his make-up; in the green-room, discussing with Iago some incident which appears in the evening papers, or at the wing, complaining to Desdemona of the awful draught which is catching him in the small of the back. Cleopatra, as it need hardly be said, is a very difficult part to play; but Miss Wallis succeeded so admirably in her rendering of the haughty lovesick queen-her pathos was SO true and tender, her passion so real and strong-that we were carried away into a belief in the whole circumstances of the tragedy, as we probably should not have been had a less able exponent of the part played Cleopatra in the recent revival. The varying emotions of her scene with the messenger, from the eager

Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine

ears,

Which long time have been barren,'

to the end; her fears, her anger and sorrow; her agony of mind when Antony rages at her in the fourth act; her final pathetic death-the power to depict them was at Miss Wallis's command. We do not mean to imply that we were entirely satisfied with the performance, or prepared to accept it as a perfect realisation of Cleopatra; but there was a distinct meaning and intention in all the actress did, and her actions were invariably dictated by high intelligence. Her postures were graceful and dignified, and to note one detail of her excellent business-the final fall was perfect in conception and execution. Sometimes, to be critical, we thought her walk scarcely dignified enough-the steps too quick, short, and girlish; and sometimes she seems too conscious of her audience; though this is an inevitable failing with all young performers. In some instances, too, she has a tendency to over

elaborate gestures which appear to have been studied; and, worst fault of all, her enunciation is sometimes defective, the vowels being untrue and too broad; but her Cleopatra is a marvellously good performance for so young an

actress.

Pauline, in 'The Lady of Lyons,' at the Standard Theatre, was, we believe, Miss Wallis's first appearance in London. The novice was, of course, apparent, but there was, nevertheless, a smoothness and evenness about the whole performance, wonderful for an amateur. In Sir Charles Young's play, 'Montcalm,' she was also surprisingly good. One strong situation especially, in the second act, when she meets the woman whose apparition she had seen before, was ably conceived and consistently worked out. In Amos Clarke,' increase of stage knowledge brought increase of strength, and in 'Cromwell' she deserved the very highest commendation-her part, indeed, could scarcely have been played better.

We welcome Miss Wallis to the London stage as one of the greatest acquisitions which has been made to it for several years.

We have been longing to speak of Miss Marie Wilton, but were restrained by a feeling that she should not be considered before some of the representatives of perhaps higher branches of art. We say 'perhaps' higher branches because tragedy is supposed to rank before comedy, as appealing to deeper feelings; but Miss Wilton can bring tears as well as smiles, and suddenly to reach the inner sensations of an audience by a touch of pathos in the midst of gaiety and sprightly conversation, is a sure proof of true art. wonderful notion is rife among certain people that a long and intimate acquaintance with the stage

A

makes an actor or actress 'stagey.' If any proof of the absurdity of this idea were wanted, it is forthcoming in Miss Wilton. This lady's great success is of course owing to the fact that she has learned her business. Miss Wilton is another of the ladies who would have been born actresses, if such phenomena ever were born; but, nevertheless, she would not have attained her present position and popularity but for having passed through a long and arduous course of professional training. Where could you find a more entirely natural actress? She acts just as she would in her own drawing-room' is a verdict frequently pronounced upon her. Of course it is wrong. If Miss Wilton, in a drawing-room, were to behave as she does on the stage, the effect would be entirely unnatural; but herein lies one of the secrets of the art of acting: to know what degree of exaggeration is necessary to make a lady on the stage appear to be acting as she would in private life. Had Miss Wilton deprived playgoers of a great many pleasant hours, by remaining out of a theatre until to-day, no one will really imagine that she could go on the stage and represent characters as she does. Every minute detail of business is studied. Another of the secrets of the art is to hide the evidences of study, and to make every look and movement appear to be entirely unpremeditated; but it need hardly be said that no actor learns the words of a part and goes on to the stage trusting to the inspiration of the moment to suggest appropriate business. Truly an accomplished artist will change the business of a part from night to night, in particulars more or less minute; but no one ever goes on for a part without carefully considering what he will do with it throughout.

One of Miss Wilton's greatest claims to admiration is her originality. She imitates no one. Her style is essentially her own; it was created by her, and lives with her. After seeing with what cruel vigour certain actresses insist upon emphasising every point they endeavour to make, it is a treat to turn to Miss Wilton, so quiet and undemonstrative, but so thoroughly effective; for she, being a true artiste, can 'feel' her audience as she goes on.

Unless we are misinformed, it was at the Bath and Bristol theatres that Miss Wilton received her early instruction. Here, years ago, were properly organised companies, and these two theatres (if they may be called two when they were under one management) constituted an excellent training ground for young members of the profession, and have supplied the metropolitan boards with many leading favourites. Miss Wilton was one of the Strand company when burlesque was studied and played, and recognised as a branch of the drama; and before the Lotties and Totties most unfortunately found their way upon the scene to bring the stage into contempt. How is it that, driven from the music halls as too coarse and incompetent, they find a home upon the stage? It was different a few years ago. Miss Marie Wilton, Miss Eleanor Bufton, Miss Fanny Josephs, Miss M. Oliver, Miss Maria Simpson, Miss C. Saunders, and others had more respect for themselves than to introduce familiar diminutives into the playbills-possibly a slight matter in itself, but part of a most objectionable system. In the palmy days of the Strand Theatre, actors and actresses, even in burlesque, formed distinct conceptions of the characters they represented, and performed them consistently. Now it

seems to be generally considered that the only thing necessary to a complete realisation of any burlesque part of any description is to stop at the puns like a pointer at a covey of partridges. If the present race of burlesque actresses could only, see a representation of 'Aladdin,' or 'The Maid and the Magpie,' or 'Orpheus and Eurydice,' as they were originally played, it would astonish them. When we watch Miss Wilton reading the letter in 'School '-possibly as perfect and artistic a performance as the stage has seen within living memory-it is impossible to regret that she has abandoned burlesque, which always left something to be desired; but burlesque in her hands was always enjoyable, as indeed is everything she does. The only part we can remember in which she comparatively failed was Lady Gay Spanker in London Assurance;' but her want of success here does not detract from her merits, for no one can play parts of all descriptions, and Lady Gay Spanker requires very special qualifications. When Miss Wilton is suited with a part, she plays it simply to perfection, and the range of parts which suit her is large. We are proud of pointing her out to people who depreciate the condition of the stage, and the stage is very fortunate in possessing so thorough an artiste.

It is extremely difficult rightly to estimate Miss Ada Cavendish's claims. Since she appeared as Venus at the Royalty Theatre, in Mr. Burnand's 'Ixion,' she has certainly made wonderful progress, but nevertheless we consider that she has scarcely justified the hopes which she raised. Had we been called upon to speak of her a few years since, when she was playing Mrs. Pinchbeck in Mr. Robertson's 'Home,' at the Haymarket, we should have accorded

her the highest praise; because she played her part admirably and gave promise of great future excellence a promise, however, which she has not yet redeemed. There was a certain coldness and hardness an inability to let herself go' in this part, but these characteristics fitted into the rôle, which was that of a designing widow endeavouring to gain the affections of a certain Colonel White (Mr. Sothern) by assuming an appearance of innocence and ingenuousness. In short, Miss Cavendish played the part of a person who was playing the part of another person. There was no call for any exposition of true feeling, because in all the principal scenes of the play the actress was hiding her real nature; and herein Miss Cavendish was perfectly successful. There was an evidence of study here and there; sometimes it was impossible to divest the mind of an impression that Mrs. Pinchbeck had been taught how to speak and stand, and what she was to do; but perhaps this was only her method. A part she had previously played in a little piece called 'Madame Berlioz's Ball,' at the Royalty, was somewhat similar to her character in Home,' and here also she showed discrimination. In Wilkie Collins's

New Magdalen' also we presume that the character of Mercy Merrick was like these two, but, unfortunately, did not see enough of the piece to judge, and only know that the way in which it was billed and advertised with scriptural texts, and pictures which seemed to us we hope we are wrongtravesties of scriptural incident, was outrageously offensive and grossly bad in taste to the uttermost degree. This may not be the place to enter a protest against it, but we do not feel justified in missing the oppor

tunity. Whether or not the piece was commercially a success we do not know, but it is certain that many respectable people stayed away because their feelings were scandalised by the manner in which the Bible was dragged in, and referred to in nice attractive letters on large posters, to puff a play. The fact is all the more to be regretted because the piece was written by a leading novelist, and if the example is followed it is impossible to say where it may end. We decline altogether to believe for one moment that Miss Cavendish was a party to this crime, and hope and believe that the prompt suppression of the offence was owing to her action in the matter, when she saw the extent to which villainously bad taste -to say nothing of graver objections could lead people. We turn from this subject, lest feeling should get the better of judgment and suggest too angry .an expostulation; but rather let us have the shop-window actresses than another repetition of this business. We need not go to see them, but we cannot help noticing the hoardings as we pass along the streets. We have seen many forms of puff and advertisement of a more or less objectionable nature, but none so bad as this.

To resume, however. Artificiality is Miss Cavendish's chief defect. We see through her assumptions; she does not appear to feel what she says or does, and we cannot lose sight of the fact that the actress is before us, and not the character which she is supposed to represent. When she is expressing scorn, coldness, or contempt we can believe in her: when she laughs, the unreality of the whole thing is apparent; indeed, Miss Cavendish's laugh is perhaps the most forced, strained, and unnatural on the stage at pre

sent. She is, in fact, unequal. Very likely we have not yet seen her real capabilities; and, considering how few good actresses there are on the stage at present, we trust that this is the case. Sometimes for a brief spell there is so much intelligence and truth in her acting that we hold our breath expectantly, but the next moment something harsh and unreal grates upon the audience, and shows the want of consistency and truth in the assumed embodiment. If Miss Cavendish can find a part which thoroughly suits her, she will make a very great hit through nearly the whole of the drama; and if she would only be even and round, forming one clear and consistent notion of what the character would say and do through the entire representation, and act up to that idea, Miss Cavendish might become almost a great actress; but she never has done this, and we fear that she never will. She has shown glimpses of power: she has experience and opportunities, and her future is in her own hands. If she has ambition, there is nothing to prevent her from gratifying it; and, while we are vexed that she has not done better, we still hope she may do so in the future.

Miss Robertson, of the Haymarket, is almost as true as Miss Wilton, and is another example of the benefits of a thorough and judicious course of early training: quiet, effective, and, up to a certain point, eminently satisfactory. Miss Robertson has a very pleasant smile. If she would only refrain from assuming it when it is not necessary, we could really find no fault with her realisation of certain characters.

It may be noted here that we decline to discuss any actress's personal appearance, considering it ill-bred and impertinent to do

SO. When the notice of a piece says, 'Miss Jones gave an intelligent rendering of the part of Rosalind, her pretty face and handsome figure appearing to the greatest advantage in the tasteful dress; Miss Smith was also satisfactory as Celia,'—it reads like a slight on Miss Smith's good looks-or an inference that she has none. Miss Jones may deserve all the critic's praise, and Miss Smith may not be well-favoured; but critics do not go to a theatre to comment on a lady's face, but on her acting. To say that Miss Jones's performance of the character was intelligent, implies that her face was capable of expressing the emotions requisite to the embodiment of the character, and that is sufficient. Let those who condescend to enter into details about shop-window actresses go elaborately into these questions, but do not let us discuss the points of ladies as though they were cattle at an agricultural show.

That Miss Robertson should have been selected for the Haymarket company, and that she should have maintained her position there to the satisfaction of the manager and the public, are great points in her favour. Mr. Buckstone knows an actress when he sees one as well as any man, and the public will not be led by the nose, as we have found in more than one instance lately. You may bill the town and manage to get good notices in some of the papers, and so bolster up an actor or actress for a little time, but playgoers absolutely refuse to be hoodwinked. They judge for themselves, and besides, some of the dramatic critics have adopted an unpleasant habit of keeping sternly to the truth, praising warmly when praise is due, but refusing to say that black is white, and so spoiling

several little ventures which were embarked without any ballast of talent. Depend upon it, a little real ability is better than half a column of advertisements in the theatrical papers, giving quotations from semi-questionable journals which have in some way been induced to speak highly of play or performers.

In Mr. Gilbert's pieces, The Palace of Truth,' and 'Pygmalion and Galatea,' Miss Robertson was almost perfect; but we cannot forget that there are infinitely higher walks of the drama, where dwell Lady Teazle, Miss Hardcastle, and other ladies of celebrity, and that she is not at home with them; and is consequently farther still from being at home in the yet higher region where the fair Ophelia and her few sisters reside.

In Uncle's Will,' a smartlywritten comedietta-too smartly written in some places - Miss Robertson played to perfection. There was absolutely no fault to be found; we forgave the rude speeches which were put into her mouth, because she spoke them so charmingly. Here were grace, ease, and the most thorough finish

another proof, if any were needed, that long intimacy with the stage makes an actress the reverse of stagey. Galatea, in Mr. Gilbert's piece, was true and tender; and without herself exhibiting a palpable sense of humour -which perhaps was not requisite -she brought out the humour of the scene with Mr. Buckstone. If Selene, in 'The Wicked World,' was less satisfactory, the fault was the author's and not hers; for the piece was infinitely inferior to its predecessor, 'Pygmalion and Galatea,' as that was to 'The Palace of Truth.' We fear, indeed, that Miss Robertson is rather deficient in a sense of fun and humour; her Miss Hardcastle, for instance, was