She sat like one to whom the death sentence has just been read-wide-eyed, dazed. Slowly the reality of it all, its horrible truthfulness, left its outward sign of her inward conflict.

The letter fell from her trembling fingers to the floor, where it lay with its flippant announcement of a great crime flaunting itself shamelessly; a crime whose consequences were so brutally thrust upon her.

She drew back the folds of her long, clinging gown from contact with the miserable sheet, and pushing it from her with the toe of her slim, arched slipper, stood looking down on it with no trace of pity about her eyes or mouth; only scorn unutterable.

At any

"This is a mere gentlemanly peccadillo,' I suppose, she said, in a harsh, unnatural voice. "A Copley !-a Copley O, my father; that a child of yours should have done this thing! " and she threw herself prostrate before Alec Copley's unresponsive effigy. "Help me to keep disgrace from your dear, dear name. cost to me, O, my father, it shall be kept unsullied!'' She lay there till the great cathedral clock struck one, trying to make a way out of this terrible difficulty, yet finding none. She knew that their quarterly income was not due for weeks, and besides, she had breathed a vow to her father, whose spirit she felt to be a real presence, that her sweet, timid mother and Ethel should be spared all knowledge of Bert's sin if she alone could prevent its exposure.

Suddenly, like an inspiration, she thought of what her sister had said about the notice in the Baltimore paper when she had been so wrapt in love's young dream that she scarcely heeded her. She took her night candle and cautiously made her way down stairs. There lay the paper. All was still, the quiet sleepers unconscious of the tragedy being enacted under the same roof that sheltered them.

Back in her room once more, she sought the paragraph with feverish eagerness, till at last it caught her eye. A long account of the Maryland Historical Society wound up by saying: "And these old records, dating from about 1635 to 1700, have never been found. Among them is supposed to be a list of those who emigrated to the province at that time; and for the sake of important work to be completed the society offers a thousand dollars for such information from an authoritative source."

"The brass box!" she cried, hysterically.

From the secret drawer of an antique escritoire in the corner of the room she took a tiny key with a bit of black ribbon tied to it, and hastily fitted it into the curious lock which she had studied and wondered about from toddling infancy. In all her imaginings she had never dreamed that, like Pandora's box, it held her own

Low down the list her eye fell upon the words, pale, dim, but legible-Paul Harcourt-valet.

Minutes ticked off into hours and she still sat gazing till all the page seemed covered with valet, valet, and presently the odious word began to move upon the timeworn document. It had legs, arms-a periwig!

It was bowing servilely. Now it is brushing a pair of top boots, and—ah, look! it is bringing towels and the bath.

All the cavalier blood in her veins seemed beating, beating in an angry surge against her throbbing temples, and misery, the like of which she had not thought it possible for mortal to suffer, laid hold upon her soul. The shame of Bert's conduct was nothing to this shame-nothing.

"Oh, Heaven!" she groaned in agony of spirit, making a groping effort to find the window, "I am going mad!"

She got the sash up and let the damp, refreshing night air blow in from the dark, echoing square.

"This trouble of Bert's has been too much for me. It is only my crazy fancy. That is not there at all." Still moving unsteadily, she opened a cabinet near by and took out a finely-finished photograph.

"No, no," she said, sternly; "that brow, those thoughtful eyes, that patrician nose, that sensitive mouth did not come of a valet's stock. But why am I trying to convince myself? Don't I know it was all an optical illusion?"

Replacing the manly presentment of the modern Paul Harcourt in the cabinet, Margaret Copley stood irresolute, and then, as if moved by an irresistible impulse, dragged herself back to the table and leaned against it, toying with its contents while delaying the moment of sure conviction.

A small bronze statuette of Clio, with recording quill in hand, weighted one corner of the record. She snatched it up and flung it through the open window.

"Break into a thousand pieces, liar!" she cried passionately, "break as you have broken my heart," and stooping quickly she once more saw the-towels and bath.

"Father," she sobbed despairingly, her vehement emotion having spent itself and left her benumbed with pain and bewilderment," father, I loved him so, and I love him still. I would give my life to keep the world from seeing this blasting word; but I am your daughter I will save the name of Copley. That dayyou went away-you said 'do what is best with them.' Oh, is it best to sell this thing to save ourselves, or best to destroy it for Paul's sake?"

She fell heavily, closing down the lid of the brass. box with a metallic crash that brought her mother and Ethel running, panic-stricken, to her room.

They hurriedly got her into bed and sent for a physician.

"She has worn herself out over those musty papers," Mrs. Copley complained, resentfully. "My poor dear child will kill herself worrying over such things."

In the delirium of fever which followed, she talked so incessantly about Bert that the doctor ordered him home.

"I shall certainly send it, Bert, never fear," she whispered to him when he bent down to kiss her one day. She thought he had just come, but he had been there a week.

"My head is quite clear now. Go get that parchment on the table. You will see a list of names on it. Yes, that's it. Seal it up and direct it to the Maryland Historical Society, and enclose a note telling the librarian

it was among papa's papers; he'll know. And tell him he must telegraph payment to our bank on the day of its receipt. Send it now, and please don't ask me any questions; I'm tired"; and she turned her quivering face to the wall.

Some days later, Margaret, pale and sad-eyed, was lying once more on the sitting-room lounge. Her own

room was a horror to her. For the first time in her life its antiquity seemed naught but ghostliness, and she felt that its atmosphere would stifle her feeble efforts toward regaining health and strength.

Bert sat beside her, waiting to take his mother to a choral service in the cathedral.

"By the way, Sis," he said, carelessly, "whose name do you suppose I saw on that old list, or whose ancestor's, rather?"

"Whose?" she answered faintly, deftly holding a large feather fan at a screening angle.

Bert leaned back in his chair and gave one of his dare-devil laughs.

"Why, I happened to lay my magnifying glass down on your table one day, when I first came, and going to pick it up later I saw under it Paul Harcourt and valet' as big as primer letters."

"And valet?" she queried, below her breath; "no, that was not there."

"O, but it was," Bert insisted, "I swear by my eternal gratitude to you, I saw the 'and' as plain as day through the glass, but it was too faded to see without; so I traced the letters in pale ink and made them look just like the rest. It wasn't any harm, was it?"

On the instant the great bell rang out its first jubilant note and she was left alone, with more music in her heart than was pealing from the throats of all the choristers in Munich.

THINK!

NOT only before you speak, as the proverb advises,

but before you act-thereby saving yourself the great waste of energy which goes on daily because people act first and think afterward.

I

As we approached the transfer station from Fourteenth Street the other evening, when coming home so late that moments were precious, it seemed to our fancy that catching the green car-then just ready to start for Georgetown-was the immediate and pressing necessity of life. So I tumbled off the car with what haste and grace I could, without Jack's assistance, while he ran for the transfers. A moment later I saw sthe green car beginning to make speed around the curve, while, presently, Jack began to make greater speed after it. stood still, amused at his useless chase, till I saw him make the car and go sailing off, I waving forlornly and frantically after him as I stood in the middle of the car track, with curious sensations running down my back when I realized the time of night, the fact that I had no money, not even a car ticket, and was a mile or more from home, in shoes that were not chosen for their walking qualities. Fortunately for me, if not for the sensational result of this tale, Jack, secure on the back platform of the car, concluded to take notice of his surroundings, and discovered me in the fast-receding distance in time to return in scrambling haste. Whereupon, I had more sensations down my spine, arising from my anxiety as to what the people standing about. the crowded thoroughfare must think, first, of me alone; second, of my manner of seeming to get an escort.

What steps we waste and what apparently useless efforts we make is one of the marvels of this century.

This mania in particular for running after street cars is strange enough to a thoughtful observer, yet so common ! As I look sometimes at the men and women who pant over the accomplishment of one of these racing feats, I am amazed to see my otherwise dignified friends often among the number.

Why this waste of vital force? With all our American brightness I have noticed so often that the person in action is not the thoughtful person. You know how it is yourself, with the sharp speech you might have made. and have at your tongue's end now to make to Mr. Bwho was so cutting to you yesterday!

A few days ago I saw two bright-looking young women get on an elevated train in New York and discover as the train began to move that "Jim" had not been quick enough to follow them. Instead of going on to their destination, where I pictured Jim's wits taking him by the next train, they got off at the next stop, intending, as I judged from their conversation, to go back to the station where Jim had been left. The troubles of that trio I pictured as endless, and their plan to do anything together impossible-unless the trip were one that might take a fresh start from a common meeting-point on another day.

So.

We must establish a chair in our colleges, the object of whose training shall be to develop quickness of thought in our young men and women-perhaps I mean women in particular, only I feel a delicacy in saying There must be means to sharpen our wits in some such school as that where the proverbial Yankee learned his excellent lessons. We want with all our nervous force to be a people ready for emergencies, to see our chances for great things and for small, and to seize them with such a firmness and sureness that we will develop a power that will make us brighter and stronger for regular work as well as for every day's emergencies.

Wool-gathering and day-dreaming may make poets, but the person of consequence and accomplishment today is the practical one, who neither wastes his forces over foolish efforts nor wrong turns.

The dear girl, our guest last week, who hemmed the selvage of one napkin and the other wrong side out is no less my dear friend since I made that discovery; but I am oppressed with the duty devolving upon me to see that she has a scholarship in the college where thinking, and thinking quickly is to be taught. Is it not possible to anticipate many of the mistakes of everyday occurrence? What is going to teach our young people to avoid them? Let us see, first, that they learn to watch others, and second, to be critical of themselves. H.

SHELLEY.

H, thou whose heart of hearts didst wildly beat
Though dead, thou livest in thy songs again,
Which wing through Time fore'er so wildly sweet.
Oh Shelley, in thy songs I deem doth meet
That union of the soul whose earth's disdain
Doth melt to mingle with the clay and pain
Of mortal life-thou kneel'st at Nature's feet!

E'en now, unseen, unmarked by finite eye
Thou singest, while we scan the clouds on high
To search, but vainly, for the singer's form;
Like that sweet skylark which while soaring sings,
Though we may mark not the unceasing wings
Which beat the air above earth's calm or storm.

CHARLES MILTON BUCHANAN.

"THE PLAYERS.”

EDWARD JAKOBOWSKI AND COMIC OPERA.

GENERATION ago comic opera was unknown; that A is, it was unknown in the sense in which we use the term. For there is a vast difference between opéra comique and the term which stands for its literal translation into English. Opera comique holds a far higher place in the musical art than most of the comic operas of the present time can evef attain. It is built upon artistic principles as rigidly as are the works of the great composers, whose energies and talent were given to the creation of efforts of a wholly serious character. Yet some of the greatest of the composers whose names are identified with grand opera did not hesitate to cultivate the opéra comique. This fact alone would be sufficient to indicate the respect in which it was held, and for that matter, is held still.

But it must be acknowledged that during the past half-century the musical works that have won the greatest popularity in this country, have with a few exceptions been of an inferior quality to those enjoyed by our fathers. Grand opera has of late failed here, so after that, there is no doubt about the distaste of the great public for it. Of course, there is an ever-increasing army of musicians and art lovers who are devoted to it, and who encourage it; but as yet it has not succeeded in touching the heart of the people. The public, however, does want music, and it has shown in a most convincing manner that its preference is for light music. This is not surprising, for a hard-working people cannot be expected to take its pleasure seriously, to bend their wearied minds, after the exhausting labor of the day, on a form of art that taxes their energies. Grand opera is for the connoisseur who is able to appreciate not merely its large effects, but its intricacies and subleties; light opera, on the contrary, is for him to whom music offers merely pleasure and recreation, which, after all, are about the most important services that art can render. Under the circumstances of life in this country, it is only natural that comic opera should have taken the hold upon us that it has. There are those who deplore its popularity, who think that it injures the general musical taste. But even these critics must acknowledge that it is improving in quality and that the taste of the people is rapidly becoming finer. Such men as Sullivan, Cellier, Strauss and Jakobowski, have all felt the increasing demands made upon the quality of their work, and as artists they have been glad to respond to them. This is a distinct sign that our lighter music is im

PROPOSALS.

T REASURY DEPARTMENT, OFFICE SUPERvising Architect, Washington, D. C., April 30, 1894.-Sealed Proposals will be received at this office until 2 o'clock P. M., on the 29th day of MAY, 1894. and opened immediately thereafter, for all the labor and materials required to put in place complete the steel and cast irou columns in 2d, 3d, 4th and 5th stories, steel and iron floor construction of 3d, 4th, 5th and 6th floors, etc., for the U. S. Post Office building at Washington, D. C, in accordance with the drawings and specification, copies of which may be had at this office or the office of the Superintendent at Washington, D. C. Each bid must be accompanied by a certified check for a sum not less than 2 per cent of the amount of the proposal. The right is reserved to reject any and all bids and to waive any defect or informality in any bid, should it be deemed in the interest of the Government to do so. All bids received after the time stated will be returned to the bidders. Proposals must be enclosed in envelopes, sealed and marked "Proposal for the Steel and Cast Iron Columns, Steel and Iron Floor Construction, etc., for the U. S. Post Office building at Washington, D. C.," and addressed to JEREMIÄH O'ROURKE, Supervising Architect.

proving, and that even though we may not develop a popular taste for the higher form of opera, our composers are advancing on the lines which are most acceptable to the people.

Among those who have been most successful in the writing of comic operas is Edward Jakobowski, best known in this country as the composer of "Erminie." Mr. Jakobowski recently paid a visit to New York and I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. The first impression that I received from him was one of surprise at the extreme youthfulness of his appearance. In the early thirties, of medium size, strong build, with a frank, manly face ornamented with a blond mustache and with bright blue eyes, he is in looks as far removed from the conventional type of composer-the cadaverous, longhaired poseur type-as anyone could be. We talked about many things connected with his career and with music in general. He spoke frankly of himself and of his work, without a touch of false modesty or a suspicion of conceit. With his permission I have reproduced his

conversation.

I asked him first to give me an account of his career, which in the case of any man who has won success is sure to be interesting. "Well," he replied with a laugh, "I shall have to go back to my boyhood days to do that, for my career began at the age of sixeen. I actu ally had the audacity and the good fortune at that age to persuade a manager in Vienna to produce an opera of mine.

"Am I a Viennese myself? No, my name, I suppose, is misleading. I am really an Englishman. My father was an Englishman, too, but my grandfather was a Russian. I was born in London, and I lived there the first half-dozen years of my life. Then my health forced me to leave the city and I went to Vienna. When I arrived there I didn't know a word of German, and when I left there I didn't remember a word of English. That accounts for my accent. Well, in Vienna I studied music; my teacher in harmony was Professor Schroeder, a man of ability and reputation, and Gênée, the composer of 'Nanon' and other popular comic operas, instructed me in orchestration. At sixteen, a Viennese journalist wrote a libretto for me, and our joint work had a fair success. The critics, however, told me I ought to have waited a year or two longer before making my venture. After that, I had the usual hard experience of the young composer. To earn my living I had to write for musicpublishers for a mere pittance. I wrote songs for them, and I corrected the orchestration of other composers. It is very difficult to do much in comic-opera writing in

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Vienna at the present time. In fact, Vienna has never recovered from the panic of 1873; this affected her, and still affects her artistically.

"If a new comic opera now has a run of thirty or forty nights in Vienna it is considered a great success; then it is withdrawn. But, as the manager of the two theatres for comic opera there produce a repertoire, changing the bill from night to night while they are preparing for a new production, an opera is likely to be given again now and then for a single performance; in this way it is is saved from utter oblivion.

"Well, after leaving Vienna, I traveled for a while, and for three years I lived in Paris. Then I settled in London, which I have made my home ever since. In 1881 Alfred Murray wrote a libretto for me, founded on the story of Dick Whittington. We called it 'Dick.' It was produced at the Globe Theatre, and had great popularity. In 1885 Erminie' was first brought out in London by Mrs. Wyatt. Did I anticipate its success? Well, I felt sure that it would go; but I did not have any idea that it would be so very popular as it actually did become. It ran in London one hundred and ninetyeight nights. Then I sent three companies into the provinces with it. Since that time it has been given in every country in Europe, except in France and Spain. We did not attempt to have it produced in France, for we knew that the owners of Robert Macaire' would make trouble for us if we did. They claimed that Harry They claimed that Harry Paulton, the librettist, had plagiarized from 'Robert Macaire' by introducing the character of Ravennes, who they said was Robert himself, and Cadeaux, who they claimed to be Jack Stropp. Now, this is absurd; for though the two thieves may have been suggested by 'Robert Macaire,' Mr. Paulton has made new creations of them. But the copyright laws of France are very stringent, and we did not care to be involved in suits over the matter."

Mr. Jakobowski was asked what he thought of the present outlook for comic opera in Europe. "I think it very bright," he replied promptly. Public taste in music is improving all the time, and a better grade of comic opera is demanded now than the kind that was received with favor a few years ago. Consequently, the composers are making a steady improvement; they are doing a higher kind of work. Indeed, they are very glad to do this; their artistic instinct makes them prefer it. Our so-called comic operas are fast approaching the opéra comique in character; in a short time they will be in style similar to such works as 'Martha' and 'La Dame Blanche.' But they will not, of course, encroach on the field of grand opera, which is quite distinct in itself. Do I think that the composers are improving in orchestration? No, I can't say that I do; that is just about as it has been for several years past.

"At the present tine, a great deal of original work is being done in the comic opera line; the competition is very great. I have heard it said that if you will walk down Broadway every man you meet will have a comic opera in his pocket; the same thing might be remarked of the London Strand. Success in this kind of work means rich remuneration, but the risks are very great; if a production fails, all the hard labor of the composer and the librettist goes unrewarded. How are the writers remunerated? Well, they usually receive ten per cent of the gross re

Mediocrity always copies superiority. Dobbins' Electric Soap, first made in 1865, has been imitated more than any soap made. Ask your grocer for Dobbins' Electric Soap, all other Electrics, Electricity, Magnetics, etc., are imitations.

ceipts; sometimes, however, this is increased to twelve. But in London, as well as in Vienna, large runs have passed; they are now very exceptional. Ah! the young composer has a great many difficulties to contend with. In the first place, it is difficult to secure an interview with a manager; the aspirant has to call and call, to wait and be patient, till he has an opportunity to make his application. Then if he gives his work in MS. to the impressario he may not hear of it again for six months. Sometimes he may get a chance to play a portion of the music to the manager; but this favor, too, is hard to secure. Let him at once make a success, however, and his path becomes vastly smoother. The life of a writer of comic operas is interesting; but it is full of risks and worries."

Mr. Jakobowski, in reply to some leading questions with regard to his methods of work, said: "All my methods are very simple. When I am at home I work regularly every day, sometimes eight or ten hours a day. Do my ideas give out?" he repeated with an amused look. "Well, they haven't yet; perhaps they will some time. I find that I can go on spinning in this way; so I keep it up. No, I don't compose with a piano; I don't need it. I simply conceive the music in my mind and as I hear it in imagination I write it out; it's very simple," he insisted. "I am not happy if I don't produce something each day. But since I've been here, traveling, I have written only a few songs. One great difficulty that I have to contend with is finding a libretto that suits me. There is plenty of room, by the way, for good librettists; they are rare, and if they will only step forward and prove their quality they will be well rewarded. I am inclined to regard the libretto of a comic opera as of even greater importance than the music. But in order to be acceptable it must have a good story to tell, and it must tell it in a logical way. As a rule composer and librettist share equally the ten per cent that they receive for their work. But if I could get hold of a good libretto I should be willing to pay the writers more than half of our joint remuneration.'

Mr. Jakobowski has of late become greatly interested in the writing of one-act operas. Possibly the success of Mascagni in the "Cavalleria Rusticana" first stimulated this interest. "I recently finished," he said, "a short work called 'The Impressario.' There is very little dialogue in it; nearly everything depends upon the music, so, of course, I have had to take especial pains with it. How many operas have I written altogether? Oh," he laughed, "I shall have to stop and count before I answer that.” Then he added, after a pause: “I think about twenty-five altogether. With some of these I have hired a theatre in London and put them on the stage myself. I often send out companies of my own into the provinces. This is where the profit is madein the towns outside of London. I have heard that the same thing is true in this country; that managers and 'stars' make more money outside of New York than in it. But, of course, the prestige of a London or a New York success is very great and it creates success elsewhere. But the intense rivalry among managers of comic operas in the manner of putting their works on the stage is cutting down profits very much. The cost of one of these productions now is vastly higher than it used to be, and the returns are not proportionately greater. However, many of them still do very well, both in England and on the Continent. It is a mistake to suppose that Continental towns are not profitable. The theatre prices in Europe are very low, but they are

DE WOLF HOPPER and his merry company return to the National next week for a second season of "Panjandrum."

E. H. SOTHERN is playing at the National in the old favorite "Lord Chumley." The only matinée is on Saturday.

DAVID C. BANGS, a Washington young man who has already been connected with several excellent organizations, including Robert Downing's Company, has recently announced his intention of entering the entertainment field as a reader. Mr. Bangs has an extensive repertory, a good voice and a pleasant manner, which, together with the ability to readily understand the author's meaning, should make him a favorite with his audience.

MANAGER ALLEN took charge of Albaugh's Opera House on Monday night, and celebrated the event by opening the new entrance on Pennsylvania Avenue. The opening was also the beginning of the summer opera season. The opera for the week is "Girofle-Girofla," and the singers are the Edgar Strakosch Comic Opera Company. Among the members who are well known to Washington are Avery Strakosch, Alice Hosmer and Charles Bigelow.

GUSTAV HINRICHS' COMPANY opened a three-weeks' season of grand opera at popular prices at the Academy last Monday night. The opera to-night and Saturday matinée is "Cavalleria Rusticana," and the fourth act of "Rigoletto." Thursday evening "The Bohemian Girl" will be sung, Friday night "Carmen," and Saturday evening "Il Trovatore." In "Cavalleria Rusticana," Messrs. Kronold, Guille and Del Puente will be heard in the characters originally played by them in this country.

THE

PEOPLE AND THINGS.

HE death of Mr. Jesse Seligman at Coronado Beach, Southern California, where he went in search of health, leaves a great void. Universally respected, intelligent, shrewd and philanthropic, Mr. Seligman was a leader among his own people and a citizen of whom New York had reason to be proud. President of the Hebrew Benevolent and Orphan Asylum for nearly twenty years, Mr. Seligman won not only the respect but the affectionate regard of his associates, who look to his memory as an inspiring example.

Hon. Simon Wolf's tribute to Kossuth has received very general praise.

The National Rapid Transit Company propose to construct an electric railroad between New York and Washington to make the journey in two hours. This is the next thing to flying, but we want the underground trolley all the same.

It seems natural that Mrs. George W. Childs should follow the example of Mrs. U. S. Grant and decide to make her winter home in Washington. Mrs. Childs has bought the lot on K Street adjoining the fine residence of Senator and Mrs. Hale, paying $38,802 for a frontage of fifty-three feet with a depth of one hundred and nineteen feet. If Mrs. Grant secures the Blaine mansion on Lafayette Square, two old friends will be within short walking distance of each other. Mrs. Childs has been visiting Mr. and Mrs. John R. McLean.

Mrs. George Westinghouse, Jr., has taken leave of her friends for the season.

Society is much interested in the concert on May 21 of the Georgetown Banjo, Guitar, Mandolin and Glee Clubs. Headed by Mrs. Cleveland, the patronesses inClubs. clude Mrs. Stevenson, the ladies of the Cabinet, Mrs. Dolph, Mrs. Murphy, Mrs. Field, Miss White and Mrs. W. W. Dixon.

The pretty little Berkeley Chapel on the east shore of Newport, which contains a memorial window placed there by Edwin Booth in memory of his first wife, is