KATHLEEN, MADELEINE and GRACE [in one anxiously breathed interrogation]. How do I look?

DORA [encouragingly]. Oh, you're all right! That's the beauty of doing one's hair this way-the mussier it gets the better ! Mine feels as if

KATHLEEN. Sh-hh! Here they are! [Dead silence. Enter WILLARD THURSTON.]

MADELEINE [disappointedly]. Oh, it's only Will! WILL. 66 Only Will! Upon my word! Whom were you expecting? Hamlet's father's ghost? You all look scared to death! Or the angel Gabriel? [Noting stage.] What's this? What's this? What are you girls doing, anyway?

KATHLEEN [with dignity]. We are getting ready for T. Shelley Thompson. [They all fall madly to work again.]

WILL. And who is T. Shelley Thompson? And why weren't 'Gene and I invited, I'd like to know?

KATHLEEN. Surely, Mr. Thurston, you don't want us to think you have never heard of T. Shelley Thompson and his works?

WILL. Never! Never heard of him, upon my word. DORA. Oh, girls! Mr. Thurston never heard of T. Shelley Thompson's works. The idea!

MADELEINE. I wouldn't tell it, Will, if I were you. WILL. 'Tis a disgrace, I'll admit. Tell me about him. What kind of works? Soap works? Boiler works? Steel works? Brick

KATHLEEN [severely]. Why, poetical works, of course, Mr. Thurston. You surprise me !

WILL. Oh-a poet! Well, you should have said so in the first place. In this commercial age one must be very explicit. How should I know but that Mr. T. Shelly Thompkins' works were clock works?

DORA [hilariously]. Clock works! Oh!

MADELEINE. Don't mind Will, girls. He has no respect for genius. Will, you're a-a perfect iconoclast! DORA [dazed by this big word]. Oh, Madeleine, you are

so clever!.

MADELEINE [as her brother attempts to kiss her]. Will,

behave!

WILL. I won't! Girls, I have a message for you from Florence Grey. She sent word by that impish little brother of hers that she can't come.

GIRLS. Can't come !

MADELEINE. Will, you don't mean it? Is her mother

worse?

WILL. I'm sure I don't know. I hope so. If a merciful providence would remove Florence's mother to a higher plane of-of usefulness, I-well, I shouldn't complain!

MADELEINE. Then we've had all our work for nothing! It's a shame! I could cry!

DORA [sympathetically]. So could I! But never mind, Madeleine, we can have him some other time.

KATHLEEN. Perhaps the-the poet is coming anyway. [To WILL.] Did Flo's little brother say that T. Shelley Thompson wouldn't be here ?

WILL. He said Flo. couldn't come. If T. Shelley Thompson isn't coming, why didn't Florence say so?

MADELEINE. Oh, but she was to bring him! You don't think he'd come without her? That would be dreadful! We depended upon her to introduce him, and to sort of-of fraternize with him, don't you know. She's the only one of us that ever wrote a line. Oh, I wish he wouldn't! I never spoke to a poet in my life! KATHLEEN. Neither did I. I wouldn't dare to! DORA. Neither did I! Gracious! Don't ask me to

lornly shake their heads.] Never saw him? [Forlorn negatives again.] Well, that is a joke! a-[Laughs heartily and pauses.] I say, Madeleine, do you want me to stay and help you out? I'm used to this kind of thing, you know. We had plenty of it to do at college. Our society used to entertain all the celebrities. Shall I?

GRACE. Oh, please do!

KATHLEEN [Sweetly]. It's awfully kind of you, Will! WILL. Well, you just wait till I go tell 'Gene-ALICE. Well, good bye, girls. MADELEINE. Oh, Alice, don't go. You mustn't go! Will, why need you tell 'Gene? You know he and Alice are-they don't speak

WILL [gravely]. Yes; so I heard. At least-er-Alice don't speak. As for 'Gene-[Shakes his head forebod ingly.] Well, then, I'll just go and tell 'Gene to entertain himself for a couple of hours. How will that do? Be back in a minute! You don't any of you know T. Shelley Tompkins? Well, that is a joke! Ha! Ha! [Exu, laughing.]

MADELEINE. I shall never say anything hateful about Will again. Isn't it good of him to help us out?

ALICE [solemnly]. I'm afraid 'Gene Arnold will insist upon coming in. It would be just like him! And if he does [firmly], I shall leave the room!

KATHLEEN. Nonsense, Alice! If he is rude enough to come in when he knows you're here, the thing to do is to simply ignore him. Isn't it, girls?

MADELEINE and GRACE. Yes! Yes! that's the thing to do! I think so too!

DORA. Utterly ignore him.
ALICE. You all think so? Well-perhaps
[Enter WILL.]

WILL. 'Gene doesn't mind. leave be alone anyway.

He says he'd just as

ALICE. Well, I must say I didn't give Mr. Arnold credit for so much consideration. I [disappointedly]— I'm very glad. We all think you're very kind to help

us out so.

WILL [graciously]. I'm delighted to be of any service to you, especially in a matter of this kind. I particularly shine in affairs of this kind-fact is, I take a pride in it. Just you watch how I manage! I'll have him feeling perfectly at home in five minutes. You'll get a chance to see a poet-er-with his halo off, as it were. Bon camarade, you understand-off his dignity! They all like to step down off Parnassus once in a while, you know, girls.

KATHLEEN. Oh, how perfectly delightful! I never hoped for any

[Steps sound outside. Servant ushers in a pallid, longhaired personage in eccentric attire, carrying a roll of manuscript tied with flowing lavender ribbons. The girls emit incoherent murmurs and wait nervously, while WILL advances to meet the poet.]

WILL [with affable smile]. Mr. T. Shelley Tompkins? THE POET. Thompson, sir! T. Shelley Thompson, author of the unpublished modern epic entitled. "The Myriad Souléd Man." Please observe the accent on that second syllable-souléd!-and of countless lyric and dramatic works. Alem! [The poet gazes pensively at the five young ladies.]

WILL. Girls, that is to say-er-ladies, let me introduce you to Mr. T. Shelley Tompk-[coughs] Thompson, the renowned-er-poet and dramatist, with whose works we are all so thoroughly familiar. Mr. T. Shelley Tompkins, Miss Grace Smith, Miss Dora Smedley, Miss Alice Black, Miss Kathleen Brown and my sister Madeleine. Come up and speak to the gentle-to the poet, ladies. He will-will receive your homage-the

reverence due to genius, and-er-so forth! Don't be timid. Come ahead!

[The poet languidly extends one ink-stained hand, which is pressed by each girl in turn. He responds to their respectful and admiring glances with an absent-minded stare, but as the last girl releases his hand, and his eyes encounter WILLARD THURSTON's, a sort of paroxysm distorts for an instant his pallid countenance. The two men clasp hands and silently execute a pigeon-wing, unobserved by the awestricken young ladies, who are assuming poses on the chairs arranged or rather carefully disarranged-about the little stage.]

THE POET [adjusting his spectacles]. It seems to me [addressing ALICE] that-er-that we have met before. Is it not so?

ALICE. Indeed, I—I—

THE POET. You do not remember? No? Doubtless, in some other existence. Perhaps

WILL. And now, shall we have a little rendering of your so—that is, a little reading from your works? What are you going to give us, my dear fellow? Let me escort you. [Gives a hand to THE POET and assists him to mount the stage.]

THE POET [fumbling his manuscript]. I had thought first to read for your-for you this morning a fragment from my-er-from an unfinished lyric, called "Meaningless." I hope you will be able to-er-grasp the-er -thought; but if not-if not, I say, do not hesitate to admit that it is beyond your comprehension. It has perplexed some of the greatest intellects of this age. Do not be discouraged. I will elucidate it for you! [Unrolls manuscript, and glares through his spectacles at the outspread page. Rumples his hair and reads in accents of acutest melancholy, pronouncing every syllable with the utmost care.] Ahem

Do you grasp it?

MADELEINE. How passionate!

GRACE.

And what harmony!

ALICE. And such dramatic fervor !

KATHLEEN. So entirely original!

DORA. Perfectly lovely! I adore poetry!

THE POET [blandly]. You like it? I perceive that you are-are-connoisseurs. Your appreciation stamps you at once. [Drops manuscript, and bends to pick it up. Stage gives a lurch. POET is precipitated and barely escapes crushing his countenance, but recovers equilibrium in nick of time.] Ah-er-really! You must excuse me ! IThe second-er-stanza, as you will at once observe, complicates the involved sentiment-the sentiment involved-but you understand! I will proceed:

Oh, breathe that word no more, dear love!
No more, I say, no more!

No more! Breathe it no more! Give o'er!
Dear love!-Oh, never more!

Dear love!

That is as far as I have gone with it. In fact the-erthe feeling became so overpowering, that I—I could not proceed! [Complacently.] Did the meaning escape you?

WILL. Not at all! Not at all! Our acquaintance with the works of Browning and-Dante and-Schopenhauer fit us to grasp the idea; but it was marvelously elusive!

MADELEINE. Marvelously elusive! KATHLEEN. So simple, yet so complex. A-[bril liantly] a poetic paradox!

DORA. Simply marvelous! It's harder than cube root ! ALICE. What a glorious thing it is to be a poet-that is, a truly great poet! Oh, Mr. Thompson, ITHE POET. Were you addressing me, Madame? ALICE [abashed ]. I-yes, yes, sir-I

THE POET. Then call me-do not call me Mister. Call me Shelley if you like; you may omit the T. if you wish, but do not address me as Mister. It is so-so unpoetical, if I may so express myself.

ALICE [humbly]. Oh, I beg your pardon.

THE POET. I was about to ask if you had observed the dramatic force of that final "Never more"? [Fixes his eyes upon MADELEINE.]

MADELEINE. Yes, indeed, Mr.-Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I did. I thought it was very-very affecting. KATHLEEN [trying to help her friend out]. Like a sorrowful, hopeless kind of a wail. Wasn't it exquisitely sad?

DORA. Just grand! Made me think of Poe's raven. Don't you remember how it croaked" Never more"?

THE POET. Croaked-croaked! And now fellowsthat is, ladies, let me recite for you a scene from my Spanish tragedy, "The Lost Stick-Pin." But first I must give you a few pointers-a few hints as to the plot. The characters are Allessandro, a youth, in love with Rosanita, a maiden, in love with Ricardo, a matador, with whom Jacinta, another maiden, is in love. That is to say, that Allessandro loves Rosanita, who loves Ricardo, who is loved by-but you understand! I shall personate all four characters. I mean-but you under

stand

WILL. Oh, yes! We understand!

THE GIRLS [looking at each other vaguely]. Oh, yes! Certainly! Perfectly clear! We understand.

THE POET. Now, when I am Rosanita, I shall stand here, so! [Moves to corner. Strikes an attitude, and stage tilts.] And when I am Allessandro, I shall stand here, like this! [Moves to corner, L. B., and poses. Stage tilts. But when I am Ricardo, the matador, you understand, I shall occupy the centre of the stage-so! while as Jacinta, my place is in the front corner, there! WILL [to girls]. You see?

GIRLS. Yes! Yes! We see !

THE POET. Now, you will observe, I am in the left corner back; hence it is Allessandro who speaks. "Ay! Rosanita, my sweet one, dulce senorita, do not scorn me thus!" [Crosses to R. Stage tilts.] "You flatter yourself, senor! To scorn a man one must take some notice of him-now I take no notice of you whatever!" [Strides to C.] "Ha! Ha! Vaya! Caramba! and what say you to me, Rosanita? Am I, too, beneath your notice?" [Backs to Rosanita's corner.] "Ah, Ricardo, you beneath my notice? You, señor! You who have killed six bulls in an hour! Can you think me such a-"[Leaps to Jacinta's place, completely ruining the floral embankment.] "Coquette! Siren! Will you take Ricardo from me?" [Backs to Allessandro's position.] "Nay, by the blue heavens, Ricardo shall not have her! Rosanita is mine!" [Centre.] "Fool! Bobo! She is mine! You dare to dispute me?-then die!" [High falsetto from right corner.] "Ay! Dios in cielo! They fight! They fight!" [Pause. wipes his perspiring brow and gasps for breath.]

DORA. Is that all?

РОЕТ

THE POET. You will at once perceive the dramatic force of the situation; but since I cannot, unfortunately, manage this thrilling fighting scene alone and unaided,

DORA. Oh, tell me! What's the joke?

THE POET [indignantly]. Well, this is a shame! You might at least let a fellow finish his

ALICE [pointing to THE POET]. 'Gene Arnold!

'GENE [abandoning all attempt at concealment]. Yes; it's me! I may as well own up. I'm not T. Shelley Thompson.

FLORENCE. I consider this a cruel outrage! To deceive them and betray their confidence, and I shall never forgive you, Will, never! I can never tr-ust you again! [Begins to cry.]

MADELEINE [repressing a sob]. I might have known it! Will always behaves shamefully! And now he'll tell everyone I know he will! And we'll be laughed at forevermore! I'm so mad I could-but it's your fault, Florence! You might have let us know!

FLORENCE. My fault? Let you know? Why, I did! MADELEINE. Oh, you sent word that you couldn't come, but how could we

FLORENCE I sent word that he that T. Shelley Thompson couldn't come! He's laid up with grip.

WILL. Even poets-at least live poets-can't escape grip. I am sure, Florence, we deserve praise instead of blame for providing such a satisfactory substitute! They were charmed-charmed!

ALICE. I never heard of anything so unprincipled and ungentlemanly, and-everything. Oh, I am glad—yes, Eugene Arnold, I am thankful that you and I were quits before this happened. I should have died of shame! As it is, I am-I am indignant-but-but it does not make me suffer! I am very indignant!

'GENE [taking off his wig]. Well, Alice, if I have committed an unpardonable sin, it is because you drove me to it! I had to do something to-to keep from literally going mad! Ask Will!

PROPOSALS.

PROPOSALS FOR SUPPLIES FOR THE NAVY

Yard, Washington, D. C.-April 12, 1894.-Sealed proposals, endorsed "Proposals for Supplies for the Navy Yard, Washington, D. C., to be opened May 1, 1894." will be received at the Bureau of Supplies and Accounts, Navy Department, Washington, D. C., until 12 o'clock noon, MAY 1, 1894, and publicly opened immediately thereafter, to furnish at the Navy Yard, Washington, D. C., a quantity of oil, glycerine, tools, tool steel, hardware and files. The articles must conform to the Navy standard and pass the usual naval inspection. Blank proposals will be furnished upon application to the Navy Yard, Washington, D. C. The attention of manufacturers and dealers is invited. Tie bids, all other things being equal, decided by lot. The Department reserves the right to waive defects or to reject any or all bids not deemed advantageous to the Government. EDWIN STEWART, Paymaster Genera!, U. S. N.

WILL. He didn't sleep a wink last night! He talked me almost to death. He threatened to-['GENE clutches his arm.] Yes, 'Gene, she shall know the truth! He threatened

ALICE [faintly]. Threatened? What? 'GENE. Will Thurston, if you proclaim my-my weakness to this-if you tell on me I shall-carry out my threat!

DORA. Well, for my part, I don't see what everybody's mad about! I think it was a great deal more fun than the real T. Shelley Thompson would have been. I

mean

WILL. Dora, you're a trump! [They talk aside.] 'GENE to ALICE]. Am I to understand, then, that your decision was final? Have you no heart, Alice Black? You have seen what a desperate man will resort to, to get a glimpse-a last glimpse of your face. Was that what you did it for?

ALICE. 'GENE.

Dare you-now, Alice, dare you assume the responsibility of-of sending me to-to the

WILL [coming forward with DORA]. Now listen to me, girls; I have an idea! You'll all admit that 'Gene and I have it in our power to make you pretty uncomfortable. Suppose we tell this at the Club?

MADELEINE [hopelessly]. Do you want to blacken your sister's life? It will kill me!

WILL. Well, I'm willing to be magnanimous, if Florence will promise not to-to fuss; and 'Gene would be willing too, if he were in his normal condition. Now if Alice will forgive him for whatever he did the other night, and for-for this little-er-episode to-day, we'll all turn our backs while they effect a compromise! Then 'Gene and I will promise not to tell. Won't we, 'Gene?

'GENE. Let Alice decide it!

Madeleine, GRACE and KATHLEEN. Oh, Alice, please forgive them!

MADELEINE. Just consider, Alice, what you're condemning us to!

'GENE. Make up, Alice! I know I'm a villain, and a -everything-but-but still, Alice darling, I love you!

WILL. Ready! Right about face! [They turn their backs. Two girls stand on each side of WILL.] Now, Alice, we'll give you three minutes to capitulate! [Takes out watch.] One! ['GENE gazes beseechingly into ALICE's eyes. She shakes her head.] Two! ['GENE extends both hands imploringly. ALICE wavers but will not succumb.] Three! [The girls peep over their shoulders, and shout for joy as ALICE surrenders.]

TABLEAU.

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IMPROVED SERVICE TO CINCINNATI AND ST. LOUIS. The Baltimore and Ohio Southwestern Limited, leaving Washington, D. C., 3.30 P. M., and the fast Express, leaving at 1.50 A. M., for Cincinnati and St. Louis, are now equipped with a complete Dining Car service, built expressly for these trains by the Pullman Company. Pullman Dining Cars and also attached to Royal Blue Line trains leaving 10.00 A. M. and 5.00 P. M. week days, and 8.00 A. M., 12.00 noon and 5.00 P. M. Sundays, for Baltimore, Philadelphis and New York.

γου

"THE PLAYERS.”

SHAKSPEREAN TRADITIONS.

OU ask me for my opinion upon the value of Shaks. perean traditions. This is a question not easily answered. It involves the explanation of much that is purely technical and probably uninteresting to the general reader.

Tradition hands down from actor to actor certain bits of what is called "business." The term business in this relation applies to certain effects, gestures and byplay introduced by the actor. This so-called business is generally arranged by the player to enable him to utilize his own ability and characteristics to the fullest advantage in illustrating the meaning of the author. There are no two men exactly alike, and it must be perfectly

obvious that the characteristics of one actor cannot be made to fit in with those of every other. There is no actor in the world worthy of the name who has not a certain amount of individuality, and if Mr. Brown devises or invents business to suit his own methods or idiosyncrasy, it is certain that this business must be to a great extent unsuited to the characteristics of Mr. Robinson.

Blind adherence to tradition stifles originality and destroys individuality. To what an extent adherence to tradition was carried in the stock companies few people can imagine. When I was a youth and a member of a stock company in England, actors were engaged for "lines of business," and were expected to be ready at a moment's notice to play, with or without rehearsal, any character in the line of business for which he was engaged. He was expected to know, if he played Horatio, exactly where his Hamlet would be standing and what he would be doing in any scene in which he was concerned. To such an extent was this adherence to tradition carried that a dozen Hamlets might come to a theatre during the course of one season and not one of them call for or expect a full rehearsal. The company would assemble upon the stage to meet the star, who would often content himself with rehearsing his fight with Laertes, unless there should be some novice thrust into an important part in which he wanted instruction beyond that which the stage manager had time or was competent to give him.

Just think how mechanical, how utterly devoid of originality of thought or conception performances given under such circumstances must have been! And yet the conditions of the stage of that period rendered any other system utterly impossible. There would be one, two or three-I have known four-fresh plays for each night's performance. It was no uncommon thing to play two Shaksperean pieces in one evening, and I have had to commence the "Merchant of Venice" at half past six and finish "Much Ado About Nothing" at ten minutes past twelve. Even at Drury Lane Theatre in London I have had to play in "King Lear" and "Belphegor" on the same evening, the bill being changed nightly. Careful rehearsals under such circumstances would be out of the question, and without the use and knowledge of tradition the performances could not have taken place. Here of course tradition was valuable, nay, invaluable.

Is it economy to save a few cents buying a cheap soap or strong washing powder, and lose dollars in ruined rotten clothes? If not, use Dobbins' Electric Soap, white as snow, and as pure. Ask your grocer for it.

The origin of much of the traditional business of the Shaksperean plays is lost in antiquity, the meaning of it is but dimly understood by the actor who uses it, and if he were asked why he did it he would probably reply that Kemble, Macready or Kean had always done it and what was good enough for them was quite good enough for him. Some of this business was so absurd that its retention by any intelligent actor is a matter of wonderment to me. The Verona Street in "Romeo and Juliet" was painted generally in acute perspective with a church at the vanishing point. This would render it quite possible for an actor to rest his elbow on a veranda three stories high, and this I have seen the Peter do, pretending to sleep after having used up the rest of his spare time during the dialogue between Romeo and the Nurse by catching flies from the top of the church steeple. Of course scarcely a word would be heard of Romeo's dialogue for the aughter thus provoked, but if the ill-starred lover dared to remonstrate with the low comedian he would be told that it was the "usual business,” and he "did not intend to be cut out of his laughs for any Romeo under the sun or gaslight."

Until a very few years ago part of the "traditional business" of the first gravedigger in "Hamlet" was, in preparing himself for work at Ophelia's grave, to divest him. self, one after the other, of at least a dozen-if not a score -of waistcoats; and let Hamlet object as he would, the low comedian would insist on doing it and the manager would uphold him in so doing, as this was the "traditional business." The Lord Mayor in "Richard the Third" was always cast to the low comedian, who would make up for the want of comedy in the character by bringing on with him a white wand of office some six or seven feet in length. This wand he would plant over a hole bored in the stage, and at the end of his speech to Richard he would lean heavily upon it, the wand would disappear through the stage, and his Mayorship would fall flat upon his face amid the yells of laughter of the usual number of "barren spectators" to the utter destruction of the consideration of the then very "necessary question of the play." King Dick might grumble, but in vain— it was the "traditional business."

Low comedians were not alone to blame; the tragedians were often quite as much at fault. Scores of absurdities perpetrated by the Hamlets, Richards and Shylocks could be enumerated, but the enumeration would only bore your readers. I am fully convinced that adherence to tradition in the performance of Shaksperean plays has helped to make Shakspere unpopular with many playgoers. What interest can there be in watching a dozen men play Hamlet, Othello or Macbeth in precisely the same way, knowing exactly how they will make their points and where they will make them? One would think positively none. Yet there are some old-time playgoers and critics, too, who are as rabidly tenacious over tradition as the most conservative actor. "What was

good enough for Macready or Kean is quite good enough for them," and they will bitterly resent any innovation introduced by a man who has the courage and ability to think for himself. Anything original or new, anything that these people have not seen done before in a Shaks

My little boy had La Grippe. He went out too soon and had a relapse. Pneumonia set in, and I never heard any cough so hard as he did. I gave him Piso's Cure for Consumption, which helped him immediately. The next fall he had measles, followed by a bad cough. Again I gave him Piso's Cure, and he is now a sound, hearty boy.-MARGARET E. OVERHALL, Mountain Gap, Va., Feb. 20, 1893.

perean play, they will declare "un-Shaksperean or "melodramatic." One of these dear old fossils was horrified when I introduced a portrait of Desdemona into Othello's chamber. "Rank melodrama, be gad, sir," said he. What the poor old thing meant by melodrama neither he nor I could explain. But it sounded well, and it made him feel quite great and good to say it.

He, and such as he, in my opinion, are entitled to as much consideration as the old lady who objects to "those nasty trains" or "those horrid electric lights," and would compel people by act of Parliament to revert to the stage-coach and the tallow candle. Freshness and originality in thought and expression are the very lifeblood, nay, the very soul of literature, music and painting, and without freshness and originality of thought and expression the stage must become bloodless, soulless and lifeless. In my opinion, the value of tradition to the modern stage is, as the grain of wheat in a bushel of chaff, hardly worth finding. WILSON BARRETT.

K

BY THE WAY:

ERNAN'S present program is called "The City Sports
Big Show."

EMMA EAMES is to sing in Metzerott Hall on the night of May 1.

"SHORE ACRES," which is still running at Daly's New York Theatre, bids fair to live as long as "The Old Homestead."

"AMERICANS ABROAD " may be seen at the Academy throughout the week. It is presented by Daniel Frohman's company.

M. MOUNET-SULLY, of the Comédie Francaise, and his entire company are playing at Albaugh's in repertory. To-night's bill is "Ruy Blas," and that for to-morrow night is "Hernani." Thursday evening's performance closes the engagement.

BRONSON HOWARD'S "Aristocracy" has returned to the National for a week. The play is given under the direction of Al. Hayman and Charles Frohman, and is as popular as ever. This is the only play from Mr. Howard's pen since "Shenandoah."

THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF THE DRAMATIC ARTS held

Blaine and Walter Damrosch, which was thought as the pleasantest home wedding ever celebrated in Washington. Mrs. Blaine was then in the depth of her sorrow for the death of her son Walker, and daughter, Mrs. Coppinger; but she put sorrow aside for the time, by a supreme effort, rejoiced in the happiness of her second daughter, making the wedding all that was bright and beautiful. After the ceremony there is to be a wedding breakfast, and the bride and bridegroom will start on a wedding journey to California, where they will spend three months on Mr. Beale's ranche. Mrs. Damrosch, who is to come over several days before the wedding, will remain with Mrs. Blaine until the latter closes her house here and goes to Augusta. This, Mrs. Blaine expects to do about the middle of May. It is also quite certain that she will, in future, spend most of her time in Maine, and to that end will either lease or sell her home on Lafayette Square.

TIME

IME brings curious changes and nowhere more striking than in Washington. It is said that Mrs. Grant will return to Washington to spend the decline of her life, and that it is not unlikely she will buy the Blaine house on Lafayette Square for her home. Some years ago when on a visit here Mrs. Grant declared that Washington was more like home than any other place. Even with changes she always found many friends of her day, as the wife of the great soldier and the mistress of the White House. The visit of Mrs. Sartoris in Washington at this time confirms the impression that she would spend part of each year with her mother if the latter made her home here, and where, as Nellie Grant, she passed the happiest days of her life. That Mrs. Grant should turn to the Capital of the Nation which gave her husband great honors is not strange, and that her daughter should turn to the scenes of a happy girlhood is most natural. Here, though in private life, Mrs. Grant would receive that courtesy and deference especially due to the widow of a President. J. E. J.

PEOPLE AND THINGS.

exercises were held, as usual, in the Berkeley Lyceum, New York. Three successive afternoons were devoted to the production of new places and to the recital of scenes and monologues, and on Saturday the graduating class received its diplomas.

THE NATIONAL CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC OF AMERICA, of which Mrs. Jeannette M. Thurber is president, has decided to enlarge its sphere of usefulness by inaugurating a special summer term. It will open June 1, and is especially designed for the benefit of students who may be devoting their time to general culture in seminaries and colleges during the regular scholastic year.

THE

IN WASHINGTON.

HE WEDDING of Miss Harriet Blaine and Truxton Beale, which is set for the last day of the month, is to be extremely quiet. The mourning of the two families would make this appropriate, even if it were not the wish of the bride to have a simple wedding. No formal invitations are given, but instead, the guests are asked verbally, and they include only the relatives and a limited number of intimate friends. There are to be no bridesmaids nor attendants. Though small, it will be as pretty a wedding as that of Miss Margaret

birthday on April 14 called out such an assembly of fair women and brave men as should gratify even the Nestor of the Senate, who is used to this sort of demonstration. If American youths want an example of a wellspent life and its honorable reward, let them turn to the record of Vermont's senior Senator, who has served his country for forty years, has never shirked responsibility, has never asked for leave of absence until a recent illness forced him to leave his post of duty to save his life, and to-day would scorn to work under an eight-hour law. More power to his elbow!

That Emilio Castelar should give in his adhesion to the Spanish monarchy simply means that he is growing old, and no longer has illusions. Spain is not fit for a republic, as every intelligent traveler knows. The marvel is that Castelar did not see the truth twenty years ago.

The Connecticut State Building of the World's Fair will be set up in New Haven where the British troops camped when that town was invaded in 1779.

The game of golf has been played for centuries in Scotland. It is one of the many varieties of bat and ball and is now an epidemic in this country.

Barr Ferree calls the elevator the great equalizer of civilization.

The death of that wonderfully able man, David Dudley Field, takes from the Bar a great light. Mr. Field