of the Lyceum Theatre, that the story of the piece became after a certain point wholly inexplicable and incomprehensible except to the initiated. "Lear" as represented at the Lyceum is really a series of beautiful stage episodes from a play that Mr. Irving, with exceptional felicity of epithet, termed Titanic in his final speech before the fallen curtain. Those who were in the secret knew why Cordelia reappeared in England, and restored her father from the rags and anguish of his madness to splendour and repose, and something like sanity; knew too, why, a little later, she and her father. were led in captives after a battle of which there were no tokens. But to the uninitiated it must have been as bewildering, if perchance as pleasing, as the transformation scene in a pantomime.

And there were other causes to add to the perplexity of the Man in the Gallery. It pleased what may be called the "New Humour" of scenic effect to play the terrible scenes on and about the heath in almost total darkness. Those who were close to the stage could distinguish little; fancy staggers at the thought of how much or how little the more remote spectator could have seen. There was yet

another cause of perplexity, and with regard to this cause at least one representative of the Man in the Gallery spoke his mind not impertinently, not unaptly. Mr. Irving unhappily allowed himself to accentuate certain mannerisms of voice, certain eccentricities of utterance which have always harassed his acting, with the result that it was often very hard for those who were near to the stage to follow what the actor was saying. That it was hard for those placed more aloof was shown by the frank and honest expression of opinion which came from the gallery as Mr. Irving made his habitual speech of thanks. That speech Mr. Irving made with perfect clearness and distinctness; it was unmannered, simply spoken, perfectly intelligible. The critic in the gallery assured Mr. Irving, with rough good-humoured pertinence, that if he had spoken so clearly during the progress of the piece he would have been more agreeable to follow. Mr. Irving ought to welcome that friendly utterance, for it should recall to him sharply, but sincerely, one of the dangers which beset his fine conceptions and fine interpretations of great parts. His conception of Lear is careful, his interpretation consistent. It is not a conception or a presentation with which I can agree. Miss Terry made a very beautiful, very sympathetic Cordelia. The scenery was simpler than we have been accustomed to for some time on the Lyceum stage, but it was only the more effective for its simplicity, its unextravagant beauty. The designs of Mr. Ford Madox Brown have done much to make this revival memorable on our stage.

"DAVID." "A CAPRICE."

HE career of Mr. Louis N. Parker has hitherto been cha

Tracterised first by promise, then by pertinacity withou

promise; now it has touched at something closely approaching to performance. Those who saw the "Sequel" spoke highly of its merits. I did not see it; but, spurred by these praises, I made a point of seeing several successive plays of Mr. Parker's, all of which disappointed me deeply. They certainly were not well done, and they did not seem to me to hold much hope of good work to come. It is, therefore, with the more satisfaction that I can avouch that "David" interested me, pleased me largely, and that it deserves a very large measure of praise. It is not a very great work; it is not a very perfect work, even in its degree; but it has a great deal of ability, it is thoughtful, painstaking, at moments almost profound. It really has the promise which, so far, I have sought for in vain in the plays of Mr. Parker.

"David" is, as it were, a collection of grim medical, psychological, and ethnological problems, focussed within the narrow circle of English country life. It suggests the inspiration of Wilkie Collins; it suggests especially the inspiration of Mr. Grant Allen. The author of "The Woman in White" need not have been ashamed of the central idea of "David ;" the author of "Strange Stories " night rejoice in the study of crime, in the study of racial hatreds, which "David" represents. If "David" resembles a novel, it resembles a very interesting novel—a novel that the reader is eager to follow out to the final chapter. The more is the pity, therefore, that the final chapter should be the less successful.

For, unhappily, the interest awakened in the first act, and kept alive during the second, wanes in the third, to wither in the fourth. The authors-for there is another name associated with Mr. Parker's on the playbill --either had not the courage of their opinions or had no clearly-defined opinions. They started with what seemed to be a new story in the most modern spirit, but it drifted away at the end into conventional situations, conventional episodes. But, with all its faults, it is by far the best piece of work that has thus far been associated with the name of Mr. Parker; and if his next piece is as marked an advance upon "David" as "David" is upon its predecessors, we may hope for a very good play indeed.

There is a small error that must be commented upon. The play was originally to be called "The Bar Sinister," and the central figure of the piece, Dr. Wendover, speaks of Da Silva as bearing the bar

sinister. Now this of course is absolute nonsense, and nonsense that one imagined had been exposed long ago. There is not the slightest harm in a man's not knowing heraldry; he has even the authority of Mr. Herbert Spencer and of the late Lord Sherbrooke for thinking there is positive harm in knowing it. But when he does not know it he will do well not to write about it without consulting some one who does. There is no such phrase in heraldry, there is no such phrase possible to heraldry, as a "bar sinister." A bar sinister is as impossible as a crooked straight line. A bend sinister is a possibility, though the assumption that a bend sinister must denote illegitimacy is an erroneous assumption. The blunder is a trifling blunder, but it makes one a little doubtful of the accuracy of the author's other studies. How if his psychology is as bad as his heraldry; how about his science; how about his knowledge of racial peculiarities and racial antipathies? I speak with some slight knowledge of heraldry; my library includes more than a score of books on heraldry, from Guillim yesterday to Woodward and Burnett to-day, as well as text-books of foreign heraldry. I can only hope that in those sciences with which I have less acquaintance I may rely more implicitly upon Mr. Parker's authority.

But whether his science be right or be as wrong as his heraldry, Mr. Parker has written a play that is in its major part exceedingly interest ing. It had the advantage of being exceedingly well played. I praised Mr. Murray Carson's Bosola; I can praise as unreservedly his Dr. Wendover. From the first moment to the last this was a remarkable piece of acting, carefully pondered, largely conceived, daringly executed. Scene by scene and act by act the wretched man's mania grew upon him. He suggested admirably the few, the insignificant, yet how significant, signs that marked the overwrought mind, the twitching lip that disturbed the physical composure of the face, the slight impatience that disturbed the intellectual urbanity of the bearing. These signs deepened as the drama moved, deepened into persistent fretfulness, irritation, almost ferocity as the intellect clouded and the temperament warped under the spell of the dominant idea. No finer piece of acting has been seen on the stage for some time. Indeed, for the matter of that, no piece of acting so fine has been seen on the stage for some time.

Mr. Carson was well supported. Miss Bateman recalled and renewed her triumph of "Karin" in her presentation of the stately, stern old lady, in whose bosom race-hatred against the Jews and passionate love for her son are the two most living emotions. The part was not a part like that of the mother in "Karin," it was not VOL. CCLXXIII. NO. 1944.

sketched with so firm, so unfaltering a hand, it did not dominate with the same tragic horror. But within its limited range the figure was impressive enough to give a far less gifted actress than Miss Bateman a good opportunity; an actress as gifted as Miss Bateman gave it al the grim intensity that it needed, and made it a commanding figure. Miss Burney, as the daughter of Dr. Wendover, played a part of a kind that has not hitherto been associated with her name, and played it with a grace and charm that shows that her artistic powers are wide and varied. To be able to play with success in the one evening two such widely differing parts as those of a young English girl of a more or less conventional kind, and the subtle, wily, imperious heroine of one of Alfred de Musset's daintiest comedies, shows that Miss Burney is not only willing to work hard at her art, but that it is very well worth her while that she should work hard.

For before appearing in the ingénue part in "David" she had played the part of Madame de Lery in a rendering of Alfred de Musset's "Un Caprice." And between a part like that of Madame de Lery and an ingénue part there is a very great gulf fixed indeed. Madame de Lery is a very exquisite, very human woman. Grande dame de par le monde, she is the peer of those gracious, brilliant women whom Balzac loved, the Princesse de Cadignan, the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, Madame de Cerizy, and the rest of that splendid sisterhood. But she is in some ways more fascinating than they, for the eternal melancholy of De Musset is intimately blended in her composition; her brightest laughter seems to be answered by echo with a sigh; her mirth comes from her head rather than from her heart, where we suspect that an eternal ache lingers. She is exquisite womanhood, and such the world often crucifies; she has loved and suffered, and she is brave, and sweet, and deeply sad, and no one suspects her sorrow. Not an easy part to play, but Miss Burney played it very well, played it delightfully, beyond my hopes. It is by far the best thing that Miss Burney has yet done; it suggests a power of emotional expression, a variety of emotional expression which I had not expected from what I had previously seen her do. Miss Burney can and will learn; she is of the stuff that succeeds. I think she ought to go far.

JUSTIN HUNTLY MCCARTHY.

IF

TABLE TALK.

CONCERNING DICTIONARIES.

F the present generation does not know thoroughly the language it speaks, the fault will not rest with its teachers. Every form of assistance that can be desired is supplied, and dictionaries of every class multiply with alarming rapidity. When Johnson, in 1755, published his monumental work the world drew breath and contented itself for well on to a century with multiplying editions. Richardson, a schoolmaster, then hit upon the ingenious idea of setting his pupils to extract quotations from Chaucer and other early writers. Unhappy in arrangement, and equally far from correctness and completeness, Richardson's Dictionary has remained a work of much interest, and-what a good dictionary ought to be—a delightful book to read. Philology has made giant strides since Richardson's time, and his book is out of date. The student, unless he possesses the great American dictionary known as the "Century," turns now to Professor Skeat, and waits, without much hope of living to profit by it, for the completion of the gigantic task undertaken by Dr. Murray and his allies, of seeing through the press the huge dictionary of the Philological Society. To aid him, however, he has dictionaries and glossaries innumerable, from the works of Wright, Halliwell, and Nares to the latest compilation of the Dialect Society. If his studies be more profound he will find a Dictionary of Middle English near to his hand. Should he be disposed to investigate folk-speech, a Dictionary of Slang and its Analogues is making rapid strides towards completion.

OF

THE STANFORD BEQUEST.

F recent dictionaries intended specially for the student—for I do not deal with the innumerable works intended for casual reference-I am inclined to regard as the most important the Stanford "Dictionary of Anglicised Words and Phrases." Two years ago the University of Cambridge accepted a bequest of £5,000, left

'Cambridge University Press.