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itself goes into comparative eclipse, and never quite recovers its original vigor.

It would be very easy to find faults in "One Summer " faults of structure and faults of style. It is quite certain, for instance, that the author never met in real life persons quite so uniformly well-informed, ready-witted, and brilliant, as are all the socially-respectable (meaning the city) personages in her little drama; nor, on the other haud, a family quite so outrageously crude as the Holbrooks. Our own observation is, that the young men and women of well-to-do New England farmer-families are, on the whole, quite as well educated and about as well informed as their brothers and sisters of the cities; and surely the young ladies of such families are cruelly libeled in the person of silly Jane M'ria. The style, too, is overloaded with, and almost smothered under, a superabundance of quotations. A very fair collection of elegant extracts" might be culled from the by no means numerous pages of "One Summer" alone; and the reader has to keep his eye constantly upon the quotation-marks in order to know whether the author is speaking in her own proper person, or merely appropriating the words of anoth

er.

There is the less excuse for this in the present case because the author's own natural style is exceptionally vivid, graceful, and expressive. These defects, however, as well as others that might be pointed out, are of small moment in comparison with those sterling qualities which we have already mentioned as belonging to the book, and with the genuine humor which pervades it like an atmosphere. This humor is of rare quality-delicate and yet hearty, and racy without being in the slightest degree vulgar. It speaks well, too, for the author's artistic sense that, wielding so seductive a literary instrument, she uses it with such temperance as in "One Summer."

Indian, swim like a dolphin, and row like
a man-o'-war's-man. This wonder resolved
first to put strength into the girl's body;
and his regimen was, early rising, fresh
milk, a loose belt, easy shoes, running, row-
ing, swimming, riding, skating, and partici-
pation with her seven boy-cousins in all the
innocent amusements of childhood. The end
of the year finds her healthy and happy,
expert in all the invigorating sports of youth,
and receiving her first initiation, under the
competent hands of Aunt Plenty, into the
mysteries of those lost arts, cookery and
house-keeping.

It might legitimately be complained of
Miss Alcott's stories that they tend to stimu.
late that pert smartness " and self-asser-
tion which are perhaps the most offensive
characteristics of American children; but
they are so much more wholesome, natural,
and artistic, than the stuff for which they are
offered as a substitute, that it would be little
less than ungrateful to insist upon their faults.
We wonder, by-the-way, if Miss Alcott real-
izes the risk she runs in deviating from her
own proper field of story-telling and "drop-
ping into" criticism? She devotes a couple
of pages of "Eight Cousins to denouncing
the methods of her co-workers, and disre-
spectfully characterizes certain well-known
ornaments of current literature as "optical
delusions." It is fortunate for her peace of
mind, perhaps, that she has put the Atlantic
between her and that din of warfare the first
notes of which, as we understand, have al-
ready sounded.

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Ir may be the fault of our own obtuseness, but we confess that, after reading it carefully, and even re-reading portions of it, we are at a loss in regard to Mr. Gilder's "The New Day: A Poem in Songs and Son(New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.). The songs are there, and the sonnets are there; also the prelude, the interludes, WE find abundant evidence in "Eight and the after-song; but, with all these spurs Cousins; or, the Aunt-Hill" (Boston: Rob- to a lagging perception, we have been unable erts Brothers), of one thing at least, and that to discover that "continuous development is, that Miss Alcott's hand has lost nothing of a great emotion in the soul" which the of its cunning. Nor does her rollicking vi- poem is said to depict. There is a certain vacity show sign of abatement. There is as congruity, it is true, among the several parts, much rushing, and running, and flying, and in that a single theme is common to nearly whooping, and yelling, and promiscuous riot all the poems; but the only picture lodged and confusion, in the present work as in any in our imagination is that of a "wan of its predecessors; and we feel after finish- who at the very outset represents himself as ing it rather as if we had been engaged in a suffering from an impersonal, hysterical sort prolonged romp than in the sober occupation of love, of which weeping, and sobbing, and of reading a book. The story is of a little sighing, and crying, are the principal ingreorphan-girl of thirteen, who, by long confine-dients, and who at the close is prostrate with ment with an invalid father, and subsequent ly by the injudicious coddling of sundry aunts, had been brought to a condition in which she was nervous, depressed, morbid, with no constitution," and, as Aunt Myra defined it, “plainly marked for the tomb." To her, at an opportune moment, returns her sailor uncle and guardian, one of those allaccomplished, all-wise persons often met with (in books), who can teach physiology, explain the structure of the eye, expound moral philosophy, beat the parson at practical theology, scale the porch by going hand over hand up one of the pillars, descend from the second story by the water-spout, ride like an

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precisely the same malady. The sonnets, in
short, are, for the most part, simply vari-
ations upon one emotional mood; and, if
they had been published without the mechan-
ical division into parts, preludes, interludes,
etc., we doubt if any one would ever have
suspected that they had to do with "growth,"
"development," or "fruition," of any

or

kind.

If the defects of structure were the only ones, however, there would still remain much to praise; but, when we come to the separate poems, we are nearly as much puzzled as by the poem as a whole. The one theme with which all of them deal is passionate love; yet

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in reading them we are transported to a land of lotus-eaters, where lover and beloved alike seem to dwell in a wan twilight of sentiment, and where the most fervid expressions do little more than suffuse the cheek with a 'pale hectic." Our conception of love may be lacking in true poetical refinement, but we venture the assertion that, in spite of the labored intensity of expression, the paraphernalia of sighs, sobs, tears, and despair, there is not a couplet in the entire volume which expresses genuine passion-we had almost said genuine feeling of any kind. There is one quality of the book, however, for which Mr. Gilder deserves all the praise he is likely to get his verse is singularly graceful, flexible, and melodious, and some of the poems "make music as they flow." To adjust the balance of our criticism, we will quote one of these as an example of Mr. Gilder's work at its best:

66 ONCE ONLY.

"Once only, Love, can love's sweet song be sung;
But once, Love, at our feet love's flower is flung;
Once, Love, once only, Love, may we be young:

Say, shall we love, dear Love, or shall we hate!
"Once only, Love, will burn the blood-red fire;
But once awakeneth the wild desire;
Love pleadeth long, but what if love should tire!

Now shall we love, dear Love, or shall we wait!
"The day is short, the evening cometh fast;
The time of choosing, Love, will soon be past;
The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last:

Love, let us love ere it be late-too late!" The illustrations to the volume are chaste in design and beautifully engraved; and the peacock's feather in gilt on the front cover makes a novel and striking if somewhat garish decoration.

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AGNES MACDONELL, in an article in Macmillan's Magazine on "The American Heroine," is more discriminating and just than critics on American matters in English periodicals usually are. She is surprised at some of the delineations of Miss Alcott and Mrs. Stowe, but, altogether, rather likes them. "Mrs. Stowe's and Miss Alcott's girls," the writer says, are always sprightly; they are, in fact, far cleverer than their male friends. They are neither pert, nor fast, nor unfeminine, but they take the lead. . . . These young women are truehearted, high-minded, and pure. . . . The 'violet-like' bashfulness that hangs almost like a perfume upon the presence of Mrs. Gaskell's Mollies and Ruths, these New England horoines have not; but they are wholesomely truthful, very sprightly, charmingly at their ease. The American novelists have discarded the old artistic place of the heroine as the passive though perhaps central figure in the drama, but place her in the rank of active agents in the scene; in their view her highest charm is no longer in her eyes of meek surrender,' and 'her constraining grace of rest,' but rather in her playful and shrewd supremacy over society."

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room, it appears to great advantage. Opposite | to it at the other end of the long apartment, is another animal picture, one of cattle, by Auguste Bonheur, a brother of Rosa. Many persons think that Auguste surpasses his sister in the natural and strong delineation of his subjects. Suffice it to say that this picture, though it has never, we believe, been publicly exhibited, is a very important work. The cattle-cows and oxen-are standing on a green meadow, over which the warm sunlight is playing. The sunlight also lights up the brindled and red and white flanks of the cattle, and gives a sleepy, afternoon haze to the peaceful scene. Another painting here is Gérôme's great gladiatorial contest, so well known by engravings and photographs. The scene, it will be remembered, is a Roman arena. Galleries filled with people embrace the upper half of the painting; and from the centre of the lower gallery are suspended the eagles and pennants of Rome. The most prominent figure in the scene is the heavily-made, half-naked gladiator. His head is incased in an immense gilded helmet, and his loins and the lower portion of his body glitter with armor of the same metal. On one arm he holds a gilt shield, and the rest of his person, excepting his feet, show his bare flesh, heavy with muscles and sinew. This gladiator is standing over the helpless but living form of his victim, a young man stretched out at his feet, and in the distance lie two or three other victims slain in the game. Seated at the front of the gallery are the emperor and the empress. Gérôme has taken the moment when, the victim being vanquished, the conqueror looks for a token whether he shall spare or take away his life. With his heavy torso, and above all in his big, queer - pointed, metal bonnet, this man seems like some hippopotamus or elephantine monster, the evil spawn of his evil era. Sword in hand he gazes up at the crowd. The gallery is quite low above the arena, and his head is only a few feet below that of the emperor, whose cruel, sensual face can be distinctly seen in every feature. A great piece of historical representation, this painting of Gérôme's has also vast merit as a work of

art.

Meissonier is represented in this collection by two very elaborate and costly masterpieces-such masterpieces as are never found in our public exhibitions, but only to be seen at the French exposition or in the studio of the artist. It is on that account the greater privilege that the public can occasionally look at, not what such an artist as Meissonier usually does, but what his works are at their very best. One of the pictures, in particular, represents some men on horseback, and the motion, the structure, and the hides of the horses, afford a whole world of experience for thought and study to a young artist. Alfred Stevens, of England, is known in America by one or two little paintings that were exhibited last spring at the Academy watercolor collection. Mr. Stewart has a very beautiful and elaborate oil-picture of his of two young women after a ball. Like English pictures which have been severely criticised as being romantic or sentimental representa

tions of life, this picture is a tender scene between the two women, where one, dark and beautiful, is consoled by her fairer companion, at whose knees she is reposing. A romantic incident evidently forms but a very small part of Mr. Stevens's design in this picture, and scarcely more important in his eyes is his delineation of "still-life," which is very fine in the colors and folds of beautiful yellow embroidered camel's hair, and in the jewels on the women's arms and hands. He has evidently enjoyed the development of the contours and action of these two figures, and the pleasing tints from the artificial light which plays upon the lines of their soft heads, and brings out the graceful forms of dress and figure.

WHILE autotypes and photographs of the more popular paintings and sculptures of Europe are to be met with in every shop, and, in fact, at nearly every picture-stand in street or railway - station, there is a large class of very beautiful subjects that are rarely seen here, except by "carbons" and photographs brought from Europe by private individuals. After looking at the queer old pictures by Francia, Cimabue, and Fra Angelico, or Perugino, people often return home, to find that the saints and angels of these artists linger in their hearts and memory long after famous Titians or Raphaels may have faded from their imagination. Their own portfolios furnish no examples of these masters, and in vain they search the picturestores to find reminders of the faces they had learned to love so well. "Assumptions" by Titian, and Madonnas by Raphael, are as frequent as pictures of Grant or views of Broadway, but scarcely anywhere can they find the faces which have stolen unawares upon their affections, and so unexpectedly have usurped the places of better-known pictures, copies of which they have brought home with them. Here or there, in a private collection, we chance upon some long-remembered Da Vinci or Botticelli, but they are only scattered thinly, and so we, with a sigh, wait till we go to Europe once more, to correct the mistakes and omissions we have made.

During the last summer, among the choice collections of all sorts of articles which follow the gay world to the watering-places and popular resorts, a most complete and delightful collection of carbon photographs, two or three thousand in number, appeared at Newport. Made by the famous photographer Braun, they had been brought to Newport by Williams & Everett, the popular picturedealers of Boston. An hour or a day was delightful to spend in looking at them, but the consciousness that at length there was one place in America where we could recall most of our old foreign impressions at will, gave us profound satisfaction. Here were Velasquez and Tintoretto, Fra Angelico and Greuze, side by side, and the pictures were of all sizes, from little autotypes cf the drawings from the old masters in the Pitti Palace, three or four inches square, to magnificent sections of one or two figures only; from Raphael's cartoons at South Kensington, sections two or three feet high, or the head of a

saint from Perugino, half the size of life, where every mark of the brush and the manner of laying on the colors could be seen as clearly as in the original.

Within a year or two Williams & Everett, recognizing the deficiency in the subjects of photographs brought to America, have made this particular branch a specialty, and within a short time a visit to their store in Boston revealed to us how fully they have supplied this need. One portion of their establishment is entirely devoted to this class of art, and here on the walls are hung large and magnificent carbons of the rarest subjects. Below these pictures of Michael Angelo, frescoes from the Sistine Chapel, his sculptures from the church of San Lorenzo, and the old frescoes of Fra Angelico and Giotto in the convent of San Marco at Florence, are ranged in large wooden cases separately the works of the famous artists, some thousand in number. Here is a whole section devoted to Bellini, another to Cimabue, and another to Velasquez. Their pictures from Spain, Italy, and Germany, France and England, are collected here, and, sitting at the table at which visitors are freely allowed to examine these treasures, a feeling of embarras de richesse comes over one as he notes the rich shading which, to his recollection, recalls so much color in a Rembrandt from Amsterdam, or of a Velasquez from Madrid. The intellectual pleasure one derives from seeing the original paintings can nearly all be enjoyed in the perfect line and subtile shadow of these pictures; and, as a matter of study and knowledge, the excitement and delight that are felt in examining the originals in the galleries is greatly blurred by fatigue, bad lights, and the number of places one is obliged to visit from which to cull the objects of his choice. At Williams & Everett's precious collection, for so we must call it, a splendid figure from Raphael's cartoon of the "Beautiful Temple," at South Kensington, can be compared line for line with his "St. Michael and the Dragon" in the Salle Carrée of the Louvre-a comparison which has to be made otherwise between a memory and the reality. All the great pictures of Velasquez, too, with their stately mien, their solemn shadow and color, and, above all, their modeled, tender half- tints and light, here spread before the eye of the student, collected from nearly every gallery of Europe, a splendid "open sesame to anybody who looks at them. Such a collection as this is indeed a valuable art-treasure to every one, and from it imperfect sets of wellclassified subjects can be filled out, or beautiful solitary pictures be selected.

Snedecor, in New York, has a partial collection of the same class of subjects, scattered carbons of great beauty, where single pictures of high value can be obtained, such as the superb carbon of the upper half of the figure of the Sistine Madonna. This carbon measures several feet square, and would be indeed a splendid addition to the walls of any house.

A VISIT to Mr. Winslow Homer's studio a few days ago showed us about twenty impor tant studies as the result of his summer va

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cation. Of these, eight are large paintings in oils, about thirty-eight by twenty-four inch

es.

Looking over the pictures, the visitor finds that Mr. Homer has made great use of some half-dozen models which he has arranged and grouped in a variety of ways. Of these, two blond-haired sisters figure in one large sketch in a sort of gray shadow against a light background, looking as if they might be sisters in an artist's brain to Rose and Blanche of "The Wandering Jew," or they reminded us of the modest, fresh maidens in George H. Boughton's "English Meadow-Paths." One of them appears again in a very clear-toned water-color picture, dressed in a graceful, beruffled, fluffy summer costume, while they both form the main subject in a third sketch.

acteristic of salt marshes in the neighbor-
hood of the sea. The boy's figure is outlined
darkly against the evening light, and the
dark shapes of the tall rushes that border
the channel also appear conspicuously.

J. B. BRISTOL returned to his studio last

week, with an attractive collection of land-
scape sketches and studies made in both oil
and water colors, and comprising all varieties
of scenery, from the picturesque hills and
valleys of Berkshire County, Massachusetts,
to the more rugged mountain-forms which
border the northern shore of Lake Cham-

plain. One of the most charming studies in
his portfolio is of an old red mill on Green
River, near Great Barrington. The mill is a
quaint old structure, with a peaked roof, sur-
mounted by a belfry and weather-vane. It
occupies a picturesque site, and makes a very
interesting subject for a picture. Mr. Bel-
lows made studies of the same mill, in com-
pany with Mr. Bristol, so that we shall, with-
out doubt, have the subject reproduced in
both oil and water colors by these artists.
Mr. Bristol says that the view of the old
mill forms a picture from almost any point
of view in its neighborhood, and furnishes
material enough for a good season's work.
Another of Mr. Bristol's studies gives a view
of a country-road in early autumn, and is a
work of singular harmony and beauty. The
road divides the landscape, and on the right
there is a group of maples, beeches, and other
hardy upland trees brightly tinted with au-
tumn colors. The tones of color are of the
most brilliant character, and the reds, crim-
son, and gold, are mingled with the browns
and greens in rare unity. The wayside
grasses are yet fresh and green, but the ferns
and shrubbery are brown and withered under
the influence of recent frosts. Mr. Bristol
has several of these wayside studies which
can be worked up into very delightful pict-

Mr. Homer has been scarcely known at all as a painter of animals, but this summer he has added to his sketching furniture a shambling young white calf, and this calf figures prominently in several scenes. Mr. Homer's pictures are very popular, and his strong points have been often discussed both in print and in private circles, but, as he had not made any animals before, except those occupying very unimportant situations in some of his figure-pieces, they have never come under observation. We have admired the lively action of his school-boys playing "break the ring" as they ran around in a big circle outside their little country schoolhouse, and have praised his country beau, so awkwardly wriggling his feet and shoulders in "The Course of True Love" last spring in the Academy, but we think we never saw so much natural or lively action in one of his men or women as is displayed by this lean, long-legged calf. In one painting, and this a large and careful study, a colored boy, bigheaded, thin-armed, and ragged, stands in the shade of a tree, braced energetically back, with his feet set well apart, dragging by a rope this timid, struggling calf, who pulls back from him. The calf has shapeless, ill-knit legs, bony little shoulders, and a funny long tail, which contrasts in true calffashion with the lovely, soft form of its pretty head, with its gentle eyes and little round-picture illustrates a view among a cluster of ed nose.

In another picture, nearly finished, which is called "A Foraging Party of Duryea's Zouaves," a group of soldiers, clad in the red-and-blue jackets and baggy trousers of that regiment, appear in an apple-orchard. One of these soldiers, in the foreground, is a very fine specimen of a sun-browned, weather-beaten American. Here it is he who has the calf, and this time the animal, grown bigger and stouter, is running along with the man, who holds him by the tail. Another subject is the very picturesque figure of a young fisher-boy, who left his nets, for a good "consideration," to devote his time to the business of posing for Mr. Homer. In one of the pictures, in which this boy appears, he is sitting upon the edge of a broad, roundkeeled boat, that has been drawn upon a pebbly beach, beyond which this blue seawater is dancing in a small cove. In another sketch, taken just after sunset, this fisherboy again appears in his boat, which has floated up one of the little channels so char

ures.

FRANK WALLER is at work upon an Egyptian subject from studies made during his visit to Cairo and up the Nile, last season. His latest

modern tombs outside the walls of the city
of Cairo on the high-road to the "tombs of
the caliphs." In the foreground are cluster-
ing tombs of stone, which are covered with
stucco and glisten in the sunlight. Many of
these tombs are of fanciful shape, and have
colored decorations upon their ends and
sides. There is not much art-taste shown,
however, in these modern Egyptian memorial
structures, and the simple, square piles of
stones and stucco in the foreground are in
striking contrast to the ancient mosque of El
Hakeem, the towers and minarets of which
show in the distance, which, it is said, forms
one of the grand memorial tombs of the
Moors, and dates from the thirteenth century
or thereabout. The foreground tombs are
built upon the sand; and on either hand are
high stone inclosures erected to guard the
more elaborate sepulchres of the wealthy
Cairene people. The sky is clear and airy,
with semi-transparent cloud-forms floating at
the zenith, which gives additional value to its
pearly depths. Fortunately, this picture is

not a conventional study of an Egyptian desert, although back from the Nile. There is a screen of fresh, green foliage introduced in the middle ground near the old mosque, and the train of camels under the city walls lends a suggestion of life to the scene, which renders it very attractive. The work is carefully painted, and the coloring is exceedingly brilliant and harmonious. As the scene was studied under an afternoon-effect, it assumes considerable interest in connection with the

subtile distribution of sunlight, and the manner in which it is broken by the clearly-defined shadows of the tombs. Another pleasant Egyptian scene was drawn at a tradingvillage on the Nile, at a point about three hundred miles above Cairo. It is chiefly remarkable as a study of the famous Nileboats which, with their tall masts and quaint sails, are very picturesque objects.

THE London Athenæum is not pleased with the statue of Stonewall Jackson just erected at Richmond. It says: "We described Foley's statue of General Stonewall' Jackson when it was at the foundery in Chelsea, previous to being cast in bronze. Since then this figure has been cast. Of it, critically, we are bound to say that we wish it had been a better work of art; and we say this, not only for the reputation of the sculptor, but for the honor of the heroic general himself, as well as on account of the sympathy which has led many English admirers of Stonewall' to subscribe funds and present the statue to the State of Virginia."

THE Academy utters the following: “An exhibition of wood-engravings has been opened this summer at Berlin. The many new methods of reproduction now in vogue have, in some measure, replaced the old art of woodengraving, which has fallen of late years greatly into decline." This is a strange thing to say. "The new methods of reproduction" have met with very little success, and woodengraving, in England and the United States, at least, has not only maintained its own, but in spirit and graphic power has, if any thing, gained. German wood-engraving exhibits commonly vast labor, but lacks strength and effect.

IN our description, recently, of the new Chickering Building in Fifth Avenue, we misstated its dimensions, which are eighty feet in width and one hundred and thirty-five feet in depth.

Music and the Drama.

WE

RITERS on music have had much to say from time to time on English opera preserving the distinctive characteristics of the people and the flavor of the language. The desirability of making it a natural growth, and not a mere foreign graft, is not to be questioned, but the difficulties in the way are many and hard to surmount. In a musical sense the genius of our language is dramatic and not lyric. English is rather a practical and energetic than a musical language, in spite of the fact that it contains a larger body of noble poetry than any other modern tongue, and that such masters of song as Shelley, Tennyson, and Swinburne, have moulded its strong syllables into measures

for its beauty, has yet in it several charming and pathetic ballad-airs, and several of the quaint old Irish songs are interwoven with the main texture of the work very effectively. These give an admirable chance not only for the display of artistic singing, but for the development of that deep feeling and sympathy which always delight even the most cultivated audiences far more than the elaborate

greatest singers have not disdained to put forth their best skill in rendering apparently simple music.

of liquid beauty and sweetness. Like all languages of the more robust type, English has the capacity under the lift of strong emotion to become crystallized into the finest forms of ballad and lyric poetry. Both German and English, alike rugged and sinewy, are matchless in this respect. But the fitness of a language for musical setting is to be measured not by its exceptional phases, but by its average characteristics of sound and pro-roulades and fioritures of Italian opera. The nunciation. Not the force and beauty of the poetic words are so much to be considered as liquid ease and openness of vocal combination. Italian, by the beauty and sweetness of its sounds, is preeminently a musical lan guage. The current language of the street and mart can be sung as easily as the elaborate work of the lyric poet. All the action of Italian opera fits easily to music, and recitative becomes no less important than the airs and concerted pieces. The writer of English opera in attempting to follow this model meets stumbling-blocks not to be overcome, for no great poet, one capable of mastering the difficulties of the tongue, would be likely to become a mere librettist. Most of the English composers have recognized this difficulty, and therefore substituted dialogue for recitative. Music is set only to the more exalted lyric passages-to the more intense feeling and situation developed in the drama. What we know as English opera, therefore, is rather musical drama than opera, properly so called.

In the part of Eily O'Connor, by Miss Kellogg, there are several charming and pathetic songs, which she sang with intelligence and effect, as she rarely fails to do. We can hardly pronounce her interpretation, however, to have brought out their full measure of feeling. Miss Kellogg's mastery of the ballad style, with its broad and simple sweetness, its "art which conceals art," is by no means to be compared with her command over the elaborate and pretentious forms of music. To this, however, one exception must be made in her singing of the song "I'm alone, I'm alone," which was so charmingly given as to awaken the audience into an outburst of genuine delight and enthusiasm.

Mr. Castle's performance of the tenor rôle of Hardress Cregan was a clever piece of acting, but in a musical sense by no means praiseworthy. The delightful song of "Eily mavourneen," one of Sims Reeves's favorite concertpieces, was not given with any thing like the beauty, pathos, and power, possible to it, though the intrinsic excellence of the music called for a repetition. With the exception of Mr. Carleton, who sang and acted the rôle of Danny Mann with marked ability, the rest of the performance was simply bad.

Here criticism finds its first point of attack on the late performance of Sir Julius Benedict's opera of "The Lily of Killarney," as given at Booth's theatre by the Kellogg English Opera Company. As the composer designed the work, it contains but little recitative, the most of the drama being spoken dialogue as in the original "Colleen Bawn," on which it is based. Miss Kellogg, however, saw fit to change the composer's purpose, and had recitative written expressly for it. This action may be accounted for either because Miss Kellogg is conscious of her in-pidity, and precision, to which the performcapacity for speaking dialogue intelligently, or because the management aimed to give a fictitious novelty to an opera which had already been rendered by the Richings English Opera Troupe several years since.

But, whatever may be the reason, it is to be regretted that Benedict's opera was not given as originally intended. Recitative, when as bald and bad as that written to order to improve the work of the English composer, needs very skilled and intelligent singing to make it tolerable. Miss Kellogg's company, for the most part, sang badly, and what might have been well done in dialogue was simply wretched as given in this tinkered edition of the opera.

"The Lily of Killarney" has the same story as Boucicault's well-known drama of "The Colleen Bawn," and preserves its salient characteristics with precision and effect. In able hands, therefore, its dramatic points might be made a very entertaining feature of the performance, which would partly condone poor singing. Adequate justice was bardly done either to the musical or dramatic possibilities of the work. The music of Benedict, though by no means remarkable

The opera of "The Lily of Killarney" has in it enough of bright and tuneful airs and concerted music to make it attractive if well done. The dramatic possibilities are more than usually effective, but need a vigor, ra

ance of Miss Kellogg's company did not by any means reach.

THE oratorio of "The Messiah "was given by the Centennial Choral Union, a new society recently organized, at Steinway Hall, to an immense audience, on the night of Wednesday the 20th ultimo. The organization of a good choral society has long been felt to be a great need in New York, and it has been a matter of wonder that, with so much good material at command, the attempts should have been so spasmodic and unsatisfactory. The performance of "The Messiah ” gave strong hope that the desideratum has at last been met, for we have rarely heard a more massive, precise, and vigorous rendition of the noble choruses of Händel's great work, even on the part of a society old in practice and experience. With the exception of some slight lack of balance on the part of the altos, the society seems nearly every thing that is desirable. The organizers of the society deserve high credit for the thorough manner in which they have done the work they have undertaken, and we may now look forward for some performances of oratorio

which shall satisfy musical taste, at least in the choral execution if not in the solos.

The great feature of the first public performance of the new oratorio society was the appearance of Mademoiselle Titiens in a department of music in which she has been heralded by English criticism as without a living equal. The singing of oratorio in a thoroughly satisfactory manner taxes the art of the singer to a greater extent than even grand opera. Faults of method and voice, which might be covered up by powerful act ing, here stand out glaringly open to the public criticism. Faulty phrasing, imperfect intonation, uneven scales, become instantly prominent, for there are no glittering allurements to distract the attention. It is here that the greatest singers have won their laurels, if not in the opinion of the general public, most assuredly in the judgment of intelligent connoisseurs and musicians.

Mademoiselle Titiens was evidently suffering from a bad cold, but she sang like a great artist notwithstanding this drawback. She did not dare to attempt those effects in modulation which might have been expected, and at times her voice appeared considerably worn, aggravated, as it was, by hoarseness. But such broad, grand phrasing, such pure, crisp intonation, have not been heard in America since the days of Jenny Lind. The delivery of the notes, even in the runs and scales, was as round and distinct as the stroke of a bell. To these excellences Mademoiselle Titiens united a certain dramatic warmth and fire which we are not accustomed to associate with oratorio singing. The passion of the great actress could not be kept under, and gave a certain religious glow and fervor quite unique. In presence of these splendid qualities, it hardly becomes us to carp at defects of voice inseparable from one who has been a singer for so many years as Mademoiselle Titiens. It would be vain to deny that there are fresher voices. But there are few singers who would not be willing to barter the fortuitous advantages of youth for the grand art which has given Titiens a rank which in many respects has no equal in Europe according to the standard of the most competent judges.

Miss Orasdil, the contralto, shared the honors of the evening with Titiens. A voice so solid, rich, and smooth, as to be in many respects phenomenal, rendered the contralto music with a fervor and sympathy that quite took the audience by storm, and hardly per mitted the singer to take her seat. It is to be doubted whether any contralto voice that has been heard for years in this country is quite her equal, as Miss Cary is rather a mezzo-soprano with contralto compass than a pure contralto. It is a pity that so noble an organ should be confined to the comparatively limited sphere of sacred music.

The tenor and barytone solos were badly done by Messrs. Wilkie and Thomas. The next oratorio, to be given on November 10th, will be that of "Elijah," when the tenor and barytone rôles will be differently assigned. Lovers of music will generally congratulate the Centennial Choral Union on their auspicious beginning, and look forward to future performances with no little expectation.

MR. BOOTH's reappearance has been hailed with a general acclamation. There is a very large class of people who have an intense admiration for Mr. Booth's acting, and everybody too has felt sympathy for his pecuniary misfortunes as a manager, and for his sufferings in the recent accident that came so near depriving the stage of him altogether. It must be conceded, moreover, even by those who question Mr. Booth's great genius as an

German artists collected to support the great tenor is fairly good, but not by any means such as we might have hoped for.

From Abroad.

OUR PARIS LETTER. October 12, 1875.

actor, that he, in fact, stands now at the A NOVEL sensation in the literary world

head of the American stage. It may be shown that his Hamlet and his Richelieu are far from being the great impersonations his friends think them to be, but, after all, where can we turn to find better ones?

Mr. Booth opened at Daly's Theatre on the night of October 25th, appearing in Hamlet. He brings to the rendition of this part many new phases. Mr. Booth has not shown marked steadfastness in any of his personations. It will be said by his friends that this is only proof of continual study, of the growth and development of his conceptions; but there is some evidence to show that these changes are often the result of uncertain grasp and wandering purpose. The new Hamlet-for so different is it as now given from the actor's former renditions that it bears this description-is improved in some of the details, but is scarcely an advance in depth of reach or elevation of feeling. There are so many fine touches and so many weak points in it, so many things suggested by the acting of some of the scenes, that the personation calls for a more elaborate and careful criticism than we can find room for this week. We hope, however, to be able, at some future time, to give the now most generally admired Hamlet of the stage an analysis in some measure worthy of the subject.

THE reappearance of Herr Wachtel in German opera at the Academy of Music has reawakened among his countrymen something of the same enthusiasm which welcomed his first coming to America, though we do not think there is the same heartiness and fervor

shown on the part of the American public. The ad captandum qualities of the German tenor do not wear altogether well, and, great a singer as he unquestionably is in many respects, his defects are very conspicuous. But in every thing that savors of a tour de force, in all the climaxes where the largest measure of singing and dramatic force must be put forth, Wachtel is worthy of the highest praise. It is in the sustained singing that

we think he falls short of artistic excellence. It may be that this is deliberate for the purpose of saving the voice for the great efforts. But no artist of Wachtel's rank should feel this necessity. His use of the falsetto in the high notes of the less brilliant passages is a trick which would hardly be tolerated outside of Germany or America. His electrifying outbursts, his superb acting, and perfect command of all the resources of stage effect, are such, however, as to dwarf the defect we have mentioned for any but a very critical and fastidious audience, who demand perfectly artistic singing at the expense of every thing and any thing else. The company of

has been vouchsafed to blasé Paris during the past week. The celebrated American adventuress and heroine of the Russian diamond scandal, Mrs. Blackford, has published a book giving a full account of her adventures in Russia. The work is in itself nowise remarkable, but as it contains several of the letters which the young Grand-duke Nicholas was infatuated enough to write to the lady, it has been much sought after by the curious. Those who really wanted to read it, did well to be in a hurry to purchase it; for three days after the book had made its first appearance it was seized by the police, and the fair authoress was ordered to quit Paris forthwith. She has gone to London, where she will negotiate, it is said, for an English edition of her book (the present one is in French), containing all the papers of the grand-duke which remain at present in her hands, some of which are said to treat of very important political questions. The will which he made in her favor, and also a deed settling on her a large annual income, were purchased from her by the Russian Government for the sum of forty thousand dollars, and it is rumored that fifty thousand dollars was offered for the grand-duke's letters, but the lady insisted upon receiving twice as much, and the negotiations came to naught. Why so much fuss should have been made about her book (which is entitled "The Romance of an American Woman in Russia," and was published in Brussels) is hard to imagine, for it is commonplace enough, and even the letters of the imperial and infatuated lover possess but little interest.

The only incident worth recalling in the volume is the scene where the lady breaks one of her ivory hair-brushes over the head of the grand-duke, and he throws the other out of the window for fear of a repetition of the blows. And yet the woman in question is a very type of delicate, fragile beauty, slender, pensive, and

refined-looking, with long, almond-shaped, dark eyes, an exquisitely-proportioned figure, and the grace and style of a born American. Apart from the paint which she puts on her lips, and other artificial enhancements of her charms, she might readily be mistaken for a lady belonging to the choicest of all possible mondes instead of to the demi-monde. She has added to her numerous aliases that of Fanny Lear, the name of the heroine of one of the most powerful comedies of Meilhac and Halévy. And why this long discussion, one would naturally ask, about a woman and a book, neither of which are worth mentioning? That may be, and yet to mention neither would simply be to ignore a very marked Parisian sensation. The papers for the past few days have devoted whole columns to the subject, the portrait of Mrs. Blackford-FeenixFanny Lear smiles from the windows of all the photograph-sellers on the boulevards, and from six to twenty dollars are already offered for single copies of the suppressed vol

ume.

New books and announcements of new books abound. Furne, Jouvet & Co. announce a "History of the Crusades," by M.

Michaud, of the Académie Française, with illustrations by Gustave Doré. It is to be issued in fortnightly numbers, each number to contain sixteen pages of text and four fullpage illustrations printed separate from the text. The first number will be published on the 18th of this month, and each one will cost one dollar and twenty cents. Twenty-five numbers will complete the work, which will form, when finished, two large folio volumes. Firmin Didot & Co. have in press a "Dictionary of Architecture and of the Arts and Sciences thereunto attached," by Ernest Bosc, architect.

numbers.

This work is also to be issued in It will contain, when finished, four thousand woodcuts in the text, sixty full-page wood-engravings printed apart from the text, and forty chromo-lithographs. It will form four octavo volumes. E. Plon & Co. have just issued the second volume of "Equatorial Africa," by the Marquis de Compiègne, illustrated with a map and numerous woodcuts. The Librairie des Bibliophiles is shortly to publish a work entitled "Comédiens et Comédiennes," the first series of which is to be the Comédie Française, with text by Francisque Sarcey, and illustrations by Léon Gaucheret. Of new novels any quantity are announced, some as being just ready, and others as in course of preparation. Octave Feuillet's lovely "Mariage dans le Monde" has just been published by Michel Lévy. E. Dentu issued "Le Chevalier Ténébre," by Paul Féval, and "An Actress's Vengeance," by Henri Augu. The same house "Colonel Chamberlain," by Hec

announces

tor Malot; "The Veiled Lady," by Emile Richebourg; and "The Book of Exile," by the late Edgar Quinet. From the Bibliothèque Charpentier we are shortly to have "Still Waters" (L'Eau Dormante), by Lucien Biart; and "La Comédie Académique," by Champfleury. The Librairie Sartorius is about to issue a novel by Clémence Badère, with the highly-sensational title of "The Physician Poisoner," and also Morel's "Hélène Brunet," a novel which is so hideously immoral that the Figaro, in whose columns it was first issued as a feuilleton, was compelled to break it off short in the middle, and to apologize for ever having commenced it. The Figaro is shortly to begin the publication of a new novel by Xavier de Montepin, entitled "The Secret of the Countess."

The veteran actor Bressant, who was recently threatened with paralysis, is much better, and will shortly return to the boards of the Comédie Française. A propos of Bressant, a story is told respecting him and Jules Janin, which well exemplifies the uneasy vanity of the great critic. He published one day a highly favorable notice of the acting of Bressant in a new play. The actor, for some reason or other, neglected to thank him or to take any notice of his article. From that time to the day of his death, Jules Janin never mentioned Bressant's name in any one of his dramatic criticisms. When forced to speak of the characters in which he performed in order to give a full account of the different plays, he would always speak of him as "the actor who took such a part, the person who played the hero," etc. On the other hand, it is whispered abroad that, Francisque Sarcey having warmly praised certain points in La Dame aux Camélias of Mademoiselle Tallandiera, the grateful actress sent him a diamond ring, which the great critic sent back at once, accompanying the returned offering with a very stern and severe letter.

"Rose Michel" has been revived at the Ambigu, with Fargueil in her original part as

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