FOREST AND STREAM. 
142 | 
a SS SSS SS SS Scie 

gineer corps, who was ‘‘roughing it” with the soldiers of 
the frontier as a means of improving his health, whicn had 
been impaired by a too close confinement and study of the 
Mr. Hoxie, however, by a too great anx- 
iety to see the country, strayed away from the troops, and 
It appears the day after 
the scout left the mouth of the Pease river, Mr. Hoxie was 
among the missing, and for two days nothing was heard of 
Two companies were therefore 
detailed to search for him. ‘The search was made in every 
legal profession. 
by so doing nearly lost his life. 
the over curious civilian. 
direction, and just as the detachment was about to return 
dissapointed, some sharp eyes discovered a figure upon an 
adjacent sand hill close to the river. This figure proved to 
be Mr. Hoxie, who after losing his way and finding it im- 
possible to ascertain the position of the troops, had pre- 
pared to die of fatigue and starvation. He had made his 
will we believe, or at least he had written on the pommel of 
the saddle his story, how he had been lost, his name and 
address in New York, etc., and had thrown himself down 
to die, away from home and dear friends. His rescue 
caused as much joy to the command as to himself, and after 
that he ‘‘stood” well to the troops until their return to the 
fort. 
—The Yellowstone expedition has returned in good order. 
Josephine, or rather, a steamer by that name, has brought 
back the Eighth and Ninth Batallion under command of 
General Bradley, which commands halted at Omaha. Com- 
pany A, of the Sixth Infantry, were left at Fort Buford; 
the Twenty-second Infantry, September 30, left Fort Lin- 
coln, D. T., in charge of its famous commander, General 
Stanley, for Forts Sally and Randall, while the cavalry 
(Seventh) remained at Forts Rice and Lincoln, and the sci- 
entific investigators have started east with volumes of in- 
formation in hand and head regarding the great Yellowstone 
expedition. 

aut and Drama. 
Pon BiG. ELD, 


HE conservatism which controls theatrical manage. 
ment in some directions, is even more thoroughly in- 
grained than is Bourbonism. From the time of the severe- 
ly simple scenery of the Greek stage, down to the present 
era, we have had, in some directions, great advances. 
Take the Globe Theatre, in which Shakspeare performed 
in his own plays, and compare its poverty of appointments 
with some of our metroplitan houses, and we shall realize 
the change, and also get some rotion how rapidly intellect- 
ual acting in the last forty years has been made subservient 
to the charms of canvas and machinery. But the innovations 
direct have been scenic; other changes—to one of which 
we propose to allude—have been merely incidental. 
Among the institutions peculiar to the earliest English 
drama was the bass-viol, or, in popular phase, the big 
fiddle. It was introduced as part of the earliest orchestras, 
because it was most familiar to the populace, and thorough- 
ly identified with merry makings; and the fact that it mdde 
a ereat deal of noise at very little expense was also, no 
doubt, aconsideration. From the very beginning, its tall, 
obtrusive head was considered a nuisance to spectators. 
There are printed complaints existing a century old, pro- 
testing that it should be suppressed; but no suggestion 
seems to have been made how the thing could be done. In 
modern times it has been complained of, scolded about, 
and fought against, but, like Goldsmith’s towering moun- 
tain, though its body may be obscured in mists, its head 
ever revels in. eternal sunshine. At first sight, the unso- 
phisticated speculator on the idiosyncracies of theatrical 
management comes to the conclusion that the obtruding 
head of the big fiddle is a grand necessity to the success of 
obtains that it is a point necessary to be raised, to guide 
the play, else it would be blotted out. The delusion 
the actors in their movements, just as a signal buoy serves 
to control the course of yachts in a race, and that there is 
inspiration to be obtained from its great wooden-looking 
countenance peering over the stage. In fact, it is a ques- 
tion to be solved, if a play could go on without the audi- 
ence was embarrassed by the offensive intervention of its 
head, constantly getting between the audience and the 
actors. 
Wehave time and again, in the theatre, sat out weary 
minutes, waiting for something to ‘‘draw up;”’ the cur- 
tain, cold, motionless and gloomy, hiding from our sight a 
mimic world of the intensest interst. It would be finally whis- 
pered from seat to seat that something had gone astray 
hind the scenes; possibly the star actress had misplac 
her blonde wig, or the walking gentleman couldn’t find his 
full-dress coat. On those not especial occasions the mem- 
bers of the orchestra are, for the time, the observed of all 
observers. So long as their seats are empty there is no 
direct communication between the general audience and 
the mysterious world behind the foot-lights. Presently, 
when the delay and suspense have become insupportable, 
the clarionets, thin and reedy, will crawl into their seats, 
causing a momentary interruption, and then sink out of 
sieht. Then would follow in erratic lines, and with eccen- 
tric motions, the violins, the bassoons and the bold 
“drummer boy.” At last the leader takes his perch; but 
he is helpless, until a seedy-looking individual erects the 
head of the big fiddle into the gas-heated air, flourishing it 
with a sweep, that seems to cover an area of sixty or sev- 
enty feet, then drawing the bow across the body of the in- 
strument, there are heard sounds so human, so full of dis- 
gust and pain, that one is convinced that this mechanical 
combination of veneer and catgut is aware that its head is 
im the way of perfect command of the stage to half the au- 


dience. 
head of the big fiddle is the centre of observation. 
Our seat at the theatre, no matter where it may be, is al- 
We don’t know an exception 
to this assertion ever occurring, save when we go toa con- 
Is it cowardice on the part 
of our soldier musicians that they dare not employ a big 
fiddle ? or has the War Department a statute against such 
In our serious protests, how- 
ever, we do not wish to be misunderstood. The noise of 
the big fiddle is not disagreeable, if its bass work is smoth- 
ered up by less obtrusive sounds; we only especially in- 
ways behind.the big fiddle. 
cert given by a military band. 
a monstrous proposition? 
veigh against the impudent assumptions and elevations of 
its head, which, at the play, is always before our eyes, 
shifting, shaking, and marring to hundreds beside ourself 
some interesting point passing on the stage. 
On arecent occasion, among the promises of improve- 
ments that were to be introduced in a theatre, building, was 
the putting of the body of the big fiddle, and the man who 
It was boldly and “above 
board” announced that the outrageous nuisance of which 
we complain would be abated. The effect on theatre-goers 
Many said they would be satisfied with 
any kind of acting, if the managers would suppress the 
head of the big fiddle; others again asserted that they would 
go to the play-house three or four nights in the week to 
realize a life-long dream in the full perfection of the noy- 
elty. As we ex, ected, the theatre was finished and inaugu- 
torments it, down in a well. 
was quite electric. 
rated and the big fiddle still maintains its supremacy. 
In some directions a change in dramatic precedence 
Until Charles Kean inaugurated the 
practice of putting on the stage minutely the dress and 
scenery peculiar to the age and country called for by the 
seems impossible. 
play, no radical change for a century or more was percept- 
ible, and now the leading roles of the ‘‘old plays” are rep- 
resented in many partictlars, so far as the acting is con- 
cerned, just as they were ‘from the beginning.” In 
“Richard II,” “gags,” adopted by Burbadge,the first stage 
representative of the crooked-backed tyrant are still kept 
up, and though not very striking, they have this interest— 
they may have been suggested by Shakspeare himself. Of 
modern instances of this clinging to old examples by the 
theatrical profession, we recall the fact that last winter an 
actor at one of our fashionable play-houses presented him- 
self as Charles Surface, ‘‘in his own hair.” One sapient 
critic found fault with this, and reminded the gentle come- 
dian that ‘‘ the best society” wore wigs in the days of Sir 
Peter Teazle, The triumphant reply was, ‘‘on the first rep- 
resentation of the ‘‘School for Scandal,” Charles Surface 
‘“wore his own hair,” and that settled the business. All 
through therun of ‘‘Agnes,” which obtained a temporary 
popularity, owing to the pleasing personation of Miss 
Ethel, the concluding scene left a sympathetic audience, 
in doubt, whether the reckless husband of the piece, after 
the curtain went down, did not ‘‘punch the head” of his 
faithful wife for her constant love, and then run away with 
the unprincipled ballet dancer. Sardou has no idea of do- 
mestic life whatever, and what his French mind _ left to 
outrage virtue or dramatic sentiment, though a word would 
have corrected the mistakes it was never changed. Other 
than this stupidity would have been contrary, apparently, 
to theatrical precedence. On one occasion Sir Walter 
Scott visited Kemble, just at the moment he was going on 
the stage to play ‘“‘Macbeth.” The great novelist had sym- 
pathy for the usurper, for he was a Scotchman. Scott had 
more than this, for from his antiquarian researches he 
knew how the Thane dressed. Stepping upto Kemble, he 
plucked the ostrich plumes which waved over his bonnet, 
and supplanted them with the eagle’s plume. Kemble%pro. 
tested, urging that Garrick played Afacbeth in ostrich feath- 
ers. But for Scott’s firmness probably the anachronism 
of such an ornament in the bonnet of a Highland chief 
would have continued to this day. 
But the most remarkable example of theatrical conserv- 
atism, except keeping up the big fiddle nuisance, is famil- 
iar to all, as exhibited in the play of the ‘‘Hunchback.” 
On its first presentation in London, the press hailed it as a 
success, but with singular unanimity they denounced the 
love scenes between Hellen and Afodus as indelicate, unjust 
to the sex, destitute of wit, of any comic element, and al- 
together objectionable. This criticism was even more se- 
verely announced in this country. Every detailed notice 
of the play, however enthusiastic, was always modified by 
the defect of this scandalous Hel’en and Modus scene. With 
us, when Knowles performed the part of Hunchback, he 
was personally appealed to to change the objectionable di- 
alogue, but he never paid any attention to the fault-finding, 
and the play will remain the same through all time, 
The poets and the hopeful people sing of the good time 
coming. The drama at present is in a transition state. In 
the revolution created by trying to make sensations, men- 
tal and physical, take the place of genuine dramatic exhi- 
bitions, some defiant innovator, some Columbus in imagi- 
nationand daring, may invade the dark unfathomed spirit 
that stands as a wall of fire in defence of the big fiddte out- 
rage, and strike it down by a well-directed blow. If this is 
done there will no doubt a cry of indignation go up 
from the wounded, and honest but misguided people will 
contend that lf the head of the big fiddle is put out of sight 
the legitimate drama has received its death blow. We do 
not believe it. i, aad 
The ‘‘Geneva Cross,” at the Union Square, has been 
But that fiddle-head, as vicious as that of a rattle- 
snake, is erect, and now, for the first time, the gas is turned 
fully on. The leader of the orchestra is in ecstacies, the 
wind instruments answer joyfully back to the ‘trumpet 
tones”—all this apparently resulting from the fact that the 
greeted by a reception that must be alike gratifying to the 
author and managers. The title of the play, and the pic 
ture regarding it exhibited in the streets, which is generally 
mistaken for a priest bearing a secular. banner, seems ill 
chosen, and every way calculated to mislead the superficial 
public. The dramatic incidents are admirably worked up, 
the dialogue harmonious, and the moral, if any, unexcep- 
tionable. The occasion had a personal interest in the re- 
appearance, after five years of retirement, of Miss Rose 
Etynge, who resumes her place in the theatrical world with 
a hearty welcome from her old friends. The Union Square, 
in this play has achieved the most decided success in the 
perfect manner it has been put on the stage. Such 
“adaptation” and good taste seldom meet in the construction 
of scenery. 
The regular season at Wallack’s has opened with two 
plays, evidently written for the purpose of sacrificing every- 
thing to Mr. Sothern’s peculiar delineation of Lord Dun- 
dreary. The ideais to illustrate that money is more pow- 
erful than the affections, and that a grand villian without 
any sentiment is an agreeable hero on the stage. We con- 
fess we rather tire of these specialty actors. We remember 
Mr. Sothern and Mr. Jefferson the first night, under such 
earnest protest they played Lord Dundreary and Asa Trench- 
ard. But fora theatrical law-suit they’ both would have 
thrown up the role; but the fates, and not their theatrical 
merits, made them win fortune and fame in spite of them- 
selves. Since that important night, so very many years 
ago, these gentlemen have been playing the same characters. 
That they have been successful no one can doubt; but it 
shows a most narrow conception to be confined to one part 
and unable to pass, with success, into any other field of 
dramatic representation. The after-piece, “Burramporter,” 
is offensively coarse, and the shallow and vulgar means to 
catch applause is an outrage to the traditions of Wallack’s 
Theatre. The suspicion that Mr. Sothern is not, at heart, a 
very refined gentleman, will grow apace, unless he discards 
such unmitigated trash as ‘‘Burramporter.” 
On Monday night, under the management of Mr. Maret- 
zek, a large audience assembled at the Grand Opera House, 
to greet Mme. Pauline Lucca and the much-heralded Tam- 
berlik. The new star showed at once that he was, or 
ratherhad been, an actor and singer of the highest cultiva- 
tion, and ofthe greatest natural ability. But it was also 
evident that his voice had lost, by time and use, much o€ 
its original power and sweetness. His manner and enunci- 
ation, however, are unexceptionable, his knowledge of his 
business perfect, and the audience, in their admiration, 
often cheered him with heartfelt enthusiasm. The duet, 
“O santa Melodia,” Mme. Lucca and Signor Tamberlik 
sung with great perfection, the lady sustaining herself no- 
bly, her splendid voice towering, at times, above all ri- 
valry. 
Mr. Strakosh apparently marred the reception of Signor 
Campanini at the Academy of Music, by not having him 
before the curtain the first night of the season. He made a 
success, and will satisfy the demands of the fashionable thea- 
tre-goers, but create no extraordinary enthusiasm. The last - 
novelty, it is said, is always the best, but it is the madness 
ot the hour to say that Campanini has been unequalled 
since the first appearance of Mario. The manager still has 
a surprise in Signor Maurel, the ‘‘ great baritone.” With 
Miss Cary, Campanini, Maurel, and others of more than 
ordinary ability, Miss Nilsson has a most available setting. 
We believe, however, that she would have carried the sea- 
son through with entire satisfaction, even if her merits had 
not been dazed by over-praised surroundings, 
Salvini’s Hamlet disappoints, because it is so thoroughly 
different from the text familiar to an American audience; 
in fact, itis anew play. His acting throughout is superb, 
but the disadvantage of a foreign tongue makes it impos- 
sible for the majority of his audience to follow him in his 
“adaptation.” Butfor his Otello, bis unsurpassed talent 
as a tragedian would have been unappreciated, and all 
through his engagement he has labored under the depress- 
ing spell of performing in houses not suited to dramatic 
representations. 
Miss Maggie Mitchell has commenced an engagement at 
Booth’s, in her ever popular Funchon. 
Miss Ward, who recently attracted attention in the lit- 
erary circles in London, and who is shortly to appear at 
Manchester as Lady Macbeth, is said to be the lady known 
as Mme. Guerra-bella. 
Miss Clara Morrisand the admirable Fifth Avenue The- 
tre Company have been met everywhere in their provincial 
tour with the most enthusiastic receptions. 
The new Park Theatre, in Brooklyn, Miss Neilson as 
Juliet and Rosalind, was greeted by crowded houses. Mrs. 
Lander, as Queen Hlizabeth, is at the Brooklyn Theatre. 
She will no doubt achieve a great success. 
MAGAZINES RECEIVED. 
pene Se Se 
We are in receipt of the Canadian Monthly for October. The review 
of Mr. Charles Hallock’s Fishing Tonrist occupies an important position 
in this excellent magazine, and its author is credited with haying been 
one of:the few who have given a faithful description of the various fish- 
ing grounds in the Dominion, and his views in regard to the protection 
which should be given to the spawning fish, are fully endorsed. Not only 
is the Canadian Monthly interesting as to original matter, but the selec- 
tions made w exceedingly good taste and judgment. 
Ovz oNTHLY for October. Though Mr. Harte may have left 
the Oaerland, we always welcome this contribution from the Pacific. 
An article entitled the “Seeking of the Golden Pleece,”’ is singularly in- 
teresting, inasmuch as it shows most clearly the enormous advance 
made in Callifornia, in twenty-four years. ‘Prison Life in China,” shows 
a phase of mental existence which is quite novel.. We trust frequently 
to grace our columns with subjects of interest taken from the Overland. 

The best use you can make of seventy-five cents, will be to buy a am. 
of Avilude, the most instructive and delightful ame ever publivite ? If 
ypu dealers have not got it, send the money to ‘West & Lee, Worcester 
ass., Who will forward it by mail, postpaid. x ; 
“The best of its class." Boston Eeentng Transeript. 


