MAIL BUDGET.

Evening Star, Issue 6480, 22 December 1883, Page 1 (Supplement)

MAIL BUDGET.

OUR LONDON LETTER

ROUND THE THEATRES, OR A CHAT ABOUT SOME NEW PLAYS. The new comedy at theJSti, James's Theatre —"A Sailor and His Lass," at Drury Lane-rMary Anderson in the " Lady of Lyons." a genuine triumph-?-" Falka " at the Comedy Theatre Gilbert's new piece for Mary Anderson—New play at the Princess's "Gilette" at the Royalty—Gossip. Lomdon, October 26.

The premieres, so frequent at some of our London theatres, are few and far between at the St. James's. Taking my seat in the stalls the other evening to witness,tho first performance of "Young Folk's Ways," I remembered that my last visit to this house was on a foggy December night nearly ten months ago, ever since when the rare acting of the Kendals and their company had managed to retain popularity for a singularly poor piece. Thank goodness, however, " Impulse " is at length a thing of tho past, and in its placo Mrs Burnett and Mr Gilette have given us a play almost equal in fresh breeziness to the ever-to be-remembered "Squire." "Esmeralda" (or "Young Folk's Ways," as it is somewhat feebly rechrißtened) comes to us from Yankeeland. An old play-bill reminds me that I saw the comedy at the Madison Square Theatre, in New York, on the 7th of April, 1881, as I was on my way home from your part of the world. I remember enjoying it intensely even then, but I don't think anyone can thoroughly realise the possibilities of the piece till he or she has seen Mr Hare and Mr and Mrs Kendal in the principal parts. il Esmeralda" ran many months in New York, and achieved a more than ordinarily genuine success there, So you may imagine what a furore there was to be present at the first representation here. I never Baw a theatre packed much tighter than the St. Jameses last Saturday. Every nook and cranny of the stalls and dress circle held a " celebrity." We American and Australian correspondents were grateful to be permitted to stand flat against the wall at the far back of the balcony. To get out during the entr'acte was impossible, and the heat made one profoundly uncomfortable, but we endured bravely to the end, congratulating ourselves that our fate was not as bad as that of the perspiring throng of pitites and upper box folk, many of whom had waited outside the doors from four in the afternoon to half-past seven, so that they might get decent seats.

" Esmeralda " is a dramatic adaptation of Mrs Francis Hodgson Burnett's novelette of the same name, which may be obtained anywhere for a shilling. The story is tender, graceful, and often extremely pathetic. In a log-cabin in North Carolina live three people—Elbert Rogers (a simple-hearted, kindly old man, who farms an unproductive claim in the barren country that he loves), his daughter Esmeralda (a Bilent, shrinking ! girl), and Mrs Rogers (a soured, discon- \ tented, domineering vixen, who detests the i life they lead, and is perpetually " nagging" at her husband for enduring it). This woman proves the evil genius of the piece, j Mining engineers visit the farm, and it is a ; terrible blow to old Rogers when " mother " j (as he always calls his spouse) welcomes the ' offer of a speculator to give a trifle for the ; stony, barren farm; nor is he much consoled when Esmeralda's accepted lover—a: manly young fellow named Dave Hardy—discovers the truth and arrives on the scene just in the nick of time to prevent "mother" i disposing of an enormously valuable mining {>roperty for a mere nothing. Old Rogers oves his " little house in North Carolinevy' and it is only the obedient habit of a lifetime that induces him to carry cut his wife's wishes and sell the place. But the will of Mrs Rogers, who was " brought up in Elizabethville," and knows the world, has long been paramount in the log cabin. Her daughter dares not disobey her, and her husband cannot, so when wealth comes to the little family she easily asserts-herself as its head. "Mother's", first act is to break off Esmeralda's engage-' raent with Dave Hardy, whom the girl has shyly promised to marry a short time before, and who has just furniahed the modest little house close by, where she is to be installed a farmer's wife. This awful woman then ( announces her intention of carrying off ( husband and daughter to live in style in Paris; and it is with their exhibition of distress over their sudden prosperity that the first act (which is in many respects the best) closes. We next find ourselves in the studio of a semi-artistic, semi-esthetic, and altogether charming family of English folk residing in Paris. Jack Desmond is a painter . of Borne merit, his sister Nora (played by Mrs ; Kendal, who naturally makes her a very fascinating person) dabbles in sculpture, and the younger sister Kate is {esthetic. The Desmonds have a great friend, one Estabrook, ; a wealthy young man of leisure, who flirts outrageously with Nora, and evidently admires Kate not a little also. A year: before Estabrook, travelling in America for ; pleasure, happened to accompany a mining engineer acquaintance on a prospecting tour ; in North Carolina, and thi\B was at the log cabin of the Rogers's on the afternoon they became wealthy. He followed up the acquaintance, and we learn, from conversation, that the Desmonds have called upon the Rogers, who are now living in Paris, and that they take a great interest in the old farmer and "little Esmeraldy," as he calls her. Mrs Rogers is continuing her ambitious plans. She has bethrothed Esmeralda to a blackguard French marquis, and by his help forced her way into a very second-rate set of titled foreigners. Dave Hardy also turns up in Paris. He is discovered on the Boulevards, penniless and starving, by Estabrook, who takes him to the Desmonds, where the young fellow is made much of and encouraged in his pursuit of Esmeralda. In the third act we again meet the Rogers family. They are living in splendor, but "mother" alone appreciates the change—Esmeralda is pining for her lover, and the old farmer for his North Carolinian home. One of the best bits in the piece is where Rogers expresses his delight at meeting a familiar face from the "little house." Mrs Rogers deeply resents the attitude of her husband and daughter, " nagging" at them worse than ever. Esmeralda looks wan and miserable. Moreover, the idea of marrying the French marquis is gradually making her desperate. Old Rogers appeals secretly to the Marquis to relinquish his claim to the girl's hand. "Me and Esm'raldy," he says, "are simple folk"; and then be endeavors to touch the polished blackguard's feelings by explaining that his daughter loves Dave Hardy. The marquis listens quietly and politely to what the poor old man has to say, and then bows himself off, sarcastically observing that since madams has given her consent to the marriage the views of monsieur and of Mdllc. Esmeralda do not concern him. Esmeralda, however, throws off the veil of timid, heartbroken quiescence, and rebels. She wildly defies her mother, hysterically informs U. le Marquis that she loathes him, and winds up a dreadful " scene " by falling into a dead swoon. The fourth act brings about the usual happy denouement. The Rogers are not wealthy after all. The vein of gold on their land was very thin, and only led to a fine reef on the adjoining plot owned by Dave Hardy. The latter consequently turns out the millionaire, and "mother" is very glad to compromise matters by letting Esmeralda marry the young man. You will see from the foregoing sketch that the old farmer Rogers is the central figure i of the play. The loves of Dave and ] Esmeralda, and the flirtations of Estabrook and Nora, are commonplace enough; but Elbert Rogers interests the audience deeply. Mr Hare plays the part with rare intelligence, avoiding even a semblance of exaggertion. He is powerfully supported by Mrs Hermann Vezin, as the domineering "mother," and Miss Webster, as Esmeralda. Mr and Mrs Kendal are moat amusing in fc'ie parts of Estabrook and Nora; but Mr George Alexander's Dave Hardy forms a poor substitute for Eben Plympton, who played the character in New York. "A Sailor and His Lass," the new melodrama at Drury lane, is the most miserable farrago of sensational nonsense that has been placed on the stage of a West End theatre for years. Even the scenery—usually Buch a feature of Harris's shows—is this timo heavy and unnatural. The real horse and cab look hopelessly out of proportion, and the sinking snip goes to the bottom so slowly

that the audience shriek with laughter. To describe the plot would be a dreary task. I shall therefore tell you that Gus. Harris acts a rollicking British tar, and leave you to imagine the thrilling nature of his adventures when I state that some of the scenes he passes through represent a dynamite factory, an apple orchard, the Old Bailey Court-house, a wreck at sea, the condemned cell at Newgate, and a gallows prepared for execution. Mary Anderson has turned the heads of tondon theatre-goers, and before she leaves England will probably be as great a favorite as Henry Irving himself. The audience which assembled on the first night of the "Lady of Lyons" clearly showed this. From the Princo and Princess of Wales downwards all the notables invariably assoI dated with "special occasions" at the Lyceum were present. Lady Burdett-Coutts smiled from one private box, whilst Miss Fortescuo aud Lord Garmoyle were the observed of all observers in another. The army of dramatic critics, which included Yates, Sala, Labouchere, Clement Scott, W. S. Gilbert, Dunphy, and Percy Fitzgerald, was strengthened by a strong contingent of authors, editors, artists, and theatrical folk; in fact, no foreign artiste since perhaps Sarah Bernhardt ever before attracted such a. house. The first act dragged sadly. Mr Frank Archer, specially engaged to play Beauseant, and supposed to be the man of all others for the part, failed altogether; nor was Mr Rosier as Glavis more successful. People had begun to feel rather bored when | Miss Anderson made her entrdc in the garden scene, and perhaps this accounted for the comparative lack of enthusiasm in her ! reception. She looked charming, and played the love scene with Claude so archly that the audience warmed up again, and when the curtain fell gave the young lady and Mr Barnes (Claude) a call. It was, however, in the fourth act Miss Anderson achieved her real triumph. The upbraiding in the third, { usually made bo much of, fell comparatively fiat, but the alternations between love and pride, and the gradual overcoming of the latter by tho former were wonderfully shown ; and when Claude, flinging Pauline from him, rushed off to become a soldier, the j audience broke into thunders of applause. The papers, as a rule, review Miss Anderson's Pauline favorably; all admit her grace, fascination, and charm of manner, but all, or nearly all, aver that she lacks power. Her rendering of the character cannot par exemplc be compared with Ellen Terry's. It is, however, better than Miss Lingard's, whose voice and method of acting are exactly like hers. Shut your eyes and you would not know unless told which of the two actresses was speaking. "Falka," the new comic opera by _ the youDg Belgian composer Chassaigue, is a great "hit" at the Comedy Theatre, and will probably run for a twelvemonth, like "Rip Van Winkle." I have not been to see it yet, but they tell me a ballad called "At Eventide" will be heard everywhere before Christmas, and that rondos, polkas, and waltzes abound, one of the best morcmux being a lively ditty commencing " 'Tis the Captain Boleslas." Pretty Violet Cameron and Kelleher have the best parts in "Falka," the "doleful comedian" Harry Paulton supplying the fan. The great Gilbert has not merely patched up all difficulties with Mary Anderson, but absolutely written a piece for her. It is in one act and very dramatic, the great scene representing the agony and suppressed j emotion of a, young girl who has to entertain j a large party cf friends and affect indif- j ference whilst two of her adorers, one of j whom she desperately loves, are fighting a : duel in the adjacent garden, from whence a ; clash of swords can occasionally be heard. j Tho new play is to be performed in conjunc- ! tion with " Pygmalion and Galatea." J The reign of the "Silver King" at the ; Princess's draws to a close, though the j drama still attracts good houses. Mr Wilson Barrett unfortunately pledged himself many ' months ago to produce a new piece in November, and so " Claudian," Hermann \ Merivale's Byzantine drama will be pro- . duced on the 26th inst. |

The "Merry Duchess" has also come to the end of her tether at the Royalty, and Audran (of " JivTaseotte " fame) will follow Messrs Clay and Simms, his new piece being an Anglicised version of "Gilette de Narbonne,"one of the naughty stories in the Decameron. This was a great success at tho Bouffes Parbicns, and is said to contain quite as pretty airs as " Olivette." "In the Ranks" is proving the greatest success tho Adelphi has known for many years. Hundreds are turned from the doors nightly, and the booking so far has been unprecedented. "La Vie" at the Avenue, on the contrary, is almost a failure, and Placquette's "Nell Gwynne"'will be put into rehearsal forthwith. A comedy by Pinero is underlined for immediate production at the Haymarket, and an American piece has been accepted for the Court. When I add that the Vokes family re-appear in London at Christmas, that the Alhambra will be opened next month, and that the Standard Theatre is drawing crowds of Westenders to the City to see "Glad Tidings," I think I have posted you up pretty fairly in the theatrical news of the day.

A LETTER ABOUT NEW BOOKS AND CHRISTMAS PUBLICATIONS. Hints as to book-baying—The book of the season—Walter Bosant'slast story, "All in a Garden Fair "—"A Great Treason " and "Alison"—New volumes in the 33 6d series—Miss Laffan'a stories—Henry James's novels—Tourqudneff's Nihilistic tales—"John Herring" The Christmas annuals—" A Short History of our Own Times "—The ' Tit Bits' maniaImitators.

The months of October and November are par excellence the publishers' seasoD. It is at this time of the year all the most tempting works of travel, fiction, and biography make their appearance. Juvenile books, too, issue from the press in hundreds during the late autumn, and novelties in baby literature lie thicker than ever on the librarian's counter. The occasional reader has so many dainties to choose from that he is puzzled where to begin—what to take up first. I can't help thinking, therefore, that a few friendly hints from an omnivorous devourer of all sorts of literature may not come amiss to some of you good people in New Zealand. One has so many opportunities in London of learning what books ought to be read, and so few in your part of the world. I know when I lived in Auckland I should often have been glad of a word or two of advice. Books are expensive luxuries at the Antipodes, and few care to give six or seven shillings for a story on speculation. A good novel or an interesting work of travel well repays tho purchase-money ; but many of the volumes " spawned upon publishers" now-a-days are the weariest of trash. Let me eee if I cannot tell you something that really does deserve perusal. The book of the day is, of course, Anthony Trollope's most interesting autobiography. I sent a long series of extracts from this work via Brindisi, but those who enjoy the sort of "truth that is stranger than fiction " should read every line of the two volumes. Afterwards some of you who are not familiar with the deceased novelist's stories may like to read one or two of them. For my part, I have always thought "John Caldigate " Trollope's best novel. It is not perhaps so pathetically touching as "The Warden," or so clever as the "Last Chronicle of Barset" ; but the plot has been well thought out and carefully pieced together, and the characters are wonderfully lifelike. It seems curious, doesn't it, that the stories poor Trollope himself considered almoßt his best—viz., "-Linda Tressel" and "Nina Balatka "—were on all bands condemned as among«t the worst things he had written ? Remembering the enjoyment I experienced reading those truly charming stories "The Chaplain of the Fleet " and " All Sorts and Conditions of Men," it was with feelings of tho most pleasurable anticipation I took up Walter Beaant's new novel "All in a Garden Fair." Let me confess candidly I was disappointed. The first volume is decidedly dull, and though the tale improves vastly as it progresses, one lays it down with a feeling that the author might easily have done very much better. "All in a Garden Fair" is the "simple story of three boys and a girl." Tho girl, of course, is the heroine, and the threo boys arc her lovers. When the tale opens they are children living with their respective parents in a suburban village near London. We trace the youth of the three ladß, and learn how in different ways each woos the girl. At twenty-one they propose, but Clare's father insists on a probationary

period of three years, at the end of which she shall be free to choose the one of them she loves beßt and respects most. Then the three lads set off to make their fortunes. One adopts literature as a. profession, and undergoes great privations in London before recognition comes. Another starts for China as the representative of a great mercantile firm, and the third becomes a speculator on the Stock Exchange. What meed of success each attains and which secures the beautiful Clare I shall not indicate. Some of the characters, notably that of the heroine's father—a French refugee—one M. Phiilipon, are drawn with all tho author's pristine skill; in fact the book, though not in Besant's best style, is well worth reading. " All in a Garden Fair " forms, as I think I told you last mail, part of the annual volume of 'Good Words.' "A Great Treason," a tale of the American war by Mary M. Hoppus (two volumes, nine shillings), is a capitally written story of the first rebellion, which will please old and young alike; and "Alison," by Miss Butt (author of "Dalieia" aud "Geraidine Hawthorne "), may also be safely asked for. Charles Gibbons's "Golden Shaft" and Wynters's " Regimental Legends " are now obtainable in the 3a 6d form, and Macmillan and Co. have added May Laffan's Irish stories to their calico-bound 2s series. " Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor" is the best of this lot, though "Christy Carew," "Hogan, M.P.," and the "Hon. Miss Ferrard," are all supposed to be more or less clever. The shilling edition of Henry James's brilliant and popular novels has been promised for next week, and will, of course, have an enormous sale. "The Portrait of a Lady" is now recognised as a standard work, and should find a place on the shelves of all well-regulated libraries. "Daisy Miller" and the "Siege of London " are, however, my favorites. The Russian romances of Tourqueneff are to be issued immediately at Is apiece; They circulate freely in the United States, but the only one I ever tried, viz., "Smoke," was terribly stiff reading. Some months ago a Somersetshire clergyman—the Rev. S. Baring-Gould—published a novel called "Mehalah; a Story of the Salt Marshes," which attracted a great deal of attention, and was most favorably reviewed everywhere. Another tale by the same author is jußt out, and I shall be much surprised if it doesn't prove one of the big successes of the season. "John Herring" (as Mr Gould's second attempt has been called) deserves to be widely read. I Bee the 'Times' this morning praises it sky high, and am told the 'Saturday Review' follows suit.

Now for a few words about the Christmas annuals. 'Good Cheer' (the Christmas number of 'Good Words') is already out. It consists of two novelettes—"A Maiden Fair," by Charles Gibbon; and " The Dacre Diamonds," by an anonymous author. Both are rather ordinary tales, but will fill up half an hour agreeably enough on Sunday afternoon. Walter Besant, besides contributing a short story to the Christmas 'Graphic,' will do the winter number of •All the Year Round,' this time to be called "A Glorious Fortuue." B. L. Farjeon has returned to the bosom of 'Tinsley's,' and in "Bud, Blossom, Flower" supplies a sequel to the popular "Bread and Cheeße and Kisses." ' Grant's Annual' will consist of a one-volume novel by Francillion, styled "A Great Heiress"; and 'The Gentleman's ' of two stories, by Percy Fitzgerald and Mrs Alexander. The ' Belgravia Annual' is as usual an olla podrida of short stories, and so are * Judy's ' and 'Diprosc's.' The 'World' calls its Christmas number "The Last Voyage of Lemuel Gulliver." Mr Gladstone, I hear, is to represent Gulliver. ' Truth's' Christmas number will be in much the same style as former years, save that Barnum plays a prominent part in the story. Justin M'Carthy's " Short History of Our Ovvn Times' (six shillings) should be ordered at once by every father with a growing family. Apart from being an admirable text-book, "it is as entertaining as many novela—in fact the sort of work one ought to have in the house. Mr Phelp's, of " Gates Ajar" celebrity, has supplemented that much over-rated traot with another semireligious, semi-hysterical effusion entitled " Beyond the Gates (2s 63). It soils well. Sampsons, Low Marston aud Co., are addiDg three of Mrs Riddell's later novels to their six shillings series—viz., " Daisies and Buttercups," " Alan'c Spencely," and " The Senior Partner." The last-named is a very good story, and much the best of the trio. The pame firm have issued an illustrated edition of Jules Verne's new romance " The Green Rag," which, aa it describes wonderful adventures in Scotland, should be popular amongst Otago folk. Children will be delightod with Randolph Caldercott's new picture books (Is each)—" A Frog He Would a Woing Go" and "The Fox Jumped Over the Parson's Gate." They fully equal the earlier series. "Playtime," a picture-book issued by Chatto and Windus, is also highly attractive; and for older children I canheartily recommend the annual volume of "St. Nicholas" and Mr Molesworth's new storybook—a pretty tale of the "Grandmama Dear " sort. The Buccess of ' Tit Bits ' continues to raise a whole host of similar journalistic ventures. Within the laet six weeks * Smart Bits,' ' Funny Bits,' ' Best Bitß,' ' Warm Bits,' 'Big Ben,' 'The Tattler,' 'Cassell's Saturday Journal,' 'The Age,' and * Scraps,' all weeklies of the same sort, have appeared. The only ones likely to last are 'Scraps' and 'Smart Bits,' both much superior to the rest.