analogy between their proceedings and those of some children of a larger growth.' The behind-scenes' life of a theatre is to not a few of us like the circus tent to the child. We know no 'Sesame' that will open its doors, and we are eagerly attent to catch every sound or sight that may reach us from within. It is the few only who know that the attractions of behind-scenes' life exist solely in the imagination of those who are never admitted. It is the wisdom of experience and disenchantment that tells that the work is best seen from the point of view with regard to which it is prepared, and that the attempt to know more than is intended for public exhibition ends always in disappointment. Theatrical management is now a serious, responsible, and, when successful, most profitable undertaking. The profit from a theatre in the full tide of prosperity rises to many hundreds of pounds weekly. On the other hand, the loss is corresponding. Theatrical affairs seem, indeed, to have undergone some such change as has come over warfare. Battles are short, sharp, and decisive. Two or three defeats involve of necessity the close of a campaign, and leave the vanquished no choice but surrender. When such important interests are at stake, when commercial enterprise and commercial system are at the root of success, it follows absolutely that commercial system will be observed. In the green-room of a well-managed theatre, accordingly, an idler during performance will be about as much in place, and as comfortable, as he would be standing in a busy office and attempting to converse with those at work about him. The entry to the green-room is accorded to those only who come upon business, and an inclination to stay would not be likely to develope itself in the minds of those who contemplated the work around them. To be the only drone in a hive of bees is a position few men would unblushingly maintain for any long space. Matters were otherwise once, when the beaux used to have their seats upon the stage, and smoke their tobacco in the very nostrils of the actors; when a noble Mohawk Flown with insolence and wine would invade by force the dressing-rooms of the actresses, and inflict, by means of his servant, a beating upon any actor manly enough to stand up for womanhood and his profession. More than one actor was murdered in those evil days of the stage by men who called themselves patrons of the drama. It is painful even now to read of the humiliations to which artists like Molière in France and Garrick in England were exposed at the hands of the powdered and essenced coxcombs who used to claim the right of entry behind the scenes, and who held that their own presence upon the stage was more important than that of the performers. What Garrick felt on being so Pestered with a popinjay he shows us in a conversation between Æsop and a fine gentleman, which he introduces in his comedy of Lethe:' Fine Gentleman.-Faith, my existence is merely supported by amusements: I dress, visit, study taste, and write sonnets; by birth, travel, education, and natural abilities I am entitled to lead the fashion; I am principal connoisseur at all auctions, chief arbiter at assemblies, professed critic at the theatres, and a fine gentleman everywhere. Esop.-Critic, sir! pray, what's that? Fine Gentleman.-The delight of the ingenious, the terror of poets, the scourge of players, and the aversion of the vulgar. Esop.-Pray, sir (for I fancy your life must be somewhat particular), how do you pass your time; this day, for instance? Fine Gentleman.—I lie in bed all day, sir. Æsop.-How do you spend your evenings, then? Fine Gentleman.—I dress in the evening, and go generally behind the scenes of both Play-houses; not, you may imagine, to be diverted with the play, but to intrigue, and show-myself. I stand upon the stage, talk aloud and stare about, which confounds the actors and disturbs the audience; upon which the galleries, who hate the appearance of one of us, begin to hiss, and cry' Off! off!' while I undaunted stamp my foot-so; loll with my shoulder-thus; take snuff with my right hand and smile scornfully-thus. This exasperates the savages, and they attack us with volleys of sucked oranges and half-eaten pippins. Long after such scenes of disorder had ceased to be witnessed on the stage, and a prohibition had been obtained against the intrusion of those who were not concerned with the representation, thedandies' used to find their way into the green-room. It has been left, however, for the present day to purge the stage of this reproach, and there is not now a green-room in any first-class theatre into which any are admitted except those who have some claim. It is not the least of the obligations we owe to W. C. Macready that his influence and example were always on the side of the reformation of whatever in the conduct of the stage was intrinsically condemnable, or whatever lent itself in the mouth of enemies to purposes of reproach. Among those who in subsequent days have carried out the reform Macready began are Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, whose management of the Prince of Wales's Theatre has had an influence altogether incommensurate with the size of the house. To these conscientious artists and energetic managers it is attributable that we have now a school of young actors from whom the highest things are to be hoped, that our performances have an ensemble which at one time seemed to be lost to our stage, and that stage decoration has become a fine art. It is but just, when the history of the stage is written, that these facts should be remembered. At the time when Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft first took possession of the Prince of Wales's Theatre things histrionic were probably at the lowest ebb. In that theatre sprang the current which has since spread itself over London. Much remains yet to be done before acting in England becomes all that it should be. Schools and colleges must be founded, professors must be appointed, and the educational influences of the stage must be raised in all respects, until we accept it as a school of pronunciation and grammar. What progress in this direction has already been made has, however, taken its rise in the room of which a picture is now given. It is a pleasant task to trace the familiar features in the disguise which some of the characters wear. Except Mrs. Bancroft, who does not act in Peril,' all the members of the company are en costume Mrs. Kendal as Lady Ormond, Mr. Bancroft as Sir George, Mr. Sugden and Miss Lucy Buckstone, being easily distinguishable. Mr. Arthur Cecil disguised as Sir Woodbine Grafton is not to be recognised except by those who have seen him in the character. To afford too much information would be, however, to interfere with the gratification of those who seek to find out for themselves the various likenesses. The picture will prove a welcome souvenir to all interested in the growth of that stage which, after being England's glory, came to be almost her disgrace, and which now, under such influences as these we preserve, again - Repairs its drooping head. JOSEPH KNIGHT. Lucy Hutchinson. In certain quarters, exception is taken to the study of classical literature by women, as though a familiar acquaintance with the great writers of ancient times were somehow incompatible with the efficient discharge of domestic duties. There is no reason, however, to suppose that in the days of Queen Elizabeth, or of the Scottish pedants who succeeded to her, English gentlewomen were a whit inferior to their descendants of the present generation in the capacity of wives and mothers. And yet it was then no uncommon thing for the family chaplain to devote a certain portion of each day to giving lessons in Latin and Greek, and even in Hebrew, to the daughters of his patron. A notable instance of this frequent practice may be found in the memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson, written by his deeply attached widow; or, to speak more correctly, in the prefatory fragment which describes the early years of her own anxious life. The very reason she assigns for attempting this autobiographical sketch testifies, in the highest degree, to the humility and practical piety of the accomplished writer. 'I thought,' she modestly urges, as an excuse for her apparent boldness, it might be a means to stir up my thankfulness for things past, and to encourage my faith for the future, if I recollected as much as I have heard or can remember of the passages of my youth, and the general and particular providences exercised towards me, both in the entrance and progress of my life.' Lucy Hutchinson was born in the Tower of London, of which her father, Sir Allen Apsley, was governor, on January 29, 1619. Her mother, Lucy, the youngest daughter of Sir John St. John, of Lidiard Tregoofe, Wilts, was the third wife of Sir Allen; and when only sixteen years of age consented to take as her mate a man of fortyeight, and of a grave and austere, though kindly, disposition. In his early youth, however, Sir Allen Apsley had been attracted to the gaming-table, where he quickly lost the little money he possessed. This untoward commencement he fortunately retrieved by his excellent conduct in the famous Cadiz expedition of the Earl of Essex, through whose good offices he obtained a lucrative post in Ireland. Here also he acquitted himself so well that he received the honour of knighthood from James I., and shortly afterwards took for his second wife the daughter of Sir Peter Carew-niece of the Earl of Totnes-who bore him a son and daughter. Upon her death the sorrowing widower resigned his employment in 6 6 Ireland, and was appointed Victualler of the Navy, a place then both of credit and great revenue.' After a time his friends conceived the idea of finding a third wife for Sir Allen; but the negotiations somehow fell through, and he encountered his fate in a young girl thirty-two years his junior. Happily for both, Miss St. John cared little for social gaieties, and while boarding in the house of a French minister in Jersey had been instructed in the Geneva discipline,' which she learned to prefer to what her daughter calls our more superstitious service.' Notwithstanding their great disparity of age, this worthy couple were well suited to one another in habits and disposition, and appear to have enjoyed as much happiness as falls to the lot of most married people. Of their ten childreu, three sons and two daughters survived their father, who died in 1630 of consumption, the seeds of which were sown in the disastrous expedition to the Isle de St. Gré. Of his many excellent qualities his daughter Lucy speaks in terms of the warmest eulogy, and especially notes his aversion from the foppery and gallantry of the day. 'There was nothing,' she says, he hated more than an insignificant gallant that could only prune himself, and court a lady, but had not brains to employ himself in things more suitable to man's nobler sex.' Lady Apsley was worthy of her husband, and provided Sir Walter Raleigh and Mr. Ruthin with money for their chemical experiments, and in return obtained much useful information pertaining to the healing art, and also a goodly supply of medicines for the poor, to whom she was, in other respects, exceedingly bountiful. It is added that she was a constant frequenter of week-day lectures, and great lover and encourager of good ministers, and most diligent in her private reading and devotions.' This estimable lady died in 1659, at her daughter Lucy's country-seat at Owthorpe, Notts. In the enumeration of the many blessings attached to her birth, it is not surprising that Mrs. Hutchinson should dwell emphatically on the immense advantage of being the child of such pious and virtuous parents; though she is scarcely less thankful for being born neither at the midnight of papistical superstitions nor in the twilight that succeeded to that thick darkness, but when the sun of truth was exalted in his progress and hastening towards a meridian glory.' She further rejoices, both upon spiritual and outward accounts,' in the privilege of being an Englishwoman, and derives gratification from the happiness of the soil and air,' as well as from the celebrated glory of this isle's inhabitants." 'Britain,' she exclaims, hath been as a garden enclosed, wherein all things that man can wish to make a happy life are planted and grow in her own soil; and whatsoever foreign countries yield 6 |