upon a single stem was very lovely. That they beat as one was evident enough from the identity of expression and the similarity of throb.

We had to acknowledge that at last Clara Vere de Vere was caught in the proper toils of the delicious canoodle, and was purring with a new daintiness.

Mrs. Potter has six little inimitable personal tricks that can hardly be scheduled. Nobody can describe the little cock of her head which accompanies some of her speeches. You have seen a linnet on a blossomed spray do it, and disappear. Nobody can tell why at times she speaks with her teeth closed and furnishes us with a volatile something just this side of a sigh and the other side of a lisp. Nobody can explain the three tones of her rich and musical voice that seem, like those northern volcanoes, to have snow above and fire beneath. No one can analyze the imperious but probably unconscious superiority of her manner at times. But one remembers that the snow lies there always in its blank purity, and the fires only smoulder. Nobody can define the bend of her neck and the casting up of her eyes. They have nothing whatever to do with volition; they are part of the unconscious woman who has wrought the automatism of the select circle to the bewildered apprehension of the promiscuous crowd.

In the latter scenes of Loyal Love Mrs. Potter is required to exert her talents to the utmost. Having been trapped and imprisoned by the lascivious villain, she has to repel his advances with her scorn, wither him with her contempt, paralyze him with her righteous indignation, and climb to the stormy heights of undying devotion to her absent Prince.

I think it must be said that the repelling, withering, paralyzing and climbing, while invested with the charm that belongs to every woman who is pretty and well loved, are not yet sufficiently indicative of any special dramatic gifts. Mrs. Potter lacks something. I think it is the gift of transfusirg motion with emotion. Most of her speech goes on silver stilts. She can look pathetic, but she cannot act pathos. Her lovelornness in the last act


of this play is a pitiful picture, not a heartrending endeavor.

There is a vast difference between a crushed flower and a crushed heart. I suppose it is a matter of throb.

Mrs. Potter is always interesting, even when she is inadequate. A pretty woman cannot help being, and I suppose the greatest tyrant and the greatesť charm are to be seen in a pretty woman whether she is making baby clothes or making faces.

But one thing is certain she need not be histrionic.

It was to accommodate people who are not that the word ingenue was invented. When we

to analyze Mrs. Potter's beauty, which, after all, is coming to Hecuba, there will be a great difference of opinion.

Certainly there are some measurements by which we can tell if a woman can act. I don't think there are any by which ve can determine her beauty. Every woman that ever loved is a beauty to somebody. But here and there I have seen women who are not actresses to any body. I have heard people call Clara Morris beautiful. But I never heard anybody say that Mrs. Potter was an actress. When you talk about Langtry they dodge the question. Langtry once said to me, You brute, I know I can't act; but you needn't run around telling everybody of it."

How are you going help liking a woman after that ? She was an ingenue.

A word here about the difference in mere picturesqueness of Mrs. Langtry and Mrs. Potter. One came to us with a studio air. Tadema and Whistler had posed and draped and sketched her. When she puť on a white dress she looked as if she had stepped from this frieze of the Parthenon. She had the Grecian largeness certain Hellenic freedom of limb and action.

Mrs. Potter brings the air of an evening reception. She makes you feel like rushing out and hiring a dresscoat somewhere.

She has that long narrow waist that has been evoluted by society, but that was unknown in the days of the Milo. She does not move in curves like a sylph. She


shines in points like a crystal. She carries her pretty head as if she were accustomed to walking over the top of things.

Even art lies in her presence on a lower plane. Her hair, which is like a royal bronze or a burnt sienna thicket - in color -- is always dressed a la Evangeline. It Aies as if instinct with a life of its own.

But enough! There is a final pitiful scene in Loyal Love where Inez, imprisoned, broken-hearted, persecuted and deserted, stands like a Roman martyr. Here she conveyed her misery less by her acting than by her apathetic submission to the scene. The story did it.


HEWELL, WILLIAM, an English scientist and

philosopher; born at Lancaster, May 24,

1794; died at Cambridge, March 6, 1866. Of humble parentage, he was educated at Heversham School and at Trinity, Cambridge. From 1828 to 1832 he was Professor of Mineralogy, from 1838 to 1855 of Moral Theology, and from 1841 to his death he was Master of Trinity College. In the learned societies of Great Britain he was active and distinguished; his wonderful variety and amount of knowledge were spoken of by Sir John Herschel as unsurpassed. His great works were A History of the Inductive Sciences (1837), and the Philosophy of the same (1840); other works were the Bridgewater Treatise on Astronomy and General Physics (1833); Architectural Notes on German Churches (1835); Principles of English University Education (1837); Liberal Education, (3 parts, 1845-52); The Plurality of Worlds (1853); Elements of Morality (1845); Systematic Morality (1846); History of Moral Philosophy in England (1852); Platonic Dialogues (1859–61); Political Economy (1863), translations from German verse, and English hexameters (1847), besides numerous scientific papers, sermons, etc. A volume of his correspondence was printed in 1876.


The copiousness with which properties, as to us it seems, merely ornamental, are diffused through the creation, may well excite our wonder. Almost all have felt, as it were, a perplexity, chastened by the sense of beauty, when they have thought of the myriads of fair and gorgeous objects that exist and perish without any eye to witness their glories — the flowers that are born to blush unseen in the wilderness the gems, so wondrously fashioned, that stud the untrodden caverns — the living things with adornments of yet richer workmanship that, solitary and unknown, glitter and die. Nor is science without food for such feelings. At every step she discloses things and laws pregnant with unobtrusive splendor. She has unravelled the web of light in which all things are involved, and has found it's texture even more wonderful and exquisite than she could have thought. This she has done in our own days – and these admirable properties the sunbeams had borne about with them since light was created, contented, as it were, with their unseen glories. What, then, shall we say? These forms, these appearances of pervading beauty, though we know not their end and meaning, still touch all thoughtful minds with a sense of hidden delight, a still and grateful admiration. They come over our meditations like strains and snatches of a sweet and distant symphony - sweet, indeed, but to us distant and broken, and overpowered by the din of more earthly perceptions — taught but at intervals - eluding our attempts to learn it as a whole, but ever and anon returning on our ears, and elevating our thoughts of the fabric of this world. We might, indeed, well believe that this harmony breathes not for us alone – that it has nearer listeners

more delighted auditors. But even in us it raises no unworthy thoughts - even in us it impresses a conviction, indestructible by harsher voices, that, far beyond all that we can know and conceive, the universe is full of symmetry and order and beauty and life.


HIPPLE, EDWIN PERcy, an American critic

and essayist; born at Gloucester, Mass.,

March 8, 1819; died at Boston, June 16, 1886. He was educated in the High School of Salem, and began to write for newspapers at the age of fourteen. From his fifteenth year he lived in Boston, and at times was editorially connected with the Globe and the Transcript. His masterly critique on Macaulay made him known, and he soon entered on his career as a prominent lecturer throughout the United States. His published volumes are: Essays and Reviews (2 vols., 1848-49); Literature and Life (1849); Character and Characteristic Men (1866); Success and its Conditions (1870); Literature of the Age of Elisabeth (1876), and, published after his death, Recollections of Eminent Men (1887); American Literature, and Other Papers (1887); Outlooks on Society, Literature and Politics (1888).

The following selection is from a severe review that enforces prime truths and exhibits the author's power of expression, but overlooks the value of Roget's Thesaurus of English Words, first in reminding one of a word felt in the memory, but not at the moment recalled, and secondly, in reminding one of synonyms

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