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cle's dry-goods store and doomed to ply the yard-stick and scissors. He was too young for open rebellion, but he had the courage, resolution, and industry which are more potent than genius itself. Always steadfast to the purpose of his life, he never for an instant ceased the study of elocution, and at last, when he was eighteen years old, he managed to obtain permission from the directors of the old Tremont Theater to make a public appearance there as Jaffier. This important step was taken without the knowledge either of his mother or his uncle, neither of whom had much reverence for the stage. He was announced simply as a young gentleman of Boston, and had

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JESSE RURAL."

Boylike, he thought that the favorable reception accorded to him as a novice meant permanent fame for him, and he was greatly taken aback when he found that he had to begin again, like everybody else, at the bottom of the ladder. After playing two and three line parts for a time, he was glad to get an opportunity to go to New Orleans under the management of James H. Caldwell, although his salary was of the smallest. He made his first appearance there as Sir Frederick Vernon in "Rob Roy," and is reported to have failed completely on account of a bad attack of stage fright, pardonable enough in a lad of his inexperience. Immediately afterward he

JOHN GILBERT AS "SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE."

drudgery, but to the true student of dramatic art it is more precious than all the rules of all the professors. At the end of his five years' term in Boston, Mr. Gilbert's position in his profession was assured, and he came to New York, where he at once procured an engagement in the Old Bowery Theater, then at the height of its fame. He played Sir Edward Mortimer and a number of other important characters with much success, and then returned for a brief season to Boston, acting in the Tremont and the National theaters. Being desirous of studying the methods of comedians trained amidst the old traditions, he made a trip to England, and was engaged by Mr. Walton, the manager of the Princess's Theater, and made his first appearance there in the character of Sir Richard Bramble in "The Poor Gentleman." His success was so emphatic that he was reëngaged for the whole of the ensuing season, and played the old men's parts in a number of standard English comedies, and also supported Macready and Charlotte Cushman. Whenever he had a chance he went to the Haymarket Theater, the home of legitimate comedy, where Mathews, Buckstone, Compton, Mrs. Nesbitt, and other famous actors could be seen, and he also paid a visit to Paris to study the best methods of the French school. On his return to New York he joined the company of the Park Theater, then under the direction of Hamblin, and remained there until the house was burned in 1848. Then he went to Philadelphia, where he acted for five years, and next to Boston, to the new Boston Theater, managed by Thomas Barry, where he remained until 1857. During the ensuing five years he was once more in Philadelphia, but in 1862 he returned to New York for good, joining the company of Mr. Wallack, of which he was one of the chief ornaments to the very last. It is not possible within the limits of this sketch to attempt even the briefest summary of the work which he has accomplished in the last twenty-five years, but a hasty reference to some of his most important impersonations will give a good idea of its variety and scope. The fame of his Sir Anthony Absolute entitles it to be placed at the head of the list. It is difficult to believe that the choleric old Englishman ever had a better representative. To-day there is no actor who could presume to challenge comparison with him in it. Mr. William Warren, of Boston, has retired

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redeemed himself by the admirable manner in which he acted an old man, a very strong part, in a piece called "The May Queen"; and it was on this occasion that the natural bent of his talent was first displayed. Thereafter he appeared constantly in the characters of old men and made rapid advances in professional reputation. For five years he traveled in the South and South-west, undergoing discomforts and making shifts of which even the modern barn-stormer has but the faintest conception, but constantly adding to his experience and self-confidence, until he finally made his way back again to Boston and procured an engagement at the Tremont Theater. Here he played for another five years in a great variety of characters, many of which were old men-in tragedy, old and new comedy, melodrama, romantic-drama, and farce. He was associated in those days with a host of deadand-gone celebrities,- Booth, Forrest, Hamblin, J. W. Wallack, Tyrone Power, Charlotte Cushman, Cooper, Ellen Tree (Mrs. Charles Kean), Mr. and Mrs. Keely, etc.,-and doubtless learned something from each of them. The modern actor would call work of this kind

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upon his laurels. Mr. Chippendale, Mr. Phelps, and the original Warren are dead. All were celebrated in the character, but Mr. Gilbert is probably better than any of them. His figure, his face, and his voice fit the part exactly; the naturalness of his choleric outbursts is extraordinary; the dryness of his humor is perfect; and his whole carriage is an absolute reproduction of the old-time manner. The performance is - in one word-perfection. His Sir Peter is a companion-piece of almost equal merit, but is distinctly inferior. It is a little deficient in polish. The ideal Sir Peter ought to have an air a little more courtly than that which Mr. Gilbert imparts to him; but perhaps even this objection is open to the charge of hypercriticism. At all events, there is no other Sir Peter upon the Englishspeaking stage to compare with it, although the younger Farren in London and Mr. Charles Fisher here are both clever in the character. Their admitted excellence only emphasizes Mr. Gilbert's easy superiority. By way of contrast with the explosive Sir Anthony, take Old Dornton in the "Road to Ruin." No more perfect picture of probity, benevolence, and tenderness could be imagined. There is almost as much pathos in the old man's honest outbursts of indignation as in his moments of forgiveness and reconciliation. What a study of sturdy indignation and parental tenderness he furnished as Job Thornberry in "John Bull," and what a wealth of humor he infused into Lord Duberly! His Lord Ogleby is another instance of his wide versatility, as is his Sir Francis Gripe in "The Busy-body," which a year or two ago gave so much pleasure to lovers of genuine old comedy. Even more striking is the contrast between his Master Walter in "The Hunchback" and his Mr. Hardcastle in "She Stoops to Conquer," two characters with scarcely a point in common, yet played with almost equal truth and finish. The Hardcastle is the finer, of course, being a veritable masterpiece full of the rarest and homeliest humor; but what other actor capable of playing the one could play the other at all? Dogberry, Adam, Sir George Thunder, Old Wilding, Sir William Fondlove, Justice Greedy, Paul Lafont, in "Love's Sacrifice," and others innumerable,what a splendid gallery of portraits they all make, and how long it is likely to be before any one man will be able to paint them again! But even in these later days it is not only in old comedy that Mr. Gilbert has excelled;

his Sir Harcourt Courtly is as finished a modern portrait as any of the old ones just enumerated. The external polish of this superannuated fop is a triumph of the most delicate and artistic acting, in which the broadest effects are secured by the most minute elaboration. Who would suppose that this exquisite was identical with the ruffianly McKenna in "Rosedale," the fussy old Brisemouch in "A Scrap of Paper," or the jealous old husband in "The Guv'nor"? The personal characteristics of Mr. Gilbert-his stature, voice, and faceare so marked that, until the list of his impersonations is examined, he often fails to receive

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JOHN GILBERT AS HARDCASTLE."

credit for the uncommon versatility which he exhibits.

The personages named do not constitute one-tenth, perhaps, of those which he has enacted in New York, but they are sufficient for the present purpose, which is simply to show the strong foundation upon which his reputation rests. He is in every sense an honor to his profession. The stage was never more urgently in need of such men as he, who furnish irrefutable demonstration that labor and experience are the only sure means by which artistic perfection can be attained. Genius in acting, as in everything else, will always

assert itself; but it cannot be developed to its full extent without complete knowledge of the mechanical processes needed to create the desired impression, and mechanical-or, if the word be displeasing, executive-excellence can be reached by practice, and by practice only. The only real school of acting is the stage, and in this, as in every other school, the student must begin at the bottom and work his way up. Mr. Gilbert is a past-master of his art, who uses, with unerring precision, all the resources acquired in half a century of intelligent observation and laborious application. His skill is so complete that everything he does has

the effect of intuition; but neither he nor any other expert in acting equal to him can impart the faculty which he possesses. He can tell how he does it, but that will not enable anybody else to do it off-hand in the same way. There was a glimmer of this truth in the mind of Mr. Squeers when he sent his students in practical philosophy to clean his windows. It will be a blessed day for the theater when the agile dolls who masquerade nowadays as comedians begin to comprehend that mimicry is not acting, and that, if it were, they would be inferior in this respect to many of the anthropoid apes. J. Ranken Towse.

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THE DUSANTES.*

A SEQUEL TO "THE CASTING AWAY OF MRS. LECKS AND MRS. ALESHINE."

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON,

Author of "Rudder Grange," "The Lady, or the Tiger?" etc.

II.

there were patches of verdure over the land. The storm which had piled its snows up here had given them rain down there and had freshened everything. It was like looking down into another climate, and on another land. I saw a little smoke coming up behind a patch of trees. It must be that there was a house there! Could it be possible that we were within a mile or two of a human habitation? Yet, what comfort was there in that thought? The people in that house could not get to us nor we to them, nor could they have heard of our situation, for the point where our road reached the lower country was miles farther on.

As I stood thus and gazed, it seemed to me that I could make a run and slide down the mountain-side into green fields, into safety, into life. I remembered those savage warriors who, looking from the summits of the Alps upon the fertile plains of Italy, seated themselves upon their shields and slid down to conquest and rich spoils.

FTER a second night spent in the stage-coach on that lonely and desolate mountain road where we were now snow-bound, I arose early in the morning and went into the forest to collect some fuel; and while thus engaged I made the discovery.that the snow was covered with a hard crust which would bear my weight. After the storm had ceased the day before, the sun had shone brightly and the temperature had moderated very much, so that the surface of the snow had slightly thawed. During the night it became cold again, and this surface froze into a hard coating of ice. When I found I could walk where I pleased, my spirits rose, and I immediately set out to view the situation. The aspect of the road gave me no encouragement. The snow-fall had been a heavy one, but had it not been for the high An idea came into my mind, and I gave wind which accompanied it, it would have it glad welcome. There was no time to be thrown but moderate difficulties in the way of lost. The sun was not yet high, but it was our rescuers. Reaching a point which com- mounting in a clear sky, and should its rays manded a considerable view along the side become warm enough to melt the crust on of the mountain, I could see that in many which I stood, our last chance of escape places the road was completely lost to sight would be gone. To plow our way to any on account of the great snow-drifts piled up place, through deep, soft snow, would be imon it. I then walked to the point where the possible. I hurried back to our coach, and two roads met, and crossing over, I climbed a found three very grave women standing slight rise in the ground which had cut off my around the fire. They were looking at a view in this direction, and found myself in small quantity of food at the bottom of a a position from which I could look directly large basket. down the side of the mountain below the road. Here the mountain-side, which I had supposed to be very steep and rugged, descended in a long and gradual slope to the plains below, and for the greater part of the distance was covered by a smooth shining surface of frozen snow, unbroken by rock or tree. This snowy slope apparently extended for a mile or more, and then I could see that it gradually blended itself into the greenish-brown turf of the lower country. Down there in the valley there still were leaves upon the trees, and * Copyright, 1887, by Frank R.

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VOL. XXXV.-54.

"That's every crumb there is left," said Mrs. Aleshine to me, "and when we pass in some to them unfortunates on the other side of the drift, which, of course, we 're bound to do,- we 'll have what I call a skimpy meal. And that's not the worst of it. Until somebody gets up to us, it will be our last meal."

I took my poor Ruth by the hand, for she was looking very pale and troubled, and I said: "My dear friends, nobody can get up to this place for a long, long time; and before help could possibly reach us we should all be Stockton. All rights reserved.

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