 u as in up. ^ song-. 5 o as in old. 12 u as in full. 17 g- {hard) as in go. 6 o as in do. 13 th as in thin. 18 g {soft) as in gem. 7 1 as in it. Diphthongs. 1 i {ue) as in rice. 4 6i, 67 as in oil, boy. 2 u {eo) as in flute. 5 6 u as in our. "^ t g ^^^^^^ ^^ '"^ 1 gem. 7 wh (fiw) as in when. Signs for Pitch, Force and Time.! 1 (°) high pitch. 6 (si.) slow. 3 (o) low pitch. 7 (p.) soft. 3 (°°) high and loud. 8 (f.) loud. 4 (00) low and loud. 9 (ace.) quickening speed. 5 (q.) quick. 10 (rit.) slackening speed. Signs Placed Before, and Applying to, Words and Phrases. I bar, means a halt, or short rhetorical pause. II double bar, means a longer rhetorical pause. ( — ) monotone, to the next bar or change. ( / ) rising pitch, to the next bar or change. ( \ ) downward pitch, to the next bar or change. {s ) decrease in force, to the next bar or change. {-^ tremulous voice, to the next bar or change. ( ^^ ) go down and up on the phrase or sentence. ( ^^ ) go up and down on the phrase or sentence. ^^>^ go up, down and up on the phrase or sentence. v.^-^ go down, up and down on the phrase or sentence. * Used as a guide to rendition. For letter sounds see Webster. t Any one of these signs ov&r a word or syllable applies to that word or syllable only. + (s <) means increase in force through the entire series, or sentence. xxiv ABBREV1A210NS, ETC. Qualities op Voice. 1 oro. {deep) orotund. 4 era. (head-voice) oral. 2 g-ut. (rough) guttural. 5 # (sharp) falsetto. 3 asp. (whispered) aspirate. 6 (^ (flat) nasal. Abbreviations Indicating Gesture. (r. h. s.) right hand supine j'To receive, give, support, rescue; (pahn up) ^ things floating, good, success- [ ful, etc. (r. h. p.) right hand prone f to put down, bury, suppress, for- (palm down) ^ get, quiet, hush; sinking, hope- I less, etc. (r. h. V.) right hand vertical fto repel, banish, resist; lost, past, (palm vertical) .,. ] forgotten ; fear, fright, dismay, I horror. (b. h. s.) both hands supine .. 1 (b. h. p.) both hands prone. .. }> larger area, more extended than (b. h. V.) both hands vertical.. J with one hand only. (d. f.) . , . descending front .... toward the floor, in front of speaker. (h. f.). . . horizontal front toward the wall, in front of speaker. (a. f.)... ascending front toward the ceiling, in front of speaker. (d. e.)... descending extended toward the floor, right or left of speaker. (h. e.)... horizontal extended, toward the side-walls, right or left of speaker. (a. e.)... ascending extended, toward the ceiling, right or left of speaker. (d. 0.)... descending oblique, downward, between front and ex- tended. (h. o.)... horizontal oblique., horizontal, between front and ex- tended. (a. 0.)... ascending oblique., upward, between front and ex- tended. HELEN POTTER'S IMPERSONATIONS BLUNDERS A STUDY OF JOHN B. GOUGH. ^^=^:^OLUMES could be written | upon blunders | Jf A \^zJ and not exhaust the subject. Blunders » H «j which make us laugh, and blunders | which @9J£> make us shudder. Human experience | is ^^>^ fiSx full of them. We laugh at phases of drunk- enness. I do not blame people for laughing. Man is the only animal that can laugh, | and he ought to enjoy his privilege. One poor fellow, | somewhat the worse for drink, fell down a flight of thirty or forty steps, | — in Erie, Pa., and when a man rushed to help him up, he said, [drunken wice] "oGro away, I don't want your help. That's the way | I *^ always | Qcoine down stairs." We laugh at the man who came home at four o'clock in the morning and said it was one. " But," said his wife, " the clock has just struck four." *' I know better," he replied, " for I heard it strike one \ Qre°peatedly." Absent-mindedness is often the source of ludicrous blun- ders, I as in the case of the cooper, who put his son | into the barrel to hold up the head, | and found when he had finished that the boy w^as in the barrel, | with no way of escape. Blunders often occur | in efforts to "correct ^them. A speaker once said, (b) ^* You ask us to work for posterity; | 2 HELEN POTTERS what, I would ask you, | lias pos^ter^i^ty | ever done for °us ? " Which caused his audience to laiigh, — and he cor- rected himself thus : " I don't mean those who come directly before us, | but those ^par°ticujar°ly \ °in^stanfly \{\) °subseque7it.'' Another one said, "Mr. Chairman, I deny the allegation, | and de^ \ the alligator.'' We are apt to call all blunders in words | " Bulls ; " but I believe the pure bull | to be a contradiction in terms ; as, " I met you this morning and you didn't come; | now I'll meet you to-morrow morniiig, | whether you come | or not." I An invalid once said, '' If I'd stayed in that place till now, I I'd have been dead two years ago." I once saw a notice on a ferry-boat : | " Persons are requested not to leave this boat | until made fast to the dock." A minister once announced to his congregation, that, (--) "A woman died | very suddenly | last Sunday, | while I was preaching the gospel, | in a beastly state | of intoxication." Blunders in advertisements | are unlim- ited : " All persons in this town owning dogs, | shall be muzzled." " Two young wom'en | want washing." " A young man wanted | to take care of a horse | of a reli- gious turn of mind." "To be sold | a pianoforte, | the property of a musician | with carved legs." But it is of great importance, | while we are moved to "laughter | by the blunders that are made, | that at the same time | we remember not to count it an irksolne task | to avoid I making mistakes. Look at our vast continent, | with its various climates and soil, | its mountains and val- leys, I its wonderful wealtK, | underground, | and above ground. | Look at the space we occupy upon the surface of the earth, | and the space we must occupy | in history. | Have we blundered in the past ? Yes, we ""have ^blun- dered in the p^t, | and we are blundering °now. We blunder" | when we lay waste our grand old forests, | our coal-fields, | our vast mineral wealth. We blunder | when IMPJ^RSONATIONS. 3 we waste the public money, and increase our taxes. | We blunder ) when we elect bad men to office. We blunder | when we fail to care for the poor | and the (\) °suifering, | ^ happy man ! Tripping gayly 'long the street, Loaded down with tidbits sweet, Loaded down w^ith turkey fat, Delicacies and all that — Happy, happy man ! AFTER THE THANKSGIVING DINNER. Aching, aching man! Skulking sadly 'long the street. Loaded down with tidbits sweet. With stuffed turkey, rich and fat, Delicacies and all that — Aching, aching man ! 84 MELEN EOTTERS NYDIA, THE BLIND GIRL OF POMPEII As adapted from *• The Last Days of Pompeii," and rendered by Miss Potter more than six hundred times. Argument. — Nydia was born in Thessaly, of g-ood family. She afterwai'd became a slave. Her master, Glaucns, a young- and wealthy Athenian, boug-ht her to save her from ciuel treatment, and was the object of her g-rateful adoration ever after. At this time, she was a prisoner in the palace of Arbaces, and Glaucus, falsely accused of murder, was condemned to meet the lions in the arena, in deadly combat. It was said, if a man was innocent, the beasts would not touch him, but if guilty, they would tear him in pieces. When the city was inundated with burning- lava, Nydia, accustomed to walk in darkness, was able to lead her friends forth in safety, and to reach the sea. Scene, Pompeii. The Palace of Arbaces, a Wealthy Eg-yptian. Sozia on Guard and Nydia a Prisoner. HIDE me not | (/) kind Sozia, I cannot endure | to remain so long | ^a°lone. The solitude | appalls me. Come sit with me, I pray, a little while. Fear not that I should attempt to (/) ^es- cape; | (\) °place thy seat before the door ; (- -) I will not stir from this spot. I8lghing.'\ °Alas, (\) °why am I imprisoned here ? I know not. [Finding a high dool and sitting.^ (\)What is the hour? °Noon, „you say? What hast thou heard of the Athe- nian, I Glaucus ? II [Listens, then, with surprise, repeats what she has heard.] (asp.) °He's charged with shedding priestly blood ! [rises quickly and drops all her flowers.] (\)°The gods forbid! ^'Tis °false, ^'tis °°false, J^ say ! (h ««P-) (/") Arbaces \ °saw the deed? «) Arbaces, the IMPERSONATIONS. 35 Egyptian ? [CZasps herr hands in agony.'] ^Arbaces °hates ^the priest; Jiates °Glaucus | °too. (/.) °Come Truth | ^and triumph o'er thy foes ! [Exit Sozia.'] (\)°What shrieks are those I hear; ^so ^neaj', | Qand yet so far ! (J asp.) It seems this way, [feels her way to the wall and listens'] here! || ah— yes! [Calls.'] ^°Who is it in dis- tress ? °°Who cries aloud ? [Listens again.] (.^ asp.) °Cal- emus, I the priest ? || °What, you saw QAr°baces | °strike the blow ! ^Then °you \ ^can prove dear Griaucus °innocent. °But why are you here ? [Aside.] ^Ah, me ! If free to speak, he could save my master ! [Calls agai7i.] "Listen ! If you were free, | would you give testimony against Arbac'es, | the rich and powerful Arbaces? Would you the °truth proclaim? Would you save the Athenian? (\)Your priestly word | °can ^save °him. If I procure you liberty, | you will not play me false ? °No, ^no ! ^I will not doubt you ; I you could not be so cruel ! °Remember, | Calemus, | ^you have (\) ° promised \ [Turns and feels her way along quicJily.] qHow can I release the priest ; how best | the truth make known ; how gain the praetor's ear; [wrings her hands] °how escape | (\) this dreary place ? [Stops to reflect, then bright- ens up as she takes her hrac.elels off.] °Ah, ^these ""gems (/) ^IVe worn so long, | ^may (\) °clear the way ! [Kisses them.] °Sweet ^gems, ('^^) I loved you (\) °more than freedom | ^till I loved, || ^and °since {/) ^ love, ^I love ye °more, || [^presses them to her bosom] Jot (\)°ye shall melt my bonds, | (/) and give me | "freedom ! | (--) ^I was not I "born a ^slave ! no, [ no ! | My birth | is equal °his. \\ ^Why then I "freedom (q.) ^would give me power to save, \ and the right to °love \ ^dear Glaucus. [Returns to the outer door calling aloud.] "Sozia ! ""Sozia ! (\) "Come hither, guard, II othou, (\) "too, art slave. {/) Wouldst thou this day be free? (\) "Behold these jewels on my neck and arms ; j (/')they'dbuy thy freedom "thrice. || ^Grive me | °onehour — 36 HELEN POTTER'S I swear to straight return — \jpau8es\ ( — ) °you will not trust me ? (\) °Nay, then, | (\) ""thou shalt go | °with ^me, | ^keep me in °sight | (/) o^^^ bring me | °back ^again. °How could I flee from | °thee, | \in agony\ ( \) °against thy will ? ('^^) ^I'm °blind ! {reaches both hands pleadingly^ then staggers hack saying^ (\) °Thou sayst me nay ? (/) ^Is there °?2o | Jiope ? [trembles} {^ asp.) °0h, he is going °from ^me ! ^1 shall go °mad! °°mad! || °°Comeback! °°Comeback! °one (\) moment, | °°one — | ^thou wilt not refuse to take a °let- ter ^for °me; thy master (\) cannot | ^kill thee for °that I Take this tablet to one I name, | (\) all these | °are „thine ! {q.) Rings, bracelets | long kept to buy my freedom ; | °all, | °°all, ^are thine; (/) thou'rt free and °rich! || ^You °°willf (\) °The gods be praised ! [Kneels on one knee and writes upon a tablet which she takes from her bosom and places upon the other knee ; now rises and holds the tablet out f&r him to take, then suddenly and in te/rror exclaims] : °0h, I °thou may'st | Qde°ceive ^me ! ^Thou may'st opre- °tend I ( — ) ^to take this letter to °Sallust, | ^and (\) not fulfill thy charge ! °°Place thy right hand of faith in mine ! [holds out her hand] (\)°° Swear \ «) ^by the ground on which we stand ; by the "elements | which can give life, I or (\) °curse life; by °°Orcus, | „the °°all-avenging; by the "Olympian °°Jupiter, | the °all-°°seeii§ ; °°swear, | (g.) that thou wilt discharge my trust | and (- -) deliver this | into the hands of Sallust ! [Pauses.] JThou °vn\t\ (\) °The gods be thanked ! (\) °Dear Glaucus is saved ! Ah, yes, I °he's ^saved ! [Pauses and listens until Sozia's foot- steps can no longer be heard ; then anxiety is lost in soorow. She drops into an attitude of hopeless grief and despair.] ^And °I —{•^ ^a°las, °I ^am a °slave °forevermore ! (\) No more can hope for "freedom ; no longer (^^~) look for life, | for love, [weeps] || °Tears, ^tears ! || ^Wliy, °why ^should eyes that cannot °see, | (- -) ^have power to °we^ ? [Covers her face with her hands and sobs aloud.] IMPERSONATIONS. 37 (ilsp.) Hark ! the lion roars | as if in fear. It is the Am- phitheatre, and the games are on ! {Clasps her hands.] °Haste, haste, good Sozia, or we may prove ^too °late ! (Asp.) I hear a cry — list, quick ear ! || I hear a °voice — [listening attitude, yet throwing the mice off.] ( — ) ^'•°The lion touches not the victim! The lion touches not the victim!'' ( \ ) Aye, { / ) even the wild beasts | ^love QGlau°c'us. Again that cry — [voice afar] {--) " °Arbaces, \ the Egyptian, \ is the murderer! {--) ° Glaucus is innocent ! Sethim°°free ! °Set him °°free ! " °He's saved, he's saved ! [Falls ; then, rising on one knee, listens.] What sounds of woe ! What heavy breath in the air! Ah, the floor trembles under my feet ! [Stoops and puts her hand on the floor.] °No, ^'tis °I that trembles ! My heart is in a tumult wild ! My soul is tilled with terror ! [A voice from afar.] ^^The ° mountain ! the ° mountain! flee for your lives ! °to Jhe °sea, Jo the °°sea ! " [In affright she goes to the wall and fumbles for the door.] (Asp.) What does it mean ? °Sozia, °°Sozia ! Open the gate and let me out ! Unlock the door ! ah me, [listens] J. hear a step — °the bolt withdraws — °and I — °°Sozia — [listens] °alas, (^^^) he's gone ! °gone ! Oh, light of love, | be °thou ^mine eyes | (- -) to lead me forth ! (- -) What thunder shakes the ground ; what ( \ ) °moaning — ^what strange °noises. (/) The air is thick | ^and °hot! I cannot breathe ! [Pulls at her throat, as if suffocating.] Alone I and blind, | in this strange place, | how can I hope to escape! [Sudden joy.] Oh, Sallust ! I hear (\) °Sallust's voice. The gods be thanked ! [Goes forward to meet him.] Oh, dear Sallust, what hath befel ! Speak ! [Repeats what Sallust tells her.] Vesuvius all ablaze, and growing dark ? The sun gone down at no'on ? Hot cin- ders fall in showers ? Alas, the gods are angry ! ^and °Glaucus, (\) °where is he ? (/) ^Canst thou tell me of Grlaucus, ^the QA°theniaii ? Where? (/)°Near the arch 38 HELEN POTTER'S of the Foruni ? Ah, | ^then I can °find ^him ! (Asp.) Hark ! a °new Qcry | comes wailing | from afar — on, on, it comes, and oh, how sad ! (- -) It is the cry of the Chris- tians, on their way to the temple to worship ! [Intone in a disguised voice, at first softly, then more and more distinctly as the party approaches.] [Disgf. voice, chanting.] ^^The hour is come; The world must end ; Woe I to the proud ones \ who defy Him ; Woe \ to the wicked \ who deny Him ; Woe I to the wicked, \ woe ! " ^IIow can I hope to reach his ears | amidst this tnniult. °Glaucns, °°Grlaucus ! Art thou in the temple ? (q.) I hear his voice ! He answers back my call. [Joyously.] Ah, here he is at last ! [Bends her head and kisses her hand, as if it were his, at the same time dropping upon one knee. Rises.] °This way, °°this way (/) to the °°sea, to the °°sea; ah, here, | °take my hand ! I will lead thee safely forth ! I know the way, trust me, | trust me ! Ah, not so fast ! °This way, °to the °°sea ! °to the °°sea. [Exit while saying the last words, one hand before feeling the way out ; or, if pre- ferred, the intoning may he reversed as if the parties were going away instead of approaching.] [Disg. voice, iyitoning or chanting, dim. to the close.] ° Woe Jjo the proud ones who defy Him ; ° Woe (- -) to the wicked who deny Him ; (- -) ^ Woe, I to the wicked, \ woe ! Costume.— A Greek dresa of white cashmere, with a Greek border, silk hose with toes, sole-sandals (see directions on Foot-Gear), arnilets, bracelets, stringrs of jiearls, and long- flaxen hair. Enter with an armful of flowers; a tablet and bodkin in the bosom, ready for use. In a full set stage, great additional eff'ect may be given by use of colored lights and distant thiinder. First, Dull red light growing brighter, and shifting ; second, with blue alternating j and, third, full red lights to the end, IMPERSONATIONS. 39 THE TEN COMMANDMENTS IN WELSH.* Anrhydedda dy dad a'th fam ; fel yr estyner dy An-rl-deth'-a du dad uth vam ; vel ur es'-tln-ur du ddyddiaii ar y ddaear, yr hon y mae yr Arglwydd thuth'-i-i ar i thirc, ur hou e mae ur Ar-gloo'-ith dy Dduw yn ei rhoddi i ti. Na ladd. Na du thew un ue ruth'-e e te. Na lath. Na wena odineb. Na ladratta. Na ddwg gam wemT o'-de-ii6b. Na lu-dret'-ta. Na tlnvg gam dystiolaeth yn erbyn dy gymmydog. dis-ti-o'-litli uu er'pin du glm-me-dog'.t Na chwennych dy dy gymmydog. Na shwen'-ichj; de du gim-nie-dog'. Na chwennych wraig dy gymmydog. Na shwen'-ich rig du gim-me-dog'. Na'i wasanaethwr, ua'i wasanaeth-ferch, Na'e was-na'-thur, na'e was-nlth'-lur, na'i ych, na'i asyn, na dim a'r sydd na'e e-uch', na'e as'-in, na dim a'r seeth eiddo dy gymmydog. r tho du gim-me-dog'.t "^ The alternate lines, in fine print, are the pronunciation of the text, t g, as in go. + Hold the tip of the tongue below the lower teeth and try to say each, and you have the c?^ of tljis word. 40 HELEN POTTER'S THE LORD'S PRAYER IN WELSH, Ein Tad, yr hyn wyt, yn y iiefoedd, Sancteiddier ine Tad, ur hoon oolt, iin e ne'ferth, Sank-ta'-thu dy enw. Deled dy deyrnas gwneler dy ewyllys, miges du a'noo. Del'ed dii dire'nes nel'ur dii a-wuth'-les, me'gis yn y nef felly ar y ddaear hefyd. Dyro i ni heddyw un i nef velch'-i ar i thlre hev'-id. Ui-ru' e ne h5th'j-ou ein bara bennyddiol. A madden i ni ein dyledion, fel ine ba'ra ben-uth'yel. a math'-ii e ne ine dM§-de'-on, vel y maddenwn ninnau i'n dyledwyr. Ac nac arwain ni i e math'-e-une nin'-i ecn dMed'-wer. ak nak ar'wan ne e brofedigaeth : either gwared ni rhag drwg. Canys pruv-ed-ig'-§th: i'thur gwar'ed ne ra,g droog. Kgn'Is eiddot ti yw y deyrnas, a'r nerth, a'r gogoniant, yn ith'6t te eu u dlie'nus, a'r nerth, a'r go go ne' ant, un oes oesoedd. CIS ols'seth. Note.— The pronunciation of these words was obtained by the editor while on a visit to Wales. th = th as in thin. dd = eth as in seth (as a rule), tti = th as in this. i:=. v as in vine. WILLIAM PARSONS. IMPERSONATIONS. 41 MICHAEL AN6EL0. A STUDY OF THE HON. WM. PARSONS, M. P. [Extract from a lecture before the ladies of " Monticello Seminary, Godfrey, III., 1884.] E are about to discuss the life and character of the greatest artist known to fame, Michael Angelo. Now, | in order to be as ^practical °as ^possible, | we will first define art. Beauty | is infinite. (/)Art is the infi- nite (\) °in ^the fixed and finite. Art is transformation of mind into (/) matter ; i (/) philosophy | is the transformation of (/) matter | (\) into mind. Now let me take you across the Atlantic | to see a little child ; the period, | four hundred years ago ; the place, | the north of Italy. This child | is playing in a stone quarry, | and watching the stone-cutters. It is Michael Angelo. He was afterward sent to school in France, but he would not study. He delighted only | in drawing. ^He (\) °fed his infant mind on Dante ; | a man who pictured, | in all the power of wo'rS.s, human woe and anguish, | misery and de'ath, | fiends and devils. Men shrank from Dante | in affright. They said : " There goes the man | who has been to the (\) regions below | and has returned." Michael Angelo spent his time | in the studios of difi"erent artists. His father remonstrated | and punished him, | but without avail ; and so, | at the age of fourteen, | he was 42 HELEN POTTER'S bound to Grillandaji | to learn to paint. Here he made such rapid progress, | that even his mastei* | became jealous of him, I and took the first opportunity | to let him go. When the Medici were driven from Florence, | Michael Angelo went to Bologna. There he got into some difficulty I about a passport. You may talk of your kings and your emperors, but the biggest man in a small town is the mayor or chief magistrate ; and the smallei* the to^vn, | the bigger the man. But our artist found employment, | remained here a year, and returned to Florence. About this period I there Avas a great prejudice | in favor of the antique ; and connoisseurs | were often mistaken in their judgment, I purchasing modern for ancient works of art. There are men who are astonished at nothing | on principle; especi- ally if the thing is modern. Michael Angelo determined to teach these critics | a lesson. So he executed a sleeping Cupid and had it buried, with marks of age upon it pro- duced by chemicals. It was discovered, resurrected, re- ceived great praise, and was actually sold to Cardinal St. Giorgio, for two hundred ducats. ^ Da Vinci and Michael Angelo | were rivals; and as Michael Angelo saw th^ growing popularity of his rival, | in 1492, I he turned his eyes and steps to the East, | and went to Rome. The other | turned in the opposite direction, "io solo!'' (I alone!) Leonardo da Vinci, | by his various attainments, | was placed among the most remarkable per- sons I of his time. Hitherto, Michael Angelo had chiefly devoted himself to sculpture; and, at the period he was at Floren'ce, | da Vinci, | who was considerably older, | had already obtained the first rank | as painter. Some jealousy had existed between the two rivals, | and an opportunity was now afforded to them | of making an effort w^hich should decide to whom | the palm of superiority | was to be awarded. Sodarini, | whose admiration for the genus of Michael Angelo increased daily, | determined to employ IMPERSONA TIOXS. 43 him I to paint one side of the council hall of the governor s palace ; | and Leonardo da Vinci \vas, | at the same time, | ordered to execute a picture | for the opposite part. Da Vinci chose for his subject | the victory gained by Angliari I over the celebrated Piccininb, | the General | of the Duke of Milan. The principal objects in the foreground | were a melee of cavalry, | and the taking of a standard. This work, I though it displayed great excellence, | and has been designated by an eminent critic | as exhibiting such talent as rarely occurs in the w^-ld, | Avas, | by common consent, | admitted to be surpassed | by the production of his rival. Michael Angelo's subjecc | Avas the "Battle of Pisa." In the historical account of the battle | it was stated I that the day on w^hich it was fought | w' as particu- larly hot, I and that a part of the infantry | was bathing quietly in the Arno, | when the call "to arms" was heard. The enemy was discovered in full march | to attack the troops of the republic. The first impulse produced by this surprise, | was the moment of time | selected by Michael Angelo. Neither artist, | how^ever, | executed the paint- ings. Only the cartoons, | or original drawings on paper, | representing the composition, | were prepared by them. Michael Angelo afterw^ard executed the picture | in the Sistine chapel. Vasari particularly notices the expression of an old soldier, W'ltoJ | to shade himself from the sun's rays, | had placed a chaplet of ivy on his head. He is sitting on the ground | dressing himself ; and the peculiar excitement and haste | occasioned by the diificulty of pass- ing his garments over his wet limbs, | showm by the strong marking of the muscles, | and an expression of impatience about the mouth, | is described as unequalled. All the celebrated painters of the day | attended to make studies from it. Michael Angelo | repaired to the Council Hall of the governor s palace | very early in the morning, | to com- pare these tw^o pictures alolTe, | before the people w^ere 44 HELEN POTTER'S out, I and discovered that his work | was cut in pieces and thrown upon the floor. "Ah," said he "now I perceive which was the better one." It is said the picture was de- stroyed I by a pupil of da Vinci, who could not endure | to see his master outdone. Michael Angelo honored | his professiori ; he was proud of it. A man who is ashamed of his profession | will not succeed. His profession honors him | and not he | his pro- fession. Oliver Goldsmith was ashamed of his profession. He was a doctor, an amateur. " I only prescribe for my friends!" said he. "Well," said his friend, "I'd advise you to prescribe for your enemies, | and let your frienHs | alone." Once Michael Angelo set a fellow at some work, | and re- turning, I was surprised that it was not done. The fellow re- marked I that he was not made for an artist, | he was cut out I for a °loafer. "Well," said Michael Angelo, " whoever cut you out for a loafer | understood his business ! " Michael Angelo was painting in his studio ) when there entered a prince, | and he said to Michael Angelo : " Come to the win- dow and look out ; isn't that a beautiful animal ? That's my hor"se." " Yes," said the artist, " it is beautiful." And he took his brush | and painted a portrait of the horse. He gave it the very fire, | the very spirit | of the noble animal. The prince was pleased. " What am I to pay you for this?" he said. "One hundred pieces of gold," answered Michael Angelo. "How," said the prin'ce, "one hundred pieces of gold ? You were not twenty minutes making it." Michael Angelo looked at the time and said, (\)"°Just twenty minut^ ; but let me tell you, | it took twenty °year$ of labor, | of anguish, | of poverty, | (/)to be able ^to (\) °do that in twenty minutes." He distinguished himself | as a sculptor and a painter, | and the pope said to him : " Picture and statue may pass away. (^) "Build here in Roine | a colossal statiii; | a IMPERSONATIONS. 45 great cathedral." He pauses. He is asked to be | an "architect. He is a great artist ; what if he should try and fail ? But he is finally persuaded | to attempt | the stu- pendous task, II and the result | is °St. Peter's | ^at Rome. He studied the architecture | of Egypt. It was massive. He thought of the Doric | and the Ionic. The (\) °Doric I was the (/) masculine, | and the (/) Ionic | the (\) feminine | ^order of architecture. Temples to (\) Diana and Venus | were (/) Ionic ; those to (/) Jupiter (\) were Doric. Rome was not an (/) originator, | Rome was an (\) imitator. Architecture is (\) massive in (/) Egypt, | (\) graceful in (/) G-reece, | and (/) picturesque ( \) in Rome ; and the (\) greatest of them all | is the great | stone | (/) dome I (/) of St. Peter s, | (\) in Rome. Here °his ^work I is in contrast to all these. Here | he is brought into competition | (\ ) °with them all. Here is the massiveness I taken from ( \ ) °Egypt ; here is the gra'ce | brought from (\) Athens; here is the picturesqueness | of the (\) masters (/) ^of the past; | and here is this old man | to bring °his ^work | ^into competition | with °all | ^these. To do a great work | requires the greatest earnestness, j the greatest love, | the (\) greatest enthusiasm; || °that's the word, j " enthusiasm,'" that you see in Dante ; that's the word, I the ^^ greatest enthusia&m,'' j that you see in (\) "Shakespeare, and ( \ ) "Beethoven. He remained | to the end of his life | a gruff | old bach- elor. There were two or three grand women at that time. There was Isabella of Spam; | and Vittoria Colonna, | the most beautiful woman | in the world. Raphael said his brush | could not paint her. The poet said | he could not I ( \ ) °praise her. She had the offer of marriage j from three kings. She refused four crowns. Vittoria Colonna | was a widow ; || and with a mind of rare culture, | fully appreciating the greatness of art, j she j and Michael Angelo I became fri^ds ; "platonic friends, of course. But 46 HELEN POTTER'S when a man | writes odes to a fair laSy, | and vainly essays I to produce her portrait, | and seeks her society | above all others, | you may be pretty certain it's all °over ^with (/)platonic | (\) affection. Go to Italy; there you will see his staff leaning against the wall ; there is his pallette, with the colors still upon it ; there is his last w^k, | the unfinished picture of a lady — || Vittoria | Colonna. Taine says : " Michael Angelo is one of the four Immor- tals of art and literature ; Daiite, Shakespeare, Beethoven, Michael Angelo." Vittoria Colonna " retired to weep, | (\) to pray, | (\) to study, | (\) to write, || to stretch out her (/) hands | (- -) ^with benefits | to her kind." Michael Angelo said: " I have a wife, | who is too much for me | already; | one who unceasingly | (\) persecutes me. She is my aft, || and my works | are my childmi." The Hon. William Parsoks, of Dublin, Ireland, an unequalled bio- gi-aphical lecturer, came to the American lyceum platform about 1870, and has continued, for more than a half score of years, to visit us annually, and with increasing- popularity. He has proved to be the most successful orator Great Britain has ever sent to us. Identified with all popular refoi-ms, he is well known in England as a brilliant platform orator, and ranks in this country with our best Lyceum favorites. His manner is quiet and refined, his voice and inflections are Eng'lish ; he speaks somewhat rapidly, with his eyes confined, for the most part, upon the manuscript before him, apparently more through diffidence than from a lack of familiarity with the text. Costume. — A gentleman's modern English evening suit of black, is an appropriate costume. HELEN POTTER AS A CHINESE MANOAKliN. IM PER SON A TIONS. ^1 CHINESE SKETCH EXTRACT FROM A CHINESE PLAY. Argument. — A beautiful woman attempts to cross a dangerous flood in a trail boat. When about to perish, she prays the g-ods to save her, and is told that if she will pledge her unborn babe to the Herculean task of building a bridge across the torrent, she shall I'each the shore in safety. The pledge is given and she is saved. The trials, difficulties and perils incident to the fulfilment of this pledge makes the thread of the play. A. — Fw Reciting. \ Tsoi chung hing san fo chung iin Tsawi chung heug sun law chung yuu. Sing mo ming hi lok yeuiig k'iu Seng mo meng hay lock ya-ung k-haoo Ts'iii ngan m kau Ts-heen ng-gn m cow. Kun yam p'o sat ha fan Ke-un jTim p-ho sat ha fan Kung k'ii ts'im ngan Ke-uug k-hu ts-heena ng-gn. B. — For Singing. Yau ko chung hing shun sing ts'oi Yow caw chung heng sun san ts-hawi Kam pon piu ming, tak chung choiig tin Kam pong peu mang tak chiing chojig yun To wai k'ii mo ka pan t'iu hop kwo hoi Toe wy-e k-ie m65 ka pan t-eu hop quaw hawl Keuk pi mang long kwong fung Ka uk pay mang long kwong fwung Chuk moon shiin Chalk moon seen. tThe alternate lines in smaller ty^e and cliacritically marked, give the pi'onunciation. 48 HELEN P0T2ERS For Protracted Singing. Shap se kin k. Sop see keen ah Sa tak ngo a-ha-a-ha-a Sa tee ngo a— ha— 2,— a— 3,. San yawn peau tang tang tang tang Sun yawn peow tang tang tang tang a a a a 3, a ! Pitch indicated by position. < ah Sop see keen ngo o te I San\ yawn\ peow ^ tang tang tang < tang a < . < Costume and Rendition. — The costume is that of a Chinese man of rank, or mandarin ; a richly embroidered, winged robe coming- to the feet ; boat-shaped, black satin boots coming to the knees ; a metal ci'own, with two long pheasant feathers curving up and back- ward fi'om the front; a wand of short peacock feathers, hung to the little finger of the light hand, and to be waved in token of supremacy as the performance j)roceeds. Cover the head, neck (behind), ears, and eyebrows with a fitted chamois-skin skull-cap. Crayon slanting eyebrows on the chamois, sew a circular piece of black cloth upon the crown of the cap and fasten the pigtail to the centre of the j^atch ; leave the cap open up the back of the neck so as to get it on, and fasten with a couple of pins. Walk with a wide base and a stride, swinging fi-om side to side like an amateur heavy villain in a play. Pitch the voice high for the recitation part, and as high as possible for the singing. Give it a very sharp edge, with a nasal turn to it, and you have the persona- tion fairly complete. IMPERSONA TIONS. 49 Directions for the Accompaniment. — These themes may be re- peated ad lihitum until the end of the melodramatic passages. If played upon a violin, the stopping should be done with one finger wherever practicable in order to give the glissando effect, produced by the Chinese violinists. If played upon the pianoforte, it will be much more effective if played by both hands ; the left hand playing the notes as written, and the right hand playing the notes an octave above. It would be advisable to transpose to G flat major (for the pianoforte) which may easily be done by placing a flat before each note. — Edgar S. Kelley. Allegro moderato A. — For Reciting. r-S^— ^— -^ -Tr — ^^ — ^-r-l t B. — For Singing. :2zS^?: SP-E^ -)^ — ^-r-7*=i !=r=5i:i:i=Ji^: «^- tftt-t ■e=- ^-0—\ [-0-^-0 — l-H 1— l-hH l-^-h^-l — 0-M-- 1— Ti 50 HELEN POTTER'S SCENES FROM "THE TEMPEST." Shakespeare. A STUDY OF FANNY KEMBLE. Argument. — Prospero, the banished duke of Milan, and his daughter, Miranda, were sent to sea in a I'otten boat, by his usui-ping bi-other, Antonio. They were bcrne to a desert island, w'here Prospei-o practised magic. The only other inhabitants of the island were Ariel, a fairy spirit, and Caliban, a dwarf. Prospero raised a tempest by magic, to cause the shipwi-eck of the usurping duke, and his son, Ferdinand. They were washed ashore, and the latter fell in love with Miranda, and married her. Act I., Scene I. — On a ship at sea. A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain. Master, % Boatswain, — Boats, [pro.']. Here, master : | What cheer ? Master. % Good : Speak to the mariiiei^ : fall to 't yafely, or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit.] [Enter Mariners.] Boats, [oro.]. Heigh, my hearts, ch^rly, cheerly, my hearts ; yare, yare : °Take in the topsail : °Tend to the master's whistle. Blow | till thou burst thy wind, | if room enough ! [Enter Alo7iso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and others.] Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. Boats, [oro.]. I pray now | keep below. Ant. Where is the master, boatswain ? Boats. (\) [oro.]. °Do you not | hear him ? || You mar our lab"or, ugh ! [vexed] Keep your cabins : | You do assist the storm. Gfon. [thin], "Nay ^go^d, "be ^pa^tient. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. IMPERSONATIONS, 51 Boats. \oro.'\. When the °sea is. Hence ! What care these ^roar^ers | for the name of king ? (tut, tut) To cabin : °°silence ; ^trouble us not. Gon. [thin]. °Good; ^yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats, [oro.]. None | that I more love than Qmy°self. You are a "counsellor ; | if you can command these elements to silence, | and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more ; use your ^au^thorityT ( / ) If you can- not, I give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin | for the mischance of the hour, if it so h^. °°Cheerly, good hearts. ( /) Out of our | °w^ay, | J. say. [Exit.] Oon. [thin], J. have great (/) comfort from this fellow : j methinks he hath no "drowning mark upon him ; his com- plexion I is perfect "gallows. Stand fast, | good fate, to "his hanging : | make the rope of his destiny | our "cable, | for our own doth little advantage. (^) If "he be not born to be hanged | "our ^case | is (\) "miserable. [Exeunt.] [Re-enter Boatswain.] Boats, [oro.]. ""Down with the topmast ; yare, "lower, lower ; bring her to try with main-course. [Make cries like a oningling of voices within, oh-oo-ah-oo.] A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the w^eather | or our office. [Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.] Yet again ? | what do you °he^ ? Shall we give "o'er ^and "drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? Seh. A plague o' your throat ! | you bawling, blasphe- mous, incharitable dog ! Boats, [oro.]. ^Work "you, ^then. Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! v^iq are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gon. [thin]. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell. 52 HELEN POTTER'S Boats, [oro.]. °Lay her a-Hold, °°a-hoId: set her two courses; off to sea again, °lay her off, °°lay her off! [Ent&i' Manners^ wet.] Mar. °A11 lost ! to °prayers, to Sprayers ! °all lost ! (°°all lost ! oh-ah-o-o-o !) [oro.]. Mercy on us ! We split, we split! "Farewell, my wife and children! "Farewell, brother! [in terror] °We split, °we split, °°we split!' Caliban after the Shipwreck. Act II., Scene II.— Another part of the Island. Enter Caliban(») with a burthen of wood. A noise of thunder heard. Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease !(') His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. For every trifle are they set upon me : Sometime like apes, that moe [mo] and chatter ^at me, And after, °bite ^me ; then like hedgehogs, | which Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, | and mount Their pricks at my football ; sometime am I All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness : Lo ! now ! lo ! [Enter Trinculo.] ( ' ) Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me. For bringing wood in °slowly : I'll fall flat ; Perchance, he will not mind me. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, ^to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing' ; I hear it sing i' the wind ; yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head ; yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pail- fuls. What have we here ? A mail or a fish ? Dead or (M Cal'iban; voice monotonous and gnittural. ( 2 ) Hold e in •' disease." (3 ) Triu'culo; voice very thin and high; speaks fast. IMPERSONATIONS. 53 alive ? \^8nuffs.'\ A fish ; he smells like a fish ; a very- ancient and fish-like smell. S^Snuffs.^ A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I was) and had but this fish °painted, not a holiday fool there | but would give a piece of silver; there | would this monster make a man; any strange beast there | makes a maii ; when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggai-, they will lay out ten I to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! And his fins like °arms ! °Warm, ^o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, | but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again ; my best way is I to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with °strange ^bed- fellows. I will here shroud, | till the dregs of the storm be past. [Enter Stephano,{*) singing^ a bottle in his hand.] iSte. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore. This is a very scurvy tune | to sing | at a man's | funeral ; | Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks and sings again.] The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner and his mate. This is a scurvy tune too. But here's my comfort. [Drinks.] Cat. Do not torment me. Oh ! Ste. What's the matter ? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon 's with savages, and men of Inde ? Ha ! I have not 'scaped ^drowning to be afeard now | of your four I legs; | for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot make him give "ground ; and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me ; Oh ! Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs, who ( * ) Stepha'no; voice broken; drunken style; sings in a stupid,thick sort of way. 54 HELEN POTTER'S hath °got, ^as I take it, | an °ague. | ^Where the devil should he learn our language ? I will give him aome relief, if it be but for that. If I can re°cover ohiin' | and keep him tame, | and get to Naples with him, | he's a present | for any | emperor — r-r-r | that ever trod on neat's-leather. Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; I'll bring my wood home faster. Ste. He's in his °fit ^now ; and does not talk | after the wisest. He shall taste | of my bottle : if he have never drunk wine afolFe, it will go near to remove his fit : if I can ^recover ^him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for hiin ; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that | "soundly. Gal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling. Now Prosper | works upon thee. Ste. Come on your ways ; (\) °open your mouth : here is that which will give "language ^to you, cat ; °open your mouth ; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly ; you cannot tell who's your friend ; "open your chops again. Tfin. I should know that voice. It should be — but he is drowned ; and these are devils. ! defend me ! &te. Four legs, and two voic^ ; | a most delicate mons- ter ! [ Snuffs.] His forward voice now | is to speak well of his friend; [snuffs.] his backward voice is to utter "foul speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. "Come — ^Ameri ! ^I will pour some in thy other mouth. Trin. "Stephanb, — ___ Ste. J)oth thy other mouth | call ine ? | MefcyJ mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster. I will "leave him ; I have no long I spoon. ^ Trin. Stephano ! if thou be'st Stephano, touch me, and speak to ine; for I am "Trinculo ; be not afeard,— thy ^ood friend Trinculo. IMPERSONATIONS. 55 &te. If thou ^be'st Trinculo, | come forth ; I'll pull thee by the lesser legs ; if any be Trinculo's le"gs, | these | are they. Thou art very °Trmculo, indeed : How earnest thou to be the siege of this moon-caif ? Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephanb ? I hope now, (^) thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf s gaberdine, for fear of the °storm : And art thou living, Stephanb ? Stephanb, two Neai)oli- tans 'scaped ! Ste. Pr'y thee, do not turn me abo'ut ; my stomach | is not constant. Cal. These be iine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, | and bears celestial liqiibr : I will °kneel to him. 8le. How^ didst thou °'scape ? How cam'st thou hither ? swear by this bottle, (\) | how thou camest hither. Ccd. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Bie. Here ; swear then | how thou escapedst. Trin, °Swam ashore, man, like a duck ; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. &te. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst | swim like a duck, thou art made | like a °goose. Trin. Stephanb, hast any more of this ? Ste. The whole Ibutt, man ; my cellar | is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf? how does thine ague ? Cal. Hast thou not dropped | from heaveii ? &te. Out o' the °mo"bn, ^I do as°sure ^thee. I was the man-i'-the- | °moOTi, | when time v>^as. Cal. I have seen thee in her, | and I do adore thee ; | my mistress show'd me thee, | and thy dog and thy bush. Ste, Come, | (\) swear to that ; kiss the book ; I will fui'- nish it I anon | with | new contents : swear. 56 HELEN POTTER'S Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow | monster. (/) I afeared of him! | ^a very weak | monster. The man-(\) °i'-the-moon ! | a most poor, | credulous | mon- ster: well drawn, monster, | in good sooth. Cat. I'll show thee | every fertile inch | o' the island ; and I will kiss thy foot. | I pr ythee, | be my god. Trin, By this light, a most perfidious | and drunken monster ; | when his god's asle"ep | he'll rob his °bottle. CaL I'll kiss thy foot ; I'll swear myself | thy "subject. Ste. Come on then ; dowii | and swear. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death | at this puppy- headed monster ; a most scurvy monster ! I could find in my heart to beat him — Col, I'll show thee | the best springs; | I'll pluck the berries; | I'll fish for thee, | and get thee | wood enough. A plague I upon the tyrant | that I serve ! Til bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, thou wondrous man. Trin. A most ridiculous monster ; to make a wonder | of a poor drunkard. Ste. I pr'ythee now, | lead the way, without any more talking. | Trinclilo, | the King, | and all our company else [ being drowiied, | we will | "inherit here. Col. "Farewell, master; "farewell, ""farewell. [Sings drunkenly .'] "No more dams I'll make for fish ; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, "Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish; ""'Ban 'Ban, ""Ca— Caliban, ""Has a new master— ""get a new man. I Exeunt. '\ Frances Anne Kemble was born in London, England, November 27, 1809. She made her debut October .f), 1820, as Juliet. Her last appearance on the stage was in New York in June, 1834. The same year she was man-ied to Mr. Pierce Bntler, of Philadelphia. IMPERSONATIONS. 57 Some years ago this extraordinary artist gave a series of Shake- spearian readings in Steinway Hall, New York. It was the wiiter's good fortune to attend this course of very remarkable perfoi'mances. Here was a plain woman, sixty years of age, in simple evening toilet of rich silk, with high corsage and long coat sleeves, no cosmetics whatever, or make-up, her hair in a scanty French twist at the back, and combed smoothly over her ears in front (at a time, too, when ladies' chignons were imposing affairs of waterfalls and puifs), who, without scenery, music, or assistance of any kind, held audiences from three to four hours, to hear her read entire plays from Shake- speare, and this, too, while seated behind a low table. Such a thing was never done before, and will probably never occur again. No one left the hall, no one consulted a watch, no one yawned ; and when, at last, the door closed upon her retreating form, the audience awakened as from a dream, and, with evident signs of regret, slowly arose and moved silently away. No one desired to speak or to be spoken to ; such was the power of this most wonderful woman, the greatest reader America has ever known. After many years, the writer can still hear the ring of Miranda's voice, the sustained and incomparable guttural of Caliban, the terri- fied cry of the wrecked mariners, and the rhythmical swing of Ariel's voice, saying, "On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily," etc. Her rendition of "The Tempest" can never be forgotten. No company of stai's, with scenery and music complete, can evei* present to the soul's eyes such a panorama of that great play as did this solitary, inspired reader. As a girl, Fanny Kemble was petite and beautiful. Her black hair, very brilliant eyes, and lithe, graceful figure attracted the attention of artists and playgoers everywhere, and she became a great favorite. At sixty she was still well pre- served and beautiful. Her voice, full and elastic, was capable of infinite variety in quality, expression and power. A woman of edu- cation, culture and positive opinions, she raised her daughters to enjoy athletic exercises, and to a freedom from conventional training, not usual to persons in their station of life. She rejoiced in health and power of body and mind, and was proud of her ability to vault into a saddle without the aid of block or servant. At the same time, she was an aristocrat in every sense of the term. Her managers, even, were excluded from her presence, and reached her with difficulty, except by written messages. In travel, when sleeping-coaches were unknown, it was her custom to order and pay for two entire seats in the railway carnage for her individual use, in order to avoid contact with her fellow-travelers. Costume and Rendition.— In her New York engagement, referred to above, Mrs. Kemble Butler, wore a different, though equally rich, costume each evening, and it is said selected one to suit the play she was about to read. For "Midsummer Night's Dream," she wore a bridal robe of white, etc. One of her costumes was a lavender moire ?i,ntique, with full skirt and a sweeping train of unusual length ; a 58 HELEN POTTERS plain bodice, pointed back and front; a high corsage and long coat sleeves. A rich collar and cuffs of round point lace ; white kid gloves and slippers ; a filmy lace handkerchief, vv^hich could easily have been drawn through a thimble, completed this plain but elegant and expensive toilet. The student will endeavor to keep the various persons in these scenes distinct, each one from all the others, both in voice and action. To confuse or let one quality of voice merge into another would spoil the dramatic effect, and fail to please the nearers. At Steinway Hall, Mrs. Butler entered right, and bowed very low, holding up the sides of her ample skii-t ; then advancing to a chair, which was behind a small table near the front of the platform, she bowed again, in old time courtly fashion, slowly and lowly ; pulled back the chair and, still standing, opened the book and read the name of the play and "Dramatis Personse." This done, she seated herself, deliberately arranged her drapery, picked up the gauzy handkerchief and dropped it in a heap on the table beside her book, looked respectfully at the audience before her, and began to read. Her action, while sitting to read, was necessarily confined to her arms, shoulders and facial expression ; yet it was effective and satisfactory. She turned nght, increasing her height, and looked the haughty monarch. She turned left, and, sinking in stature and lifting the shoulders slightly, appeared the subordinate or slave. She shouted in tones of fear and despair when the ship was wrecked ; she mut- tered and grumbled in guttural monotone for the savage Caliban ; she spoke in softest, smoothest voice for Ariel or Miranda. "When the program was half done, she rose from her seat, stepped out to the end of the reading-table, and bowed x^rofoundly to the audience. Then she proceeded to the door of the ante-room, turned about and bowed a second time, as profoundly as before. At the expiration of precisely ten minutes, she repeated the entire routine of her first entrance, and at the close of the readings, repeated the exit of Part First. THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE. Oh, come where the Cyanides silently flow, And the Carburets droop o'er the Oxides below ; Where the rays of Potassium lie white on the hill, And the song of the Silicate never is still, Come, oh, come ! Tuniti tum tum ! Peroxide of Soda and Urani-um ! While Alcohol is liquid at 30° And no chemical change can affect Manganese ! While Alkalies flourish and Acids are free. My heart shall be constant, sweet Polly, to thee ! Yes, to thee ! Fiddledum dee ! Zinc, Borax, and Bismuth and H X C, IMPERSONA TIONS, 59 WOMEN ALL AT SEA. ENCORE PIECE. [here is no subject on which women are more helplessly afloat than on matters relating to marine architecture. Such knowledge don't stick in her brain. The captain who attempted teaching nauticalism to a party of ladies on a yacht, not long since, fared as follows : (') hady No. 1. °Now, captain, what is a sloop ? Captain. A sloop has but one mast. L. [pointing to a schooner ^ °Is that a sloop ? C. No ; that is a schooner. A sloop has but one mast ; a schooner has two, as you see. Now remember, sloop one mast ; schooner two. L. "Certainly. How many masts has a ship ? C. Three. L. °How many masts did you say a sloop had ? C. One. Sloop one mast ; schooner two ; ship three. L. [pointing to a sloop \ °Is that a schooner? C. No ; that's a sloop. Sloop one mast ; scliooner two ; ship three. L. °0h, yes ; I remember. [ Poiriting to a sMp.'] Isn't that a pretty schooner ? G. That's not a schooner. That's a ship. Don't you see it ha.s three ma^s ? (1) This should be read in Uiree A^oices : The first ladj- liigh and aflected ; the second lady low and lisping, taking breath ^fter-^very word or two \ the captain orotund and guttural, 60 HELEN POTTERS L. °0h, yes. Isn't that a big schooner lying at the wharf there ? C. Schooner ? Now, how many masts \ has that vessel ? i. °Three. C. Well, what has three masts ? L. °A sloop. C. [loud]. Sloop! Sloop has one mast, I tell y mi ; schooner two ; ship three. Lady JVo. 2. oWhy, Thuthan, how thtupid | you are ! A thkoonah alwayth hath one matht. L. [chatty f and quite oblimous of stupidity]. °What is a brig? C. A brig has two masts, and is rigged like a ship, with square sails. L. No. 2. ^Thuthan, look at thith thloop | coming along. C, [staccato and impatient]. °That's a schooner; don't you see the two masts ? Sloop one mast ; schooner two masts ; ship three masts. L. °Are those schooners there with three masts ? C. [abrupt]. Yes. L. °l thought you said a schooner had but one mast ? C. [impatient]. Two! two masts! Sloop one mast; schooner two ; ship three. L. °But that schooner has three masts ! C. [louder]. Well, it is a "three-^masted °schooner. L. °Then a schooner can have any number of masts ? C [excited]. No; sloop one mast; schooner two, and sometimes three masts ; ship three masts. L. °rm sure I can't make it out. It's ^aw^fully ^puz- zling. What is a bark ? G. [unable any longer to popularize nautical science falls back on technical expression, fast and loud]. Vessel with two masts ship-rigged, and one mast, sloop-rigged ; square sails on fore and mainmast, and fore and aft sails on the niizzen, L. °Mizzen ! What is I a mizzen ? IMPERSONATIONS. 61 a. °°Last mast aft. L. °Aft ! What's the aft ? C. °The stern, madam. Ij. °0h, I'm sure I can't make it out. How many masts has a man-o'-war ? a °Three. h. °Well, what's the difference between a man-o'-war and a smack ? C. [groans, and is silent]. Oh ! L. No, 2. ^What are thothe thtikth acroth the mathth of that thkoonah, captain ? C. °°That's not a schooner, [teeth closed ] That's a ship. Those are the yards which hold the sails. L, No. 2. „0 ! I thee, I thee ! C. [encouraged]. Now, the first yard on the foremast is the fore yard ; [patiently] the second is the fore topsail yard ; the third is the fore gallant yard. L. °What is that yard sticking straight up out of that little schooner ? C. [low, guttural]. ° Great Scott! °°That's not a schooner ; it's a sloop. What you call her yard | is her mait. L. No. 2. ^Thertainly, Thuthan. How thtupid you are ! Captain, what are the namth of the other mathth on that thkoonah'th yardth you were pointing out to uth ? L. Isn't that a pretty ship sailing along ? C [groans and tears hair]. °°Ship ! That's an old tub of a schooner, ^ma' am:. °°Schooner | two masts; °°ship thr"ee; sloop °one, J. tell you. L. °Can a sloop | have two masts ? C. [shouting]. No! no! no! Sloop one mast; schooner two ; ship three. L. No. 2. qHow many mathth hath a theip, captain ? C. Ship three masts ; schooner two ; sloop ONE. L. °Yes, I know. Schooner o'ne | — no, two masts ; sloop two — no, three ; ship one. There ! (52 HELEN POTTERS CARDINAL RICHELIED, PART FIRST. From ** Richelieu." — Bulwbr Lytton. A STUDY OP EDWIN BOOTH. Argument. — Cardinal Richelieu, Prime Minister of France, beset by intrig-ues and court strug-g-les which required the subtlest inventions of self-defence, is recorded as vindictive, crafty, and unscrupulous ; but he was devoted heart and soul to France, and if he was her dictator, he was also her benefactor, and left her in better condition than ever before. He was no less generous to merit, than severe to crime. Act II., Scene II. — A room in the Cardinal's Palace. [Enter as if speaking- to some one with you.] Richelieu, And you will engage | to give the Duke's dispatch | to whom I send ? Voice. Ay, marry ! Rich, [aside]. Huguet? || (') No; | ^He will be wanted "elsewhere". 1 1 1 Joseph ? || "zealous, | ^But too well known ; || too much | the | "^ elder ^brother. Maupfat (^)? II alas ! his (\) wedding-day ! Frangois (') ? || (accel.) the °man of ^men ! QUnnote"d, °young, ^Ambitious. [Go to the door and call.] Francois ! °Fran9ois ! [/Speak fast.] ( \ ) "Follow • this fair lady. [Speak as to another person.] (g.) ^Find him suiting garments, Marion ; | [to Frangois] "take _ My fleetest steed ; "arm thyself to the teeth ; (Accel.) A packet will be given you, with orders, | (1) Hew'ga. ( a ) Mo'pra ( 3 ) Fran'swfi-, IMPERSONATIONS, 63 qNo matter what ! The instant that your hand Closes upon it — °clutch °z^, | (\) like your honor, .Which (\) °death alone | can steal, or ravish; | set °Spurs to your steed ; be ^breath^less, till you stand (\) °Again before me. °Stay, qSiF! You will find me Two short leagues hence, at Ruelle, | in my castle. Young man, be blithe ! for, | note me, | °from the hour I grasp that packet, think your guardian star (g.) °Rains ofor^'tunes ^on you! | [Hold "n" in "fortunes," and run down the scale.] Voice. If I fail — Rich. Fail — [Sweep of an octave on '* fail," and hold the " 1 ; " voice somewhat guttural.] (/) qIu the lexicon of youth, | which Fate reserves ( /) For a bright manhood, there's no such | °°word | „As— ""faTl ! [hold the '' 1."] You will instruct him "further, Marion. ( — ) Follow her | but at a distance. Speak not to her Till you are housecl. "Farewell, boy ! [point to door and shake hand high.] ^Never say " Fail " ^a^gain ! || [Hold the last " n," running down the scale an octave, and change to a triumphant, low laugh.] oHa, ha, ha! [without breathing from ^^ never ^^ till "ha, ha, ha," is ended ; then quickly change the voice and proceed.] Voice. (\) °I will not! Rich. [Rub your hands, iri lieu of patting the locks of Fran- cois.] (\) "There's my young hero! [Stand, silent a moment.] (- -) So, they would seize my person | in this place ! (\)°I cannot guess their scheme. "But my retinue Is here | too large ! ( ) A single traitor | could Strike impotent the fate of "thousQands ; [confidentially] "Jo^seph. Art "sure ^of Hu°guet ? "Thmk, || we "ha^'d | ^his "fath'er ! Voice. You've heaped favors on the son. 64 . HELEN POTTER'S Rich. ^Trash! ^favors °pas^ (g.) ^that's °nothingI In his hours i^/)Jdi confidence with ymi, | has he (/) | ^named | the ^favors To °coME I ( — ) ^he counts on ? {Hold the ^^ m^' in ^^ come ; " running down ihe scale.] Voice. Yesi a "colonel's orank, ( ) and letters of nobility. Rich. °Wh'at I ^Hu°guet ! ||| ^Colonel ^ and °noblemah I (/) My bashfuTHugiiet ! (\) That can never Se^I ( ) We have him (\) not the less. We'll ^promise it! ^And see the ''Kifig | "withholds ! [Monologue can end here.] ( ) You are right, | this treason Assumes a fearful aspect ; but once crushed, Its very ashes shall enrich the soil Of power, and ripen such full sheaves of greatness ( ) That all the summer of my fate | shall seem "Fruit^less | ^beside | the °autumh ! [Pace up and cUmn.] [Solemnly.] Yes, for °sweet ^France, (\) "Heaven grant it. ( ) my country. For thee, || thee \ °only — | ( ) ^tho' men deem it not — "Are toil and terror ] my familiars ! || I {/) Have made thee || great and fair ; || upon thy brows | Q Wreathed the old | Roman | laurel ; [ (/) at thy fe"et | Bowed ° nations \ ^down. || ( ) In the olden times | before us, \ patriots lived And died | for "liberty. Beyond ( ) The map of France, my heart ^can travel not, But fills "that ^limit | ( ) to the farthest verge ; And I while I live, \ ° "Richelieu and France | are "one. IMPERSONATIONS. 65 CARDINAL RICHELIEU. PART SECOND. Act III., Scene I. — Enter slowly, reading- a book. Francois hastily enters without the packet. Turn as if suddenly interrupted, and throw away the book. Rich, "Philosophy | ^thoii liest ! ha ! Quick — the dispatch ! Power ! Empire ! Boy, the "packet ! Voice. Kill me, my lord ! Rich, [guttural]. They knew thee — they suspected — They gave it not ! (\) °°Out with it ! Ha! [trembtin.g'] °go ^on ! || [Run the ^^n'* up nearly an octave.] [Impatiently.] {/) Speak not of me ; ^thy (\) '^country Js in danger ! || (/) Spare not thy life ? (\) Who | spake of | life^ I bade thee grasp the treasure | as thine. | °horior, (/) A jewel worth whole [^w^^wraZ] °°hecatombs | of lives. [Hold the " m " in " hecatombs," and run down half an an octave or more.] Begone ! redeem thine honor ! ^Back to Marion, | Or Baradas, | or "Orleans; | track the robber; (\) "Regain the packet — or crawl | on to age, | ( — ) "Age and gray hairs like mine, and know | thou hast lost That I which had made "thee "great, | and saved thy country ! (g.) See me not | till thou'st bought the right to seek me. "Away ! nay, | cheer thee ! thou hast not (/) ^f ailed "yet; (/) ^There's no such word | ^as | [guttural] "faTl ! (1-1-1.) [Point to door, and turn the eyes slowly as if watching some one go thence ; then continue in soliloquy.] 66 HELEN POTTERS Rich. The °poor oyouth ! An elder | had ajjked °life ! ^I love | the young ! For as great men live not | in their own time, But the next race, ( — ) so in the young | my soul Makes °many ^Richelieus. l| {Walk up anddowti with stately stride.] He'll win it yet [halt]. °Fran9ois ? || file's °gone ! {{ ^80, ""so ! my °murder ! Marion's warning. This bravo's °threat ! for the morrow's dawn ! (--) ^ril set my spies to work ; (/) I'll make all space, | (\) °As does the sun, | ^an "universal eye. || ( — ) Huguet shall track | Joseph | "confess; °ha, ha;|j [choke.] Strange, | while I laughed [ I shuddered, | and ev'n now, [press hands to left side, one over the other] (- -) Thro' the chill air | the beating of my heart, | ( — ) ^Sounds I olike a "death-^watch | ^by a sick man's pillow. If Huguet I ^could \ "deceive me. || [Cough and exit, seeming feeUe.] Edwin Thomas Booth, an Amei'ican actor, was born at Bel Air, Md., November 13, 1883. He first appeared at the Boston Museum, September 10, 1849, and the season of 18^) ° What's in a jiame ? {/) That which we call a rose, ( ) By any j (\) °other name | would smell as sweet; 8o (\) °Romeo would, | were he °not Romeo c^l'd, | Retain that °dear ^perfection | which he owes, ^With °out (- -) that title. Ronieo, | (\) °doff thy name; And for thy name ( ) which is °no ^part of °th'ee, \ (- -) Take all | myself. ADELAIDE NEILSON. #k IMPERSONATIONS, 70 \Romeo answers from the garden below. Juliet, startled:] (J asp.) What man °art ^thou, that thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel ? [Listens and smiles.] My ears have yet not drunk a "hundred words Of thy tongue's utteriiig, | yet | I know | the sound ! Art thou not (/) ^Romeo, | ^and a "Montague? [Pause.] (\) °How cam'st thou hitKer, (\) °tell me ? and | °where- jSve ? The orchard-walls are high and hard to climb ; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen | find thee here. [Sigh, look about and listen.] [Undertone.] (\) If they do (/) see thee | ^they will °murder thee. [Pause.] I would not for the "world they saw thee here. ( ) By whose direction | found' st thou °out ^this place ? [Clasp the hands and turn the face to the sky, then away from Romeo, and proceed.] Voice. By love ! Jidiet. Thou knowest the mask of ( \ ) "night is on my face; Else I would a maiden blush | bepaint my cheek, | For that | which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, | fain, fain deny | What I have spoke. | (\) "But farewell compliment! ( \ ) "Dost thou I ( / ) ^OYQ me ? I know thou wilt say — "Ay ; ( ) And I will take thy word. Yet if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false"; at "lovers' ^perjuries | They say ^Jdve "laughs. "Oh, | gentle Romeo, If thou "dost olove, | Qpro"noun^ it | (\) "faithfully; Or, I if thou think'st I am too "lightly "won | I'll frown I and be perverse, ( and say thee "nay, | So thou wilt woo ; (/) but, "else, | ( ) not for the world. Voice. Lady, I swear — by yonder blessed moon — 80 HELEN POTTERS Juliet. 0, swear not (/) by the moon, | the inconstant moon, That monthly °changes | ^in her (/) circled orb, Lest that thy °love | ^prove °likeQwise | (\) "variable. Voice. What &hall I swear by ? Juliet. (\) °Swear not at all ; Or (/) if thou °wilt, (g.) swear by thy gracious °self, | Which is the god | of my (/) idolatry, [ And I'll believe thee. Voice. If my heart's dear love — Juliet. Well, do not swear ; altho' I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract | to-night ; It is too raih, | too unadvised, | too | °sudden ; | Too like the lightning, | which doth cease to bT | Ere one can say — It lightens ! Sweet, | good-night I "Grood-^night, | ^good-night ! Voice. Wilt thou leave me thus ? Juliet. °What satisfaction canst thou have to-°night ? Voice. The exchange of thy love's vow, | for miiie. Juliet, {p.) J. gave thee °mine | before thou didst re°quest it. [Sigh.] And yet ] I would it were to give again. Voice. Wherefore? ^^ Juliet. But to be frank, | and give it thee again. [Turn as if called from within.] I hear some noise within ; [Hastily to Romeo.] (p.) Dear love, I adieii ! [Turn to go and answer.] (/.) °An"oh, good nurse ! [Return to the balcony and speak to Romeo in a subdued voice.] (p.) Sweet Jlontague, be true. [Tmm away, then back.] Stay but a little, I will come °again. [Exit. Re-enter hastily and leaning over balcony continue.] (p.) Three words, | dear Romeo | and ( \ ) °good-night, indeed. ^^ (q.) If that thy bent of love be ^honor^able, | IMPERSONATIONS. 81 Thy purpose marriage, | send me word to-morrow, ( ) ^By one that I'll procure to come to thee, °Where, and what °tifne, | thou wilt perform the rite ; And all my fortunes | at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee | my lord (/) throughout the °world. [u4.s if called again from within^ answer while half turned to depart.'] Juliet. °I come, anon. [Then to Romeo.] (q. p.) But if thou mean'st not well, ( ( ) I do beseech thee — [Called again.] (/.) °Bye and bye, I coine ; [To Romeo.] So °cease ^thy "strife | ( ) and leave me to my grief. || To-morrow | will I send. A thousand tinies | "good-^night I °Good-^night ! ^GrOod-°night ! [Kissing the hand to Romeo, and with the face still toward him, reluctantly retire.] CosTUMB AND RENDITION. — Adelaide Neilson, one of the most beau- tiful Juliets ever seen upon any stag-e, dressed the character in white and silver; the jacket or cote-hardie cut low at the neck, and a long drapery or mantle of white satin depending from the shoulders, which half concealed and added length to her youthful figure. This seems well suited to the character, since Juliet is reported to have been but fourteen years old when this scene was enacted. Miss Neilson's appearance as Juliet was most delightful ; both from her seemingly unconscious beauty, and the charming simplicity of her manner. Her voice was sweet and clear as a silver bell, and she spoke and acted as if it were not only easy, but a pleasure. There was no straining or posing for effect, no staginess whatsoever. The costume of the 14th century in Italy is thus described : "The dress of the ladies of high degree was splendid. Gold and silver glittered on the garments and precious stones became very costly from the immense demand for them. The most universally worn vestment was the cote-hardie fa kind of waistcoat or jacket buttoned down in front), which, like that of the men, fitted tight to the shape. It was, however, not so long, hardly reaching to the middle. The corners were rounded off in front. The skirt was full and very long, trailing on the ground. The sleeves were similar to those worn by men (close-fitting as far as the elbows, and then hanging down in long white pendants), except that the tight undersleeves extended down 82 HELEN POTTER'S on the hands. A larg-e cloak or mantle of gold and silver cloth, still more ample than that worn by the men, sometimes completed this very rich attire. Immense head-dresses of almost every conceivable shape M^ere prevalent throughout the century ; but at one time (about the middle of the century) w^e find the ladies allowing their hair to ornament their heads without the addition of cap, bonnet or hood. It was then arranged in one large plait, on each side of the face, with flowers or jewels interspersed. Their shoes, like the men's, were very long and pointed." — [Henry L. Hinton. According to tradition, the events recorded in Shakespeare's play of '* Romeo and Juliet" took place, A. D,, 1303 ; yet the writer when traveling in Italy, in 1881, was taken to the "House of the Cax:)ulets," in Verona, which, with the original balcony,was vouched for by the guide as genuine. One of Miss Neilson's costumes for Juliet was a robe of pale blue satin, embroidered in silver, hanging sleeves lined with white satin, and trimmed with swansdown; shoes to match; a soft, transparent white veil bordered with gold lace, which she waves to Romeo from the balcony. Another costume worn by her was a robe of cream- white satin, with long court train depending from the shoulders; a high pointed lace collarette fitted to a low bodice and flesh-colored hose, with slippers to match the dress. A large hat surmounted by two long plumes completed this rich yet simple toilet. However agreeable or like a benediction, words of love may fall upon the private ear, yet, exhibited as a means of public entertain- ment, they are often of doubtful service. All public expressions of love are out of place, coming from other than artistic oi-der and re- finement, as suggested by devotion to cause or person ; sacrifices made holy and consecrated by deep conjugal, maternal or other respectful forms of love, are always acceptable and ennobling. An actor may rant and "tear a passion to tatters" upon any other theme with less danger of becoming ridiculous ; therefore, unless young and fair, ay, beautiful, one should hesitate to place Juliet upon a pro- gram for public recital. The make-up of a beautiful girl is not difficult. If necessary, add a trifle to the length or the width of the eyebrows, soften the com- plexion with rose-tinted, or, if a brunette, with brown-tinted powder, not too white (for that is not artistic), and arrange the hair simply, in a style which best becomes the face. Above all be easy and look and act happy. IMPERSONATIONS. 83 SLEEP-WALKING SCENE, A STUDY FROM "MACBETH. SHAKESPEARE. Argument. — Lady Macbeth incites her husband to murder King- Duncan, and afterward reveals the murder while in a state of som- nambulism. Her physician and a g-entlewoman watch for her, as she walks and talks in her sleep, to ascertain, if possible, the cause of her malady. Act v., Scene I. — Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter a doctor of physic, and a waiting gentlewoman. Doct. [disff. v.] ( — ) I have two nights watched with you, I but can perceive no °truth | in your report. When was it I she last w^alked ? Gent. (/.) °Since his majesty went into the tieTd, | I have seen her rise from her bed, | throw her nightgown upon h'er, I unlock her clo'set, | take forth a paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterward seal it, and again [ return to bed ; yet all this while | in a most °fast ^sleep. Doct. [ disg. v.] ( — ) A great perturbation in nature ! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walk- ing and other actual performan"ces, what, at any tiine, have you heard her say ? Grent. (\) °That, sir, | which I will not report °after h'er. Doct. [disg. v.] You may, to °ine; ^and 'tis most nieet you °should. Gent. Neither to you, nor °any one ; having no "witiiess | to confirm my speech. [Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. Stand aside and speak in an undertone as if you really saw her enter.] °Lo oyou, | here she ^comes ! This is her very guise; and,°upon my life, | fast asleep. (\) Observe fier ; stand close. Doct. [disg. v.\ How came she by that light ? 84 HELEN POTTER'S Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her con- tinually ; 'tis her com°mahd. Doct. [ disg, v.'] (\) °You see her °eyes are oOpen. Oent. °Ay, but their ''sense is shut. Doct. [disg. v.\ (\) ^What is it she does no\v ? °Look I ^how she rubs her hands. Qent. It is an accustomed °acti^i with her, | to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her "continue ^in °this I a quarter of an hour. [ J..sp.] But, hark, she speaks! sh ! 1 Exit with finger across the lips, looking back as you go. Quickly exchange costumes, and re-enter as Lady Macbeth.] Lady M. Yet here's a spot. Out, damned spot! (\) °out, I say! One; two: ^Why, then, 'tis time to do't. Hell | is mur%^ ! °Fie; ^my lord, °fie ! a ^soldier, | and afeard ? What need we fear °who knows it, | when none | can call our power | to ac- count ? ( ^ ) Yet who would have thought | the old man | to have had so much | (\) °blood in him ! [ Sigh.] ( — ) ('') The Thane of Fife | °had ^a °wife; | where is she °now ? ( ^ ) What, | will these hands | °ne'er be clean ? (*) °No more o' that, | my lord, | no more o' that : you mar °all (/) ^with this starting. (^) Here's the smell | of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia | will not sweeten | this little (®)hand. Oh! oh ! oh ! C ) Wash your hands, | put on your nightgown ; look not so pale : — I tell you yet again, Banquo's ( ^ ) buried; he cannot | come out on's ^grave.(^) (1) Pass the hand over the left arm with open Ihigers, while speaking the next lines. (2) stand quite still. (3) Wash your hands ; pantomime. (4) Move forward to right. (5) Move back and forth, listlessly nibbing the hands, one over (he other ; pause, raise the hands to the face, start (as if you smelled blood), and begin the succeeding text. (8) Wring the hands again, and moan out the three •' oh's " in one long groan, or separately, according as you can best do it. C) Step forward, reach out the hand. (8) Move both hands down as if smoothing the turf. (9) Look as if you saw an apparition ; step back and cover your eyes with your arm, or mantle,' and at the knocking, start forward, and entreatiugly call Mac- beth to come away. Exit backward, beckoning him to follow. IMPERSONATIONS. 85 {Asp.) To bed, to bed; there's (\) °knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done j cannot be °un^done ; To bed, to bed, to bed. [ ExiL'\ Costume and Rendition. — The g-entlewoman*s dress may be what you please, so it be suited to the period and her position. A quilted silk petticoat, under a loose wrapper, with a lace scarf or head-dress over a wig", and soles or sandals (see Foot Gear, p.xv.)to keep the feet from the floor, will answer very well. For Lady Macbeth, a soft white bed-g-own, or wrapper, a mantle or shawl depending from the shoulders to the floor (or in train), a taper, candle, or antique lamp, with a wick soaked in alcohol. She should be pale, with dark shad- ows about the eyes, and flowing hair. The two ladies should be strongly contrasted; hence the former should be round and rosy, with a wig in sharp contrast to your own hair, e. g., blonde or white if yours be dark, and vice versa. In first scene, enter dressed as a gentlewoman, and carry on the conversation with the imaginary physician. Represent him by speaking his lines in a low, sonorous voice, and avoid letting the audience see your lips move ; aid the ruse by the use of a handker- chief, by turning the face away, etc. Above all, do not change your attitude or manner, when speaking for him. You must be the same person all the time, in outward ap- pearance ; the other must be entirely imaginary, not seen but heard. This is important. "When you read or recite dialogues, you turn one way, and assume one manner of voice and action for one, then turn the other way and assume another voice and manner for the other. In impersonation this is not so. The one character must be pre- served and sustained through it all ; the other only heard ; and why ? Because you are dressed for the character, and cannot be any othei* person while in that dress. When you have made your exit, slip off the dress, wig, and scarf (you are already in the white robe), put on the mantle or shawl, let the hair down, whiten the face, and, with the light held low down in the right hand, re-appear as Lady Macbeth. Enter slowly, halting now and then, like one walking in sleep. After some delay, advance and set down the light ; move forward, and lightly chaflf or rub the hands, one over the other, in a semi-conscious manner, as if washing the hands. Halt, and intone the *'one," '* two," of the clock. 86 HELEN POTTERS THE READING-CLASS, BEFORE THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS WERE GRADED. Teach&r. The first class in reading ! Take your places upon the floor. Come, come ! Page 144 ; all ready. Jane may read. Jane [slowly']. The curfew — Teacher. What are you reading ? Don't kiio\v ! " Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." When you begin again, read the title. Come now, hurry up. Oh, you are so slow ! Jane [slow and monotonously]. Ele — gy | written | in | a I Country || Churchyard. Teacher. (\) °Go on, Jane ! You are so slow. Jane [very slotoly]. The I curfoAV | tolls | the knell of | parting day, The lowing herd | winds | slowly | o'er the lea. The plowman | homeward plods | his weary way. And leaves the world to | darkness | and to me. Teacher. Mary may read. Mary [very rapidly]. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. Teacher. Oh, that's too fast ; you and Jane should practise together. Matilda Jane may read. Matilda Jane [hifj/h, sharp ^ fast and monotonous]. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon com^^m IMPERSONA TIONS. 87 Of such as wanderiug near \ her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Teachei\ Joseph may go on. Joseph [heavi/, riionoionous xoicel. Beneath those rugged elms, that "yew-^tree's °shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. [Sneezes.'] Teacher. Araminta may read. Araminta [falsetto voice^ jerky, with emphasis mi the sylkibles in italics']. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twitt'ring /ro??i the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, cr/' the echoing horn. No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. Teacher. Susie may read. [Susie giggles.] Come, Susie, come ! go on ! Susie [lisping, and giggling]. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return. Or climb his knees | the envied (') (go on, go on!) — the envied kiss to share. (') Teacher. Peter may read. Peter [strong rising inflections numerous ; tongue thrust into the cheek to chew upon as gum]. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; Their furrow oft | the stubborn glebe has broke ; Teacher. What have you got in your mouth ? take it out. [He takes it in his hand.] ( ^ ) Covei' the face with the book aud turn half round. ( 2 ) Laugh and twist ahout, and double up. 88 HELEN POTTERS How jocund did they drive their team a-lield ! How bowed the woods | beneath their sturdy stroke ! [Returns it and chews again.] Teacher. James Baty. James Baty [jerking the 7iose and face askew; shutting the eyes tight and opening tJiem, and constant downioard inflections.] Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, | and destiny | obscure ; | Nor Grandeur | hear | with a disdainful | smile The short | and simple annals | of the poor. Teacher. Diligence may read. Diligence [nasal, and as if minus a palate]. The boas' of he'ald'y the pom' of pow'r. An' all tha' meuty, all tha' we'th e'e' gave, Awai' alike th' inev'bl' hou' — The pa's o' glo'y lea' bu' to th' g'ave. Teacher. You should practise more, Diligence. Thomas Delaney. Sick ? Well, we'll excuse you. Pembroke may read. Pembroke [commences each line high ajid loud, and runs down to the last syllable on each liiie]. (\) °Can storied urn, or animated bust, (\) °Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? (\) °Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, (\) °0r Flattery soothe the dull | °cold ^ear | of death f Teacher. Daniel may read. Daniel [monotonous oral voice ( ^ ) ]. °But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, || ( * ) And froze the genial current of the soul. ( 3 ) For oral, begin to yawn, and keep the vocal organs iu that position. ( * ) At " rage " rub the shoulder suddenly, then the knee, as if bitten by a flea. IMPERSONATIONS, 89 Teacher, Serena Seraphina. Serena [weak^ affected and on a high key(°)']. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower | is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness | on the desert air. Teacher. How silly you are to put on such airs. You can never amount to anything until you quit it. Hezekiah may read. Hezekiah [hitching, halting^ and snuffing^ Some-ah village (" ) Hampden, that-ah with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood — Some mute, ( ' ) inglorious Milton here may rest. Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Teacher. Rodney may read. Rodney [stammering ( ^ )]. Th' applause of listening senates to command, The ^^reats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling ^and, And read their history in a nation's eyes. Teacher. Very well; that will do. Johnny English. [Johnny sniffing.] What's the matter with you ; what is it ? °Come (\) °come now, (\) °stop that, and go on. Johnny [leaves off the "^" where it should be, and puts it on where it should not he, and breaks down crying at the close']. 'Ere rests 'is 'ead Mpon the lap of AEarth, hK Youth, to Fortune ^and to Fame Unknown ; Fair science frowned not Aon 'is 'umble birth, AAnd Melancholy marked 'im for 'er Aown. (• ) Curb the head, turnfrom side to side, and use " ah ; " " bfi-ah" for "bear," "flow-ah" for "flower," "a-ah" for "air." (•) Spell halfway, then pronounce the word ; "oH-a-m-p- | "Hampton." ( T ) "al-n- I in- I g-l-o- I ^inglorious." ( 8 ) Hold or repeat the letters in italics. 90 HELEN POTTER'S Teacher. You are always in trouble Johuny. You may go to your seat. Sambo may read. Samho [negro dialect]. Fur frum de maddin' crowds ignoble stribe, Dar sober wishes nebber lam to stray, 'Long de kool skwester'd bale ob life, Dey keep de noisliss tenur ob dar way. Teacher. Hans may read. Hans [German dialect]. Tare shatter'd oft | te yoongest | von te yare, Py hants onseen | bist(^) shoo'rs von liolets foont, Te ret-prest loves to pilt unt varple tare, Unt leetle foot-stebs lightly brints te grunt. Teacher. Charles Augustus. Charles [very loud and stumbling, spelling out words now and then, and mispronouncing them]. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride "With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Note. — This arrangement of a reading-class of the olden time originated with the writer, and has proved very amusing. C* ) Loses his place, gazes into the aii-, tries to catch a thistle- do \vu, etc. '^te%..^ ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. .IMPERSONA TIONS. 91 DECLARATION OF RIGHTS OF THE WOMEN OF THE UNITED STATES AT THE CENTEJJ^NIAL CELEBRATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE, PHILADELPHIA, JULY 4, 1876. A STUDY OF MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, OP THE NATIONAL woman's SUFFRAGE ASSOCIATION. HILE the nation is buoyant with pa- triotism, I and all hearts are attuned to praise, | it is with sorrow | we come to strike the °one Qdis°cordant note, | on this hundredth anniversary | of our country's birth. We do rejoice | in the success thus far, | of our experiment of °self-Qgovernment. Our faith is firm and unwavering | in the °broad principles of human rights, | proclaimed in 1776 I not only as abstract "truths, | but as the "corner stones I of a republic. Yet, we cannot forget, | even in this glad hour, | that while all men | of every race | and clime I and (\) "condition | have been invested | with the full rights of citizenship, | under our hospitable °flag. | all ° women \ ^still suffer | the degra°dation | of (\) "dis- franchisement. "The history of our country | the past hundred years, | has been a series of assumptions and usurpations | of power over woman, | in direct opposition | to the principles of just government, | acknowledged by the United States as its foundation, | which are : 92 HELEN POTTER'S. First. The natural rights | of each individual. Second. The exact equality \ of these rights. Third. That these rights, | when not delegated by the in- dividual, 1 are ^retained \ ^by the individual. Fourth. That no person can exercise the rights of others | without delegated au°thority. Fifth. The non-use of these rights | does not (\) ° destroy them. And for the violation | of these fundamental principles of our government, | we arraign our rulers | on this 4th day of July, I 1876 — and these \ are our ARTICLES OP impeachment: Bills of attainder have been passed | by the introduition of the word ^^male^' \ into all the State constitutions, | denying to woman the right of suffrage, ^and "thereby making sex | a crime — an exercise of power clearly forbid- den I in Article 1st, Sections 9th and 10th | of the United States Constitution. | The right of trial hy a jury of ones peers was so jealously guarded | that States refused to ratify the original Consti- tution Qun°til ^it was °guarQan°teed | by the (\) °6th Amendment. And yet the °women of this nation | have never been allowed a jury of their peers, | being tried in all cases by men, \ native and foreign, | educated and igno- rant, I virtuous and vicious. And not only are women denied a jury of ^their "peers, | but in some cases, | "jury "trial I (\) "altogether. During the last Presidential campaign, | a woman, arrested for voting, | was denied the protection of a jury, | was I tried, | convicted | and sentenced to a fine and costs of (/) Qprose°cution, | by the (\) "absolute "power ( of a judge I of the Supreme Court | of the United States. Taxation without representation, the immediate cause | of the rebellion of the colonies against Great Britain, | is one of the "grievous wrongs | the "women of this country ^have IMPERSONATIONS. 93 ^suffered | °during the century. Deploring °war, ^with °all the demoralization | that follows in its °train, | we have been taxed | to support standing armies, | with their waste of I life and wealth. (/) ^Believing in temperance, | °we have been taxed | to support the vice, crime and pauper- ism I of the °liquor ^ traffic. Universal manhood suffrage, by establishing an aristocracy of °sex, I imposes upon the women of this nation | a more "absolute ^and °cruel (/) ^despotism | than "monarchy, | in I that woman finds a political "master | in her father, | husband, | "brother, | qSOu. The aristocracies | of the ^old "world I are based upon birth, | wealth, | refinement, | Qedu°cation, | Qno°bility, | brave deeds of "chivalry; | in "this nation, | on sex alone ; exalting brute ^force | above moral power, | vice above virtue, | ignorance above ^educa- tion, I and the "son | ^ above the "mother | ^who "bore him. The judiciary of the nation has proved itself | but the echo I of the party in power | by upholding and enforcing laws I that are opposed to the spirit and letter of the oCon- sti"tution. When the slave-power was (/) ^dominant, | the Supreme Court decided | that a black man | was "not (/) ^a citizen, | because he had not the ri^ht | to "vote; I and when the Constitution | was so amended {/) ^as to make "all | persons | {/) ^citizens, | ^the (\) "same high tribunal | ^decided || that a °wojnan, \ "though ^a "citizen | ( ) had (\) "not the right | to vote. Such vascillating (\) "interpretations | of consti"tutional "law, | unsettle our faith | in judicial ^au"thority, | and under- mine the "liberties | ^of the "whole people. These " Articles of Impeachment" against (/) ^our rulers, | we now submit | to the (\) "impartial (/) Judg- ment I "of the people. To all these wrongs | and (/) ^oppressions | woman (/) ^has submitted | Jltv "silence | (\) "and resignation. And now, | at the close | of a hundred years, | ( — ) as the ^4 HELEN POTTER'S great hour-hand | of the clock that marks the centuries, | (/) opoints to 1876, | we declare °our ^faith, | in the prin- ciples I of self-°government ; our full equality with man | in natural rights ; that woman was made | °first ^for her ( \ ) °own happiness, with the ^absolute °right || (\) °to herself, | to all the oppor°tunities | (/) and advantages | °life (/) ^affords, | for her QCom°plete (\) ^development ; and we °deny \ ^that °dogma (/) ^of the centuries, | incorporated in the codes | of ""all ^nations | that °woman | (\) °was made for man; (\) °her interests in °all cases, | to be sac- rificed I ^to °his I °will. We ask of our rulers, | at this hour, | °no special (/) ^favors, I °no special (/) ^privileges, | no special (\) °legislation. We ask justice, | we ask equality, | w^e ask | that ALL THE CIVIL AND POLITICAL RIGHTS THAT BELONG TO THE CITIZENS | OF THE UnITED StATES, | BE GUARAN- TEED TO US II AND TO OUR DAUGHTERS 11 FOREVER. Elizabeth Cadt Stanton, daughter of Judge Daniel Cady and Margaret Livingston, was born at Johnstown, N. Y., November 12, 1816. She early distinguished herself for her knowledge of Greek and of law; but as degrees were not given to women, and feeling the injustice of public sentiment and law concerning her privileges, she became an ardent advocate of equal rights and woman's suffrage. Mrs. Stanton is a lady of medium size, with full, fair face, surmounted by a halo of soft, fluffy white hair, so beautiful as to be universally remarked. Portly and dignified, graceful and gracious, intelligent and just, with a most charming repose born of benevolence, this is the crude pen-picture of a noble woman of seventy-five ; a pioneer of reform ; a representative American woman. Keeping this ideal in mind, speak her words with the grace, dignity and earnestness worthy the woman, and the cause she so ably represents. Costume and Rendition.— A rich, dark robe, plauily made, open at the throat, revealing a soft white kerchief or lace crossed under- neath, and a tabbed head -piece of black thread-lace, completes the toilet. The text may be read standing by a table or desk, with a chair or two near by. Make few gestures, speak deliberately and with sub- dued force. IMPERSONA TIONS. 95 NEWSPAPERS A STUDY OP REV. T. DEWITT TALMAQE. WHAT but the newspaper- press, I have all their wheels full of eyes ? All other wheels are blind; but the newspaper-press has sharp eyes, | keen eyes, | eyes that look up and down; | far-sighted and ?zear-sighted ; | that take in the next str^t and the next hemisphere ; II eyes of criticism; | eyes of investigation; | eyes sparkling with health ; eyes glaring with indig- nation; I eyes tender and loving ; eyes frowning and suspicious ; eyes of hope ; blue eyes ; black eyes ; green eyes ; sore ey"es ; historical eyes ; literary eyes ; ecclesiastical eyes ; °°eyes op all sorts ! (^Brethren, I forgot; our business meeting comes Friday evening ; we want money, and we want it bad !) °For all the Athenians and strangers which were the're, spent their time in nothing else but to hear or tell | some new thing ! That text gives the cry of the world | for- a newspaper. In proportion as men become wise^ they become inquisitive; not about small things, but about p'reai^er things. °°The great question thunders, °° what's the news ! what's THE news ! °Rome answered the question with the acta- DiURNA ; France answered it | when her physicians wrote out the news | for patients ; England answered it | by pub- 96 HELEN POTTER'S lishing accounts | of the Spanish ArmacJa; America answered it, | when Benjamin Harris, published the first weekly newspaper, in Boston, in 1690. Alas'! through what a struggle, | has the newspaper come to its present development. As soon as it began to demon!' sir ate its power, super stitwrt and tyranny \ shackled it. There's nothing | despotism, | so much fears, | as the printing- press. It has °°T00 MANY EYES I Russio:, I the meanest and most cruel despotism on earth to-day, | keeps the printing- press under severe espionage. ( ^ ) A great writer in the south of Europe declared, that the King of Naples had made it unsafe to write on any subject, | but Natural History. Austria could not bear Kossuth's journalistic p'en, plied | for the redemption of Hungary. Napoleon 1st, wanting to keep his iron heel | upon the neck of nations, said that the print- ing-press I was the regent of kin^s, and that the only safe place to keep an editor, was in prison. But the great bat- tles 1 for freedoih of the press, were fought in England and America. I address you this evening, | on a subject you never heard before — the (\) immeasurable (\) ever{\)lasting blessing of a °aooD °newSopaper ! Thank God, their wheels are full of eyes! I give you this overwhelming statistic. In the year 1870, the number of copi"es of literary and political newspapers, published | in this country, was °one billion, °°FiVE hundred million. °What ^church, °what ^reformer, °what Christian man, | can disregard these things ? I tell you, my friends, | a good newspaper | is the grandest blessing | that God has given to the people of this century ; the grandest temporal blessing. We have seven thousand dailies and w^eeklies in the United States, and only °thirty-six ^are a half century old. The average life of a newspap^ is ""fiw ^years, and most of them die | of cholera infantum ! ( 1 ) Es'pe-on-azh. IMPERSONA TIONS. 97 To publish a newspaper, one requires the skill, precision, vigilance and strategy of a ^^commaiider-in-chief. To edit a newspaper, | one needs to be a statesniah, | a geographer, | a statisticiaii, and so far as all hiowledge is concerned, | °°ENCYCLOP^Drc ! || And let me tell you, if you have an idea, | either moral, social, political, or religious, you had better charge on the world, through the columns already established. Newspapers are also the repositories of knowledge ; the reservoii*s of history. Adams", Jefferson, Franklin, Clinton, | had their hands on the printing-press. If one should see in a lifetime, in the way of literature, only the Bibte, Shakespeare, a dictionary, and one °good n&wspap&)\ I ohe would be fitted for all the duties of this life; I and for the opening of the next. They are also a blessing in their evangelical influence. The Christian print- ing-press will be the °° right wing of the apocalyptic angel! °The cylinders of the Christian printing-press | will be the ^° front wheels of the Lord's chariot. The music they make | I mark in crescendo ( ^ ) [ and not diminuendo ! [^Exit.'\ Rev. Thomas DeWitt Talmage, D. D., an American clerg-yman, was bom at Bound Brook, N. J., Jan. 7, 1832. He was graduated at the University of the City of New York in 1853, and at the Theo- logical School at New Brunswick, N. J., in 1856. After holding- various Dutch Reform pastorates he became, in 1869, pastor of a Presbyterian Church, in Brooklyn, in connection with which he founded, in 1872, a newspaper and a lay college for religious and general education. He has won great popularity as an extempo- raneous lecturer. He is a tall, spare man, with long arms and a bald spot on his head. His voice is sharp, penetrating and nasal. His manner is characterized by sudden transitions in pitch, many falling inflections, unusual attitudes and gestures. He is a powerful, effec- tive and eccentric speaker. Costume and Renditiox. — Dr. Talmage's dress is a frock coat but- toned up to the chin. His hair and side whiskers are a light brown. Enter with long, quick steps, and at the highest places in the speech, throw both arms high over head, and bring them down, body and all, on the last word of the climax. At other times, the hands may be clasped behind the back, or one slipped into the bosom of the coat. The peculiarity of his speaking lies in the sharp, rather nasal voice, high pitched, and his strongly marked climaxes. (}) Crescendo — Crgsh-en'-do. HELEN POTTER'S PORTIA AND BERISSA From ''Merchant of Venice." — Shakespeare. A STUDY OP MRS. MARY F. SCOTT-SIDDONS. Argument. — Portia, the only child and heii' of a rich Venetian noble- man, is compelled, by her father's will, to accept in marriage the suitor who chooses the right casket from among three, made of gold, silver, and lead. The conversation is in regard to the suitors who seek her hand and fortune. Act I., Scene II. — Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Portia and Nerissa.* Pot. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- weary of this great world. N&i\ You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your °good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too mTich, as they that starve with nothing. It is no °small ^jhappiness, therefore, to be seated in the meaii ; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Pot. ( — ) °Good ^sentences, and well pronounced. NeT. They would be bett"er, if well "followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to dof chapels had been churches, | and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a °good ^divine | that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach °twen^ | what were good to be ° ( — ) Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, I a Venetian, | a scholar, and a soldier, | that came hither | in company of the Marquis of ( " ) Montferfaib ? Pot. ( ^^ ) Yes^ | y'es, | it was Bassanio ; as I think | so was he called. Ner, (\) "True, madam; | "he, | of all the men | that ever "my foolish eyes looked upon, | was the "best deserv- ing I a fair lady. For, ( '^ ) I remember him "well ; | and I remember him | "worthy of thy praise. \^Ent&r a Servant.'] Serv. ( *" ) The four strangers seek you, | madam, | to take their leave : and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, I the Prince of Morocco; | who brings word the prince, | his master, | will be here to-night. (9) Solemnly! ('0) Lightly. (»» ) Mon-fer-ra'. ( ^' ) Hesitates, pretending to recall Avith difficulty. ( 13 ) More confidently. ( 1* ) In the monotonous voice of a servant, 102 HELEN POTTER'S For. If I could bid the fifth ^welcome | with so good a heart | as I can bid the °other ^four ^farewell, I should be glad of his approach ; if he have the condition of a saint, | and the complexion of a devil, | I had rather he should °shrive me | than °wive me. °Come, ^Nerissa. ^Sirrah, go before. ( '^ ) ° Whiles we shut the gate | upon °one ^woo"^-, (- -) ^another | knocks | at the door. [Exeunt.] Mrs. Mary F. Scott-Siddons, the English actress, is directly descended from the famous Sarah Siddons, and partakes of her beauty and talent. The elocutionaiy peculiarities of this accomplished lady are, rapidity of utterance, and the free use of sweeping inflec- tions, often an octave in compass, and mostly those of the kind known as simple and compound rising- inflections. Her voice is clear and musical, but rather light. In transition from one character to another, little change is made in quality or manipulation of the voice. Her characters, in dialogue or drama, speak very much alike. All have clear, ringing voices, and use the same sweeping inflections. This, however, does not affect her acting, where she is called upon to sustain one character only. Her impersonation of "King Rene's Daughter " (the blind girl who thought all persons like herself, being ignorant of her misfortune) is one of the most exquisitely refined and graceful pei'formances ever witnessed in this counti-y, and her " Rosa- lind " is almost as good. In appearance, she is of medium size, giving an impression of being tall and slight of figure. She walks ui^on the lyceum platform with long, gliding steps, and deliberately arranges her stand, books, chair and train before acknowledging her audience. Then she opens a lai'ge volume of Shakespeare, looks about her, and, without salutation, begins to read very rapidly, or rather recites from the selected play. Her gestures are few, and those with the right hand only, the left resting lightly upon the open book, which lies upon a small table at her left. At the close of Part First, also at the end of the program, she retires with a slight bow, and the same long, sweeping step as before. Costume.— The costume is Venetian— white, trimmed with silver ; long open sleeves, low corsage, with full long drapery. It is very be- coming to young ladies of fair complexion. This scene is prepared for a reading — not for a monologue imper- sonation, and the antique or the modern evening dress can be worn. For her readings, Mrs. Scott-Siddons wears unique and tasteful robes, evidently of her own design, often with very rare laces, and draperies of antique form. ( »* ) As if weary, sigh, and move slowly away ELLEN TERRY AS PORTIA. IMPERSONATIONS. 103 PORTIA AT THE BAR. From "Merchant of Venice." — Shakespeare. A STUDY OP MISS ELLEN TERRY. Argument. — Antonio, a rich merchant of Venice, by signing a bond to a Jew for cash, loans his friend Bassanio three thousand ducats. Disasters follow, the money is not returned, and the Jew insists upon having the penalty of the bond, which is a pound of Antonio's flesh. Portia, disguised as a young doctor of laws, proceeds to Venice and pleads the case before the duke. Act IV., Scene I. — A coui't-room in Venice. Enter Portia. [Pa?^e andj look right and left.'] Por. Whicli I [r. h, s. h. o.] is the merchant here, | and which I [l. h. s. h. o.] the Jew ? Duke. [Disg. ».]. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. [looking right']. (/) Is your name | ^Shy°lock ? Shy. [gruff]. (--) Shylock | is my name. Por. Of a °strange ^nature | is the suit you follow ; yet in such rule, | that the Venetian law cannot Qim°pugn ^you, I as you do proceed. [Turn and look left, r. h. h, /.] You II stand within his danger, | (/) do you not? Ant. [voice]. ( — ) Ay, so he says. Por. (\) °Do you ^con | ^fels the °bond? Ant. [voice]. ( — ) I do. Por. °Then | must the Jew | o'be (\) "merciful. ^hy. [gruff^. On what com°pulsion j ^must I ? Tell me that. Por. [surprised]. The quality of mercy j is not | strained ; | It droppeth, | [look up, b. h. a. o.] as the gentle ram from heaven, I 104 HELEN POTTER'S Upon the place [6. h. o. e.] {') beneath. ^It is °twice ^ble^ss'd ; It blesseth him that gives | and hirn that takes : (/) 'Tis mightiest | °in | ^the mightiest. It becomes The throned monarch | better than his crown : His scept're | shows the force of "temporal ^power, | The attribute to awe and majesty, | (- -) o W^^i'^iii ^^*^ sit the dread and °fear | of kings. But mercy || is a°bove (/) this sceptred sway, | (--) It is enthroned | in the (\) "hearts of kings, (/) It is an attribute to God him^lf ; And (\) "earthly power | doth "then ^show "likest °€r63's When mercy | seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice "be thy "plea, (/) consider "this, — That, in the course of justice, | ^none of us | ( — ) Should see salvation. ( / ) We do pray for "mer^cy ; And that same prayer | doth teach us | "all | to render The ( \ ) °deeds of mercy. I have spoke th"us liiuch, (- -) To mitigate the (^-) "justice of thy plea ; Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice, | (/) Must needs give sentence "'gainst | (\) the merchant there. I pray you | let me "look upon the bond. [Examine a legal paper with a large seal attached; then proceed^ tapping the document.] Wiiy I this bond (\) ""is forfeit ; And lawfully by this | the Jew may claim | A pound of flesh, | to be by him cut off | Nearest the merchant's heart. (\) °Be merciful. [Hold up the bond as if about to tear it to pieces.] (\) "Take thrice thy money; bid me (\) "tear the bond. Shy. [gruff]. (- -) By my soul, I swear, There is no power | in the tongue of man | To alter me : (/) I stay "here | (/) on my "bond. ( » ) Be-neath th as in " this." IMPERSONATIONS. 105 Pw. "Why, othen, | (--) thus it is. \To Antonio, left.'X (__) You must prepare your bosom | for his knife. my. [gruff]. noble judge; (\) "excellent young man! Por. (- -) For the intent and purpose of the law | Hath full relation to the penalty. Shy. [gruff]. wise and upright judg^, | (- -) How much more | °elder art thou | than thy looks. For. Therefo're, | lay bare your bosom. Shy. [gruff]. Ay, his breast. [Portia looks about her.] Por. Are there | ^baFance here, to (/) ^weigh the flesh ? Shy. [gruff]. I have them ready. ^ ^ Por. Have by some °surge^, Shylock, on your charge, To °stop ^his "woiinds, | lest he do (\) °bleed to death. Shy. [gruff]. Is it so nominated (/) in the bond ? Por. It is not so ^expressed ; | but what of °that ? 'Twere good you do °so ^much | for (\) °charity. Shy. [gruff]. (- -) I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. Por. A pound [I. h. h. e.] of that same merchant's flesh ( is thine ; The °court ^awards it, | (/) and the law | doth give it. Shy. [gruff]. Most rightful judge ! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. [gruff], A senten^ ; come, | prepare. Por. ( \ ) "Tarry a little ; | there is something °else. [Looking over the bond.] This bond doth give thee here, (\) °no jot of °bloo =ir^Ez=z:iiil?i==zi=t;z=: dales, from the tow'rs which we see, They all shall belong, my dear _^_N ^ -^— pgi=:?zzfz=«-pzzz:nii=^pzz:ifi=rfziziittr-f. a^ Z^&. a tempo. V 1^ in - fant, to thee V — ^ — -■ ^- Oh, rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, |^'ijp p=i=Zq== e wore flowers and let them fall,] there's pansies, | that's for thoughts. [Half whisper.] Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! oh, yes ! [running down the scale, and nodding the head each time. Go over a few steps and hand herbs and flower's to the King ; go on still further and hand some to the Queen.] There's fennel for °you, ^and (\) °columbines. [To the Queen.] There's rue | ^for °you, [pause] ^and here's some | for me; we may call it | (/) herb o' grace | o' Sundays. You may wear your °rue | with "difference. There's a daisy. [Hold the flmoer high and look at it.] I would give you some violets, | but they withered | all | ^when my "father °died. [Weeping.] They say he made a °good ^end. [Sway to and fro, marking time with graceful dancing -steps, laughing softly all the time ; then kneel and sing. Rise at ^' his beard,'' etc.] IMPERSONA TIONS. 171 --^ — »— F-g~^ — ^ ~ And will he not come A- a - gain ? . And ::g=z^=pi:1:zz=ij![i=1: -^— j- 2^-v- :d=i=1=: 9 g-T :gf: ^■&z 13 :fz=_^=i^=: S will he not come — I f^ 1 ifzid: a - gain ? . =s^=^^- No, •X — # — ^- 3E3: :d: -(^— T- ¥1 ^=g|=|i=ti-z=#g= :«-—*— --t^ -si -S^^. J2^ m i rlriaizz: -^ — «- :^ -^'5- :^izz£: -(S^ no, he'3 dead, Go to thy death-bed, He i m -m~ -A- Tq: ^ — I- -^- "&^- :Eg±; ^ € :q: g "(^ • r i^ - gg-P -fg ^is 172 HELEN POTTER'S i I 1^- m—^ :t={=:: '.-=X=z.~. -T^--- ¥1 er will come gain. Hi3 S-T — g ' :§•: :;=]=:q=i|=:: im -^ — :=1: :=1: :[=: -Z^Ht- -S^ I g :=i=q -&- beard was white snow, All # iis ^ — =3= 1^ IMPERSONA 2 IONS. 173 ^^===^= L-— »-• — ^ — i i H 1 O ^ gone, he is gone, And we cast a - way moan. And :Jt^ :d: -25*-^- i IS peace. be with , liis soul. i 3EIEES; iT i=z=izz:E-^izz: @^i -s*- \Mom toward doar, arid sing with back to audience.] And with all Christian souls ! I pray heaven ! [Exit. Turn head and shoulders to audience, with hands heavenward, and laugh softly as you go.] For sketch of Mrae. Modjeska see Pag-e 76. Of Ophelia, Sir Joshua Reynolds says: "There is no part in this play, in its representation on the stag-e, more pathetic than this scene, which, I suppose, proceeds from the utter insensibility Ophelia has to her own misfortunes. A great sensibility, or none at all, seems to produce the same effect. In the latter, the audience supply what she wants ; and with the former, they sympathize." CosTUMB AND RENDITION. — The dress may be what you please, so it be youthful and simple. Soft g-ray or white g-oods, with no stiffness 174 HELEN POTTER'S anywhere, quite plain, oi- delicately ornamented, is sufficient. Tlie hair is flowing, or loose and caught up prettily. In rendering these scenes, assume a gentle madness, and make sudden transitions from sadness to lightness, and, in one or two in- stances, even frivolity. The directions herein given for action follow the manner of Mme. Modjeska, but not literally. Much of the ex- quisite expression and action cannot be written. Her rendition of Ophelia, once seen, can never be forgotten. ALL. BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. There hangs a sabre, and there a rein, With rusty buckle and green curb-chain ; A pair of spurs on the old gray wall. And a mouldy saddle, — well, that is all. Come out to the stable ; it is not far, The moss-grov^n door is hanging ajar. Look within ! There's an empty stall. Where once stood a charger, — and that is all. The good black steed came riderless home. Flecked with blood-drops as well as foam. Do you see that mound, where the dead leaves fall ? The good black horse pined to death — that's all. All ? God ! it is all T can speak. Question me not, — I am old and weak. His saddle and sabre hang on the wall. And his horse pined to death — I have told you all. IMPERSONATIONS. 175 DOGBERRY AND VERGES. A Stady from " Much Ado About Nothing." — Shakespeare. Argument. — Dog-berry and. Verges are two ignorant, conceited con- stables who mutilate their words. Dogberry calls " assembly " dissemhly ; "treason" perjury; "calumny" burglary; "condem- nation " vedeTwptioii ; etc. Act III., Scene III. — A Street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogh. {/) o^ ^^ y^^ good men | and true ? Verg. SYea, or else it were pity | but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dogt. oNay °that were a ^punishment | too °good ^for them. I if they should have any ^ariegiance ^in °them, | being chosen^ | for the prince's °watch. Verg. # Well, give them their chai-ge, neighbor Dogberry. Dogh. oFirst, | °who ^think °ycu | the mcst ^de°sartjess \ °man | ^to be "constable ? 1st Watch. Hugh °Oatcake, ^sir, | or George "Sea^coal, | for they | can ^write and °read. Dogh. Come °hither, | ^neighbor Seacoal. °God(/')hath blessed you | with a °good ^name ; to be a well °favored Qnian | is the gift ^of "fortune ; ^but to "write and read | comes by "nature. 2d Watch. ( — ) Both which, master constable — Dogh. (\) "You have ; I knew it would be your ansv/er. Well, I for your favor, sir, ^why, give "God ^thanks, | and make no "boast ^of it ; ^and for your "reading | ^and "writ- ing, I let "that ^appear | when there is no "need ^of such vanity. ^You are "thought ^here | to be the most ^sense- * Dofrbeny speaks in a, roii!^!! or guttural voice, and puITs ; Verges in a thin, high and sharp voice; 2d Watch, nasal. 176 HELEN POTTERS °less\ ^and°fitm-an | >rthe °con^sta°bie | ^of the °° watch; ^there°fore, | ^bear °you | ^the "lantern. °This ^is | oyour "charge : You shall °co'm^pre°kend \ all | vagfom | °ineh ; ^you are to bid °any ^man °6tand, | ^in the °prince's °narae . 2d Watch. (- -) How if he will not stand ? Dogb. oWhy, th^, | take no °note of him, | but let him °go; and ''preSoent°ly | calltherestof the watch tog eth'er, | and °thank ^God | you are °rid ^of a °knave. Verg. S If he will not stand | when he is "bid^den, (/) he is none (/) of the prince's | "subjects. Dogh. °True, | ^and they are to "med^ole | ^with none | ^but the "prince's "subjects. You shall also | make no ^noise | ^in the "struts ; "for, ^for the "watch to Qbab"ble ^and "talk, "is ^most °tolerable \ ^and "not to be | Qen°dured. 2d Watch. We will rather sle'ep than talk ; we know what belongs to a watch. Dogh. Wliy, | you speak | ^like an "an^cient | and most "quiet "watchnaan ; for I cannot see | how "sleepQiiig should ^of°fend ; ^on^Xj, \ have a ^care | ^that your "bills ^be not stolen. Well, | you are to "call | ^at "all ^the "ale ^houses, | and bid those that are "drunk | ( \ ) get to bed. 2d Watch. How if they will not ? Dogh. oWhy, th'en, | let them alone | till they are "sofier ; if they make you not "then | the better "an^swer, | "you ^may "say, | ^they are "not ^the "men | ^you "took ^them for. 2d Watch. Well, sn\ Dogh. "If ^you "meet ^a "thief, | ^you may ^sus°pect ^him, I ^by virtue of your "of^fice, | ^to be | "no "true "man ; ^and, for "such "kind ^of "men, | the "less ^you "meddle ^or "make ^with "them, | ^why, | ^the "more ^is for your "honesty. 2d Watch. (- -) If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? Dogh. ^Truly, | by virtue of your "of^fi^e, | ^you "may ; ^but'l "think | they that touch "pitch | ^will be ^de°filed. IMPERSONATIONS. Vll The most "peaceable ^way for you, | ^if you °do ^take a °thief, I ^is I to °let him ^show Qhim°self what he ^is", | and °steal out of your "company. Y&rg. If You have been always called | a "merciful man, partner. Bogh. Truly, I would not hang a dog | by my will ; | much more a nian, | (--) who hath any (\ ) "honesty in him. Yerg.%\i you hear a child cry in the nigtt, | you must call to the nurse, | and bid her "still it. 2(^ 'Watch. ( — ) How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? Bogh. oWhy, "then, | depart in peace, | and let the child wake her | ^with "crying-; (/) for the ewe | that will not hear her lamb when it °5^s, | oWill "never answer ^a "calf ( ^when it °bleats. Verg. S 'Tis very true. Bogb. "This is the ^end | of your "charge. "You, oCon- stable, I are to present | the prince's own "person ; (/) if you meet | ^the "prince {/) in the night, | ^you may (\) "stay him. Verg. « N^, "by 'r lady, | "that, | J "think, | ^he Qcan°not. Bogb. (\) "Five shillings to one "on't, | with "any man | ^that '^knows | ^the ° statues, \ Jie may (\) "stay him. ^Mar°ry, | not without the prince be "willing; for, (/) in- deed, I the "watch | ^ought to offend "no ^maii ; and it is an Qof"fence | to "stay ^a "man | "against his "will. Verg. »By 'r lady, | I think, it be "so. Bogb. Ha, ha, ha! "Well, ^mas°ters, (\) good-night; ^an' there be any matter of "weight ^chan"ces, call up °me. Keep your fellows' "c'oun'sel | and your "own, and (\) "good- night. Come, neighbor. 2d Watch. (- -) Well, masters, we hear our charge ; let us go sit here | upon the church-bench | till two, | and then I all to bed. 178 HELEN POTTER'S Dogh. [returning']. (\) °Oiie word more, ^honest neigh- bors ; {/)! pray you | watch about Signioi Leonato's door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great °coil oto-°night. Adieu-; °be vigilant, I ^be^seech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.] LA MUSICA TRIOaFASTE BY T. W. PARSONS. In the storm, in the smoke, in the fight I come To help thee, dear, with my fife and my drum. My name is Music ; and when the bell Rings for the dead man, I rule the knell. And whenever the mariner wrecked, through the blast. Hears the fog-bell sound — it was I who passed. The poet hath told you how I, a young maid. Came fresh from the gods to the myrtle shade ; And thence, by a power divine, I stole To where the waters of the Mincius roll. Then down by Clitumnus and Arno's vale I wandered, passionate and pale, Until I found me at sacred Rome, Where one of the Medici gave me a home. Leo— great Leo— he worshipped me. And the Vatican stairs for my foot were free ; And now I come to your glorious land, Grive me good greeting with open hand. Remember Beethoven — I gave him his art — And Sebastian Bach, and superb Mozart: Join those in my worship ! and when you go "Wherever their mighty organs blow. Hear in them Heaven's trumpets to men below. IMPERSONATIONS. 179 BEATRICE, From "Much Ado about NoTiiiNa." — Shakespeare. A STUDY OF MISS ADELAIDE NEILSON. ilSGUMENT. — Beatrice, the witty and beautiful niece of Leonato, Gov- ernor of Messina, meets Benedick, a wild and witty young- lord of Padua, who has vowed never to marry. Each is made to believe the one in love with the other ; and, beginning- in raillery, they end in true love and marriag-e. Act II., Scene I. — A room in Leonato's house. Leonato. Was not Count John at supper ? Antonio. I saw him not. Beatrice. Hoy/ (\) °tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see him | but Fm °heart-^buriTe(i an hour after. Hero. He is of a very (\) ^melancholy | ^disposition. Beat. He were an Qex°cellent ma'n, | that were made just in the °midQway, | between him | and (\) °Benedick. ^The °one | is too like an image, | and says ^nothing ; | and the °other, | too like my lady's eldest son, | °evermore ^tattling. Leon. (--) Then | half Signior Benedick's tongue | in Count John's mouth, and half Count John's melancli^ly | in Signior Benedick's fa'ce — Beat, (q.) [laughing]. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and (\) °money enough (/) ^in his purse, | such a man | would win °any woinan in the world, | (q.) if he could [laughing] get her good-^ill. Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrev/d of thy tongue ! Beat, [sighing]. (/) For the which Qbless°ing, | I am at 180 HELEN POTTERS heaven | upon my knees | every morning | and evening. Lord, I could not en°dure a husband | (\) °with a beard on his face ! Eeon. You may light upon a husband | that hath °no ^beard. Beat, (\) °What should I do (/) „with him ? dress him in my apparel, | and make him my waiting gentle woroaii ? lie that hath a beard, is more than a youth ; and he that hath no beard, is less than a man ; and he that is more than a youth | is not for me ; and he that is les"s than a man, | °I am not for him. Ant. \to Hero]. Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father. Beat. ( \ ) ° Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make [courtesy'] courtesy, | and say, " Father, [drawing out the words] as it please yoTi ; " [cross to the right] but yet for all that, co'usin, let him be a (\) °handsome ^fellow, | or else make anotlie"r [cov/rtesy] courtesy, and say, " Father, (q.) as it please me.'' Leon. °Well, ^niece, I hope to see you one day | fitted with a °husband. Beat. Not till heaven make men of some °other ^metal | than °e"arth. Would it not grieve a woman | to be over- mastered with a piece of valiant dust ? °To make ac^unt of her life | to a clod | of wayward niarl ? °No, ^uncle, (\) °ril none : °Adam's solTs are my brethren, and truly, (g.) I hold it a sin | to match in my kindi^. [Laughing.] Leon. Daughter, | remember what I told you : if the Prince do solicit you | in that kind, you know your answers. Beat. The fault | will be in the °music, ^cousm, | if you be not wooed in good time. If the Prince be too impor- tant, I tell him ] there is measure in everything, | and so (\) °dance out | the answer. For, (\) °hear me, | Hero; | wooiiigj I wedding, | and repenting, | is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace. The fiirst suit | is hot and IMPERSONATIONS. 181 (g.) hasty, like a Scotch jig, | and full as fantastical; the wed- ding, (\) ° mannerly ^modest, as a measure full of state | and ancientry; oand °then | comes Qre°pentance, | and with his bad legs, | falls into (g.) the cinque-pace | faster and faster, | until he sink | into his grave. [Shake the head, and cross to the other side.] Leon. Cousin, | you apprehend | ^passing | °shrewdly. Beat, [lightly and high]. I have a °good °eye, ^uncle ; I can see a | church | [laughing] by ^day^light. [Exit laughing.] THE SEA BIRD'S FATE BY JOHN BOYLE O REILLY. A soft-breasted bird from the sea Fell in love with the light-house flame, And it wheeled round the tower on its airiest wing. And floated and cried like a love-lorn thing ; It brooded all day, and fluttered all night. But could "win no look from the steadfast light. For the flame had its heart afar — Afar with the ships at sea ; It was thinking of children and waiting wives. And darkness and danger to sailors' lives. But the bird had its tender bosom pressed On the glass, where at last it dashed its breast. The light only flickered, the brighter to glow ; But the bird lay dead on the rocks below. 182 HELEN POTTEli'S PETER GRAY AHD LIZIANHY QUERL My song is of a nice young man Whose name was Peter Gray ; The state where Peter Gray was born Was Penn-syl-va-ni-a. This Peter Gray did fall in love All with a nice young girl ; The name of her I'm positive Was Lizianny Querl. When they were going to be wed Her father he said, '' No ! " And brutally did send her off Beyond the 0-hi-o. When Peter foimd his love was lost He knew not what to say ; He'd half a mind to jump into The Sus-que-han-ni-a. A- trading went he to the west, For furs and beaver skins. And there he was in crimson dressed By bloody In-ji-ins ! When Lizy heard the awful news, She straightway went — to bed. And never did get off of it Until she di-i-ed. Ye fathers all, a warning take, Each one as has a girl, And think upon poor Peter Gray And Lizianny Querl ! Lize-anny Kurl. IMPERSONATIONS. 183 PRIHCE ARTHUR A study from ** King John." — Shakespbabe. Argument. — King John conspired with Hubert, the keeper of young- Prince Arthur, to murder the boy, and Hubert enii^loyed two ruf- fians to bui-n out both of the prince's eyes with red-hot irons. Arthur plead so loving-ly with Hubert to spare his eyes, that he relented and concealed him, pretending- that he was dead. Act IV., Scene I. — Northampton. A room in the castle. Enter Hubert and executioners. Huh. ( — ) ^Heat me these irons hot; and look | thou stand Within the arras. When I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, | rush forth And bind the boy | ^which you shall find wi' me | (\) °Fast to the chair ; | be "heed^ful ; | hence, | and watch. lit Execu. (gut.) I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. (\) ^Uncleanly scruples! (\) °fear not you;\ look to't. [Exeunt executioners.'] ° Young lad | come forth ; I have to (\) °say with you. [Enter Arthur.] Arth. (p.) °Good-morro\v, °Hul5ert. Hub. (\) °Good-morrow | Jittle prin'ce. Arth. (p.) °As little °prince (\) °as may be. (\) You are sad. Hub. ^Indeed, (\) °I have been |] merrier. Arth. (p.) (\) °Mercy on me ! Methinks nobody should be sad but I. Yet I remember when I was in France, \ Young gentlemen would be sad | as night | Only for wantonness. (\) By my Christendom, 184 HELEN POTTERS So I were out of prison, | and kept sheep, | I should be as merry \ as the day is long ; | And so I would be h&re^ \ but that I doubt My uncle practises ^more (/ ) harm to me. He is afraid of ine, and I | of ''him. Is it my fault | that I was ( / ) Jeffrey's son ? No, indeed, | it's not; and I would to heaven | I were °your ^son, so you would °love me, °Hubert. Hub. [aside]. J.i I talk to him, | with his innocent prate, He will awake my °mercy, ^which lies dead ; Therefore | I will be °sudden and despatch. Arth. (p.) „Are you °sick, | °Hubert ? You look (\) °pale to-day ; In sooth, I I would you were a little sick, | That I might sit all night | (\) °and watch wdth you. I warrant I love you | more than you do me. Hub. [aside]. ^His words | dotakepossessionof my bosom. (\) °°Read here, | young Arthur. [Shows a paper.] [Aside.] qHow now, | foolish °rheum ? Turning dispiteous torture | out of door ! I must I be brief, | lest resolution drop | Out at mine eyes | in tender womanish tears. °°Can you not ^read °it ? (/) Is it not fair writ ? Arth. (p.) (\) Too fairly, Hubert, | for so foul effect. (\) °Must you I with hot irons | burn out both mine eyes ? | Hub. ^Young boy, | I must. Arth. {p.) °And ^will joii ? Hub. °And J °will ! Arth. [plaintive]. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, | ^The best I fiad, | (^a °princess (/) ^wrought it me) And I did never ask it you again ; And with my hand at midniglit | held your head, IMPERSONATIONS, 185 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, | Still and anon | cheered up the heavy time Saying, °What ^lack °you ? and ° Where lies your grief ? Or, °What good love | may I perform for f^ ? Many a poor man's son | would have lain still. And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; | ^But °yau, | (/) ^at your sick service, (\) °had Si prince. °Nay, I you may think my love was ° crafty love, ( \ ) And call it °cunning ; do, an' if you will. If heaven be pleased | that you must use me ill °Why, I ^then, | jo{i°must. (\) Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes | that never did, nor never °s£all So much I as (\) °frown on you ? Hub. qqI have sworn to do it ; | And with hot irons | must I | burn them | out. Artk. (^^) Ah, none but in this iron age would do it ! ^The °iron „of itself, tho' heat red-°hot, | Approaching near these eyes, | would drink my tears And quench his fiery indignation. Even in the matter | of mine innocence ; Nay, °after °that, | consume away in rust, But for QCon°tainiiig ^five | to (\) "harm mine eyes. Are you \ more stubborn hard than hammer'd iron ? An' if an °angel should ^have °come to °me, | And told me | Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed no tongue | but ^Hubert's ! Hub. °°Come forth ! [Stamps.] [Re-enter executioners with a cord, irons, etc.] Do as I bid you. Arth. [cries]. {^-^) °0h, save me, Hubert, °save me ! my eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. (\) °°Give me the iron, | I say, | and °bind him here. Arth. (^^^) Alas, why need you be so boisterous rough ? 186 HELEN POTTER'S (\) °I will not I "struggle, I will stand °stone still. °For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me ""not be °bouiid. (j) Nay I "Aear me | °°Hubei't, | °drive these men away | And I will sit as quiet | ( \) as a lamb ; I will not stir, | nor wince, | nor speak a w"ord, | Nor look upon the iron angei'ly ; Thrust but these °men Qa°way, and I'll for°give you | QWhat°ever ^torment ( ) you do put me to. Huh. °°Go stand within ; let me (\) °alone with him. \8t Execu. {gut.) I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exeunt executioners.'] Arth. o Alas, | I then ( / ) have chid away my ° friend, He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart ; °Let him come back, that his compassion may give life to yours. Huh. °°Come, boy, prepare yourself ! Arth. (-^v/^) (\) °Is there no remedy ? Huh. °°None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. i''^^) Oh, heaven, | that there were but a °mote I in yours ; A grain, | a dust, | a gnat, | a wandering hair, °Any annoyance | in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what small things {/) are "boisterous there, Your vile intent | must needs seem | "horrible. Huh. ""Is this (/) „your promise? Go to | (\) "hold your tongue. Arth. "Hubert, | the utterance of a (\) "brace of tongues ( — ) Must needs want pleading | for a pair of "eyes. Let me (\) "not hold my tongue, | "let me not, | Hubert; Or I Hubert, | if you "will, | cut "out ^my "tongue. So I may keep (\) "mine eyes. [Kneeling.] "spare mine eyes ; Though to no use, | but still | to look on "you. (') (1) Put out your luiad to touch tUe iron and withdraw it quickly. IMPERSONA TIONS. 187 ]^Surprk(id.'\ Lo, by my troth, | the instrument is °cold, and would not °harm me. [Rkes.^ Hub. oqI can °heat it, bo}^ Arth. (\) °No, I in ^gcod sooth; | the °fire (/) ^is dead wi' °grief, Being create for "com^fort, | to be used In undeserved extremes ; see else (\) °yourself. There is °no ^mpJice | in this burning °coal ; The breath of heaven | hath blown his °spirit °out, And strewed repentant | ^ashes on his head. Hub. ooBut with my breath | (\) I can re°vive it, | °boy. Arth. (/) qAu' if you do.. | you will but make it blush | And glow with °shame | ^oi your (\) "proceedings, | Hubert, All things that you should °use | to do ^me ° wrong", (\) °Deny their office; | only °you | do lack That mercy | which fierce °fire | and (\) °iron ^extends. Hub. o^Well, I see | to live. ( — ) "I will not touch thine eyes (- -) For all the treasure | that thine uncle owes. Yet I am I s\vo'rn, | and did "purpose, | ob'oy, °With this same | °very iron | ^to burn them out. Afth. [joyously]. ! now | you look like Hubert ; All this while, | you were odis°guised. Hub. [tone of secrecy']. Peace ! no more, | adieii ! (- -) oYour uncle | must not know | but you are "dead. I'll fill these dogged spies | with false reports. And, I opretty "child, | sleep | doubtless and seciire. That Hub'ert, | for the wealth | of all the "world, | will not oifend thee. Arth. (\) "0 heaven! (\) "I thank you, Hubert! Hub. (Sh !) ^Silence ! {asp.) No more ; {8h !) Go closely in with me. ^Much "danger (/) do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.] 188 HELEN POTTERS A LITERARY CURIOSITY A lady of San Francisco is said to have occupied several yeare in hunting- up and litting- together the following thirty-eight lines from thirty-eight poets. The names of the authors are^g-iven^with each line. LIFE. Why all this toil for triumph of an hour ? Young. Life's a short summer, man a flower ; Dr. Johnson. By turn we catch the vital breath and die, Pope. The cradle and the tomb, alas ! so nigh, Pnor. To be is better far than not to be, Sewell. Though all man's life may seem a tragedy ; Spencer. But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb, Daniel. The bottom is but shallow whence they come. Raleigh. Your fate is but the common fate of all ; Longfellow. Unmingled joys, here, no man befall. Souihioell. Nature to each allots his proper sphere, Congrew. Fortune makes folly her peculiar care. Churchill. Custom does not often reason overrule, Rochester. And throws a cruel sunshine on a fool. Armstrong. Live well, how long or short, permit to heaven ; Milton. They who forgive most shall be most forgiven. Bailey. Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face ; Trench. Vile intercourse where virtue has not place ; Som&i'ville. Then keep each passion down, however dear, Thompson. Thou pendulum, betwixt a smile and tear. Byron. Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure lay, 8mollet. With craft and skill to ruin and betray. Crahbe. Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise, 3Iassinger. We masters grow of all that we despise. Cowley. then, renounce that impious self-esteem, Beattie. Eiches have wings and grandeur is a dream. Cooper, IMPERSONATIONS. 189 Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave, Datenant. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Gray. What is ambition ? 'tis a glorious cheat, Willis. Only destruction to the brave and great. Addison. What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown ? Dryden. The way to bliss lies not on beds of down. Quarks. How long we live, not years, but actions tell ; Watki^is. That man lives twice who lives the first life well. Herrick. Make, then, while yet we may, your God your friend. Mason, Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend. Hill. The trust that's given guard, and to yourself be just ; Dana. For, live we how we can, yet die we must. Shakespeare. A PIOUS PUNSTER. To church the two together went. Both, doubtless, on devotion bent. The parson preached with fluent ease. On Pharisees and Sadducees. And as they homeward slowly walked, The lovers on the sermon talked. And he — he deeply loved the maid — In soft and tender accents said : *' Darling, do you think that we Are Pharisee and Sadducee ? " She flashed on him her bright black eyes In one swift look of vexed surprise. And thus he hastened to aver He was her constant w^orshipper. "But, darling, I insist," said he, " That you are very fair-I-see. I know you don't care much for me, And that makes me so sad-you-see." 190 HELEN POTTER'S FOR YOUR OIH SAKES. A STUDY OF MISS ANNA DICKINSON. [Adapted from one of her popular lectui-es.] ^HE duties I of huTTzamty and mercj \ can- iiot be (id/egated to ^othov^ ; the/eeZing | of pefsonal responsibility | cannot be ° shirked; (--) to look out for the alms- houses, I county jails, \ orphans, | out- cast and aSa^zdoned women, | belongs to ""you I (/) o^^d to me; and must be done I hy us, | for our own sakes | as well \ as for the sake \ of these sz«/fering {/) ^guilty ones. There was, \ in London \ (not many years ago), ^ judge \ whose only daughter had reached her ^ma^^'or^ity; this day was cefebrated | in a g7'and \ and (\) °prince\y ^manner. A.S the girl, \ young, | 5eaMtiful, | clothed in a dress, \ which •sven in °that assembly | was a loonder to look upon ; as she passed along, | you felt °7io taint | could fall upon °her life, | shielded by love, \ and a °home ^like ^thai. (--) ^Back of that eZegant home, \ in an alley, \ dark, \ woisome, | pestilent, | such as yow find \ in crowded V\\\[didel- phia, I and °crowded ^New York, \ dwelt a girl | aZso young and 6eawtiful | °as Jhis ""one. She spent her time | stitchmg the ro6es | of i!/«ose | who dream not \ ^of °want. This c^iZd | of po?5erty and sorrow, | stitched \ into that 07ie \ lovely robe \ the seeds of a /owZ disease, | which Avas destined to carry | that cherished and beautihil form, | °iwisted in a sheet, | ^to her solitary | and°foa^/^some | Q^MriaT. (--)°Wasit«o^Aing | to the fond mother, \ the doting father, \ what disease and misery | festered \ in adjacent alleys ? ( — ) oFor the sake of the mother, | whose son is brought home I killed \ by an assassin's hand ; | °for the saAe of the ANNA DICKINSON. i K IMPERSONA riONS. 191 merchant, | whose stately 'pile \ is burned \ Joy plundev, \ does not seZ/ishness demand \ iiidi^ic^ual work \ and per- sonal I responsibility ? ( — ) Does it make any dif feveiice to the world, \ who does the work | so long \ as it be done ? °iVb, it makes no dif fevence \ °to the ^w&rld; °living or ^dead, \ the world \ heeds (/) us not. But to us, \ it makes a difference \ as great \ as the distance from heaven °to ^h^fl, I whether we do the work for °our ^selves ; \ whether we feed our own souls \ or ^starve °them. ( — ) It does make a difference to us, \ whether we discot^er and recognize | the claims of righteousness | and (\) °uniwrsal (/) ^brother- hood, I or whether ( — ) we wrap our costly | o^obes \ about us, I and dream \\ of false peace \ and °se^cu°riiy. Miss Anna Dickinson, an American orator and writer, was born in Philadelphia, October 28, 1842. She was orig-inally a member of the Society of Friends. She gained great distinction during the civil war by her public speeches against slavery and disunion, and became one of the most popular lecturers in the United States. She after- ward appeared as an actress. Her principal public writings are : ''What Answer?" (1868); "A Paying Investment" (1876) ; and "A Ragged Register of People, Places and Opinions" (1879). This exti-aordinary and gifted lady, as a platform celebrity, was a slender girl of medium size, eloquent, magnetic, and unsurpassed in extemporaneous oratory. Her lithe figure, long arms, and luxuriant dai'k brown hair, slightly turned at the ends, gave her a dramatic appearance to begin with. Her speech was marked by I'ising inflec- tions at the end of sentences, the remainder being given in a monot- onous tone of voice, with almost rhythmic prolonging of accented syllables (see italicized syllables in the text). Her action was pro- nounced and also rhythmic or accented. Journeying from right to left of the platform, with a halt or swing on each measured step ; pushing back, now and then, her heavy locks ; her eyes flashing as she coursed from side to side with defiant, accented stride, her hands clasped behind her ; or, standing still and resolute as a Napoleon, and pointing at a wrong, personified and cowering before her — she was the very acme of fiery eloquence, and brought conviction to every heart. Costume and Rendition. — A plain, rich black or Quaker colored silk dress, demi-train ; black boots ; a diamond pin and rings. Her costume, at the time of her triumx^hant career as a lecturer, was remarkable for its Quaker-like simplicity in color and style. This text is adapted from a lecture by Miss Dickinson, called " For Your Own Sakes." It should be delivered standing and walking, with no desk, no manuscript, and only two chairs in the rear of the platform. 192 HELEN POTTERS THE SISTERS BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain, Woke in the night | to the sound of rain. The rush of wind, | the tramp and roar Of great waves | climbing a rocky shore. Annie rose up in her bed-gown white, | And looked out | into the storm | and night. (p.) " Hush, and harken ! " she cried in fear, " Hearest thou nothing, | sister dear ? " {Carelesdy .'\ *' I hear the sea, | and the plash of rain, | And roar of the north-east hurricane. " G-et thee back to the bed so warm. No good comes | of watching a storm ; " What is it to th^, I fain would know, That Avaves are roaring | and wild winds blow ? "No lover of thine's afloat | to miss | The harbor-lights | on a night like this." ( jo.) " But I heard a °voice cry out °my name. Up from the s'ea | on the wind it came 1 '' Twice and thri^ | have I heard it call. And the voice | is the voice of | Estwick Hall ! " On her pillow the sister tossed her head. {Impatiently.'] "Hall of the Heron is °sq)^(^," she said. " In the tautest schooner that ever swam He rides at anchor in Anisquam. IMPERSONATIONS. 193 " And, if in peril from swamping sea Or lee shore rocks, | would he call on thee ? " But the girl heard only the wind and tide. And wringing her small, white hands, she cried : [Terror.] "0 sister Rhoda, there's something wrong; I hear it again, so loud and long. ( ' ) " Annie I Annie ! I hear it call. And the voice | is the voice of | Estwick Hall ! " Up sprang the elder, with eyes aflame, " °Thou liest ! He never would call °thy name ! " If he °did, | I would pray the wind and sea To keep him °forever from th'ee [ and me ! " Then out of the sea blew a °dreadful ^blast ; Like the cry of a dying man | it passed. The young girl hushed on her lips a groan. But through her tears | a strange light shone — The solemn Joy of her heart's release To own and cherish its love | in peace. (asjo.) "Dearest!" | she whispered, under breath, C) " Life was a lie; | but true is death. " The love I hid from myself away Shall °crown me now | in the light of day. " My ears shall never | to wooer list. Never | by lover | my lips be kissed. " °Sacred to ^tliee | ( ' ) am I °hence Jorth, Thou in heaven | and I | on earth ! " (^) " Annie " should be prolonged, running: up two or three notes and dowoi again, in imitation of the roar of the sea or of wind, and in low, steady tone of voice, minor key. Repeat, letting the sound die out with the exhausted breath. (^) Hands pressed to the bosom. (3) Right hand heavenward on "thee." 194 HELEN POTTER'S She came and stood by her sister's bed : (- -) " ^Hall of the Heron is dead! " she said. " The wind and the waves their work have done, We shall see him iio more | beneath the sun. " Little will reck that heart of °thine, It loved him °not | with a love like mine ; " I, I for °kis sake, | were he but here, Could hem and 'broider thy \ bridal gear, "Though hands should tremble | and eyes be wet, And stitch for stitch | in my heart be set. " But now I my soul with °his soul I w^d ; Thine the liviiig | and mine ( * ) the dead ! " AT EVEHIHG BY J. T. NEWCOMB. The sun had kissed the Western wave, and bade the world good-night, While in the sky the floating clouds hung blushing at the sight. The playful ripples dancing came from out the mighty sea, And paused a moment on the sands, and kissed them tenderly. The gentle evening breezes sighed among the bowlders bare, And kissed their loneliness away and lingered fondly there. A youth beside a maiden walked (I tell no wondrous deed) When twilight shadows kissed the shore he followed nature's lead. (* ) Ilandd clasped and hanging down limp as iu resignation. OSCAR WILDE. IMPERSONATIONS. 195 LECTURE ON ART A STUDY OF OSCAR WILDE. ( — ) Everything made by the hand of man | is either QUg°ly I or (/) ^beauti^ful ; (--) and it might as well be beautiful as (/) o^g^ly- (--) Nothing that is made | is °too opoor [pooah], | or °too (/) Qtrivi°al, | (--) to be made with an idea [ideah], | of pleasing the aesthetic oeye. "Americans, | ^as a class, | °are not (/) ^practical, (--) though you may laugh | at the {/) ^assertion. (- -) When I enter [entah] | a room, | I see a carpet of (\) vulgar [vulgah] (/) ^pattern, | (- -) a cracked plate upon the (/) ^wal], | (--) with a peacock feather stuck "be^hind °it. (- -) I sit down | upon a badly glued | ma- chine-made (/) ^chair [chaah], | that creaks | upon being (/) ^touched; | (--) I see | a gaudy gilt horror, | in the shape I of a (/) ^mirror, | ( — ) and a cast-iron monstros- ity I for a °chande^lier. (- -) Everything I see | was made to (/) ^^ell. (--) I turn to look for the beauties of nature [natyah] | in (/) vain; | ( — ) for I behold only muddy streets | and (\) ugly (/) Qbuild°ings; (--) everything looks (\) second (/) class. (--) By second class | I mean | that I which constantly decreases °in {/) ^'calue. ( — ) The old Gothic cathedral is firmer [firmah] and (/) stronger [strongah], | and more [moah] beautiful ^now \ than it was I years | [yeahs] (/) ^ago. (--) There is one thing worse I than °%o ( / ) ^art | and that is | Jbad °art. (- -) A good rule to follow | in a house | is to have noth- ing therein | but what is useful | or (/) ^beautiful ; | (- -) nothing that is not pleasant to use, | or was not a pleasure | to the one | who [/) ^made °it. (- -) Allow no machine-made ornaments | in the house | at {/) ^2^. 196 HELEN POTTER'S (--) Don't paper your [youah] halls, | but have them (/) ^wain°scoted, | or provided | with a (/) ^dado. ( — ) Don't hang them with pictures, | as they are only | (/) Qpassage-°ways. ( ) Have some definite idea [ideah], | of qCoIoT [culah], (--) some dominant | key- note I of (/)QColor [culah], ( — ) or exquisite graQda°tion, | like the answering calls | in a symphony | of (/) ^music. There are symphonies | of color [culah], | as (\) well as of I (/) ^sound. I will describe | one of Mr. Whistler's | symphonies in color — ( — ) a symphony | in white. A pic- ture [pictchah], representing | a gray and white sky [skei]; a gray sea, flecked with the white crests of (\) °dancing (/) ^waves ; | a white (/) Qbalco°ny | with two little chil- dren in white, | leaning over [ovah] the (/) ^raiFing, | ( — ) plucking I with white (/) ^fingers [finggahs], | the white petals | of an almond tree | ( / ) in bloom. (- -) The truths of art | cannot | ( / ) be taught. ( — ) They are revealed | only | to natures [natyahs] which have made themselves receptive | of all | (\) "beautiful {/) ^impres- sions I by the study, | and the worship of | all | beautiful | (/) ^things. ( — ) Don't take your [youah] critic | as any sure [shuah] test | of (/) ^art ; for artists, | like the Greek gods, I are only revealed | to one (/) ^another [anothah]. The true critic | addresses | °no/^the(/)oartist | (/')et'er, | but the public. His work | is with (/) ^them. Art | can have no other [othah] aim | but her own °perQfec°tion. ( — ) Love art | for its own sake, | and then | all these things I shall be (/) ^added °to you. (--) This devotion to beauty | and to the creation of beautiful thiiigs, | is the test I of all I great | °civiliQza°tioiis. ( — ) It is what makes the life | of each citizen | a sacrament | and °not | a °spec- UQla°tion ; for beauty | is the only thing | time | cannot harm. Philosophies may fall away | °like the ( / ) ^sand ; creeds | follow one °an,^oth°er ; | but what is beautiful | is a joy for all seasons, a possession | for all | °eQter°nity. IMPERSONATIONS. 197 (--) National hatreds | are always strongest | where cul- ture [cultchah] I is (/) ^lowest ; but art | is an empire | which a nation's enemies | cannot | take (/) ^from °her. (_ _) ^e I in our Renaissance | are seeking to create a sovereignty | that shall °still be (/) ^England's | when her yellow leopards | are weary of wars [w^ahs], | (--) and the rose I on her shield | is crimsoned °no (/)Qmore [moah] | with the blood | of (/) ^bat°tle. And °you, | „too, j (- -) absorbing | into the heart of a great people | this per- vading artistic (/) oSpirit, will create for your- [youah] selves I °such ^riches | as you have never [nevah] yet | °creQa°ted, | though your [youah] land | be a network of (/) ^railways, | and your [youah] cities | the harbors | of the galleys | of the (/) ^ world. Oscar Wilde, an Irish poet, a son of Sir William Wilde, was born in Dublin, October 16, 1856. He studied at Trinity College, Dublin, and at Mag-dalen College, Oxford, where he was graduated in 1878. He was a pupil of Ruskin, and the friend and travelling companion of Prof. Mahaffy, with whom he visited Greece. After his college days he became noted as an apostle of sestheticism in dress, mannei*s, and literature. He was christened Oscar O'Flahertie Fingal Wills. CosTDMB. — A dark purple velvet sack coat, and knee-breeches; black hose, low shoes with bright buckles ; coat lined with lavender satin, a frill of rich lace at the wrists and for tie-ends over a low turn-down collar ; hair long, and parted in the middle, or all combed over. Enter with a circular cavalier cloak over the shoulder. The voice is clear, easy, and not forced. Change pose now and then, the head inclining towai-d the strong foot, and keep a general appear- ance of repose. This disciple of true art speaks very deliberately, and his speech is marked by transitions, as marked by the small signs (q) (°) throughout the text ; the closing inflection of a sentence or period is ever upward. 198 HELEN POTTERS IKE PARTINGTON AFTER THE OPERA. Note. — The following- sketch can be made vei-y amusing* by imitating the manner of an opera- singer. Suit your own voice as to the manner of rendering it. Tenoi', contralto, or basso will do,, but not soprano, unless you substitute an opera-mad girl for Ike. Sing softly at first, and vary the style and expression ; at the same time increase in action and force to the very last. An anti-climax would spoil it entirely. The more you repeat and trill, or attempt to trill, toward the close, the better. Since the night when Ike went to the opera, he has been " non pompous mentus " through his attempt to imitate the " Opera-tions." The morning after the opera, Ike sang everything he had to say — ^just as they do in the opera. He handed me his cup, and sang softly : {pp.) "Will you, will you, Mrs. P., Help me to a cup of tea ? " I looked at him in surprise, and he went right on singing : [Brilliant.'] " Do not, do not keep me waiting, Do not, pray, be hesitating ; I am anxious to be drinking, So pour out as quick as winking." I gave him the tea, and he stirred it a moment and began again : [Recitative.] " Table-cloths and cups and saucers, Good white bread and active jaws, sirs, Tea, Gunpowder and Souchong, Sweet enough, but not too strong." " Oh, what is the matter," I cried in distress ; " what is the matter with the boy ? " [Tenor.] "All right, steady, never clearer. Never loved a breakfast dearer ; IMPERSONATIONS. 199 {Bramatic^^ I'm not bound by witch or wizzard, So don't fret your precious gizzard." " But Isaac ! Isaac ! " I cried. He kept right on — with his eyes fixed on the table : [Tenor.] ''What form is that to me appearing? Is it mackerel, or is it herring ? [Rob?ist.] Let me dash upon it, quick ; Ne'er again that fish shall kick. [Dramatic] Charge upon it, charge, Isaac, charge ! " APOSTROPHE TO THE lATERIELOH Come to the mortal as he sits Upon a drygoods box and sips The nectar from thy juicy lips ; Come to the youngster as he flits Across the high and peaked fence And moves with ecstacy intense Thy charms from off the native vine. And thou art terrible ! August-born monstrosity ! Incarnate colicosity ! Beneath thy emerald bosom glow, Like glittering bubbles in the wine, The lurid fires of deadly woe, And from thy fascinations grow The pain, the cramp, the pang, the throe- And all we fear or dream or know Of agony is thine ! 200 HELEN POTTER'S AFTER THE lEDDIMG. BY WILLIAM L. KEESE. Note. — A lady can make an effective and showy monologue of this poem by being dressed as if just from a wedding, wraps and all, and proceeding ( during the recitation ) to throw off articles of ap- parel and ornaments, finally lowering the lights and sinking- into a deep revery. All alone in my room, at last ! I wonder how far they have travelled now ? They'll be far away when the night is past ; And so would 1, if I knew but how. How lovely she looked in her wreath and dress ! She is queenlier far than the village girls ; Those were roses, too, in the wreath, I guess — They made the crimson among the curls. She's good as beautiful, too, they say ; Her heart is as gentle as any dove's ; She'll be all that she can to him alway — Dear ! I am tearing my new white gloves. How calm she is, with her saint-like face ! Her eyes are violet — mine are blue; How careless I am with my mother's lace ! Her hands are whiter, and softer, too. They've gone to the city beyond the hill, They must never come back to this place again ! I'm almost afraid to be here so still, I wish it would thunder, and lighten, and rain ! no ! for some may not be abed, Some few, perhaps, may be out to-night ; 1 hope that the moon will come instead. And heaven be starry, and earth all light. *Tis only a summer that she's been here — It's been my home for seventeen years ! IMPERSONATIONS. 201 But her name is a testament far and near, And the poor have embalmed it in priceless tears. I remember the day when another came — There, at last I have tied my hair — Her curls and mine were nearly the same, But hers are longer, and mine less fair. They're going across the sea, 1 know ; Across the ocean — will that be far ? Did I have my comb, a moment ago ? I seem to forget where my things all are. When ships are wrecked do the people drown ? Is there never a boat to save the crew ? Poor ships ! If ever my ship goes down, I'll want a grave in the ocean, too. Grood-night, good-night — it is striking one ! Good-night to bride, and good-night to groom. The light of my candle is almost done — I wish my bed was in mother's room. How calm it looks in the midnight shade ! Those curtains were hung there clean to-day ; They're all too white for me, I'm afraid, — Perhaps I may soon be as white as they. Dark — all dark ! for the light is dead ; Father in heaven, may I have rest ! One hour of sleep for my weary head. For this breaking heart in my poor, poor breast ! For his sweet sake do I kneel and pray, Gfod protect him from change and ill ; And render her worthier every way. The older the purer, the lovelier still. There, I knew I was going to cry ! 1 have kept the tears in my soul too long ; Oh, let me say it or I shall die ! As heaven is witness, I mean no wrong. 202 HELEN PO TTER' S He never shall hear from this secret room, He never shall know, in the after years, How seventeen summers of happy bloom Fell dead one night in a moment of tears ! I loved him more than she understands — For him I loaded my soul with truth ; For him I am kneeling with lifted hands. To lay at his feet my shattered youth ! I love, I adore him still the same ! More than father, and mother, and life ! My hope of hopes was to bear his name, My heaven of heavens to be his wife ! His wife ! — name which the angels breathe, Let it not crimson my cheek for shame ; 'Tis her great glory, her word to wreathe In the princely heart from whose blood it came. hush ! again I behold them stand. As they stood, to-night, by the chancel wall ; 1 see him holding her white-gloved hand, I hear his voice in a whisper fall. I see the minister's silver hair, I see him kneel at the altar stone, I see him rise when the prayer is o'er — He has taken their hands and made them one. The fathers and mothers are standing near, The friends are pressing to kiss the bride ; One of those kisses had birthplace here — The dew of her lips has not yet dried. His lips have touched hers before to-night — Then I have a grain of his to keep ! This midnight blackness is flecked wdih light, Some angel is singing my soul to sleep. IMPERSONATIONS. 203 THE PASSIONS BY WILLIAM COLLINS. When Music, heavenly maid, | was yoimg, | While yet in early Greece she sung, | The Passions oft, ] to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell — ^Ex^ulting, treinbliii^, (/.) raging, {jp.) faintmg- Possessed beyond the Muse's paintiilg ; By turns they felt the glowing mind (/) Disturbed, „de°lighteH, "raised, °re„fined; Till onCe, 'tis said, | when all were fifed. Filled with filfy, rapt, inspired, | [q.) From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of souiid ; (\) °And, ^as they oft had heard apart (/) Sweet lessons of her forceful aft, | ■^Each (for Madness ruled the hour) °Would prove his owii | expressive | power. ( ' ) First °Fear | °his „hand, its skill to try, | Amid the chords bewildered ( ^ ) laid, And back recoiled, | he knew °not ^why, ( ' ) E'en at the sound ( \ ) himself had made. (/.) Next Anger rushed ; his eyes, on fire. In ^lightnings owned his secret stings : (*) (O In one rude clash | he struck the lyre. And swept | with hurried hand | the striiigs. ( 1 ) Fear expressed in aspirate tones. ( " ) Hold the I in " bewildered." ( * ) Lot " why " end higher than " not " began. ( * ) Final explosive stress on the marked words. 204 HELEN PO TTER S ( * ) [/S'fo^o.] With woful measures | wan ^De^spair, qqLow, sullen sounds his gTief beguiled — ( — ) A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; \8low.'\ 'Twas sad by fits', | {q.) by starts | 'twas wild. \Qay.'\ But °th*ou, °H6pe, | with eyes °so fair — What was °thy ^delightful measure ? (p.) [/S'fozo.] Still it whispered | promised pleasiire, (/) oAnd bade the lovely scenes at °distaiice | ^Bail ! (- -) Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And I from the r'ocks, | the woods, | the vale, | She called on ""Ecfid °stlll, | through all | the song ; And, where her °sweet^t °them:e she °cho'se, ( ^.) °A soft, responsive voice | was heard at eve^ close ; \Qay.'\ And °Hope, oen°chanted, | (- -) "smiled, and waved her golden hair. And ^longer had °s^e sung, ( — ) but, with a frown, (\) °°Revenge impatient rose ; ( — ) He threw his blood-stained sword | in °thunder ^down, And, I with a withering look, (- -) The war-denouncing trumpet took, (/) And blew a blast so | loud | and dread, ( — ) o^^®^® ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe I / c X I And, ever and anon, he beat \ The doubling drum, with furious heat, (p.) °And though sometimes, (/) each dreary pause be- tween, (/) Dejected Pity, (- -) at his side, °Her ( / ) soul-subduing voice applied, (- -) Yet still he kept his wild, °un°altered °mien, (Stac.) While each strained ball of sight seemed (') ^bursting II from his head. [Slow,] oThy numbers. Jealousy, to ( \) °naught were fixed — ( * ) Run (loAvn five or more notes on " despair," half aspirate. ( « ) Bring out tlie accented syllables in rhythmical beats, as in drumming ( 1 )IJring out cacli acceuted syllable with explosive rorcc, especially on "bursting." n{\)i IMPERSONATIONS. 205 (- -) ^Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of °dififering themes | the veering so*iig | was mixed ; (p.) oAnd °iiow I it courted °Love, (/.) now, °raving, | called on Hate. [/S'/ot/?.] ( — ) With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy | sat retired ; | And, I from her wild, sequestered seat. In notes by distance made °mo"re sweet, Poured through the mellow horn | her pensive soul ; {Stac. q p.) °And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; ( ) ['Slow.] °Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of Peace, and lonely musing. In hollow murmurs died away. (') ^But °oh ! ^how °altered was its °sprightlier °tone | When (\) °Cheerfulness, a nymph of ('") °healthi'est hue, ( — ) Her bow across her shoulder flung, ( — ) Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an ^inspiring ai^ | that dale and thicket riing — ( — ) The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ! (--) °The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs | and sylvan (") °boys, ^were °seeii Peeping from forth | their alleys green ; ^Brown °Exerci^ | rejoiced to hear ; And Sport leaped tip | and seized | his beechen spear. [Soberly.] Last came °Joy's ^ecstatic trial : He, I with viny (/) ^crown advancing. First to the lively °pipe ^his hand addressed ; ( 8 ) In monotone, every line lower and softer to the end. (» ) Run five to eight notes down on " oh," •' altered," " sprightller," and up as much on " tone." ( 10 ) «i Healthiest hue," three notes down and three up. ( " ) " Boys were seen," run down on " boys," use " were " as a pivot, and swing upward on " seen," making a cradle ( ~- ) of the three words. 206 HELEN POTTER'S °Biit soon he saw | the brisk | awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice | he loved the best ; (/) They would have thought, who heard the strain, ( — ) They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, ( — ) Amidst the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied | minstrel | dancing, | (■8tac.) While | his flying fingers | (•^) °kissed the strings, | Love framed with Mirth | a gay fantastic round : ('^)°Loose I were her tresses seen, | her zone (^ °un°bound; (/) o^nd °he | (/) ^ amidst his frolic play, | As if he would the charming (^) °air ^repay, Shook (\) "thousand | odors | ( — ) from his dewy wings. (\) °0 Music ! sphere-descending maid, "Friend of "Pleasure, | "Wisdom's aid ! (\) °Why, goddess! | why, to "us ^denied, (\) "Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre | aside ? ( / ) As, in that loved Athenian bower. You learned an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, | nymph endeared. Can well re°call | what then it heard ; ( " ) "Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to Virtue, | "Fancy, | Art ? (\) Arise | as in that (\) "elder time, (/) Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime. Thy wonders, | in that godlike age, (\) Fill I thy recording ( '') sister's | page: (/) „'Tis "said, ^and I believe the "tale— (\) Thy "humblest ^reed \ could "more "prevail, Had more of strength, | diviner rage, | Than all | which charms this | laggard age. E'en all at once "together ^found | ( — ) Cecilia's mingled world of sound. ( " ) Tlic same as above on " unbound." ( '3 ) " Heard " to rhyme with " endeared." ( >M Sister, i. e., history. IMPERSONATIONS. 207 (\) °0h, bid our vain endeavors cease, ^Re°vive | the just designs of Greece ; Return | in all | thy °simple state — ^Con°firra | the tales | her sons relate. The student who can properly read this "Ode to the Passions," can read anything well, since all varieties of voice, inflection, rates of speed, etc., are required to render it effectively. It is well worth careful study and continued practice. It can be made for readers and speakers almost as useful as is the scale to musicians. A SERIES OF TABLEAUX. To accompany a Reading" of *' Ode to the Passions.'* ARRANGED BY HELEN POTTER. A series of strong tableaux can be made to accompany the reading of this poem. The stage should be arranged so that the changes can be made quickly and without dis- turbing the reader. A couple of squares of plank on rollers would, perhaps, be useful, as one figure could be posed while the other is on exhibition ; else, side by side, two sets of screens or curtains, to be used alternately. A maroon or very dark crimson throws out a picture better than any other color; hence a background of maroon cloth and screens or curtains of the same color, are an absolute neces- sity. Arrange them so that they can be quickly and easily closed or opened, by means of strings worked at the side. Having selected the persons to pose in the tableaux, re- hearse and time them, to ascertain hov; many seconds each one can remain motionless, just as they are posed for exhibition. The reader advances to a position where he or she will not intercept the views, and begins to read. When he arrives at " Fear," in the second stanza, the curtain should open noiselessly, and reveal the posed figure of "Fear." At the word of the text, gauging his seconds of posing, close the curtain. The subject should still remain in posi- tion, but may relax the will, and take a moment of rest. 208 HELEN POTTER'S If recalled, he again assumes the intent posture and is again exhibited ; if not, he steps down and out, and the scene is over. The reader, in the meantime, follows the pulse of the audience and waits or continues, as he perceives a need. "When the third stanza brings out the word " Despair," the tableau of "Despair" should be shown. In this manner continue, until the entire poem has been produced. Ap- propriate music, serving as a background for the reader's voice, adds greatly to the effect of this most artistic per- formance. Any good local musician can arrange music to correspond with each of the Passions ; and, of course, the better the music and stage-settings, the better the result. TABLEAUX. 1. Fear. — A young man; pale; large, open eyes, with a general look of surprise and uncertainty. Dress. — Shapes* and tunic of pale gray, and sandals. Pose.— Side view, sitting before a harp, and shrinking back from the harp, with hands repellent. 2. Anger. — A man ; pale ; dark eyes and hair ; heavy eyebrows ; frowning and fierce, with set teeth. Dress. — Shapes and tunic (or doublet and hose) of cardinal and black, and a dagger or sword, and sandals. Pose. — Side view, standing before a harp, and leaning forward, in the position one would naturally take who had given the strings a tremendous crash, and was about to repeat the act. 8. Despair. — A man ; tall, slender ; dark hair and eyes ; dark skin ; stooping shoulders, and a general look of misery and hopelessness. Dress. — Shapes, doublet and hose all black. Pose. — Three-quarter view, sitting or standing ; disheveled hair, one hand on the harp, and the other to the drooping head ; or, wdth fingers through the hair, and eyes rolled upward. 4. Hope. — A young lady ; long, flowing, yellow hair ; slight figure ; a bright and sunny face. Dress. — Long, loose robe of pale blue (uplifted thought) in Greek drapery, with bracelets, armlets, and anklets ; or, if pre- * Sliapea, close flttiiig silk or wool knit garmcuts revealing the bhape of tho limbs. IMPERSONATIONS. 209 f erred, a long, straight skirt, with a very short waist, and only a puff or cap for sleeves. Po^e — Standing; head thrown back, gazing upward, with a smile over the whole face, as well as upon the lips, and a lyre hung from the shoulders. For " Echo," a miniature duplicate of " Hope " (dress, style and all), placed within the pic- ture-space or area. Revenge and Pity. — A man ; a decided brunette, ugly and cruel to look upon. Paint shadows in reds and browns about the eyes, in the hollows of the temples, back of the cheek-bones, and down the cords of the neck ; also make three dark lines down the forehead between the eyes ; and mark the cords of the hands, and a spot below the "Adam's apple," shading it out and down- ward. Dress. — Shapes, tunic and cap, all red (cruelty) ; or a red doublet and hose, a red cloak and skull-cap, with a sword or poniard hanging from a belt. Pose. — Standing ; trumpet to the mouth, wdth an attitude and expression of blowing very hard. (Fill the cheeks wdth cotton.) " Pity " is a young girl ; slight figure ; light hair, and an angelic expression. Dress. — A robe of apple-green (intellect and love). Pose. — One hand ex- tended to heaven, and the other appealingly to "Re- venge," w^ith a look of love and tenderness. Here is an opportunity for a most exquisite and graceful pose, and a fine dramatic ensemble. Jealousy. — A man ; sandy hair, pale face, of a greenish- yellow (sickly hue); corners of the mouth drawn down; the whole expression sullen and frowning. Dress. — Shapes, doublet, hose and mantle in harmonious shades of green. Pose.— Standing or sitting ; shoulders up ; head bowed; brows down, and eyes looking up through shaggy brows ; holding a violin (or, if sitting, a bass-viol), with the bow- arm hanging limp and impotent. Near by, on the right hand and the left, stand "Love" and "Hate," wdth uplifted hands, and their eyes fixed upon "Jealousy." These are represented by two children, in guise of Cupid and Mephistopheles. The former a blonde, in a pink slip, with bare arms, legs and feet, a full quiver upon his back, and a bow and arrow in his hands. Paint the toes, fingers and chin red ; add dimples by putting a small white spot in each cheek and in the chin. "Hate " or Mephistopheles is a brunette, in red and black ; a 210. HELEN POTTER'S black skiill-cap, with a long red quill stuck upon one side, long-pointed sock-sboes, a belt and breech-cloth. Suit may be all of Jersey cloth. 7. Melancholy. — A young lady; pale, tall, slender and willowy, sloping shoulders and drooping. Bre^$. — A flowing Greek robe, i. e., a sleeveless, loose dress and peplum ; or, if preferred, an Empire robe of lavender color, sandals, bracelets, armlets and anklets. Pose. — Side view, classical ; sitting, one knee over the other, and hands clasped over the knee, with interlacing fingers (the outline showing a curved back and one sandaled foot, elevated) ; the hair carelessly caught up, and the face upturned, as expressed by the poet : "With eyes up- raised as one inspired." 8. Cheerfulness. — A young girl; happy and contented, with a bright, cheerful, smiling face. Dress. — Greek robe, or Empire gown, of violet or combined shades of heliotrope (physical and mental vigor), and a quiver full of arrows at her back. Pose. — Side view, standing on tiptoe ; "a bow across her shoulders flung," and two fine young athletes posing near her, " Exercise " and " Sport." They are two handsome young men of excel- lent model, supple and strong, and dressed in sporting costumes. 1st Athlete, " Exercise," is brown and vigor- ous. Dress. — Red and yellow, or red and some other color. Pose. — A graceful gymnastic position, e. g., spring- ing to catch a ball over head, or leaping. 2d Athlete, " Sport," is a blonde of vivacious temperament. Dress. — Crimson and gray, or orange, i. e., a costume in which red (physical force) figures conspicuously.^ 9. Joy. — A boy; jovial, rosy and vivacious; a brunette. Dress. — Yellow, bordering on orange ; shapes, trunks, jaxket and sandals; upon the head a crown of vine leaves. Expression, gay and laughing. Pose. — Standing ; play- ing the violin, while "Love" and " Mirth " pose as danc- ing to the music. " Love " is represented by a beautiful young girl in yellow ; " Mirth " by a boy full of frolic and fun, dressed fantastically in gay colors. For an encore, " Joy " drops the violin and, bow in hand, joins in dancing. Dancing-positions are endless in variety, * The colors herein set forth to typify the jjassious accord with the author's understanding of their signilicance ; oUieis muy have a dillerent interpreta- tion, and arc at liberty to use their own correspondences. IMPERSONATIONS. 211 and can be rendered exceedingly graceful, e. <;., in a circle, hands up, and one toe just touching the floor, etc. THE POEM IN ACTION. In case a full orchestra and full stage arrangements are available, with colored lights, storm-boxes, etc., this poem could be enacted, stanza by stanza, in magnificent style. The primitive, wild forest scene, with an arbor wherein Music dwells, her ''instruments of sound " hanging from the branches of the trees, her light or golden harp well defined against a dark background, etc. Also, a distinct sense of the power of color could be produced by means of colored lights, typical of each successive passion : Fear, gray ; Anger, red ; Despair, black ; Hope, light blue ; Re- venge, crimson ; Pity, apple-green ; Jealousy, green, with flashes of pink in the darkness for Love and Hate, which alternate in the moods of Jealousy; Melancholy, lavender; Cheerfulness, violet or heliotrope, with flashes of red, orange and purple for Exercise and Sport. Then the storm effects could be applied, lightning to accompany Fear ; thunder with Anger and Revenge; whistling wind with Despair, sighing wind with Melancholy, etc. THE POEM IN MARBLE. All good, single figures, or groups not too large, could be put into marble, if desired, and a grand gallery of statuary form the chief feature of the recital. Dress and Maks-up for Statuary. — Apply a liquid preparation called " Clown's White " to the face, neck, arms and hands. Smooth it evenly over the surface, with the palms and finger-tij^s, and add a wig- made of white cotton, or cotton-wool. The drapery must corres- pond with the copy. It may be a robe, tog-a, or cloak, of white, or cream-white cashmere. For temporary service, soft cheese-cloth will answer very well. Remember, however, that the color must be the same throughout, to represent marble ; the face, wig, drapery, all alike in color. Stand upon a low pedestal, and let the drapery con- ceal the feet and fall to the floor or near it. 212 HELEN POTTER'S SILEliT LETTERS A Study op Visible Expression. Appealing to the Eye alone. Students well trained in physical expression can make a most in- teresting display by means of prepared, sealed letters, conveying- various kinds of news. These letters are to be opened and silently read in presence of the spectators, the contents to be made apparent by attitude and action only ; i. e., by physical expression. EXAMPLES, DISPLAYING VARIOUS EMOTIONS. 1. A dunning- letter — Annoyance, contempt, etc. 2. A sad-news letter — Surprise, grief, etc. 3. An insulting letter — Anger, rage, disgust, etc. 4. A funny letter — Mirth, laughter, etc. 5. Of losses, disaster, ruin — Surprise, remoi'se, despair, etc. 6. A love letter — The gamut of the sentimental. Suggestions how to read these letters may be of great service to students who have little or no opportunity for proper physical train- ing, and, at the same time, serve as a basis for elaboration by others. Effective action must necessarily partake of the nature of the actoi-, since the same emotions are expressed in divers mannei'S by divei-s people. One is explosive, another suppressed, another paralyzed un- der the same sentiment or feeling, and your action should bear some- what of your personality. Remember that posture and gesture can be seen much farther than facial expression, the latter, in a large au- ditorium, being often lost to spectators beyond the first rows ; yet avoid exaggeration, otherwise you may appear more the contortionist or clown than the artist. A Dunning Letter— Annoyance, Etc. Look at the envelope, turn it over, look again. Examine the post-mark ; raise the eyebrows, and open it with a show of indifference. Read it, contract the brows, feel of the pocket, and toss the head with eyebrows up and eyes half closed. Throw the letter over the shoulder upon the floor; tap the foot, and w^histle or hum a tune very carelessly. A Sad-news Letter — Surprise, Grief, Etc. 8it at the table upon which the letters lie unopened [normo-mental] ; open the letter and read. [Surprise.] IMPERSONATIONS, 213 tSqaint ; \a^loni?i'hraent\ rise to your feet ; \^tii'por\ stare with wide open eyes, brows down, etc. ; recover yourself, sigh, awake, and return to the letter ; read, winking fast, and turn the head from side to side, as you follow the lines back and forth. [Convidio7i.] Give up and sink down, crushing the letter in the left hand, and swaying the body to and fro. [Agoni/ and rebellion.] Writhe, rise, groan, etc. [Sub- mission.] Weep, relax all the muscles, and, with face heav- enward and right hand uplifted, melt into prayer, and show submission to the Divine will ; or, if preferred, kneel, drooping the head and hands, and bend over toward the floor in a state of total abandonment to grief. An Insulting Letter — Anger, Rage, Etc. [Indifference.] Look the letter over, open it, turn to the inside signature, leaning back in the chair, the head turned aside. [Interest.] Read the letter, increasing in action ; sit up and bring the letter nearer the eyes. [Surprise.] Bring down the eyebrows, open wide the eyes and mouth; turn the eyes rapidly from one side of the letter to the other ; again look at the signature, date and envelope. [Anger.] Read again, frown, set the teeth, bend forward, clench the fist, and tap the foot impatiently. [Rage.] Crush the letter, rise, pace the floor to and fro, shake your fists, halt, make a sound of disgust, " ugh," and throwing it violently upon the floor, stamp upon it. Note. — Two or three vocal sounds, during the action of this letter, may add to the efi'ect; an "ugh! ""ha!" " m ! " or something of this sort ; but repeated too often would seriously mar the performance. A Funny Letter — Smiles, Laughter, Etc. This letter can best be read in the performer's o^vn style of mirthfulness ; therefore, no full directions will be given. To smile, to press your lips together and explode in laugh- ter, to hold your sides and " ha, ha, ha ! " or to titter and giggle and laugh suppressedly, must be a matter of choice and of nature combined. No directions could be given to suit all. A Bad-news Letter — Ruin, Disgrace, Etc, This varies from the sad-news letter in that remorse, despair, and even insanity may be touched upon in expres- 214 HELEN POTTERS sion. Imagine loss of reputation ; disgrace by some care- less act of your own ; . the loss of a dear triend by neglect or abuse ; loss by flood or fire, by sea or calamity of other sort ; the loss of a loved one or the loss of property which causes sorrow and suffering to family and dependents, etc. A Love Letter — Sentimental. Look at the envelope on all sides, and with trembling hands open the letter. Sigh and look to the signature at the end of it. Smile, read, and sigh ; turn about, holding it close to your heart. Rise, fold it up hastily, look about you as if fearful of discovery, hide it behind you, then open it again and look at the signature ; kiss it, fold it, and put it in your bosom. A Study op Audible Expression. Appealing to the Ear only. How much you can express by the voice alone can be tested by reciting a brief selection, poem or speech, while standing behind a screen. Stripped of all the assistance which comes of youth, beauty, grace, artistic attire, or the charm of an agreeable and magnetic presence, your vocal work will undergo a severe test. The writer experienced a test of this kind when called to entertain an audience of blind people. The impersonations were useless in such a case, for the make-up, dress, wigs, walk, etc., would go for nothing, and plain readings and recitations were substituted in their place. Dressed with due care and something of elaboration, as usual for enter- tainments elsewhere, the reader was escorted to the hall, w^here the audience were assembled and awaiting the per- formance. The usual effect of an entrance was lost, of course ; also the opening salutation, the deferential bow, which ordinarily puts the audience en rapport with the artist. As the reader looked upon the expectant, sightless faces around her, and felt the trustful repose of all those intelli- gent hands which lay so peacefully upon their laps, as if listening and expectant too, the question came to her: " How can I satisfy these waiting souls ? Here soul unto soul speaketh ; all else is vanity, indeed ! Whether I be old or young, awkward or graceful, homely or beautiful, in calico and bare arms, or satin and Paris gloves, is of no IMPERSONATIONS. 215 moment to them. The uplifted eyes, the pleading hands, smiles, frowns, hopes, fears, each and every emotion and sentiment must be heard, for none can see ! The tears must be in the voice, all, all in the voice ! May the Great Spirit abide with me, and dwell in every tone, every word, every sentence I utter this night ! " Indeed, no better test of your voice-work can be made than to read or recite to an intelligent blind person. If he is satisfied, you have succeeded well. In reading dialogues, see that the characters are kept distinct, each from the other, in quality and movement of voice. Emulate Mrs. Fanny Kemble Butler, who could keep six or eight charac- ters individual and distinct, so that any one could tell at any time which is speaking. If you can do this, then you can read well. Tripartite Expression. Appealing to the Eai\ Eye and Feeling. Three renderings of the sa.me story, if w^ell done, is a most curious and interesting performance. Select a short story or poem, one that can be clearly told hj gesture or pantomime, and commit it thoroughly. (1)^ Tell the story without gesture, or emotion, or any physical action not strictly necessary ; behind a screen if preferred. (2) Tell the same story in pantomime, without \vords. (3) Recite the poem with all the embellishments and ora- torical effects, voice, action, feeling, etc., and with a musi- cal accompaniment or background. A comical effect can be produced by two persons, one to recite, the other to pantomime at the same time, the recita- tionist apparently unconscious of the pantomimic display. If available, a party of pantomimists can perform in unison, and keep time by silent dancing or occasional light gym- nastics, in the rear of the speaker. 216 HELEN POTTERS OTHELLO. A STUDY OP TOMMASO SALVINI. [Text from his acting- copy of Shakespeare's Othello.) Arqument.— Othello, the Moor, was commander of the Venetian army, lago was his ensign or ancient. Desdemona, the daughter of Bra- ban tio, the senator, fell in love with the Moor, and he married her ; but lago, by insinuation, falsehood, and villainy, wi-oug-ht a thread of circumstantial evidence ag-ainst the innocent wife, so that Othello, aroused to jealousy, smothered her with a pillow, and then killed himself. Act I., Scene I.— A dark street. Scene II.— Council Chamber. When in Act I. Othello is set upon by the venerable Brabantio and his party, for stealing his daughter, he coolly advises them to put up, or rather Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more Command with years^ than with your weapons. They call him names, taunt and abuse him, saying he must be subdued ; conscious of his superior strength, he replies : Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a prompter. And adds in a most conciliatory tone and manner : Where will you that I go, | to answer this charge ? They answer rudely : To prison, till fit time of law call thee to answ^er. Then, in his answering question, the officer and diplomat appear : What if I do ^o°bey ? How may the °Ditke \ be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers | are here about my side. Upon some present business of the °state, To bring me to °him f The court is convened, and awaits the coming of the Moor. The Duke and the senators are stationed on the right ; the guard, in armor, at the rear j while Prs.bftntip, Cassio, lago, and othei's enter IMPERSONA TIONS. 217 from the left, and await the issue. Brabantio makes the charge, and Othello is called upon to answer. Then comes the Moor's famous plea, beg-inning- with : ** Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors." Othello stei">s forward, and with dignity addresses the court. He makes few gestures, and no display of oratory ; but proceeds to nar- rate the circumstances of his acquaintance with Desdemona, and of their mutual attachment. The mighty warrior is cool and pacific, both in speech and manner : Othello. Her father loved me, oft invited me, Still questioned me the story of my life. From year | to year, — the battles, | sieges, | "fortunes. That I had passed. I ran it through, | even from my °boyish days, j To the very moment | he bade me tell it ; Wherein I spake | of most disastrous chances, Oi moving accidents | by flood and field, | 01 hair-breadth 'scapes | i' the imminent deadly breach, | Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery ; of my Qre°demption | thence. My story being do'ne | She gave me for my pains a (\) °world of sighs. °She swore, ^in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas "passing ^strange ; 'Twas ( \) "pitiful, 'twas (\) "wondrous pitiful. She wished she had not heard it ; yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me ; And bade me, ^if I had a friend (/) that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell "my oStdry, (/) And that | would "woo her. Upon "this ^hint | I spake. She (\) "loved me | for the "dang'ers | I had passed, | (/) And I loved "her | ^that she did "pity ^them; (\) This only | is the (\) "witchcraft | I have used. Othello steps back and puts out his hand. (/) Here comes the "lady ; (\) "let her witness it. All turn to look at Desdemona, as she enters. Her father, standing by the senators, and near to the front of the stage, addresses her : 218 HELEN POTTER'S Brab. (\) °Come hither, ^gentle mistress ; ( — ) Do you perceive | in all this noble company Where °most | (\) °you owe obedience ? Desdemona advances to the front near her father, and answers : Des. My noble fath'er, (/) I do perceive here | a "divided oduty. My life and education | °both (/) do learn me (\) °How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty. Othello advances and listens eagei-ly. (/) I am hitherto | °your daughter; She pauses, looks back, and pointing* to Othello, adds : but here's || ^my °husband. Othello turns and, pressing his clasped hands to his breast, nods to lago, as to say : "See, she is mine, of her own free choice, and you see she loves me ! ah, how sweet, how beautiful she is ! " As she continues her speech, he turns his head from side to side, smiling and admiring her, looking excessively proud and happy, and so sure of her that every one unconsciously smiles too, in an outburst of human sympathy. Brabantio speaks in a kindly tone, which Othello welcomes as a harbinger of peace and good-will. Brdb, ( \ ) °God be with you ! ^I have done. (\) °Come hither, Moor. [Othello advances.] I here do give thee th'at | with all my heart, Othello throws up his hands in gratitude, and impulsively holds them out toward Brabantio. °Which, ^but that thou hast already, °with all my heart, || (/. g.) ''°I would keep from thee ! At this sudden and violent turn of manner, Othello starts back, over- whelmed with surprise and disappointment ; but he soon becomes severe and reserved. Then follows the Duke's order. A military expedition must be undertaken at once, and Othello must go and leave Desdemona behind. Now comes struggle, keen and swift, between his duty as commander of an army, and his duty to this beautiful, new-found treasure, who needs his protection and tender care. Her father is angry and cruel ; she must not go to him. To entrust her to strangers, alas ! that would never do. So he begs the court to provide for her as becomes her station. Desdemona^ upon her knees, now implores permission to go with him to the wars. Othello tenderly raises her and, with his arm about her, assures the court that he will not pi'ove remiss in his duty to the state if Desde- mona be permitted to have her way. The request being granted, he IMPERSONATIONS. 219 consigns his beloved wife to the care of his friend, "honest lag-o," to escort her to camp, while he attends to important matters necessary to the expedition. The court adjourns, and as they pass out (centre) all bow to Othello and Desdemona. When, last of all, Brabantio passes them, Desdemona rushes toward him with extended hands, mutely imploring- forg-iveness. Brabantio pauses and, without noticing- her, addresses Othello in words that sting-, like a poisoned arrow, projecting- the last one with unutterable cruelty, accompanied by a grand flourish of the hand : (\) °Look to her, Moor, | if thou hast eyes to see ; (/) She has deceived her ""fath&i^, \ and inay || °°THEE ! Then with long- strides he makes his exit, pursued by the infuri- ated Moor. Suddenly Othello pauses ; the thought seems to come to him : "If I smite her father, I smite her." He reels with emotion, hurries to her side, wraps his cloak about her trembling- form, and moves swiftly away with her (Jeft). Act II., Scene I.— A fortified town on the Island of Cyprus. In front of the castle, Montano and several officers are discovered. Enter Desdemona, with Emilia, lag-o, and others. Being- assured that this beautiful lady is the wife of the General, they kneel to do her honor. She inquires after her lord, and some light conversation follows ; during- this time Cassio takes her hand and speaks to her in a low voice. lago notes this for after use, to excite the Moor to jeal- ousy. At this i^oint Othello is announced. He comes upon the scene with impetuous speed, seeking his bride. Radiant with delight, she runs joyfully forward and meets him half way. At sight of her he pauses, throws up his hands and, with a quick glance to heaven, ex- claims, in tones of deep gratitude : ( \ ) °0h, my fair warrior ! They embrace and, slowly moving forward to the centre of the scene, his eyes still fixed upon her face, he continues his rhapsody : 0th, (\) °0h, my soul's joy ! If after every tempest | come °such ^calms, May the winds blow | till they have °wakened ^death ! (/) And let the laboring barque | climb hills of seas (/) Olympus-high, | and duck again | as low As °heirsfrom ^heaven ! If it were now | to die, | 'Twere now | to be most happy ; for, I fear. My soul hath her content °so (/) ^absolute, ( — ) That not another comfort | like to this, | oSuc°ceeds | in ( \ ) °unkno^vn fate. 220 HELEN POTTER'S Des. The heavens forbid, But that our loves and comforts | should Qin°crease (\)Even as our days do grow ! Olh. °Amen ^to °that, °sweet ^powers I (\) I cannot speak | Qe°nough | of this content ; It stops me here ; it is too much of joy. He strokes her hair and holds her close, with his hand on her head ; turns her face up toward his, and moves his head rig-ht and left, as if drinking from her soul's beauty ; then kisses her tenderly, and moves forward with her. O^h. Come, let us to the castle. News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are drowned. How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? [To Des.] ^Honey, you shall be well desired | in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst th'em. (\) °0 my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine (\) own comforts. I pr'ythee, good lago, Go to the bay, and disembark my cotfers. ^Come, Desdemona. Exeunt all but lag-o and Roderigo, and the scene darkens ; it is night. lago now contrives to get up a drunken brawl in the street., which ends in a fight. Othello, disturbed in his slumbers, rushes ex- citedly forth in his dressing-gown, with a red cloak over his shoulders. 0th. °What is the matter here ? °°Hold | for your lives ! °For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl ; He that stirs next to carve for his own rage, Holds his soul light ; he dies | upon his motion. ^Honest lago, | that lookst dead Avith grieving. Speak, I (\) ^who began this ? Othello stands haughtily, and glares from one to the other of the rioters. lago's ansv/er exonerates himself, and injures those he de- sires to ruin. 0th. °Wirat ! and in a town of war, The people's hearts | °brimful ^of fear, To manage private and doinestic quarrels ! (gut.) o'Tis "monstrous I UdPERSONAriONS, 221 Desdemona, hearing- the uproar, and fearful lest something" serious has happened to her lord, rushes upon the scene in dishabille. At sight of his frightened wife, Othello again becomes incensed at the affair, and, in angry tones, orders them away. Tiien taking off his cloak he wraps it about her, and hurries her away (Hght). Act III., ScENB III. — Cyprus. A room in the castle. This scene opens with an interview between Cassio, who has been deposed on account of the street-brawl, and Desdemona. Emilia, her attendant, is also present. Cassio implores her on his knees to inter- cede with the Moor, in his behalf ; and, pitying him, she promises to do everything in her power to restoi-e him to position and favor with her lord. Othello and lago enter in time to see Cassio depart. lago. °Ha ! (\) °I like not th'at. Olh, What dost thou say ? logo. Nothing, my lord ; I know not what. lago says this as if he had thought aloud and would conceal it. 0th. ^Was not that Cassio | parted from my wife ? lago. Cassio, my lor3.! No, | sure, | [halting] I cannot think it, That he would steal away so (\) °guilty-like, Seeing you coming. 0th, I do believe 'twas he [with lowering broios], Des. [advancing]. ^How °now, | ^my °lord ! I have been talking with a °suitor ohere"; A man that languishes | in your displeasure. 0th. „Who °is it | you mean ? Des. °Why, | your lieutenant, °Ca"ssio. (/) Good, my lord, [Othello bends an inquiring look upon he?-] If °I I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation °take ; For if he be not one | ^that °truly gloves you, That errs in ignorance, | and not in cunning, I have °no ^judgment, | (\) in an honest face. Olh. Went he hence now ? Des. °Ay, ^sooth; ^so ^hum^bled [her hand on his arm] That he hath left °paft ,of his °gfief | (\) with me, qTo suffer with him. °Good ^love, | (\) °call him back. 222 HELEN POTTER'S 0th. °Not qHOw, ^sweet Desdemona; (\) °some otlier time. [He puts his arm about her affectionately. 1 Des. °But shall 't be ^shortly ? 0th. The °sooiier, ^sweet, | ^for °yoli. Des. {/) Shall 't be to-night, | ^at °supper ? 0th. ^NoTonot ^to-°night. Des. To-morrow, °diniier, Qth"eii? 0th. \restless\ (/) I shall not | ^dine at °home ; I meet the °captains, | at the °citadel. Moves away from her annoyed ; she follows. Des. oWhy, °then, | to-morrow night, | or Tuesday morn; Or "Tuesday Qnooii, or night; or (\) ° Wednesday morn. I pr'ythee °naine the ^tiine ; but let it not Exceed three days ; °in ^faith, | he's "penitent. (\) °When shall he come ? ^Tell me, ^Othello. [He mows about uncomfortable^ but not angry.'] (\) °I wonder | in my s"oul. What °you ^could ask °me, || that I should deny. Or stand so (\) °mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a "wooing ^with you; and so many a time. When I have spoke of you dispraisiiigly, Hath "ta'en ^your "part, to have so "much ^to "do To bring | him | in! (\ ) Trust me, (\) "I could do | °mu"ch— 0th. [takes her to his side and speaks kindly']. Pr'ythee, no more ; ^let him (\) "come when he will ; (/) I will deny thee | "nothing. Des. [surprised]. "Why, (\) this is not a boon ; 'Tis as I should entreat you | wear your gloves. Or I feed on nourishing dishes, | or | keep you warm, Or sue you | to do a peculiar profit To your own person. oNay, when "I ^have a "suit, Wherein I mean to touch your love, | ^indeed It shall be full of "poise | and "difficult weight, jjAud fearful | to be granted. 0th. I will deny thee | nothing. IMPERSONATIONS. 223 He takes her white face between his brown hands and gazes search- ingly into her eyes ; then, melting- into tenderness, he kisses her twice upon the forehead. Whereon I do beseech ^thee, (\) °grant me this. (- -) To leave ine | but. a little | to myself. Be?,, Shall 1 deny you? ^No. (\) °Farewell, my lord. \He accompanies her to the dooo'.] 0th. ^Fare^well, my ^Desdemolia ; I'll come to thee straight. Des. Emilia, come. [To Othello.] Be | as your fancies teach you. What(\)°e'er you be, | °I am o°bedient. [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.'] 0th. {gut.) ^Per^dition ^'catch ^my soul, (- -) But I do I love I thee ! | and when 1 '^love ^thee °not, (\) °Chaos I qIs °come | ^again. lago. My noble loFd — 0th. [starting, and angry at being overheard']. What dost say, lago ? lago [insinuating']. Did | Michael Cassio, | when you wooed my lady, Know of your love ? 0th. ^He °did,from °fifst °to Jast. Why dost thou °ask? lago. (\) °But for a satisfaction of my thought, No further harm. 0th. (\) °Why of thy thought, Jag5 ? lago. I did not | tHmk | he had been | ^acquainted with her. 0th, Oh, yes ; and went between us very oft. lago. Indeed ! 0th. Indeed ! ay, oin°deed ; discernst thou aught in that ? Is he not honest ? lago. °Honest, ^my lord ! 0th. °Hon"est, ay, °honest. lago. My l5fd. | for aught I know. 0th. {/) ^What dost thou "thmk ? 224 HELEN POTTERS lago. Think, my lord ! 0th. [impatient]. Think, my lord ! ^By heaven, he °echoes me. As if I there were some °monster | in his thought, Too hideous | to be shown. [To lago.] Thou dost °mean ^something. I heard thee say but now, thou lik'dst not that, (- -) „When Cassio left my wife. ( \) °What didst not like ? And when I told thee he was of my counsel. In my whole course of wooing, | thou criedst " indeed! " And didst contract and purse thy brow togeth"er. As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit. (\) If thou dost love me, (\) °Show me [ ^thy ^thought. [Rises.] lago. My lord, | you know | I love you. Both move to the centre of the scene, and Othello takes Lino's hand. 0th. (/) I think thou °dost ; And — for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty. And weighst thy words before thou giv'st them breath — ^jThere"f6re, these ^stops of thine | fright me the °niore. For such things in a false, disloyal ^knave. Are tricks of ^cus^tom ; but in a man that's Just, They're closed re°latioiis, working from the heart, That "pas^sion | cannot °rule. Iag"0 continues to mystify and excite mistrust, and makes the famous speech : Who steals my purse | steals trash ; || 'tis Somethiiig, | nothing. (/) 'Twas mine, (\) 'tis his, || And has been the slave to "thousands. But he that filches from me | my good name, | Robs me of that | which (\) °not enriches him, | (/) And makes *^me | opoor | indeed. Othello vibrates from love to jealousy ; from confidence to doubt, lag-o departs, and Desdemona enter:?. To account for his ag-itation, Othello claims to suffer much pain in his head. She endeavors to bind her handkerchief about his brow, but he flings it upon the floor, IMPERSONATIONS. 225 and they pass out together. Emilia enters and picks up the hand- kerchief, delighted because her husband, lago, has often importuned her to steal it for him. He enters and takes it away from her. lago stands afar and unobserved. Othello enters {right) in great distress of mind, and talking to himself. lago speaks, and the M(ior is filled with disgust and rage at having been overheard ; with in- creasing vehemence he addresses lago. 0th. (^M^.) If thoudost slander her, | and torture ine, | (- -) Never | pray | more ; abandon °°all remorse. On horror's head, | °°horror3 accumulate, Do deeds | to make °heaven oWeep, all °earth ^amazed ; For ^nothing | °canst ^thou | to ^dam^natiou'add (--) Greater than that ! During this speech he becomes furious. He pursues the cowering lago to the extreme (left) front of the stage ; seizes him by the collar and crushes him to the ground. Not satisfied with that, he takes him by the top of his head and flings him over, flat upon his back, and raises his foot, like an infuriated Samson, to stamp upon him. Sud- denly he pauses and staggers back, crying, in fearful tones: **No, no, no ! " Then he returns, reaches down and takes him by the hand, and pulls him upon his feet. No sooner is lago upon his feet, than Othello sends him spinning from him with the intensest loathing and disgust. After having exhausted his rage, he listens to lago, and once more trusts him. Then, in confidence, lago tells how Cassio has Desdemona's handkerchief ; how he talks of her in his sleep, and of love, until Othello is convinced of her guilt, and, upon bended knee, swears vengeance upon them both. lago is now happy ; he will suc- ceed in his villainy. Act III.— Scene, a room in the castle at Cyprus. This act opens with a scene between Desdemona and Emilia, con- cei-ning a lost handkerchief. Bes. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ? 'Emil. I know not, madam. i)e.9. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse, Full of cruzadoes ; and but my noble Moor Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness As jealous creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill thinking. Emil. Is he °not JealoTis ? Des. Who, he ? I think the sun where he was born Drew all such humors from him. Ennil. Look, where he comes. 226 ■ HELEN POTTER'S Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio Be called to him. [Enter Othello.] How is 't with you, my lord ? Oth.WeW, my good lady. [Aside.] Oh, hardness to dissemble ! Give me your hand. He takes her hand and looks at the palm, places his other hand over it, and discourses upon its qualities and their significance, and finally asks her to lend him her handkerchief. 0th. ^Lend me thy handkerchief. Des. Here, ^my °lord. [He returns it.] 0th. (\) That which I gave you. [She hesitates.] Des. ( \ ) I have it not | ^a^bout ^roe. 0th. "^0? Des. No^ (\) indeed, my lord. 0th. That is a °fault. That handkerchief Did an Egyptian | to my mother give. She was a charmer, | and could almost read The thoughts of people. She told her, | while she kept it, ^'Twould make her °amiable, | and ^sub^due my ^father Entirely | to her love ; | but || if she °lost it, || Or made | a gift of it, || my father's eye Should hold her loathed, | and his spirits should hunt After °new ^fancies. She, dying, gave it me. And bade me, | when fate would have me wive, ( To give it fier. ^I °did s^; (/) and, take heed on 't. Make it a darling | like your precious eye ; To lose I or give 't away | ^were ""such (/) ^perdition (- -) As nothing else could match. Des. ''Is 't ^possible ? [ Wringing her hands.] ^ 0th. 'Tis true ; ^there's °magic | in the °web of it. Des. Then would to heaven | that I | had never seen it. 0th. [starting]. Hal wherefore ? Des. Why do you speak so °startlingly | and rash ? 0th. [fiercely]. Is 't lost ? Is 't gone? Speak, is it out o' the way ? Des. (\) "Heaven bless us I iMPERSONA TIONS, 227 0th. Speak ! i)e.«. ^It is ''not „l6st ; ( \ ) but what an' if it *^were ? 0th. HaT how ? Z)es. I say, I it is ""not ^lost. 0th, '^''Fetch *t ; let me see it. Bes. [starts to go for it]. Why, so I can, sir, [pauses] but I will not now. [Returns.] (\) This is a °trick | to put me from my °suit. Pray you, let Cassio be „re°ceived ^again. 0th. [pacing to and fro in anger]. (\) "^Fetch me that handkerchief ; my mind misgives. Des. Come, come. [Failing to understand.] (\) You'll never meet | a more ^sufficient man. 0th. The handkerchief, — Des. I pray, | (\) talk me of | °Cassio. 0th. The ^handkerchief,— Des. A man that all the time Hath founded his "^good ^fortunes | on your love ; ^Shared ^dangers with you — 0th. [pacing up and down], (asp.) The handkerchief! Des. In sooth you are to blame [approaches him]. 0th. [throws her from him]. ° A.w8ij I [Exit Othello in o^age.] [Enter Emilia.] Emit. Is not this man jealous ? Des. 1 °ne'er saw this | obe°f6re. Sure, there's some "wonder" | in this handkerchief. I am most °un°happy | (/) in the loss of it. (-- -) Something sure, of state, hath puddled his clear spirit. Emit. Pray heaven it be °state Qmatte'rs, as you think. And no jealous toy concerning you. Des. (\) °Alas the day ! (/) I never gave him caiise. Emil. But jealous souls | will not be (\) °answer'd so. They are not °ever jealous for the cause. But jealous | for they are "jealous ; 'tis a monster, Begot upon ^it^self, "born ^on ^itself. 228 HELEN POTTER'S Des. [sadly]. Heaven keep that monster | from Othello's miii3l Emil. °Lady, Qanieh t [Exeunt.] In the fourth act, Desdemona is abused, and m great grief. Still ig-norant of the true cause of her lord's strange conduct, she uncon- sciously continues to add fuel to the fire of his jealousy. At last, overcome by his feelings, he falls, face down, upon a sofa, and sobs aloud. After this outburst, she is made acquainted with the charges brought against her. Then follow such protestations of innocence, such deep grief, as should move a heart of adamant ; but he is not convinced, and with both hands to his bowed head, and groaning in agony, he strides away, and she is left upon her knees, still weeping bitterly. Act v.. Scene, Desdemona's bed-chamber. Enter Desdemona and Emilia. They go to the dressing-table, which is on the right. Des. {p.) °He hath commanded me to go to bed, And bade me to dismiss you. E^nil. Dismiss me ? Des. It was his biddiiig ; therefore, | good Emilia, Give me my night- wearing, and adieu ; (\) We must not ^now Qdis°please him. [Sits.] Emil. I would you had never °seen ^hiin ! Des. (\) °So would not | "'I ; my love doth °so ^approve hiin', (/) That even °his | ^stubbornness, | his °checks, his °frowns, ^Have °grace and °favor | ^in them. [Sighing.] My mother had a maid "called | ^Barbara ; She was in °love, and °he she °loved (\)°proved mad, And did Qfor°sake ^her. She had a song | of "Willow." An old thing 'twas, | but it expressed her "for^tulie, (/) And she died | singing it. °That song | to-night Will not go from my mind. I have °much | ^to °d(5^ {p.) {^^) °But to go hang my head | all at one si^, And sing it, | like poor ^Barbara. [Sighs.] Pr ythee dis^ patch. Emil. Shall I fetch your nightgown ? IMPERSONA TIONS. 229 Des. No, unpin me | ^here. [Emilia takes down her hair while she sings,'] Slow and with feeling. '%^i =qv=:j=:t=]=:=qizzi; 1. The poor soul sat sigh - ing 2. The fresh streams ran by her i 'a=H=R-z=:^z=1=:F=q: A by a and. . sy - ca - more murmur'd her -m-- — pv — I— r-d -^ = ^^ — •— K M *" 1 1— I r — Sr\ — \ 1 ^ — ^-l 1 1 — I 1— H — I c — ^ — p-F — I 1 \ — \—\-o — \~A 0-^ -9-- N — J— »— p -g g 9—o-U -H ^ —A tree, Sing wil - low, wil-low, wil - low, With her hand on her moans, Sing wil - low, wil-low, wil - low, Her salt tears fell :i=zq=:j=qd===:rqegrcid=d==F^ir^-r1r3 1 =1: bo - som from her And her head And.... soft ^^: :=i=3==:^=:=^3= 230 HELEN POTTER'S \&peakB .*] Lay by these [taking jeweU from her ears], [Sings ;] wil - low, Oil ! wil - low, Let wil - low, wil - low, wil - low, wil - low, And be my gar - no - - bo - - dy ... blame him, His scorn I ap - Et- -i r- ^^iHi^ [Speaks :] Pr'ythee, hie^; he'll come anon. [Sings :] IMPERSONA TIONS. 231 — h - land Sing all a green willow, - prove, He was born to be false, 1-r-J r low, wil - low, die for his ^^H willow. Oh! sing the green wil -low must be my gar-land. love, Oh ! sing the green wil - low must be my gar-land. -0-- — I — ^ ==f=-p-U-i=i '^=^^i gfcgEEE tt: '-T- m I r i Nay, that's not next. [Starts.] Hark! who is 't that knocks ? Emit. It's the wind. Des. " I called my love false love; hut what said he then ? 8ing Willow, Willow^ Willow.''^ ( \ ) Gret thee gone ; ^good-^night. [Kisses her.] Mine eyes do itch ; doth that bode weeping ? [Rises.] I have heard it said so. (\)°0 these men, (\)°theseQmen! Dost thou in conscience think, [places her hands on Emilia's shoulders, and looks sadly into her eyes] tell me, Emilia, That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kinS ? Emil. ( \ ) °There be some such, | ^no "question. 232 HELEN FO TTER S Des. [sighing]. I do not think there is any | such ] woman. Emil. °Yes, ^a °dozen. Des. ''Good-Knight, °good-Qnight ; °heaven help ine. [Sings as she passes across the stage, and behind the curtains at the rear. Exit Emil.] " The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, iSing all a green willow,'^ etc. Darkness now creeps over the scene, and an ominous silence fol- lows. Cautiously, Othello enters and slowly closes the door, and, like a statue, stands some moments in silence ; then, throwing off his red cloak, he goes quickly to the curtain and looks in upon Desdemona. He returns to the door, tries the knob, crosses over, sits before her dressing-table, and talks aloud to himself. 0th. It is the cause, I it is the cause, | my soul ! pLet me not (\) "name it to you, | ^ye chaste stars I It is the cause. Yet I'll °not shed her °blood, Nor scar that ( \) "whiter skin of hers | than snow, (- -) And smooth as monumental alabaster. (- -) Yet I she must | die. (/) ^Put out the light, | ^and °then — ^put out | the UgKi? If I quench thee, thou flaming minister [to the lamp], I can again | thy former light "restore, (/) ^Should I repent me ; but once put out °thy olight, (-• -) Thou cunning pattern | of excelling nature, I know not "where | is that Promethean heat ^That can "re^lume. When I have plucked the rose, (- -) I cannot give it vital growth again. It must needs "wither. ^^Pll smell it | on the tree. He goes to the curtain, enters, and comes forth with both arms over his bowed head, hands clasped, and sobbing aloud. balmy breath | that dost persuade Justice herself | ^to break | her sword ! One more, | one m(5fe I He looks again ; it thunders and lightens, and Desdemona moans in her sleep ; he pauses. Be thus I when thou art dead, | and I will kill thee, (/) And love thee | "after. One more, | and the last, IMPERSONATIONS. 233 He g-oes to her yet once again, and comes quickly forth, exclaiming : She wakes. Bes. Ippens the curtoin with one arm up, and t?ie other down in graceful pose]. Who 's there ? Othello ? 0th, Ay, Desdemona. Des. (\) ''Will you come to ^bed, | (/) °my lord? 0th. Have you prayed | to-night, Desdem^a ? Des. Ay, I my lord. 0th. If you bethink you | of any crime Unreconciled as yet | to heaven and grace, Solicit for it | strai^t. Des. [coming forward]. Alas, | my lord, | (\) °what do> you mean by that ? 0th. ^Well, °do it, | ^and be brief. ( — ) I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; °No, ^Heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy °soul. [He paces a circle (right) and she follows.] Des. Talk you of killing ? 0th. Ay , I (fe ! Des. Then °Heaven have mercy on me ! 0th. Amen, with all my heart ! Des. If you say so, | I hope you will °not ^kill °me. 0th. Hum ! [He walks to the extreme right and stands with his back toward her ; she follows.] Des. And yet I fear you, | for you're °fatal °theu When your eyes °roll so. °Why I should fe'ar | I know not, Since (\) °gLiilt I know not; yet I feel | °I fear. 0th. [turns savagely]. ^Think on thy sms ! Des. They are °loves I bear | ^to °you. 0th. Ay, and for that | thou di^t! [Walks to and fro.] • Des, That death 's °unnatiiral | that kills for gloving Alas ! why gnaw you so | your nether lip ? Some bloody passion | shakes your very frame ; These are portents ; but yet I hope, | ^I °hope, (\) °They do not point | ^on °me. 234 HELEN POTTERS 0th. Peace, | and be still ! Des. (\) I will so. (w) ° What's the ^matter ? {He grasps with both hands her left arm.] 0th. (q.) The handkerchief of which I so loved and gave thee, Thou gav'st to Cassio ! Des. °No; by my life and °soul ! °Send for the man, | and °ask ohiin. 0th. Sweet soul, take heed, Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy death-bed. Des. °Aj, but not yet to die ! 0th. Yes; I immediately; Therefore, confess thee freely of thy sm : Thou art to die ! Des. [kneeling]. Then Lord have mercy on me ! And have you mercy, too ! I °never did ^Offend you | in my life ; never loved Cassio, But with such general warranty of Heaven As I °might olove. I '^never ogave him ^to^ken. 0th. I saw the handkerchief in 's hand. perjured woman ! thou dost stone my heart, Des. He found it then ; 1 °never ( / ) ^gave it him ; send for him '^hither, And let him confess a °truth. • 0th. He °hath ^confessed. Des. He will °not ^say sd". 0th. No; his mouth is stopped. Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. Des. What, is he °dead ? [Rising.] Alas ! he is betrayed, | and I | °undone ! [Trembling.] 0th. Weepst thou for him to my face ? Des. O banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 0th. [grasps her hand]. Down, false woman! Des. °Kill me to-morrow ; "let me live | to-night I 0th, [dragging her along]. Nay, if you strive, — IMPERSONATIONS. 235 Des. °Biit half an hour — But while I say °one prayer ! {^^he strives to break away from him.] 0th. It is too late ! They disappear behind the curtains ; then moans are heard, each softer than the one before, and silence follows. Loud, quick raps are heard at the outer door ! Emit. ^My °l6rd ! ^my °°lord ! Othello hastily thrusts his head outside the curtain, revealing- a face of teri'or, demoniac and horrible to behold. The curtains are pressed close about the head, revealing- no other part of his person, and he mutters in a deep voice, ag-itated by intense fear. 0th. What noise is this ? He disappears, and the rapping is repeated. Emit, [calling]. My lord ! my lord ! I'd speak a word with you ! Othello comes hurriedly out, and running" to the door, listens. 0th. °°Who's there ? [To himself.] „Yes— 'tis Emilia. [Aloud.] °^By-and-by. [To himself .] ^She's dead. (- -) ^'Tis like she comes | to speak of Cassio's death ; ( — ) The noise was high ! [Goes back to look at Desdemona.] ^Ha ! no more moving ! ^Still as the grave ! [Returns to the door.] Shall she come in ? Were 't good ? [Three times e.^says to unlock the door.] I think she stirs again. [Listens for Desdemona again.] No ! What's best to do ? If she comes in | she'll sure to speak to my wife. [Starts vacantly.] ^My wife ! | my °wife ! ( \) °I have no wife ! [In the broken voice of sorrow.] Oh, insupportable ! oh, heavy hour ! Methinks it should now be a huge eclip'se Of sun and mo^i ; and that the affrighted globe ^Should yawn | at alteration. Emit, [calling]. "I do beseech you That I may speak with you. °0 ^good, ^my °lord ! 0th. [taking a full breathy unlocks the door], J. had forgot them. °0 (\) °come in, Emilia. 236 HELEN POTTERS {Opens the door.'l (\) ° What's the matter with thee now ? 'EmiL [enters left]. °0h, my good lord, yonder's foul murthur done. ^'Cassio, ,^my lord, ^hath killed a young Venetian, Called Roderigo. 0th. Oh, come ! what now ? [Desdemona groans ; he paces up and down, and spats his hands to drown her moans ; hut Emilia hears her^ Emil. Alas, what '^cry is that ? Des. [wice afar]. Oh ! falsely, falsely murthured! Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice. [Emilia runs behind the curtain and calls aloud.] Help, help ! ^oh, °help ! lady, speak again ! (\) °8weet Desdemona! sweet mistress, °speak ! Des. [faintly]. A guiltless death I die^ Emilia pushes the curtain aside, revealing the sadly tumbled bed, and Desdemona lying diagonally across it, her head to the front, the pillow on the floor, all denoting her vain struggle for life. Emil. Oh, who hath done this deed ? Des. [in a weak mice to save Othello']. °Nobody ; || I my- self ; II ^farewell ! 0th. Why, how should she be °murthured? Emil. [advancing]. Alas! who knows ? 0th. You heard her say herself, | it was not I. EmiL oShe °said ^so. 0th, She's like a liar | gone to burning hell ; ^'Twas °I ^that killed her. Emil. Oh, the more °angel °she, and °you | the blacker odevil ! Olh. She was false | as water. Emil. Oh, she was heavenly true ! 0th. Thy °husband | knew it all. Emil. °My ^husband ? ^ 0th. Thy husband. Ay; 'twas he | that told me first Emil. °My Jms°band ? IMPERSONATIONS. 237 0th. What needs this °itterance, | ^woman ? I say thy ^husband. Dost understand the word ? My friend, thy °huSoband, honest, ( \ ) °honest lago. Emil. If he say so, | ^may his pernicious soul Rot I half a grain a day ! He "lies | to the heart ; 8he was too fond | of her filthy bargain. Olh. l^'ises to stab her]. Ha ! Einil. Do thy worst ; This deed of thine | is no more worthy °heaveii Than °thou | (/) wast worthy °her. gull ! dolt ! as ignorant as dirt ! Thou hast done a deed. [Othello advances upon her with his sword.] I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known tho' I lost twenty lives. °°Help ! £elp, ho ! help ! °The Moor hath killed my mistress ! °°Murthur! °°murthur! Enter Gratiano, Ludovico, lag-o, and others. Here follows a dis- cussion which reveals lag-o's true character, and proves Desdemona innocent. Othello falls moaning into a chair, overwhelmed by re- morse. Olh. Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! oh, oh, oh ! He goes to her bed, falls upon his knees, and, with arms across her dead body and his face bui'ied in the bed by her side, gives vent to sufh grief and remoree as only a great, passionate, and impulsive being like the Moor could feel. After the storm, he nses, draws his scimeter and wounds lago. Cassia. Dear General ! (\) °I never gave you cause — 0th. [interruptin-g him]. That's he that °was ^Othello. [To Cassio.] I do believe it, and ask your pardon. 8oft ; I a word or two | before you go. 1 have done the state °some ^service, | and they know it ; (- -) No more of that. °I pray you, | in your letters. When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me | (\) as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down naught | in malice. °Then must you speak Of one that loved °not ^wisely, | but °too well ; 238 HELEN PO TIERS Of one not easily jealous, | but, °being- wrought, Perplexed | in the extreme ; of one | whose hand, Like the base Judeah, | threw a °pearl ^aw'ay ^Richer | ^than all his tribe ; of one whose subdued eyes. Albeit unused to the melting mood, Drop tears as fast | as the Arabian trees Their medicinal giim. (\) °Set you down this; And °say, ^besides", that in Aleppo once, (- -) Where a malignant | and turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian, | and traduced the state, I took by the throat | the circumcised dog (/) oAnd smote him — || °thus ! \He drives the scimeter into his throat, reels heavily to the flom\ and dies?\ SiGNOR ToMMASo Salvini, the great Italian trag-edian, is a hale and hearty man of fifty years or more, who has won universal pt-aise for his extraordinary representation of Othello, Samson, and other pow- erful personages who figure in histo)'y and litei'ature. It is doubtful if the Othello of this great tragedian has ever been equalled. It is his own ; he presents effectively, and in quick succession, the noble Moor and the brave officer ; the proud, tender lover and the jealous, cruel husband ; the enraged friend ; the terrible murderer; the fren- zied mourner filled with remorse ; and, finally, the broken-hearted suicide. His voice is a basso profundo, of great pov^er. It can strike terror to the heart of an adversary, or melt into tenderness ; and ring all the changes of grief, remorse and despair. Stage-settings, Costumes, etc. — For Act I., Scene I., a full stage, dark street ; a large house, with a balcony upon the left For Scene II., a council chamber ; Duke and senators in red robes; tables draped to the floor in red cloth ; the Duke (in a deep ermine cape) upon an elevated seat, between two long tables, which extend along- the entire rieht of the stage. The guard stand inside the rear door, clad in bi-ight armor, with tall spears planted firmly befoi-e them, two in advance of the line. At the left are seen Gratiano, Ludovico, and others. This is the scene when the curtain rises. Othello enters left, in white cloak and turban, and halts near the centre of the stage. As he stands thei-e motionless, with his full, erect figure draped in white, his brown face surmounted with the great white turban, he looks like a grand statue of marble and bronze. The effect is instantaneous, and the magnificent voice does not detract from, but rather heightens the first impression. IMFERSONATIOJSIS, 239 Othello's costume is Mooi-ish throug-hout. For Act I., a tunic, simi- lar to the one Nvorn in Act III. (see below), but open down the front instead of at the side, and without the elaborate embroidery ; an un- der g-arment, quite like Zouave skirt or trousers, viz., full, reaching- to the g-arters, and sewn tog-ether at the bottom, save at the extreme right and left, where the legs pass through ; legg-ins of gobelin blue and embroidered in gold, extending from garter to instep, and meet- ing the Moorish shoes of buff leather, with their canoe-shaped toes ; a red cap wonnd around with the great white tui-ban ; an ample white cloak which drapes the remainder of the figure, or is carried upon the left arm ; about the neck a string of metal beads, and a huge, jeweled scimeter-hilt pi'Otruding from the bosom of the tunic. For Act II., a coat of mail ; full armor and a red cloak. For Act III., a tunic and trousers of oriental or gobelin blue (a color of medium depth and tinged with green). The tunic is fash- ioned very much like the Chinese outer garment, but with short sleeves (above the elbow). It is buttoned from the shoulder-seam to a point a little below the waist-line, on the right, and hangs free and open below that point. The bosom, corners, and close undersleeves are embroidered with gold braid to match the border, and a pyi^a- mid is wrought from the middle of the tunic behind each way ; one from the bottom upward, and, inversely, one from the neck down- ward. A crimson sash is tied in long loops on the left side, and the curved scimeter is thrust under it in front. For Act v., a tunic of yellow broadcloth, open in front, with six large cii'cular buttons or ornaments of the yellow cloth, pinked about the edges, and each set with a sparkling stone, three buttons for each side. Under the tunic is a white shirt or blouse, covering the arms to the wrists, and showing at the throat ; over the whole a red cloak, to be thrown off during the first part of the action. Signor Salvini (as did also Mme. Ristori when playing in this coun- try) gave the text belonging to him in his own tongue (Italian), while the rest of the company sj^oke in English. Therefore, the peculiar power of his elocution is much diminished by translation. A single word in one language may express more than a dozen words of another language. The costumes, action, expression and general effects of passion and elocution are available ; the rest is only approx- imate, not absolute. DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK V Edited by ELSIE M. WILBOR, Assistant Editor of WERNEE'S VOICE MA&AZINE. Something unique in Recitation Books. Original in design and unequalled in excellence. A NEW MEDALLION PORTRAIT OF DELSARTE PREPARED SPECIALLY FOR THIS "WORK, WITH HIS FAVORITE RECITATIONS. Plays, Monologues, Pieces ■with. Music, Drills, Pieces introducing Singing, Twenty-seven Photographs of Famous "Works of Art that are best adapted to Statue-Poses for Entertainments, etc., etc. ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS, A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF DELSARTE BY STEELE MACKAYE. Every piece in the DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK has been chosen for its special fitness for Recitation. The editor and compiler, ELSIE M. WILBOR, from her long experi- ence as one of the editors of WERNER'S VOICE IVLVGAZINE (a journal devoted to oral language), is peculiarly fitted for the work, and she has performed her task well, collecting eighty-two recitations, in prose and poetry, ranging from simple, childish to to the most dramatic ones, the collection forming an exceptionally excellent all-round book— one in which every reader, no matter what his style may be, wiU find something suited to him. The book gets its name from several favorite pieces of Delsarte's, from an epigram on every page illustrating or stating some point in the Delsarte System, from a fine medallion portrait of Delsarte embossed on the cover, and from illustrations, pantomimes, and analyses according to Delsartean principles. Every piece has been either written, translated, arranged, or adapted specially for the book, which contains over 300 pages of recitation gems, not one but has its raison cfetre— its justifying reason for being inserted. On the covers and between them originalitj' is stamped, making it safe to say that no such a recitation book has ever been issued, and that it marks an era in books of this class. Elegantly Bound, Price, $1,25, Postpaid, Address the Publisher, EDG-AR S. WERNER, 28 West 23d Street, New York. Musieafly Aocompanied Reeftafions! The Reader does not Sing but recites the Piece in the Usual Way, while another Person Plays the Accompaninieut on Piano or Organ, thus Lending the Power of Music u> the Reader's Voice in Bringing Out the Effects of the Recitation. MAILING PRICE. AUX IT ALIENS. Poem by Owen Meredith. Music by G Verdi. As arranged and recited by Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr. This poem is too well known to need descrip- tion. With this musical accompaniment it is doubly effective $0.60 THE liAST HYMN. Poem by Marianne Famingham. Music by P. Giorza. Story of a shipwreck near the shore. A man is seen clinging on a spar, without hope of rescue. The people hear him sing " Jesus, lover of my soul " The reader that can slag this simple, familiar hymn will have a most powerful and pathetic piece 50 THE SHADOW OF A SONG. Poem by Campbell Rae-Brown. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story of a girl who sings to her dead, blind, twin brother whom she had tended with marvelous affection. Her lover overhearing her sing, suspects her of communing with a dead love and accuses her. She is so wounded by his suspicion that she leaves him forever, saying as she goes, that she will sing the song again just before she dies. A year afterward, the lover, who is alone and discon.solate, hears the song, and reahzes that she (who is unseen) is dying. Introduces a song. Roth the singer and the piano are invisible This is the greatest reading of the year, and, with proper rendering, produces wonderful effect upon an audience 50 THE TRAGEDY. Poem by T, B. Aldrich. Music arranged by P. Giorza from La Traviata. The poet, while witnessing the play. La Dame aux Camelias, recog- nizes in the audience a girl whom he had known years ago, and who has fallen into sin. He muses that the real tragedy that night was this worn an who play ed despair. . 50 THE BENEDICTION. Poem by Frangois Copp6e. Music by Edgar S. Place. This, as is well known, is a story of the siege of Saragossa, where the troops shot dowm a lot of monks, finally shooting an old priest at the altar who was in the act of giving the benediction. Very dramatic, and one of the chief pieces in the repertoire of Prof. J. W. Churchill and Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr 70 HOW WE KEPT THE DAY. Poem by Will Carleton. Music by W. E. G. Evans. This is a humorous account of a country Fourth of July celebration, introducing the various national airs and other tunes usually played on such occasions 75 THE UNCIiE, as recited by Henry Irving. Poem by H. G. BeU. Music composed by Sir Julius Benedict, expressly for BIr. Irving. Very dramatic story of two brothers who loved the same woman. The unsuccessful suitor murders his brother by locking him in a chest. Years afterward the murderer, in a fit of remorse, teUs the story to his nephew, and dies 60 THE STORY OF SOME BEI.L.S. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story of an artisan who. having cast a tiineful chime that was carried off in war, became disconsolate and wandered for years through foreign lands in search of his beUs. At last he finds them, and as they play " Home, Sweet Home,'' he dies. Very appropriate for young ladies \ 50 KING ROBERT OF SIC ILY. Poem by Longfellow. This great poem is too well known to need description. Every one who recites it should have this musical ac- companiment, which adds greatly to its rendition 1 50 COUNTRY SEEIGHING. Poem by E. C. Stedman. Charming, semi-humorous description of an old-fashioned country sleigh-ride. Light and frolicsome, with splendid opportunity for by-play 50 MUSIC ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. Poem by C. C. Somerville. Story of Northern and Southern armies encamped on the banks of the river, so near that each can hear the other's band. When one army pla,ys a war-tune, the other army responds with its war-tune, until finally, one side plays "Home, Sweet Home," which so touches the other side that it joins in, and for the time being the North and the South are one. Appropriate for G. A. R. meetings, etc 50 I DRE AIM. Poem by Rev. D v\ight Williams. The happiness and beauty of the here- after as foreshadowed in a dream. Suitable for Sunday-school and church enter- tainments, as well as for other occasions 50 THE FUGITIVES. Poem by Sheliey. Music by Robert Schumann. Story of runaway lovers, who are cursed by her father, and who are exposed to a storm. .40 Sent on receipt of price. Address the publisher, EDG4E S. WEENEB, 28 West 23d St.. New York. Established 1879. Werner'8 Voice Mmzine: (Formerly "The Voice.") A Monthly Journal for those Who Read, Who Speak, and Who Sing. For Teacher and Pupil ; Reader and Singer ; Lecturer and Preacher ; Lawyer and Actor; Legislator and Physician; Parent and Speech-Sufferer ; Theorist and Practician. A Guide for the Restoring, the Cultivating and the Preserving of the Voice FOR SPEECH AND FOR SONG. Respiration, Phonation, Modulation, Intonation, Articulation, Enunci- ation, Pronunciation, Conversation, Gesticulation, Personation, WERNER'S VOICE MAGAZINE Has the Leading Specialists of the World for its Contributors. It is the press exponent of the human voice in its manifold phases ; treats of its uses and capabilities ; gives directions for its cultivation and management, whether in singing, preaching, lecturing, reading, or conversing ; points out the way to remedy its bad habits or defects and to restore it to healthful action, organic and functional. It is a journal which discusses pulpit and secular oratory ; the meth- ods of teaching reading and declamation in schools ; the various systems of cultivating the voice for singing ; elocution; the art of con- versation; and, in fact, everything pertaining to the speaking and the singing voice. Published Monthly at $1.50 a Year in Advance; Single Copy, 20 cents. Address the Editor and Proprietor, EDGAR S. WERNER, 28 West 23d Street, New York. THIRD EDITION. DELSMTE SYSTEM OF ORATORY. CONTAINING THE TINABRIDGED WORKS OF M. I'Ablie Delaniosne and Mme. Angelique Araaud (pupils op delsarte), and the LITERMY REMIKS OF FRANCOIS DELSARTE. "WITH THE FAMOUS Printed in Colors as Drawn by Delsarte. These writings, now given to the pubhc for the first time, were lately purchased of Mme. DELSARTE, with the understanding that they were all the manuscripts left by her illustri- ous husband. They are published in the same condition DELSARTE left them in, thereby affording the best means of becoming acquainted with the thoughts and methods of the unparalleled master of the science and the art of expression. In them is found THE GEN- UINE DELSARTE SYSTEM unmixed with the views and purposes of other persons, but presented .lust as the master expounded it. AN EXTRACT FROM DELSARTE'S LAST LETTER TO THE KING OF HANOVER IS A FITTING PREFACE: "I am at this mom.ent meditating a book, singular for more than one reason, whose form will be no less novel than its contents. The title is, ' The History of an Idea Pursued for Forty Years.' It will be my task to connect, and condense into a single narrative, all the circumstances of my life, which had as logical consequences the numerous discoveries which it has been granted me to follow up. I know not what fate is reserved for this book, but, however it may be, I crave, su'e, your majesty's permission to offer the dedication to you." 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